THE LIFE
OF
WILLIAM: PENN,
THE
SETTLER OF PENNSYLVANIA,
THE
FOUNDER OF PHILADELPIIIA, AND ONE OF THE FIRST LAWGIVERS
IN THE COLONIES, NOW UNITED STATES, IN 1682.
CONTAINING ALSO,
HIS CELEBRATED TREATY WITH THE INDIANS-HIS PURCHASE OF
THEIR COUNTRY-VALUABLE ANECDOTES OF ADMIRAL PENN-ALSO
OF KING CHARLES II., KING JAMES II., KING WILLIAM, AND QUEEN
ANNE, IN WHOSE REIGNS WILLIAM PENN LIVED-CURIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES THAT LED HIM TO BECOME A QUAKER —WITH A VIEW OF
THE ADMIRABLE TRAITS IN THE CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE
CALLED FRIENDS OR QUAKERS, WHO HAVE DONE SO MUCH TC
MELIORATE THE CONDITION OF SUFFERING HUMANITY.
BY M."L. WVEEMS,
Author of the Life of'Washington, &c.
Character of WYilliam Penn, by JMIontesquieu.
"William Penn is a real Lycurgus. And though the former made PEACE his
principal aim, as the latter did WAR: yet they resemble one another in the singular way of living to which they reduced their people-in the astonishing ascendant
they gained over freemen; and in the strong passions which they subdued."
Character of William Penn, by Edmund Burke.
"William Penn, as a legislator, deserves immortal thanks from the whole world.'Tis pleasing to do honour to those great mzen whose virtues and renerosity have
contributed to the peopling of the earth, and to the Freedomn and Happiness of
mankind; and who have preferred the interest of a remote posterity and times unknown, to their own fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own lives."
PHILADELPH IA:
URLIAH HUNT & SON,
No. 44 NORTH FOURTH STREET.
AND FOR SALE BY BOOKISELLERS  GENERALLY THROUGHOUT THE
UNITED STATES.
1852.




Eastern District of Penusylvania, to wit.
BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the twenty-seventh day of July, in the fiftyfourth year of the Independence of tile United States of America, A. D. 1829,
URIAH HUNT, of the said District, has deposited in this office the title of a beok,
the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit:
"The Life of William Penn, the settler of Pennsylvania, the founder of Philadelphia., and one of the first Law-givers in the Colonies, now United States, in 1682.
Containing also his celebrated treaty with the Indians-his purchase of their country-Valuable anecdotes of Admiral Penn-also of King Charles II., King James
II., King William, and Queen Anne, in whose reigns William Penn lived-Curious
circumstances that led him to become a Quaker-with a view of the admirable
traits in the character of the people called Friends or Quakers, who have done so
much to meliorate the condition of suffering humanity. By M. L. Weems, author
of the Life of Washington, &c."
Character of William Penn, by JMontesquieu.
" William Penn is a real Lycurgus. And though the former made peace his principal aim, as the latter did war: yet they resemble one another in the singular way
of living to which they reduced their people-in the astonishing ascendant they
gained over freemen; and in the strong passions which they subdued."
Character of William Penn, by Edmund Burke.
"William Penn, as a legislator, deserves immortal thanks from the whole world.'Tis pleasing to do honour to those great men whose virtues and generosity have
contributed to the peopling of the earth, and to the freedom and happiness of mankind; and who have preferred the interest of a remote posterity and times unknown,
to their own fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own lives."
In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled " An Act
for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books
to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned;"
and also to an Act, entitled, " An Act Supplelnentary to an Act, entitled,' An Act for
the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books
to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned,'
and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching,
historical and other prints."
D. CALDWELL,
Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.




THE LIFE
OF
WILLIAM PENN.
CHAPTER I.
If, by your ancestors, yourself you rate;
Count me those only who were GOOD and GREAT.
IF ever a son of Adam and of Eve had cause to
glory in the flesh, that son was HONEST, BROAD-BR11MA'D
William Penn.  "A generation there is," says Solomon, "O how they can lift up their eyebrows, and
how they can roll their eyes;" swelling and strutting
like the star-tail'd birds of the dunghill, because their
fathers before them were knights or baronets! though
all beyond were shoe-blacks or rat-catchers. But not
so the noble founder of Pennsylvania. He was of the
"w zell born," in the worthiest sense of the word. For
fifteen genorations, the best and bravest blood in England had flowed in the veins of his family, unstained
by a single act that history should blush to record.
No scoundrel sycophants were made drunk at their
tables, while the poor tenant's children cried for
bread; nor the needy hireling pined for his pay, while
their proud drawing-rooms were filled with costly carpets and sideboards. No unsuspecting stranger, after
sharing their splendid hospitalities, was fleeced of his
purse by their gambling arts, and then turned out of
doors, to curse the polished rohbers.- No! Such stains
A 2




6                THE LIFE OF
of pride and villany were never known to sully the
Penn coat of arms. For, on the contrary, the floodtide of wealth, won by their high-toned virtues, was
constantly turned into such active channels of private
and public usefulness, that they were the boast and
blessing of all the country. And to this day, often, as
the traveller through Buckinghamshire, charmed with
the stately mansions, shining amidst clovered meadows
and fields of golden grain, inquires, "what lovely
farms are these?" the honest rustic, with joy brightening on his sun-burnt face, replies, "why, sir, this
is PENN'S DALE! or PENN'S HOUSE! that, is PENN'S
WooD! or PENN's LAND!
As like generally begets like; and the ring-dove that
saddens the grove with his cooings, is never sprung
from the fire-ey'd falcon: so many have supposed that
our gentle William Penn must have descended firom a
long succession of Quaker ancestors. But this is altogether a mistake; for he was the first of that sect
ever heard of in his numerous family. Indeed, so far
from having been a meekly looking FRIEND, his father
was a fierce iron-faced admiral in the British navy:
and not as in these halcyon days neither, when British
captains, like ladies' lap-dogs, can sleep on velvet
cushions, and move about in clouds of sweet-scented
bergamot and lavender. But he was a sea captain in
the bloody days of Van Tromp, and the Duke of York,
when the great rival republics of England and Holland were rushing forth, in all their thunders and lightnings, striving for the rule of the watery world. And
it is but justice to record of him that, so many were
the proofs which he had given of an extraordinary valour and skill, he was appointed to the command of a
man of war, at the green age of twenty-one. And he
continued gallantly fighting, and rapidly rising, till after
passing all the degrees of admiralship, such as rearadmiral, vice-admiral, admiral of the blue, admiral of
the red, &c. he had the highest honour of all, conferred




WILLIAM  PENN.                  7
on him; the honour to be next in command to the
brave Duke of York in the Dutch war of 1665. And
the triumph of the British flag in the great and terrible
sea-fight in that year was so largely due, under God,
to his courage and seamanship, that he was created a
knight; and was always received at court with the
utmost cordiality. Though then but in the middle
of his days, (45) yet his constitution was so wrecked
by hard services, that he left the sea, and set himself in good earnest, to prepare for his last great voyage-to heaven. And it is generally thought that
he is safely moored there too: for he was a man,
in many respects, of a noble heart: and, for a sailor,
uncommonly devout; as would appear, among many
other still better proofs, from the following epitaph,
written by himself, on one of his unfortunate sailors,
who, drowned with many others on the coast of Deal,
was picked up and buried in the church-yard near that
place:The boist'rous winds and raging seas,
Have tost me to and fro;
But spite of these, by God's decrees,
I harbour here belowWhere safe at anchor I do ride
With many of our fleet;
In hope one day, again to weigh,
GREAT ADMIRAL CHRIST to meet.
From what has been said of him, most of my readers are, I suppose, so well pleased with our honest
admiral as to be ready to pray that, if ever he had a
son, that son proved to him a Barnabas, a "son of
consolation."
Well, glory to him whose goodness often prepares
the richest answer to prayer, even before it is formed
in the generous breast!
And still greater glory to him who has made us capable of that amiable philanthropy whereby we can




8                THE LIFE OF
send back our sympathies to the generations that are
past, and take a lively interest in the joys of those
who lived long before our day. By virtue of this'tis
pleasing to learn of our good admiral that he married-married early-and begat a son: but not in
his own image. For, while the father lived only to
represent the miseries of that IRON AGE spoken of by
the prophet, when wretched men, blinded by their
passions, could rush into bloody fight for filthy lucre,
the son lived to give some blessed signal of that golden
age to come, when filled with all the sweetness of divine love, men should deem it 1"glory to suffer the
spoiling of their goods for conscience sake." This child
of honour was born to the admiral in the year 1644.
When the incarnate God descended on the earth, the
temples of horrid war were shut that self same year; and
silver-tongued angels were heard to chaunt their anthems of " Glor;y to God for coming in the flesh to'restore the golden age of peace and good will among
men." It is not pretended that any testimonials of
this high character were given at the birth of this true
disciple of the BENEVOLENT SAVIOUR: but it appears,
from the unanimous testimony of his historians, that the
dove-like spirit of meekness descended upon him even
in the cradle.
And here I cannot but relate an anecdote of little
William, which will serve to show how soon the ideas
of moral right, if not innate, may be planted in our nature. According to that famous historian, Xenopholn,
the schoolmasters among the ancient Persians, took
much less pains to teach their children the knowledge
of letters than to inspire them with the love of Justice,
because, in their opinion, "Honest dealing among men
is far more important to happiness than all human
learning." They neglected no opportunity to inculcate this o01) the youthful mind. If, for example, they
saw a little man with a big coat, and a big man with
a little coat, they would straight fall to catechising the




WILLIAM PENN.                 9
child as to what ought to be done in that case. If the
child said, exchange the coats; they answered no: that
might be convenience, but not justice. For if the
little man, by his virtues, had got himself a big coat,
would it be justice to take it away from him and give
it to a big man whose idleness had brought him to
rags?
That the Admiral had taken pains to educate his
son in this sublime style, may, I think, very fairly be
inferred from the following story of little William
when only seven years old. Among his father's tenants was a poor man named Thomas Pearce, just such
an honest good natured soul as every body loves. The
Penn family set great store by him, and especially
little William, whom honest Thomas had so often carried in his arms, and returning from the Fair, had
brought him many a cake and apple. On some sudden emergence, the Admiral had got Tom with his
cart to assist him. After looking, with an air of much
sympathy on the poor man, where he wrought till the
sweat in big drops trickled down his pallid face, little
William came to the Admiral, and said "father an't
you going to pay poor Tom Pearce for working foi
you so?"
What makes you ask that, William, replied the Admiral.
Why, because, father, I think you ought to pay him.
Why so, my son?
Why, because, father, I don't see why he should work
so hard for you for nothing.
Well, I dare say, William, I shall pay him.
But, father, if you don't pay him money, I'll tellyou
what you ought to do.
What, my son?
Why, father, when poor Tom comes to want any work
done, you should send your wagon to help him.
My cart, you mean, William, for you see I have only
his cart.




10               THE LIFE OF
Yes, father, but your wagon is not so much bigger
than his cart as you are richer than poor Tom."
God bless my son, cried the Admiral, embracing him,
I hope you'll be a BRAVE, HONEST-HEARTED ENGLISHMAN, as long as you live."
From a child, William was given to be sedate and
thoughtful, which contributed much towards his improvement of those many providences, such as'sickness, whether of himself or his parents, death of relations, frightful dreams, thunder-gusts, and so onwhich, like "line on line, and precept on precept," are
meant of God to lead even children to wisdom. His
mother, of whom he was doatingly fond, often seized
such providences to make good impressions on his
mind. And these impressions were still more deepened by the dismal scenes which his father, sitting
by the family fire-side, would often describe, when
maddening nations "go down in ships on the mighty
waters," to mix in bloody fight, among roaring winds
and waves. Sometimes he would tell of the great
ships of war-how, pierced by a thousand bullets in
the dreadful fight, they suddenly disappear with all their
shrieking crews, going down swift into their watery
graves, while the dark mountain billows, closing over
their hapless heads, leave no sign that there any ship
had ever sailed before. At other times he would paint
the hostile navies, in close and fuirious combat, hid in
clouds of smoke and flame, when, all at once, their
magazines taking fire, they blow up with the sound of
a thousand thunders, while hundreds of ill-fated seamen, torn limb from limb, by the horrid blast, are
thrown miles into the air, nor they nor ships ever seen
again.
The earnestness with which little William would
listen, and his changeful looks, often bathed in tears,
strongly bespoke his kindred feelings, and how truly
he mourned the wretched victims of war. But among
the many things which the Admiral would tell, to im



WILLIAM PENN.                1 1
prove the heart of his son, the following seems well
worthy of remembrance, as it marks that constantly
superintending providence which directs the affairs of
men.
On board of the Admiral's ship was a young officer
of the name of Fenton, the only son of his mother, and
she a widow. Fenton was giddy and dissipated in a
high degree, which cost his mother many a tear. One
day, as drowned in sorrow, she took leave of him
going on ship-board to fight the enemy, she repeated
all her former good advice, giving him, at the same
time, a beautiful little Bible, which she put into a side
pocket made by her own hands, over his left breast.
The two fleets met, and a most bloody conflict ensued.
The ships grappled each other; and the eager crews,
quitting their cannon, fought hand to hand, with pistols
and cutlasses, as on dry ground. In the mortal fray,
the decks all covered with the dying and the dead,
Fenton was attacked by a stout Dutchman, who, presenting his pistol to his heart, drew the trigger. The
ball struck. Feeling the shock, Fenton concluded he
was mortally wounded, but being naturally brave, he
continued to fight on with great fury, though not without secretly wondering that he did not fall. On the
ceasing of the battle, which terminated in favour of
the British, he began to search for his wound. But
not a scratch could he find, nor even a drop of blood.
This, no doubt, was great good news to him who had
given himself up for dead. He then thought of his
Bible, and drawing it from his side pocket, found it
miserably torn by the ball, which, but for that strange
stop, would have been buried in his heart.  The
thoughts of heaven and of his mother rushed on his
mind. And, for the first time in his life, he fell on
his knees and adored a God. Carefully opening his
Bible, he found that the ball, after penetrating one half
of the sacred volume, had stopped exactly at that fa
mous verse-" Rejoice, 0 young man, in thy youth




12               THE LIFE OF
and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth;
and walk in the ways of thy heart and in the sight of
thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these things
God shall bring thee into judgment!" Fenton was so
struck with this, as a call from heaven, that he immediately altered his life; and from a worthless reprobate
became a GOOD CHRISTIAN-that is, A REAL GENTLEMAN.
CHAPTER I.
As' a man must ask his wzfe, whether he is to be a
rich man or a beggar; so, a child must ask his mother,
whether he is to be a wise man or a fool, a saint or a
demon for ever. It was in her warm bowels that he
first received his " substance, yet being imperfect;" and
his first pulse of life from her throbbing heart. It was
in her fond arms that he found his dearest cradle, and
his sweetest pillow on her snowy orbs. There were the
first eager drawings of his thirsty lips; and there the
wanton pattings of his fingers, as filled with the fragrant nectar and gladdened through all his frame, he
fell back on her arms, and laughed and jumped and
crowed to her strong kissings and chirpings. And still
with the rolling years, this tender attachment to his
mother continued, "growing with his growth, and
strengthening with his strength," because her banners
over him were LOVE. IS he frightened? he runs to
her for safety. Is he aggrieved? he carries all his
complaints to her dear bosom. And while his father,
that hardier parent, can turn away from him and sleep
and snore insensible to his moans, he feels his mother's
arms still pressing him closer and closer to her heart,
or hears hdr tender sighs, as, bathing him with tears,
she kisses his feverish lips, and answers him groan for
groan.




WILLIAM PENN.                13
O happy the child, whose mother, after thus winning
his love, seeks to improve it as a ladder, whereby he
may ascend to Heaven on the pleasant steps of early
piety and virtue. This was the favoured lot of young
William Penn. From concurrent testimony of all historians of that day, his mother was a daughter of wisdom. Far different from the credulous million, who,
how often soever deceived by the world, will yet go
on, like passionate lovers, to woo and woo again the
same perfidious mistress. And though sent home chagrined and sad from many a joyless ball and rout, will
still hope better things from some subsequent adventure.-.lye! that will do-another suit of diamonds and
of silks!-A new and richer coach and still moreflam.
ing harness." Thus fond of being led on, like children,
by the butterfly attractions of hope. Not so the wiser
Mrs. Penn. Disappointments served but to startle her
into thought-and to spring suspicions of this world's
vanity. As a delicate bird of the skies, accidentally
lighting on a barren, and defrauded of the nectarine
food she seeks, instantly lifts the ivory beak and pensive eye of disappointment, then, spurning the inhospitable soil, she spreads her golden plumes and with
chirping joy springs towards her native element. Just
so it was with the mother of young William Penn.
Born for a better, she soon discovered that this world
was not the place of her rest. —" A land of shadows,
where hardly any thing is real but trouble; and nothing
certain but death." Instantly she gave her heart to
God. She sought an equal happiness for her son.
How could a mother of her sensibility, behold his
soft flaxen locks and tender cheeks of youth without
tears of solicitude that he might have the LORD for his
God?
Such were the views of Mrs. Penn with regard to
her son. And correspondent was the education which
she gave him. Oh how different from that which many
an unfortunate child, now-a-days, receives from an igB




14               THE LIFE Ofi'
norant mother, who at the first step leaves out God
and Heaven with all the present and eternal advantages
of piety! " Come, make haste son," says she, " and learn
bcr 6ooks, and you shalt be a great man by and by."
By learning his book, she means, at most, nothing beyond a showy, college education, which, though it may
increase his pride and arrogance, seldom adds any thing
to his DIVINE and SOCIAL AFFECTIONS, which alone
render young men amiable and happy. And by being
a great man she means only a great scholar; a great
physician; a great lawyer; making a great deal of
money; building great houses and so on-and after
all, the dupe of his passions, and as miserable as
pride, envy, hate, intemperance, and duelling can
render him! The mother of William Penn did not
thus direct his immortal affections to mortal goods,
thereby filling up his life with feverish hopes and
anguish fears; and all for vanities which he might
never win, or soon must lose for ever. Nor did she
imitate that other class of mothers, who, if they do, at
times, show as though they would lead their children
to piety, do not seem to understand wherein it conlsists.
Many a mother for example, just as her little son is
dying for sleep, will pull him to her knee, and say
"Come, darling, your bed is ready: now say your
prayers first. Well, darling, who made you?
Half asleep he drawls out-GOD.
Well, who redeemed you?
JEsvs  CHRIST.
Well, who sanctified you?
The HOLY GHOST.
What did God make you for?
To serve him.
How are you to serve him?
In spirit and truth.
WELL SAID, DARLING! continues the mother; and
praises him for d good boy; though what the poor thing
has been saying about "Redeemed" —" Sanctified" —




WILLIAM  PENN.                15' Holy Ghost," and " Spirit and Tr:uth," he no more understands than the parrot does when he prates poor Poll!
poor Poll! Now what is this but a delusion of Satan lulling the silly mother into the fatal conceit that she is
making a great Christian of her son, while she is actually
keeping him in that ignorance of God which is the
true cause of all vice and misery. But Mrs. Penn did
not thus catechize her son on the mysteries of Revelation while as yet he was ignorant of the first truths of
natural religion. No! she well knew that before he
could "come to God, he must believe that he is"-and
that before he could " love him with all his heart" he
must " know him" to be that infinitely GREtAT and GOOD
being who alone is worthy of all love. It was her belief that the works of God in the creation were purposely set off in such a style of grandeur and beauty,
and convenience in order to startle all, even the young,
into a sense of the perfections of the Creator. Hence,
Paul argues that-" t7he invisible things of God, even
his eternal power and Godhead, are clearly seen by the
things that are made, insomuch that if men do not adore
him as God, they are without excuse."  And hence it is
that David so vehemently calls upon all men to "give
thanks unto the Lord." Why? why "because he is good
and his mercy endurethfor ever."-" To him who by wisdom created the Heavens; for his goodness endurethfor
ever."  " To him who made the sun to rule the day,
and the moon and stars to rule the night; for his goodness endureth for ever"-" to him who stretched forth
the green earth above the mighty waters; for his goodness endureth for ever" —" to him who created man
but a little lower than the angels; for his goodness
endureth for ever." And indeed it was in these his
wondrous works, as in a glass, that the pious in all
ages have employed themselves seeing and conversing
with the Creator and singing him ceaseless hymns of
praise. " We ought," says Socrates, " to sing a hymn
of praise to God when we are ploughing the sweet scent



16               THE LIFE OF
ed earth."-" We ought to sing a hymn of praise to
God, when we behold the waving harvest; or the orchards laden with delicious fruits."-" We ought to sing
a hymn of praise to God, when we look around upon the
beauties of the fields or survey the glories of the heavens." So much for Socrates, David, and Paul, the
three brightest ornaments of the three grand dispensations of religion-Socrates for the Light of NAature,
David for the Law by Moses, and Paul for the Gospel
by Jesus Christ-all of whom clearly and harmoniously teach us that in educating a dear child for heaven,
parents should never think of contenting themselves
wvitha few shallow notions and shibboleths, but should
" dig deep" and lay an immovable foundation in the
glorious being and attributes of God, as so easily and
sweetly discoverable in his wonderful works around
us. What parent then, or what child but must read
with the liveliest pleasure and interest, the following
curious dialogue between little William Penn and his
mother?
CHAPTER IV.
WILLIAM, a fine, plump, fleshy boy, five or six years
old, standing at his mother's knees, waiting for her to
talk with him; while she, after pressing him to her
bosom, thus, in a sprightly voice, addresses him" Well, William, I want to see if you can answer mother one great question."
"Well, mother," replied William, his eyes sparkling,
" come tell me what it is."
Well, William, said she, can you tell mother who
made you?
Yes, to be sure, mother, that I can, easy enough. God
did make me, didn't he?




WILLIAM PENN.                17
How do you know that, my son?
Heigh, mother, didn't you tell me so a matter of a
hundred times and more?
But suppose. William, I had not told you that God
made you, do you think you could have found it out?
Here William paused-at length replied, indeed
mother I don't know.
Why not, my son, it seems very easy.
Well then, mother, come tell me.
Well now, my son, you see that stone that lies there
at your feet, don't you?
Yes, mother, to be sure I do. And what of that
stone, mother?
That stone is something, isn't it my son?
Yes, to be sure, it is something.
But how do you know it is something, William?
Heigh, mother, don't I see it; and don't I feel it that
it is something; and a mighty hard and big and heavy
something too. —Here good reader, let us pause and
note how soon the divine light of reason darts on the
minds of children! What master of the mathematics
could give a better definition of matter, or as the text
has it, of something, than little William here does
"' Don't I see it, mother," says he; don't I feel it that
it is something, and a mighty hard and big and'heavy
something too!
Well, but, William, continued his mother, how came
it to be this something?
Indeed, mother, I don't know.
Well, but does it not strike you, my son, that since
it is something, it must have been made so, or, it nust
have made itself so? William paused, as if quite at a
loss, but at length said: I don't see, mother, how it
could have made itself.
Why not, my son?
What, this stone made itself! replied he, like one
suddenly struck, as at the idea of something quite absurd and ridiculous; this stone made itself! why, dear
n 2




18               THE LIFE OF
me, mother,'tis such a dead thing! it can't see; it can't
hear; it can't stir. I don't see any sense it had to make
itself a stone, or any thing else.
No indeed, William, nor can the greatest philosoher of them all see it neither: for in that case it must
have had a great deal of sense, which I am sure it has
not. Well, now, William, since it is plain that this
stone did not make itself, who do you think could
have made it?
Indeed, mother, I don't know, unless it was father.
As he sails the great ships, perhaps he did make it.
When he comes home we will ask him mother, won't
we?
Oh no, said Mrs. Penn, shaking her head and smiling; oh no, William, your father did not make it, my
son; nor could all the men in the world, put together
make it, nor even a single grain of sand.
William appeared mlch at a loss at this. But after
some silence he went on again with his questions"Well then, mother, who did make that stone?"
Why, my son, answered Mrs. Penn, since it is plain
that it had no sense to make itself; and since all the
men in the world put together could not have made
it, it follows *that it must have been made by some
mighty one who had wisdom and power to make all
things.
Aye, that's God, isn't it mother?
Why yes, to be sure, my son, it is God. It is he
made this stone, and all the stones, and all the trees,
and all the cattle, and the birds, and the fishes, and all.
the people, and the mountains, and the skies, and every
thing.
And did not God make me too, mother, asked Wilhiam?
Yes, to be sure he did, my son.
But yet, mother, I'm your little boy, an't I?
Yes, that you are, William, and a dear little boy too,
but still God did make you for all that. Since all the




WILLIAM PENN.                19
inen in the world, as I said just now, could not make
one grain of sand, then O how could I make such a
beautiful little boy like you.
And so don't you know any thing, mother, how I
came to be made?
No indeed, my son, no more than that stone there.
When I married your dear father, I did not know any
better than that stone, whether I was to have you or
not. Or whether you were to be a little boy or not;
or whether you were to have fine black eyes or not.
I make you, indeed, William! when I cannot make
even " one hair of your head white or black." And O
how could I have made so fearful and wonderful a
frame as yours, when even now that it is made, it is
all a perfect mystery to me. See! I place my hand
upon my son's heart, and I feel it beating against my
fingers; but still I know nothing about how it beats. I
put my hand upon his sweet bosom, and feel it heaving as he breathes, but still I am ignorant of it all.
And when I look at him every morning, as he breakfasts on his little basin of milk and bread, Oh I'm lost 
I'm lost! I'm lost!
Heigh, for what, mother? cried William, surprised.
Why for wonder how his milk and bread,-white as
snow, should be turned into blood red as crimson; and
how that blood soft as milk should be turned, some
into sweet little teeth, white and hard as ivory; and
some into soft flowing hair like silk; some into sweet
polished cheeks like rose buds; and some into bright
shining eyes like diamonds! Could I have made you,
William, after this wonderful manner? Oh no my son,
no-not all the men on earth, nor all the angels in
heaven, could have done it. No, none but the great
God could have made you.
As good Mrs. Penn uttered these words, which she
did with great emphasis, William appeared lost in
thought; however, after some silence, and with a




20              THE LIFE OF
deep sigh, he looked up to his mother, and thus went
on with his questions again.
Well, mother, what did God make me for?
Why, for his goodness' sake, my son, which loved you
so, he wanted to make you happy.
flow do I know, mother, that God loves me so; I
did never do any thing for him?
Well, son, and what did you ever do for me, and
yet I have always loved you very dearly, havn't I.
Yes, mother, but I always see you; but I did never
see God.
True William, nor did you ever see your grand-father Pennwood; but still you know that he loved you,
don't you?
Yes, mother, that 1 do know that grandfather Pennwood loves me, for he is always sending me such
pretty things. He sent me, you know, mother, my
pretty tame rabbits, and my pretty little horse, and a
great many other pretty things.
Well then my son, if God gives you a great many
more pretty things than grandfather Pennwood ever
did, won't you say that he loves you too?
Yes, that 1 will, mother.
Done!'tis a bargain, William. And now, my son,
brighten up your thoughts and tell your mother who
gives you every thing. Who gave you these beautifiul
eyes? Who gave you these sweet rosy cheeks? Who
gave you this lovely forehead? Who gave you these
dear ivory teeth? And these nimble little feet for you
to run about-and these pretty fingers to handle every
thing? And who gave you all the sweet apples, and
pears, and cherries, for you to eat? And the birds to
sing, and the bees to make honey-comb for you? And
this beautiful earth with all the sweet flowers, and
corn, and trees? And then who gave you these bright
heavens away up yonder, and the sun, the moon, and
the stars, all, all to shine so bright for you-O my dear,




WILLIAM PENN                21
dear son, did grandfather Pennwood ever give you any
thing like all this?
Here, William, his bosom labournmg as with sighs of
wonder, replied, 0 mother, did God give me all these
things?
0 yes, to be sure, William, all these things; and
ten thousand thousand times more than you can ever
count.
Well then, mother, God must love me very much
indeed, to give me all these things. But mother, what
does God want from me that he gives me so many
beautiful things?
Why, William, all that he wants of you, my son, is
that you should love him very much.
Well but, mother, what good will that do to God
though I should love him very much; I am only a little
boy, I can't reach up to the skies to give him any thing?
True, William, but still God wants you to love him
very much; not that you may give him any thing, but
that he may give you a great deal more.
How, mother?
Why, son, because he knows that if you love him
very much, you will be sure to be a good boy.
How so, mother?
lWhy, my son, don't you know that if you love any
body very much, it will be sweet to you to do what
will please them?
Yes, mother, that is sweet. And don't I always run
to do what will please you? When you told me just
now to run down into the garden to bring you up
some roses, didn't I set off and run away, like my little
buck that grand-pa' Pennwood gave me?
Yes, that's what my son did run like a little buck, I
could hardly see his feet, he did run so fast. And when
he came back, 0 how beautiful did he look? Not all
the roses in the garden could blush like his cheeksnot all the morning sloes could shine like his eyes —




2'2              TIE LIFE OF
not all the buds of pinks could smell so sweet as his
quick panting breath when, with'his arms round her
neck, and his flaxen locks floating on her bosom, he
did hug and kiss his mother.
Well then, come mother, let me hug and kiss you
again.
God bless my sweet little son for ever, cried Mrs
Penn, pressing him to her snowy bosom, and smothering him with kisses. Soon as the delicious transport
was over, little William, with cheeks and eyes glowing with vermilion and diamonds, called out, well,
mother, now tell me what I must do for you again,
and see how I will run and do it.
There now, William, cried Mrs. Penn, there now!
didn't I tell you so? Did'nt I tell you that if you love
any body very much, you will be so happy to do
every thing for them? Then, 0 my son, how readily
will you do every thing to please God, if you do but
love him?
What will I do to please him, mother?
Why, my son, you will be good, and that's the way
to please him.
But what is it that makes any body good, mother?
Why, to be always praising God, my son, to be always praising God, that's the first and great thing, to
be good, to be always praising God. And there's nothing in the world my son, but God, who deserves to
be praised. He alone, William, is GREAT, and therefore he alone is to be praised. He alone is GOOD, and
therefore he alone is to be praised. He alone is from
EVERLASTING to EVERLASTING, and therefore he alone
Is to be praised. He alone made all the worlds, and
all the people, with all the riches, and beauties, and
glories that are in them, and therefore he alone is to
be praised.
Here, little William, sensibly affected with his nlo.
ther's eloquence on this great subject, made a pause;




WILLIAM PENN.                23
at length he said to her, But, mother, is praising God,
all that is to make me good?
-   no, my son, there's another blessed thing you
must do-you must not only praise God for all the
great things he has done for you, but you must also
every day pray to him that he will give you a continual sense of this; so that you may feel such gratitude and love for him as always to do what you know
will please him. And from constantly doing thls my
dear son, you will feel such a joy and sweetne,,s in your
heart as will make you love every body. Aad then,
William, you will be sure never to do them aary harm
-you will never tell stories upon them-never take
any thing from them-never quarrel nor fight with
them, but will always do them good as God is always
doing you good.
Well, mother, replied William, looking at her with
great tenderness, " and will God love me then, and be
always good to me like you?"
O yes, my dear child, that he will love you like me;
and ten thousand thousand times better. And then,
though father and mother die and leave you, yet God
will never die and leave you, but will be with you all
your days long, to bless you in every thing. And when
the time comes'for you to die, he will send his Great
Angels to bring you to himself in his own glorious
heaven, where you will see all the millions of beautiful
angels. And there perhaps, my son, you may see me,
your mother-but, I hope, not as now, pale, and
sickly, and often shedding tears for you-but ten thousand times beyond what I could ever deserve; even
like one of his own angels, the first to embrace and
welcome you to that happy place.
As the Parent Eagle calling her young to his native
skies, when she sees the breaking forth of the sun over
all his golden clouds, thus did this tender mother improve the precious hours of the nursery to sow the
seeds of religion in the soul of her son. The reader




24               THE LIFE OF
will see in due season that this, her labour of love was
not in vain. The seed fell on good ground. The
dews of heaven came down: and the happy mother
lived to feast on fruits, the richest that God can bestow
on a parent this side of eternity, the sweet fruits of a
dear child's virtues.
CHAPTER V.
Little William going to school.
MANY a tender mother, after having reared her son
to be the sweet companion of her solitude, looks forward, with an aching heart, to the day when he is to
be taken from her to go torschool. "How can she
live without him, whose love-glistening eyes were always dearer to her soul than the rising-sun, and his
gay prattling tongue than the song of morning birds."
Not so our wiser Mrs. Penn. With her, the blossom
had all its charm: but still her thoughts were on the
richer fruit. William,'tis true, was lovely as a child;
but she longed to see him glorious as a man-she
longed to see him brilliant in conversation —noble in
action-and always approached by his friends with
that mingled affection and respect so gratifying to a
parent's feelings. Soon therefore, as he had attained
his ninth year, he was sent to a grammar school at
Chigwell. The preference was given to this academy,
not so much because it was somewhat convenient to
one of the admiral's estates, but because of the
teacher, a worthy CLERGYMAN, who had the reputation of taking great pains with his pupils to raise the
fair fabrick of their education on the solid basis of
PIETY and morals. Prayers, morning and evening,
with reading a chapter from the gospels, with short




WILLIAM PENN.                25
and affectionate comments, was the constant practice
in his school. This was a great recommendation with
Mrs.. Penn, who had seen so many promising young
men suddenly lost to all virtue and character in life,
merely for lack of religious principles. But though
Mrs. Penn had herself chosen this situation for her son,
yet when the time came to make preparations for his
leaving her, she could not help feeling a tender melancholy. Nor could William, notwithstanding the sprightliness of youth, entirely escape the soft infection. For
several days before he was to go away, it was observed
that he seemed to have lost his spirits. In the midst
of his play, he would break off and come and sit by
her side, in silence, reposing his cheeks on her bosom.
And often, when he lifted his eyes to look at his mother,
they were seen watery and sad. But, stifling her own
sighs, she would press him to her breast, and kissing
away his tears, would say, " never mind, my son, never
mind; our parting is unpleasant, but it is for good, for
great good both of your honour and myjoy. But still Iam
pleased to see you so sad at parting from your mother.
It shows that you remember how much I have loved you.
But though we part,William, it is only in the body; which
is but small cause of grief. The mind is all, my son, the
mind is all; and we can be together in the mind. And so,
though I shall not see you, every day, with these bodily
eyes, I shall see you with my mind's eye, which is a
great deal better. And, 0, how often, and how sweetly shall I see my son; every morning coming out from
his chamber in dress so neat and clean-and with such
sweetness of countenance saluting his school-matesand so respectfully approaching his teacher! And then
the looks of his teacher so bright with pleasure and
approbation of his graceful manners and rapid progress
in his studies!-and the eyes of all the boys shining
upon him with such brotherly affection!"
Here William looked at his mother and heaved a
sigh, as if he secretly feared he should hardly attain
C




'26             THE LIFE OF
such honours; when Mrs. Penn, in a livelier tone, thus
went on:-" Yes, William, it is often delightful to my
thoughts to see my son in such company: but I often
see him in higher company still. I see him every
morning and evening on his knees, with placid countenance and meekly beaming eyes, lifted in devotio
to his Creator."
Marking William's looks, as with redoubled attention he hung upon her words, she still went on:
" Aye, William, there's the true grandeur and glory
of all! O, to think that I should ever have a son to
CONVERSE WITH GOD! "
" Well, mother," said William, " Don't I always
pray with you night and morning, as you taught me?"
" Yes," replied Mrs. Penn, " that you do, William;
and that gives me good hope you will continue that
pious practice at school. But lest the company of so
many boys, and some of them perhaps giddy, should
divert you from it, I want to make a bargain with you,
my son."
"' What's that, mother?" said William, eagerly.
"Why, here's a handsome watch, William," said
she, taking one from her bosom; "that I have bought
for you. It keeps good time, just like my own. Now,
William, I give you this watch, that at a particular
hour of the day, no matter what company or business
is before you, you will retire to your chamber, and there
spend one quarter of an hour in devotion. I will also,
at the same moment, retire to my closet, for the same
important purpose. And 0, what joy will it be to my
heart to think that while I am in the act of adoring
God, my son is adoring him also; that while others are
making their court to dying worms, my son is bowing
before the Eternal King, and seeking those honours
that will last for ever."
William took the watch from his mother, giving her
at the same time the most solemn promise that he
would meet her every day at the appointed hour of




WILLIAM PENN.                27
devotion; and assuring her, too, what pleasure it would
give him to think he was worshipping God at the same
moment with his dear mother.
Having discharged this high duty to her son, and the
hour being come for his departure, Mrs. Penn took
leave of her little William with that dignified kind of
sorrow which alone can reach the heart of real piety.
While William, having on this, as on all other occasions,
such good cause to glory in his mother as his dear
guardian angel, took leave of her with a joy mingled
with his tears that made them delicious.
CHAPTER VI.
WILLIAM, now in his ninth year, is at Chigwell
school, among a crowd of strangers. But though innocence like his feels not the bitterness of grief, yet the
separation, and for the first time too, friom a mother so
dear, must wring some drops from his youthful heart.
it is visible to every eye, nor least of all to his worthy
preceptor. And if this amiable man, at first sight, felt
such respect for him, as the son of the brave admiral
Penn, that respect was mellowed into the kindest sympathy, when he saw his cheeks of youth shrouded with
sorrow. This melancholy was of advantage to William.
It caused him to think so dearly of his mother's last
command, that every day, punctually as the appointed
hour arrived, he would retire to his chamber to pray.
But although, as he himself candidly acknowledged,
this pious act was at first performed principally on account of his mother's request and his own promise; yet
he soon began to find a delight in it. He soon found, on
entering his chamber, a crowd of precious ideas pressing upon his mind. —He felt that " he was acting the
dutiful child to a beloved mother-that beloved mo



128              THE LIFE OF
ther was at the same moment in her chamber to meet:
him-and both of them engaged in the most ennobling
of all services-the worship of God."
Christ has said, " Suffer the little children to come
unto me." And some are of opinion that, in uncorrupted minds, like those of children, it requires nothing
but a little consideration to bring them to be religious
and that if young people, who are yet tolerably innocent,
would but retire awhile, every day, into some secret
place, and indulge a few serious thoughts, such ashow they carte into existence-where they are nowand where they soon must be-they could not but be
startled into a solemn conviction of the being and attributes of God; their dependence on him; and the
great wisdom of devotion. This appears to have been
remarkably verified in the case of young Penn. It appears from all his biographers, that he had not been
long engaged in this pious work of daily retiring by
himself, like the youthful Samuel, to meditate and pray,
before he was met, like that holy child, with a wonderful answer. One day, while alone in his chamber, he
was suddenly surprised by a light of a most extraordinary lustre, which hecalled "AN EXTERNAL GLORY." And
at the same time he experienced in his heart a LIGHTSOMENESS and JoY which he had never felt before. And
though he could not define either this internal or external something; yet to his dying day, he spoke of it
as " A VISITATION FROM GOD," who had thus lovingly
condescended to invite him to the " H ONOURS of a P o s
LIFE."M
Some gentlemen, and those too so modest as to think
themselves the only wits in the world, will probably
laugh at this as a mere childish weakness in young
William Penn. But such persons ought to remember
that William Penn is not the first nor the last who has
been affected in this way in their devotions. Thousands and millions of souls, especially at first turning
their backs on a false and wicked world, and coming




WILLIAM PENN.                 29
to God in tender upright prayer, have felt the same
" LWIHTSOMENESS AT HEART,-" which he speaks of as
a "       visitation from God," a call to the " HONOURS of a
PIOUS LIFE."  And where is the wonder of all this?
Is man, for whom God created, and has so long sustained these heavens and this earth, is man of so little
value, that his Maker will not visit him with smiles of
approbation for doing what will exalt him to the great
end of all, i. e. temporal and eternal happiness? Besides, is not every man and woman on earth daily receiving visitations from God, and calls to the honours
of a pious life? What is every transport which the
soul feels on obtaining the victory over lust, but a visi.
tation from God? What is every secret blush of shame,
or palpitation of heart from guilt. but a visitation from
God, and a strong call to a good life? After this extraordinary affair at Chigwell, we hear nothing of
young William worth relating, until his fifteenth year,
when we meet him again at Oxford college. From a
very important occurrence there, we have good reason to conclude that if he had not doubled his talents,
(his religious impressions) at Chigwell, he had not buried them in the earth. Hearing that a strange sort
of preacher, by some called a Quaker, was about to
preach in Oxford, William thought he would go and
hear him. The appearance of the preacher, who had
neither reverend, nor right-reverend tacked to his
name, but simple Thomas Loe, excited his surprise.
Hie had been accustomed, both in the London and Oxford churches, to see divinity dressed up in great state
of velvet cushions and embroidered pulpit cloths, and
its ministers pompously habited in rich gowns and
cassocks of silk and crape, with surplices and sashes
of many a various hue and emblem. Guess then what
he must have felt, when, at the rising of Thomas Loe
to speak, he beheld a plain, fleshy, round-faced man, in
a broad-brimmed hat and drab coat of the humblest
cloth and cut, and a close snug neckcloth, all shining
c 2




30               THE LIFE OF
clean and neat. Nor was he less surprised at friend
Loe's preaching, which struck him as entirely different
from that of all the London and Oxford preachers he
had ever heard. These latter were, all of them, GREAT
SCHOLARS; and for fear their hearers should forget this,
they kept them constantly on the stare at their high
flown language. And to complete their delirium of
wonder, they would every now and then throw them
a scrap of Latin or Greek, selected with ostentation
and most pompously pronounced. But, far on the
contrary, soon as friend Loe had got up and taken the
beaver from his head, he began to address his hearers
in the simple and affectionate manner that a father
would use with his children whom he knew to be disorderly and unhappy. We regret that we cannot set
before our readers an exact copy of the famous sermon
that first set the great William Penn to seek eternal
life. But it was the aim of the orator to affect his
hearers with a pungent sense of the miseries of man
in this life, while separate from God by sin; also that
"joy 0unspeakable," which springs up in his soul from
"repentance and faith working by love."  The looks
and tones of friend Loe, while reasoning on this high
subject, must have been of the highest style of sacred
eloquence. Flowing from a fountain of the strongest
light and love in his own soul, they penetrated the soul
of young William Penn, and excited his deepest aspirations after a happiness which he heard so feelingly
described, but which he did not know how to obtain.
After bearing this burden for three days, he went to
the principal of the college, who, according to the polite language of the day, was a LEARNED DIVINE, and
told him his uneasiness. The principal inquired the
cause; and, on learning that he had been at a"' quaker
sermon," he laughed all his feelings to scorn, as mere fanaticism and nonsense, and advised him to " keep to
the good old church, hear sermons, and take the sacrament, and all would soon be well again,"  William




WILLIAM PENN                 31
went to church-as indeed he ever had done -but he
found not there the comfort which his soul longed
after. Cold read prayers; cold read sermons; noisy
organs, with crowds of gay ones and great, professing
to worship God, but evidently idolizing themselves and
one another.
Oh how illy did such vanities suit the seriousness of
a mind like his! No wonder that he turned from them
disgusted, and went away as restless and unsatisfied as
he came.
CHAPTER VIT.
VWILLIAM PENN does not inform us how long he
continued under this cloud. Probably not long. He
who asks nothing but the salvation of his offending children, is not hard to be intreated when he sees
the contrite heart, and honest wish, for the blessedness
of reconciliation with their heavenly father. O, would
mourners but remember that 1"GOD IS LovE," and
that "there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth," they would not mope and mourn as many
do, yea, and for great part of their lives. Our Saviour
has given us the true pattern in the case of the prodigal son. There does not appear to have been much
time lost betwixt the conviction and conversion of
that young man. "Soon as he came to himself," for
you see that while going on in sin, he is represented
as one quite out of his head,-" soon as he came to
himself," and found at what a mad rate he had been
driving on-what a princely fortune he had squandered-and into what a woful condition he had brought
himself-and also remembered what a wealthy and
loving father he still had left him, he instantly resolved
to face about and pack off home again. The moment




32               THE LIFE OF
he took up this resolution, the blessed work was all
but done. For, "while he was yet a great way off
his father saw him; and had compassion on him, and
ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him." The
young man began to make a speech, but the father stopped him short. He saw that his poor self-ruined child
was a penitent. And that was all he wanted. Besides, true love " will have mercy and not sacrifice."
his son is naked and cold, and hungry and wretched.
This is no time, the father thinks, to hear fine speeches.
With all the vehemence of parental love yearning over
his own flesh and blood a suffering, he cries aloud to
the servants, "bring hither the best robe and put it
upon him! and kill the fatted calf!" O how does the
divine goodness break forth in this language! not simply the robe but the BEST robe; not merely the calf
but the FATTED calf. And all this, good as it is, is not
half good enough yet. The rich robe on his shoulders
must be accompanied with glittering " rings on his
fingers;" and the fatted calf must be diluted with precious zwine. And then music too must corne-music
with all her soul-enchanting strains, to proclaim the
happy father's joy, that "his son, who was dead, is
alive; he was lost, but is found." Now Christ holding out such love and forgiveness, what are we to think
of those who can be so long " seeking peace and not
finding it?" Is there not ground for suspicion that they
are l c t honest, like the prodigal, to return home to
then: leavenlv Father, but must still stick to some of
t'?,l " husks and swine" of sin, which God abhors.'1 heCr grum looks indeed, and godly groanings would
pass them, already for saints; and the preacher often
wonders why brother Longface "doesn't find peace."
But put on your spectacles, thou purblind preacher, and try brother Longface's spirit, whether he has
any marks of that " LOVE," whichi must always go before "peace and joy in the Holy Ghost."'Tis true
"he disfigures his face and seems to men to fast;" but




WILLIAM PENN.                 33
still see how he " grinds the face of the poor," and
" devours widows' houses." He uses long prayers in
his family; but see how harsh and unloving he is in his
manners towards them. He will spruce up and go
fifty miles to a "CONFERENCE;" to an " AssocIATION;" to a " CONVENTION;" to a " PRESBYTERY;" to
hear great sermons and to take a sacrament. But, how
far will he go out of his way to pay a just debt?  He
nuilds "Cathedrals for the Lord of Hosts;" but oh!
what wretched huts for his own servants! He "makes
feasts for the rich," but alas how are his poor negroes
fed! His own sons and daughters wear "soft raiment
as in kings' houses," but his slaves are in rags! And is
it to be wondered at, that God, the FRIEND OF THE
POOR, does not lift up the light of his countenance on
such a hypocrite?
Happily for William Penn he had none of these
hindrances in his way to religion and its comforts.
Through the promised blessing on a pious mother's
instructions he had been early brought to relish'the
pleasures of moral goodness. Soon therefore as that
good spirit which spoke to Socrates, which spoke to
Cornelius, and which speaks to all, whispered to William Penn, and said " this is the road; walk therein,"
he was ready to obey.
Fortunately recollecting, that while friend Loe was
preaching, several of the youth of the college, his acquaintance, had appeared much affected, he went to
their chambers, and after some search found out seven
or eight; among whom was Robert, afterwards lord
Spencer, and John Locke, the writer of the famous;' TREATISE ON THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING," and who,'tis said, was in principle a FRIEND all his life. Drawn
together by kindred sentiments, these favoured youth
immediately formed themselves into a society, that by
reading the scriptures, with free and mutual inter.
change of their feelings, and by prayer, they might
preserve and improve their pious impressions, Find



34               THE LIFE OF
ing more of the spirit and sweets of devotion in these
warm little exercises with one another, than in the
cold formalities at the established church, they began
to absent themselves, and to spend their sabbaths together in the aforesaid excellent way. This their secession from the church was soon noticed by the
professors of the college, and with much pain, on account indeed of them all, but chiefly of William Penn,
partly because of his father, a favourite officer with
the nation, but still more for himself, whose extraordinary talents at the green age of fifteen, had advanced
him to the first honours of the University, and whose
singular sweetness of spirit and many manly virtues
had rendered him the object of general partiality. " A
youth of such amiableness and promise, was not to be
lost." He was of course sent for by the principal, who,
with an air of parental tenderness, began with him by
expressing his regret, that he had not followed the advice he lately gave him. He also expressed his astonishment that a young man of his rank and genius
should so dishonour both, by exchanging the rational
and dignified service of the church, for a worship so
insipid and childish as that of the quakers.
William  replied, with great modesty, that Christ
himself had invited the little children to come unto
him; for that his kingdom, or church, was composed
of such.  He added, " that however the great ones of
this world, when waited on by their inferiors, might
look for pomp and parade; yet to the Almighty all
this was abomination in comparison of that approach
of the soul to him in the meek and docile spirit of a
child."
The principal branded all this as mere delusion,
and entreated him, by all that he owed his parents, to
whom he might afford a long life of comfort-by all
that he owed his country, to which he might be a bright
ornament-and by all that he owed the church, to
whose gloryv such talents and early piety as his would




WILLIAM  PENN.                35
greatly conduce, to give up his fanatical notions, and
return to the faith he was born and brought up in.
William replied, that all this was very flattering,
and far beyond any thing he could think himself entitled to; but that if it were ten times greater, he could
not grieve the Spirit and darken the Light within him.
This latter phrase appeared to hurt the principal;
for knitting his brow, he said, he hoped Mr. Penn
would not compel him to use severe measures.
William asked what he meant by that.
" Why, sir, I shall be obliged to indict you for nonconformity."
" That is, in plain English, you mean to persecute
me; to drive me to your church contrary to my own
reason and conscience. And what good can you expect to do me by that?"7
" It is to keep you, sir, from the crying sin of schism.
There cannot be a greater sin, sir, than for Christians
to separate from one another."
" I see no ground, sir," said William, 1" for such a
fear. I do not see how Christians can possibly separate from one another in a bad sense of the word. The
lambs of the fold never separate, yea, though they may
differ in the colours of their fleeces, some white and
some black, yet still being all the same in innocence
and gentleness, they do not separate, but cleave to
one another by a natural affection. Even so, and indeed much more must Christians cleave to one another. I am sure they have infinitely sweeter and dearer
ties to bind them together. For what is it, sir, that
makes real Christians but'perfect love out of a PURE
HEART;' and how can they who possess it themselves,
but be charmed in others with that blessed spirit which
is to do away all fraud and violence from the earth,
and fill it with all the precious fruits of universal righteousness?"
"Well then, sir," said the principal, how can you
separate from the good Christians of our church, and




36               THE LIFE OF
that too the very church your were born and brought
up in?"
William replied, with the trepidation of one who
feared he should give offence, that he had retired from
the church he was born and brought up in, because he
had not found in it what he prized above all thingsthe sweet society of loving Christians,
To this the principal returned with warmth, that it
was great presumption in one so young as he was, to
pass such a sentence on any church, and especially on
the venerable mother church of the nation.
"I was afraid, sir," replied William, "that you
would be offended. I did not wish it: but as you talked of persecuting and fining me for non-conformity, I
felt it a duty to tell you my reasons. And now, sir, let me
add, that, though I do not pretend to know their hearts,
yet while I see among the members of the church, so
little of the spirit of Christ, so little love for their brethren, or so little delight in doing them good; and, on
the other hand, so much pride, and hate, and revenge,
and flesh-pleasing of all sorts, how can I think them
loving Christians?"
A profound silence ensued; when the principal, calling him "an incorrigible young man," took up his
hat; and, as he turned to go away, advised him to look
sharp, and be constant at church, or he should soon
hear from him again.
But to cut short this shameful story, I will just first
inform the reader, that William Penn and his religious
young friends, for 1" assembling themselves together to
worship God, contrary to law," were summoned before
the HIGHER POWERS, and severely fined!!




WILLIAM PENN.                37
CHAPTER VII.
As soon as it was known in college that he had
turned Quaker, that he had been cited before the principal, and fined for non-conformity, the looks and manners of his acquaintance were sadly altered towards
him; and he had the mortification to find that those
who had caressed and courted him, because of his talents and high standing, now squinted at him as though
he had just come out of the pillory.
That William Penn, by bravely combining the wisdom of the serpent with the harmlessness of the dove,
might ultimately have borne down this prejudice, and
turned his enemies into friends, there can be no doubt.
People may laugh at the Quakers if they please, but
laughing cannot alter the nature of things. Born to be
happy, men naturally love happiness, and hate misery.
And as virtue naturally makes men happy, and vice
naturally makes them miserable, this natural loveliness
of the one and hatefulness of the other, will force
themselves upon us in spite of all the nicknames we
can give'em. And this conviction will daily grow
stronger, as we grow wiser to understand the curses
of the one and the blessings of the other. The young
man who, by lies, keeps his acquaintance in hot water
— or picks their pockets by his gambling-or cuts
their throats in duels,-will quickly be abhorred, no
matter how much he is cried up as a Churchman.
While the youth who is uniformly virtuous and good
humoured, will soon become the esteem and love of
all, even though fools should at first laugh at him as a
Quaker. That young Penn and his friends, by dint of
persevering prudence and affection, would have gained
this triumph, is unquestionable. But oh the weakness
of poor human nature! how prone to error, and by
excess of folly to throw " dead flies into the apothecary's sweetest ointment." These same young men, viz.
D




38               THE LIFE OF
Wmr. Penn & Co. who but a few days before had beern
smartly taxed for not conforming to other people's no.
tions, were ready now to tax others for not conforming to their notions; and having given up all variety
of dress themselves, they thought that others ought to
do so too, and even to be compelled to do it. This is
confirmed by their own act; for meeting some of theil
young college acquaintance in dresses that to them
seemed highly facntastical and unchristian, they began
to remonstrate with them against such levity: and be
cause the young fellows laughed at them as "fanatics,'
they fell upon them outright, and by main force rent
their clothes from their shoulders!! This most impu
dent act was to William Penn like the uncorking of
the vial of the seventh angel. It was followed by such
floods and storms of trouble, that had not his mind
been stayed on the " rock of ages," he must have been
utterly swept away. He was instantly cited before
the Professors and Trustees of the College, in the presence of the assembled students, and after having his
conduct arraigned of such hypocrisy and folly as were
sufficient to burn his cheeks to cinders, he was formal
ly expelled!
This, though a most severe trial to an ingenuous
youth like William Penn, was but a trifle in compari
son of what he yet saw before him-the red fiery tem
pest of his father's face when he should be told of his
expulsion from  college, and the cause of it! and.
worse still, the sudden paleness of his dear mother's
cheeks, and her starting tears, on hearing of his disgrace. Willing, long as possible to delay giving them
this pain, he purposely declined writing to his parents.
preferring to be the bearer himself. Accordingly he set
out for Penn's Dale, where his sudden appearance
struck them with surprise. "E Hallo William!" cried
his father with joy, giving him his hand; "why, what,
my son! returned to port already. I hope you hav'nt
met with foui weatnier!" His msoher, roused by the




WILLIAM  PENN.                39
sudden music of William's name, turned around with
her face all flushed with joy, and flying to embrace
him, exclaimed, "IHigh, my dear William! what
brought you home so soon?" Alarmed at the sudden
paleness on his cheeks, they both at once eagerly inquired what was, the matter! With his characteristic
firmness he replied-" I'm expelled from the University!"
Pale as a blighted lily, poor Mrs. Penn stood a statue
of speechless consternation; while the Admiral, clasping his hands and rolling his eyes, as if he had suddenly beheld half his fleet blown up by the Dutch, exclaimed"Expelled from the University!"
"Yes, sir, they have expelled me," replied William.
"Expelled you, do you still say, child," continued
the Admiral, wild, and blowing like a frightened porpoise, "a child of mine expelled from an English University! why!-why!-what! in the name of God,
could have been the cause?"-" Why, sir," answered
William, "it was because I tore their dresses from off
the shoulders of some of the students."-Here, the
Admiral, with his cheeks puckered up, and a whistle,
shrill as the boatswain's call of a man of war missing
stays on a lee shore, exclaimed —" You tore the dresses
from off the shoulders of some of the students! why,
God's mercy on my soul! what had you to do with
their dresses?"
1" Why, father," answered William, "their dresses
were so fantastical and unbecomni'ng the dignity of
Englishmen and the sobriety of Christians, that I felt
it a duty to my country and conscience to bear my
testimony against them. And moreover, I was assisted in it by Robert Spencer, and John Locke, and other
discreet youths of the college."
Here, the death pale on Mrs. Penn's cheeks, brightening into the vermilion of joy, she exclaimed —" Well
thank God! thank God,'tis no worse*"




44               THE LIFE OF'"You ar.; thankful for small favours, madam,'"
said the admiral, peevishly; I don't see what could be
worse.
Why, my dear, replied she, had William been expelled for drunkenness, gambling, duelling, or any
other such detestable vices, would not that have been
ten thousand times worse?
Why-why-yes; answered the admiral rather reluctantly, that-that would have been worse I confess.
But this is bad enough, and too bad too. A son of
mine to be expelled from college!-Such a thing was
never heard of in my family before.
But still, my dear, we have great reason to be glad
the cause of it was a pardonable error and not infamous
vice, and that instead of attaching to our son the abhorrence due to crime, we should rather augment our
respect for him as having done what he thought right.
Right, madam! what right had he to pass judgment
on the dresses of others, and particularly of such grand
institutions as Universities?
Why, father, replied William, my mind has been exceedingly exercised since I saw you.
Exercised! What do you mean by that?
Why, father, it has been given me here of late to see
many things in a new light.
Zounds, sir, I hope it has not been given you to see
things in the light of a blockhead. A child, like you,
to talk of your new lights!'Tis all nonsense.
I mean, father, replied William, that it has been
given me to see many things very wrong which I once
thought innocent.
The admiral wanted to know what he was to understand by that.
Why, certainly, father, answered William, every wise
man should be consistent; and especially that wisest
of all men the real Christian. If therefore we are
simple within we should be all simplicity without




WILLIAM PENN.                 4
And he who inwardly in his heart is seeking the smiles
of God, should not outwardly, by his dress, be courting the world.
Here good Mrs. Penn, her eyes sparkling on William,
looked very much like an angel. But the Admiral
turning to her said, rather ironically, why the boy is
certainly out of his head! or has been among the quakers. Now come be candid, William, and tell me, have
you not been hearing Tom Loe?
Yes, father, I have, said William, very firmly; and
I hope I have not learned from him to think less reverently of truth.
Nor of duty to your father neither, 1 hope, sir, rejoined the admiral tartly. And as proof that you have
not, I expect you will go back to-morrow, and by proper concessions, recover your high standing in the
University, and by instantly quitting your silly quakerism, worship God according to the good old forms of
the established church of the nation.
William in the most respectful manner replied, tha
lie should be exceedingly happy to obey his honoured
father in all things lawful, and especially in this late
matter, the attack on the students about their dress,
which he was already ashamed of as a mere spirit of
" zeal without knowledge," and entirely contrary to the
spirit of Christ who forbids his disciples to strive or to
propagate the truth by violence. But that as to abandoning the Christians called Quakers, and confining
himself to the established church, he hoped, he said,
his father would not insist on that.
Why not, sir? replied the admiral angrily.
Why, because, father, I hope you will never think
of abridging my liberty of conscience by compelling
me to be a churchman when I wish to be a quaker.
~ But why do you give that silly preference of quakerism to the established church?
Why, father, peoples' tastes are different. And if 1
preferred a particular dish, I should hope you would
D 2




42                il'HE LIFE OF
gratify me in it, especially if it was quite as wholesome
as another dish, even though I could not assign the
reason of my preference of the first; then much more
in this case where the reason is so plain.
Well, sir, I should like to hear your reasons, so plain,
for preferring quakerism to the established church you
were brought up- in.
Father, I may not have arguments to satisfy you
but they are such as fully satisfy- myself.
Then pray let me hear them.
Well, father, when I look into the gospel, I see no.
thing there but lessons and examples of the most perfect HUMILITY and LOVE. All are " sinners," and
therefore all should be HUMBLE.  And, on repentance, all are received into favour, and therefore all
should love. But father, look into the established
church, and do you see any thing like humility and
love there? Nay, don't you see the most glaring marks
of PRIDE and SELFISHNESS? Don't you see both among
the priests and their people a constant vieing with each
other, who shall have the grandest houses, and the
richest furniture; who shall appear in the finest clothes
and the most dazzling equipage; and who shall be the
greatest TALK of THE TOWN- for these things? Now father, is there any humility in this? And as to LOVE,
look at their endless challenges and duels, their cuff.
ings and fightings, their law-suings and bickerings.
Can this be a church of Christ? Then where's the
propriety of driving me into fellowship with such a
church as this?
Yes, replied the admiral, I know this is the common
slang of the dissenters against the established church,
land I doubt not you heard enough of it from Tom Loe,
Dut it amounts to nothing: for there are good and bad
-n all churches.
Yes, father, but do you know any such character as a
drunken quaker, a gambling quaker, a duelling quaker
t law-suing quaker.




WILLIAM PENN.                 43
Well, well, admit there are more disorderly characters among them, it reflects nothing on the Church.
I don't know, sir, how you can prove this. There
can be no effect without a cause. And we cannot be
long at a loss for the cause in this case when we look
at the glaring corruptions of the clergy. Christ and
his apostles had not where to lay their heads, but our
bishops and archbishops live in kings' palaces. Christ
and his apostles had neither scrip nor purse; but these
ride in gilt coaches, and enjoy, each of them, a revenue sufficient to maintain five hundred poor families.
Christ and his apostles wanted only the plainest language to tell sinners their misery and danger: but our
clergy must have their Latin and Greek, and a thousand other things equally useless. And they set so high
a price on these, and lay themselves out so entirely to
get these, that they never get the spirit of Christ's
preachers; hence, instead of that burning zeal with
tears and vehemence we read of in the prophets and
apostles, these gentlemen run over their prayers and
sermons, like lazy school-boys impatient of their lessons
and anxious to, get through them. I hope therefore,
my dear father, you will never compel me to a church
with whose spirit and manners I can have no fellowship." The admiral listened to this discourse of his son
without interrupting him, and with looks still gathering, as William went on, a deeper and a deeper shade
of saddest disappointment, till at the close, strongly
clasping together his uplifted hands, with a kind of
sardonic grin he thus exclaimed,-"Well! my pigs
are all brought to a fine market! And here's a pretty
ending of all the bright castles that I have for years
been building in the air for this boy! A lad of geniusgetting a complete college education-the only child
of a British admiral —great friends at court-the
high road to preferment all ahoy before him-and yet
determined to turn his back on all, and live and die a
poor despised quaker! Why, God's mercy on my sou




Id               TIlE LIFE OC
boy! can you submit to all this? you who might have
been among the first in the realm in any walk you had
chosen to turn yourself too. If to the army, a generalif to the navy, an admiral —if to the law, a chief justice-to medicine, a court physician-to divinity, a
bishop or lord primate! And now with all these
grand prizes completely under your guns, will you haul
down your colours, and in a three-buttoned drab, and
broad beaver, go sneaking about the world, or sitting
half asleep and twirling your thumbs at a silent meeting with Tom Loe; a superstitious blockhead, no more
to be compared to one of our learned divines, than a
Duch cock-boat, to a British line of battle-ship."
William, but little affected by this glittering landscape
which his father had so eloquently run over, was about
to reply, but the admiral, with anger flashing from his
eyes, interrupted him, saying, "ilarkee young man t
I know you have a clear head and a fluent tongue.
till this most unfortunate hour they were my delight;
but in such a cause as this, I never wish to hear them.
All that I have to say to you is, that you will let me
know, to-morrow morning, whether you will go back
to the University and do as I have desired you, or not.
And take notice, sirrah, that if you do not, you are
no longer a son of mine, and never again shall you
darken my door.  Retire with your mother to her;hamber. I know she has always been a greater fa~ourite with you than myself. Perhaps she may do
something with you."
Having long been accustomed to command his headstrong thousands, among whom disobedience is instant
death, he had learned, when angry, to curl his whiskers and clothe his looks in such terrors, that the gentle Mrs. Penn durst make no reply.. So taking her son
by the arm she slowly retired, in tears, to her chamber,
leaving the admiral in a state of feeling which my readers can better conceive than I describe.




WILLIAM PENN.                45
CHAPTER IX.
ON retiring to her chamber, Mrs. Penn threw her
arms around William's neck, and sitting down with
him, still locked in her embraces, she shed many a
pearly drop into his bosom. iM\elted by this dear parent's kindness, he tenderly asked,-" Mother, do you
blame me for doing what I thought my duty?"
In tones soft as the whispers of love from a mother's lips, she replied-" No, my son, I do not. But
still it grieves me that you should ever have done any
thing to offend a father who so dotes on you. Besides,
why can't you be religious and yet attain all the HoNOURs and CONSEQUENCE in life that are before you?"
William, with a look inclined to smile, for which he
was, through life, most remarkable in the gloomiest
scenes, said, "Why, mother, you are the main cause
of all this." Astonished, she asked him what he
meant. " Why, my dear mother, it was your dialogues; your blessed dialogues in the'nursery, that first
brought me to God, and will you now be so cruel as to
pull me back again?"
" No! no! not for ten thousand worlds," replied she
earnestly; " but can't you walk with God, and yet be
rich and great in this world? We read in the scriptures of Joseph, and Daniel, and others who were great
saints, even in the courts of idolatrous kings."
"Aye, mother," said William, shaking his head, " all
this is possible, but it is dangerous. Christ, you know,
says,' not many rich, not many great' are among his
humble and loving family. Many, indeed, are called, and for a time make a goodly show; but the
smiles of the world, and the deceitfulness of riches,
prove too strong for them; so that though' many a re
called, but few are chosen.' A sweet flower is sornetimes seen on the highways and among the rocks, but
it is rare. A fit soil, mother, is not more necessary for




46               THE LIFE OF
flowers than a fit society for saints; and had they but
enjoyed such, there would have neen more Daniels
and Josephs than one in Egypt, and Chaldea. And
besides, mother, what is all this pomp and grandeur
of the world, which my father so anxiously covets for
me? These CHIEF JUSTICES and LORD MAYORS, these
GENERALS and ADMIRALS, these BISHOPS and ARCHBISHOPS, are great names; yet, after all, what are they
but splendid paupers; and many of them, in the midst
of their fancied greatness, as mean-spirited, and griping, and furious, and miserable as the beggar who knows
not to-day where he is to get his brown crust to-morrow."
His mother here giving him a brightened look, as if
to say, " Yes, indeed, all this is but too true, my son,'
he thus went on. —" Yes, mother; and look here at my
dear father: he is all that he wishes me to be, that is,
a great and prosperous man-he is high admiral of the
British navy-a great favourite at court-has his town
houses and country houses, his clocks and carpets, his
rich plate and gilt coaches, and, in short, every thing
that his heart can wish; and yet, mother, what is he
the better for it all? O where's his HAPPINESS, that' one thing needful,' which certainly every reasonable
being should propose to himself as the only true end
of all his riches and grandeur? Where his meekness
and sweetness of spirit? and where's that majesty
and charm of goodness which expresses true LOVE?
O if he loved God truly, would he not rather a thousand times see me, like Moses, ready to sufer persecution with the people of God, than enjoy even in a palace,
the pleasures of sin, which are but for a season! And if
he loved me truly, would he not a thousand times
rather see me pass my moment of earthly being in the
sweet and safe vallies of humility and innocence, than
on the dangerous mountains of pride and worldly
mindedness?"
Such truths from the lips of an only son whom she




VWILLIAM PENN.                47
so delighted in, contributed greatly to comfort Mrs.
Penn in this affliction.  So, after some pause of sweet
and grateful thought, she said, " Well, William, what
will you answer to your father to-morrow concerning
the requirement he made of you just now?"'
" Why, mother," answered William very firmly, " I
will never forsake God. I owe HIM every thing: yes,
my dear mother, as you so often told me, when I was
a child at your knee, I owe God every thing; and feel
that I ought to give myself back to him. And besides,
he alone is worthy of my affections, and he alone can
to all eternity give me that mighty happiness I was
created for. I am determined, therefore, never to'eave him, nor to form any connexion that may jeopardize my devotion to him."
As Mrs. Penn was too well acquainted with her
husband's temper to cherish the most distant hope
that he would ever relax one iota of his threats, she
began to study how William should be disposed of,
when turned out of doors by his father, which she
foresaw was inevitable. Several expedients were proposed; but that finally adopted by them both, was,
that he should go into Buckinghamshire, and live with
her mother, until his father's anger should be turned
away from him.
The expulsion of a child, an only child, and that a
son so faultless and beloved, is an idea so unnatural,
that most mothers would sicken and turn from it with
horror.  Fortunately for Mrs. Penn, her soul was
greatened by religion. She had ever wished above all
things that her son should be a lover of God. But still
she had fondly hoped that, together with this greatest
of all honours, he might enjoy the honours of this
world too. And though it was a sad disappointment
that this could not be; and that he must give up the
one or the other, it still afforded her inexpressible
satisfaction, that her dear boy, young as he was, yet
possessed faith sufficient to trample the world unde



483               THE LIFE OF
his feet, when it came in competition with his duty to
God. Such were the thoughts which accompanied
this amiable mother to her pillow, there sweetly to
revolve that security and peace which she had such
good reason to hope would attend her son through
life. "William may not be great; but, which is far better, he will, I trust, be good; and though fools may
account his life to be madness, and his end without honour, yet I hope he'll be numbeed among the sons of
God, and his lot among the saints."  Nor did William
pass that night in such sleepless trouble as might
have been expected.'Tis true, that as he pulled off
his clothes to go to bed, he felt a strange shock at the
thought that this night might be the last night he should
ever pass in that dear chamber. And when he looked
around him on his venerable forefathers, whose pictures were hanging on the wall, the idea that he was
about to be exiled from their family, and by his own
father, too, occasioned a sudden sinking at heart. But,
favoured youth! his eye was singly fixed on God, and
on the glory of doing his will; and thenceforth sprung
up that "peace which passeth all understanding."
In this frame of mind he sought his bed, where,
amidst thoughts soft as the summer moon-beams that
silvered the bosom of night, he composed himself to
sleep, happy as the youthful sailor-boy who, amidst
his descending slumbers, hears, without alarm, the
crash of surrounding billows, because he remembers
that his ship is of the strong-ribbed oak and iron.
and that his father, a skilful pilot, presides at the alldirecting helm.




WILLIAM PENN.                49
CHAPTER X.
THE next day, immediately after breakfast, which
was passed in perfect silence, the looks of the admiral
and Mrs. Penn expressing most eloquently their respective characters-his the angry sternness of parental
authority disputed, and hers all the solicitudes of conjugal respect and maternal tenderness combined. Soon
as breakfast was over, the admiral, taking his lady and
William into his study, with a constrained kindness
thus addressed the latter:-" William, you are my
child, my only child, the child of all my affections and
of all my hopes. I feel, therefore, that I must be most
unhappy if I part from you, and especially by your
own undutifulness. I hope you have thought seriously
of these things. Now will you go back to the University, and, by proper concessions, recover your honourable standing, and also renouncing Tom Loe and his
silly quakers, return to the bosom of the ESTABLISHED
CHURCH?
With all the meekness yet firmness of an honest
quaker, William replied, that he had " turned his
thoughts to the light within; and that while he felt, with
exceeding affection, how much he owed to his earthly
father, he owed still more to his heavenly, and therefore could never offend him, by sinning against the
light, and endangering his own soul."
"Well, then, you will not go back to the ESTABLISHED CHURCH!" replied the admiral, angrily.
"While my present convictions remain, father, I can
never leave the quakers."
"Well then, sir," rejoined the admiral, quite dark
with rage, " you must leave me:" and ordered him instantly to quit the house.
Deeming it fruitless to reply or remonstrate, William
took up his hat and wvent out of the room, leaving his
father in a frame of mind not to be envied. His eyes
E




Ro0               THE LIFE OF
on fire-his motions furious and convulsive  and his
face alternately deformed with deadly red and pale, a
true index of the stormy passions within. He has turned out of doors his only child-has turned him out in
helpless inexperienced youth-not for any crime that
he has done, nor for the shadow of a crime, but only for
wishing to be more devout-he sees the eyes of his
son, glistening on him through tears, as he goes awayhe hears the clap of the door behind him, and the sound
of his departing feet, as it dies away along the descent
of steps. All is silent, save the cries of his mother in
her distant chamber, for her "_poor banished boy." He
rolls his eyes around him on his spacious halls and
splendid furniture. "Sideboards! and clocks! and pictures! what are you all to a wounded spirit!"
To be wretched in poverty and obscurity were nothing. There would be no sting of disappointment to
evenom the smart. But to be wretched in spite of
titles-in spite of court favours-in spite of all his
branching honours and golden treasures! this is hell
unmixed. Alas! poor man! He is miserable but knows
not the cause. He knows not that it proceeds, as his
own child had told him, from lack of HUMILITY and
LOVE.
But leaving the admiral and his grand castle and
gaudy carpets, to confirm the words of eternal truth,
that "' a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of
the things he possesseth," let us see what has become
of William. Like the first ancestor, Adam, turned
out -of Paradise, so fared it with the youthful Penn,
expelled from his father's house, " some natural tears he
shed, but wiped them soon." His conscience was clear;
his heart was cheered; so, deep inhaling the luxom
air, and breathing his pious ejaculations to heaven,
he sprung forward to his journey, fully trusting in the
promise that "' all things shall work together for good
to them that love God." His course, according to the
aforesaid concert with his mother, was towards " the




WILLIAM  PENN.                 51
traveller's rest," in Buckinghamshire, the elegant and
hospitable mansion of his grandmother, who received
him with exceeding joy. This great lady was pious in
an uncommon degree; and having, just as William arrived, got a letter from her daughter, stating at large
the history of this extraordinary transaction, she was
so charmed with him on account of his early piety, that
her eyes sparkled on him with pleasure. " What, my
dear, dear child," said she, pressing him to her bosom,
"1, sweet image of your mother!-turn you out of doors
because you could not content yourself with being apoor
deadformalist and hypocrite! Oh my Lord what will
this world come to! parents turn their children out of
doors only because they wish TO BE GOD'S CHILDREN!
And worse still, can bear to see their children bloated
withpride, pale with envy, burning with rage; and yet
think them good enough if they have but been baptized,
go regularly to church, say their prayers after the priest,
and take the sacrament! Oh! what signify all these
proud titles, and grand castles, and court-smiles, when
their owners can be so blind and miserable!"  I have
not been able to ascertain how much time William
passed in the society of his excellent grandmother;
but it is more than probable that the days of his exile
were not many. The heart of his father yearned towards his ruddy-cheeked boy; and this tender attraction, added to the eloquence of his lady's importunities, soon prevailed.  William was, of course, recalled
home, to the infinite joy of the whole family; not excepting the servants, who doted on him; for from his
childhood, he was remarkable for his affectionate spirit
to that despised class of people; always speaking to
them with great tenderness, and often making them
little presents —his excellent mother purposely furnishing him the means.
Finding that his seriousness still stuck to him, his
father proposed to him a trip to Paris, begging he
would make himself master of the French language,




52               THE LIFE OF
vwhich he said was always to his ear like music. But the
admiral's principal motive was to divert his mind from
what he called his fanaticism; with the hope, too,
that from the mixture of William's extreme gravity, as
he thought, with the excessive gaiety of the French,
there would arise a tertium quid, a happy mediocrity
of manners, that would render him the delight of the
nation. To give this pill a richer gilding, and to render it more imposing on William's palate, the admiral
took advantage of a party of young noblemen going
over to the French capital; so dressing him up in the
richest apparel, yet, as William  begged, of a plain
fashion, and filling his pockets with money and letters of introduction to great men, he packed him off
for France.
CHAPTER XI.
THE admiral was not altogether disappointed in his
calculations on the result of William's trip to France.
The balmy softness of the climate —the rich variety
and beauty of its scenes-its silver flood smoothly gliding along the verdant meadows, or boldly rushing
through romantic hills adorned with clustering vines
and snow-white castles, contributed much to dissipate
the gloom occasioned by his late persecution. But
far more exhilarating still were the manners of its inhabitants.  William's natural bias was benevolence.
The hand that made him had so kindly attuned his
nerves to the harmonies of moral beauty, that every
look and note of love awakened his soul to joy. Then
among what people on earth could he have fallen with
such chance of fascination as among the French? That
extraordinary people, who study no science but to
please-who forget themselves, to make others happy



WILLIAM PENN.                 53
and who with all they do, mingle so much of suavity and
endearment, that whether they frown or smile, whether
they grant or refuse, they almost equally oblige: for
they frown with such delicacy, and refuse with such
grace, that all must fall in love with them. William
Penn fell in love with them. And as love naturally
assimilates itself to the beloved, he quickly, as the
apostle enjoins, in things indifferent, " became all things
to them,"-he learned their language with the facility
of a mocking-bird-he caught their manners by instinct
-his limbs forgot their proud British stiffness-and
his muscles their cold unlovely rigidity-and whether
he stood or moved; whether he bowed or smiled; in
standing, moving, bowing and smiling, shone forth the
elegant and all accomplished Frenchman.
It was in this style that William, after twelve
months' absence, presented himself before his father
at Pennwood. The admiral was quite delighted with
this " charming change," as he observed to Mrs. Penn,
"' that had taken place in  Vdillianm's appearance."  He
introduced him  at court-he carried him about as
in triumph among all his illustrious friends —and for
fear he should relapse into his old gloomy ways, as he
termed them, he resolved to send him over at once
to Ireland, to take the management of an estate that
had lately fallen to him in the neighbourhood of Dublin, the metropolis. And to insure himr a full round
of dissipation, his pockets were filled with letters
from the admiral's court friends, introducing him in
the most flattering terms, to the lord lieutenant and
his numerous friends, the great ones of Dublin. The
calculation from all this was, that if William, now put
into such a hopeful way, by the polite and sweetly
mannered French, could but be associated for a season
with the gay and warm-hearted Irish, he would be confirnmed an elegant man of the world beyond the power
of superstition to shake him.
The packet-boat soon wafted young William over.) o




54               THE LIFE OF
to Ireland, where he commenced the career prescribed
by his father, with great spirit. He applied himself
very diligently to the settlement of his estate; visiting
and spending his intervals of leisure in the society of
the lord lieutenant and his friends, who paid uncommon attention to him as an amiable young man, and
the only son and heir of sir William Penn, high admiral of the British navy. It is no where said that William ever followed this fashionable "multitude to do
evil:" but it is well'known that many who began well
in the spirit, and once stood fair for heaven, have
miserably ended in the flesh, and become cast-away.
And this might have been the deplorable end of young
William Penn, had not God in great goodness sent one
of his shepherds after him. I ascribe it to the divine
goodness, for I cannot otherwise account for an event
that manifests too much design to be called accidental.
Sitting one evening in the lord lieutenant's palace, and
casting his eye on a Dublin paper, his attention was
caught by a NOTICE, that " ONE OF THE PEOPLE
CALLED QUAKERS WAS TO PREACH IN THE MARKETHOUSE THE NEXT DAY'." Though William had, for some
time past, conformed rather too much to the world,
yet he had never lost his partiality for the quakers;
and therefore immediately resolved to go to meeting.
On the rising of the preacher to speak, whom should
his eyes behold, but the smooth and placid countenance
of his old friend Thomas Loe? nor was friend Loe less
surprised, as looking round him like a father about to
address his children, his mildly -oeaming glances met
the florid cheeks of his young friend William Penn,
From the professions which William, with tears, had
made him two years before; and also from the severe
persecutions which, by report, he had suffered both at
the University and in his father's own house, friend
Loe had counted on him as a dear child in the gospel;
but William's fashionable dress excited -his alarms.
Whereupon with a countenance strongly marked with




WILLIAM PENN.                 55
melancholy and a deep sigh, looking at William, he
began with these remarkable words, " There is a
faith which overcometh the world; and there is a faith
overcome by the world." William was startled. From
the particular stress, as he thought, laid on the text,
he felt as though the preacher had taken it entirely for
him. But if so alarmed at the bare words, how much
more when friend Loe, with the looks and voice of a
tender father towards a truant child, went on to expose the folly, the cowardice, and hypocrisy of those
who, when they hear the great truths of the gospel,
will show the most fixed attention; will change colour;
will heave the deep sigh and shed the copious tear, thus
springing joy in the heart of the preacher that a soul
is born to God;" and yet after all these goodly signs
of faith, can suffer themselves to be overcome by the
world and its vanities! To place such guilty conduct
in a stronger light, he went on to show the wide difference between these two kinds of faith. He compared the one, which he called IEAD-FAITH, and which
is overcome by the world, he compared to a light; but
only such a light as that of the moon, a cold barren
light, which, though it please the eye with its silver
lustre, yet it imparts no heat to the soil; hence no vegetation appears, and the beholder wonders that the
fields, though bright, are naked and sad. But the other
-faith, which overcomes the world, and which he called
H-IEART-FAITH, he compared to the sun; a warm
fertilizing light, which, soon as it falls on the earth,
sets the grass to grow'and covers the fair face of
nature with fruits and flowers.  Even so this HEARTFAITH, soon as it fires the soul, vivifies every precious
seed of virtue, and calls forth all the sweets and charms
of heavenly affections. He then showed too that as
head-faith like the moon, is cold and barren, so like
that orb which belongs only to this low planet, it is
often obscured in clouds and storms; but that, HEARTFAITH, like the pure sun-beam, comes from the place




THE LIFE OF
of God, and like its source, enjoys perpetual serenity
and shine. And though its possessor, as a dweller on
this turbid planet may sometimes feel the shadow; yet
it is but transient. For as the heart of the wise can
well bear the gloom of winter because he sees the
bloom of opening spring at hand; so the man of true
faith regards not "the short afflictions of this life
which are but for a moment," because his eye is fixed
upon "that exceedingly great and eternal weight of
glory that glitters before him." Animated by this he
looks undismayed on the Jordan of death, and even in
the last agony smiles as for victory, and whispers,
through tears of transport, "Iwait for thy salvation, 0
God."
Here the cheeks of William began to redden over
from his labouring heart, and his sighs to thicken, while
pearly drops, such as angels love to see in mortal
eyes, came trickling down. But still the lips of friend
Loe continued to pour their honied streams of holy
eloquence, as burning in his zeal he went on to show
the widely different effects of these two kinds of faith,
even in the life that now is-that while the one is
held in derision even of the wicked world, by whom
it is overcome, the other is honoured even by the
wicked world whom it tramples under foot —that while
the one suffers the mortification of shameful defeat,
the other enjoys the triumph of the most glorious victory-that while the one dies amidst the horrors of despair, the other expires in extasies of hope-and that
while the one shall come forth to shame and everlasting contempt, the other shall awake to all the transports of eternal life.
As the fearful difference between vice and virtue
were hardly ever painted in more pathetic colours
than by this pious quaker, so, rarely has such painting produced a deeper effect on the pupil of wisdom
than in the case now before us; for soon as the sermon was ended, young William, with the sweet dejec



WILLIAM PENN.                57
tlon of conscious guilt reclaimed, drew near the man
of God, and taking him by the hand, acknowledged
that, though he had not been entirely overcome by the
world, yet he feared, he said, he had conformed too
much to its vanities; but now, hoped, through the help
of that good spirit which bringeth salvation, he should
be established for ever. Thomas Loe, looking on him
with a countenance kind as when an angel looks on
the tender babe, and with tones of equal sweetness,
said,-I hope my young friend thee will keep in mind
the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, "the servant is not greater -than his Lord"-"If the world
hated him," who was the perfection of goodness,
"they will hate thee if thou become his follower."'But remember, friend William, never canst thou love
thyself as God loves thee; never canst thou desire
thine own happiness as God desires it. 0 then meditate on SUCH LOVE, and far above all things in heaven or earth, strive to get thy whole soul inflamed
with it. Then shall God himself enter into the palace
of thy heart, and " sup with thee, and thou shalt stp
wzith him."
In uttering these words he pressed William to his
bosom with all the fervent tenderness of a father; adding at the same time, while the tear hung glistening in
his eyes, " God be gracious to thee my son, and give
thee wisdom like Jacob to wrestle with God, and also
to prevail."
This was to William a day of the sweetest emotions
he had ever known.
Joy sprung up afresh in his heart, the joy of glorious hope, far beyond what the young seaman feels
when becalmed on his voyage to some golden coast,
suddenly a sweet breeze of the ocean springs up, and
borne along upon the curling billows he beholds the
happy shores of the long promised land, all brightening
before him. 0 how rare is that preacher, whose eyes,
whose voice, whose every gesture preaches to the




58               THE LIFE OFsouls of his hearers! William, young as he was, could
not but mark this preaching in Thomas Loe. He could
not but mark the wonderful difference which religion
makes between a stranger who possesses it, and one's
own father who is destitute.  "Yes," thought he to
himself, "when struck by this good man's preaching I
first felt my unhappy state by nature, and wished to seek
to God for comfort, my own dear father instead of congratulating smiles, gave me nothing but angry frowzs;
and even thrust me from his door! But here this good
quaker, though an absolute stranger, seeing my infant
wishes to return to God, is moved even to tears of joy
on my account, and presses me with a mother's tenderness to his heart.  0 then how God-like a thing must
religion be! How certainly must that fitfor the society
of angels hereafter, which makes men so much like angels here." Such were William's thoughts on his way
from the meeting. I hardly need tell the reader that
William was now in no frame of mind to go back, as
he had been pressed, to the lord lieutenant's, and to
the giddy and gay ones, at his palace. From the religious impressions early made on him by his mother
in the nursery, and afterwards deepened at college by
friend Loe, William may be said to have always had
a turn for those dignified pleasures which naturally
beget a disrelish for trifles. To see young gentlemen
reddening into indecent passion about the "MIINISTER
and his MEASURES," or about STAGE BOXES and FENCING MASTERS! or to see young ladies tossing their
snowy arms, and rolling their diamond eyes in extasies
of wonderful OPERA DANCERS; or stage players.These, though the two ordinary themes of conversation
in high life, had always seemed to him very uninteresting. But in this present holy and heavenly frame of
mind, the very idea of them was so disgusting, that he
declined going back, as we have seen, to the lord lieutenant's; and indeed studiously avoided many of the
great families in Dublin, because they took no delight




WILLIAM PENN.                 69
in talking of God and those great subjects which he
most of all delighted in.-This seclusion of his was soon
noticed by the hospitable lord lieutenant and the gay
circles of the metropolis, who presently began with mu ch
impatience to ask, "where is young Mlr. Penn?"  In a
little time the fatal secret came out, that-he was
turned quaker.  The report spread a general gloom
among his Irish friends. And no wonder. William
was now about eighteen: the very season when youth,
rising into manhood, enjoys the double charm of tenderness mixed with dignity, rendering the character peculiarly interesting: this, added to a masculine mind
sharpened by a fine education-polished by Gallic
manners —and above all finished by a quaker sweetness, had rendered him very dear to the lord lieutenant and his wealthy friends; independent of his
rank and fortune as the only child and heir of Sir William Penn, high admiral of the British navy. The loss
of such a young man to their society could not but
have excited a deep regret on their own accounts,
mingled too with some contempt of him for joining a
people who, in those days, were so much despised.
It was not long before the admiral learned this most
unwelcome piece of news. It came, in the way of
letters, to his friends in London, all speaking in the
most flattering terms of William, and expressing their
sincere sorrow that a youth so amiable, and of such
high promise, should have thrown himsel awa-y after
this most unaccountable rate. The admiral came
home quite in a fever about it. Mrs. Penn seeing his
agitation, eagerly asked him what was the matter?
MJatter! replied he abruptly, matter enough to run
a parent mad! that silly boy of ours will be the death of
me, that's a clear cas2.
" Why, what has he done now?" said Mrs. Penn,
much startled.
Done! returned the admiral, why he has fallen in:with Tom Loe, who has made a fool of him again




60               THE LIFE OF
Well, I hope William has not neglected the business
you sent him to Ireland upon.
Why no, he has not suffered Tom Loe to make him
such a fool as that. On the contrary, I learn from
a variety of quarters that he is a prodigy of industry.
O, well then, said Mrs. Penn cheerfully, while his
religion keeps him innocent and industrious, we need
not much trouble ourselves about him.
No, indeed! replied the admiral hastily; now that's
the very reason I choose to trouble myself about him.
A youth of his genius and education, with the advantages of such rank and friends and industry, my God
what might he not do! How easily might he become
one of the greatest men of his age. And such he shall
be, I'm determined on it. I'll write for him to come
home immediately. And if he doesn't'bout ship andgo
upon another tack, I'll disinherit him, that's the long and
short of it. I'll not keep in this hot water any longer. If
he choose to despise me and run after Tom Loe, he
must do it, but he shall never see my face again.
CHAPTER XII.
IF his infant son were suddenly lost in some wild
wood, where dark pit-falls gaped, and ravenous beasts
lay in wait to devour, what father but would instantly
rush forth, with, throbbing heart, in search of him?
And if happily his listening ear but caught the feeble
moanings of his child; or he beheld him at a distance
with bleeding feet winding his tortured way through
piercing thorns, would he not fly to the dear rescued
boy, and, clasping him with transport to his bosom,
kiss away the pearly drops from his bloated eyes? Yes;
such would be the joy of this world towards a child
saved from the deaths that threaten the body. But,




WILLIAM PENN.                 61
alas! to save him from that which would destroy the
soul; to save him from ENVY, HATE, and all the haggard passions which inflict wounds and deaths beyond
the rage and venom of serpents and tigers, no such
solicitude is felt.  And this often causes the hearts
of good men to bleed within them, that when a young
person in the wilderness of this world is brought to a
se-pre of his danger, and wishes to fly to his God, instead of being met by his friends with tears of joy congratulating his happy escape, he is often frowned
upon and driven back to sin and hell. Such was the
treatment shown to young William Penn by his father,
and at a time too when he stood most in need of every
encouragement. He was at a great distance from home,
and from a pious mother whom he doted on. He was
spending his days in diligent attention to his father's
business, and his nights in reading and devotion by
himself; for he had no kind friend to commune with,
no kindred soul to comfort and strengthen him. In
the midst of this, he receives a letter from home. But
that letter, instead of breathing the joy of a happy father, congratulating his dear boy for being so early in
the family of God, begins with reproaching him for his
fanaticism, and ends with ordering him instantly to
come home.
William's spirits were at first, as might have been
expected, a good deal depressed by this letter; but the
depression was orly momentary. Religion soon administered her cordial. An ever present God; a glorious life in his service now, and an eternal Heaven
hereafter; how could he long be sad? so, packing up
his clothes and books, and taking leave of a few friends,
he set out for London; not neglecting to strengthen
himself on the road, by frequent reflection on the truth
and importance of the hopes before him; for he foresaw
that they were to be brought to a severe trial. His
calculations were abundantly correct; for while his mother received him as usual with transports of joy, his faF




62.              THE LIFE OF
ther's countenance was hard and angry; then scarcely
allowing time for the customary salutations, he said-'" and so Tom Loe has taken you in tow, and made a
fool of you again!" William's face, that had been rosy
red with joy at sight of his parents, now all at once
turned pale on hearing these cutting words; but, soon
recovered by conscious integrity, he replied, 1" Yes,
father I have been with Thomas Loe, but I hope that
instead of making a fool, he will, under God, make a
wise man of me.
Yes, to be sure, and there's a pretty sample of it,
returned the admiral sarcastically, pointing at William's simple quaker habit. Tom Loe will no doubt
make a wonderful wise man of you. In place of your
handsome dresses brought from Paris, see that ugly
drab! and that monstrous beaver, broad brimm'd and
darkening over your brow like an umbrella! These are
precious tokens of wisdom! And is it possible that for
such stuff as this you can reject such honours as are
courting you from all quarters?
I don't know, father, said William, of any honours
that are courting me from all quarters.
No, indeed! well then,, let me ask you, was there
ever a young Englishman so talked of at Paris as you
were all the time you spent there? And was that no
honour? And on your return here to London, was
not the whole town running after you?-was that no
honour? And when you went to Dublin, did a single
mail ever come over but brought letters from the lord
lieutenant and the great ones there, all extolling you
to the skies-was that no honour? And now what
nobleman is there in all the land but would glory in
your friendship?-what place is there so high but you
might easily obtain it? what heiress so wealthy, but
you might marry her as easily as kiss your hand? Are
these no honours?
Well, father, said William, these I know are called
honours: and let them pass for such. But after all,




WILLIAM  PENN.                63
what would they signify to me, unless they made me
happy?
God's mercy on the boy, cried the admiral, getting
angry, what would you want more than all this to make
you happy!
Why, as to that, father, you know that to be happy
we must have what suits our taste, and that the rzg'ht
taste too. But I am morally certain, that while I keep
my present taste, I shall never be happy, if I have nothing better than great worldly riches and rank. I feel,
father, that I am born for better things than these.
Well, but what's the reason you can't take these
things and those better ones too?
That's impossible, sir. There's no going to heaven
in "golden slippers."
But why, in the name of God, can't you be good
and happy as a GREAT man, as well as a mean one:
and by dressing like a gentleman as well as like a
monk? Can Tom Loe have made such a blockhead
of you, as to make you believe it a sin to wear a suit'of clothes in the fashion?
Father, the quakers don't stand upon the fashions.
And pray why don't they; can they be such fools
as to think that religion has any thing to do with the
colour and cut of people's clothes?'
The quakers think, father, that religion has to do
with every thing that tends to God's pleasure or displeasure, in the happiness or misery of man.
Well, and what has this to do with the fashion?
Why, certainly, father, to set the heart upon the
fashion, as if it were the chief end of being-to make
it a great theme of our conversation-to resolve to keep
up with it no matter what it cost-to honour the
basest wretch if he have on a fashionable dress-but
despise the most godlike, because of his mean apparel —
do(es not this betray a shameful devotion to trifles?
yea, worse still-a horrible insensibilty to the charms
of goodness, wherein consists our main happiness?




64               THE LIFE OF
The admiral here remaining silent, as if at a loss
what to reply, William thus went on,-Yes, father,
many people I know, think that dress, no matter how
vain, has nothing to do with religion. But these, sir
are looked upon by the quakers, as persons utterly unacquainted with the religion of Christ, which, treating
the soul as the only divine part of man, is continually
striving to turn his attention to the care of the soul;
that by enlightening his understanding with the true
wisdom, and exalting his affections to the true good,
it may give him a relish for that happiness which is
godlike and eternal. Hence it is, sir, that the quakers
will have nothing to do with the dresses and fashions
of the world, which only serve to make people childish
and vain in their minds, and averse from the true hap,
piness, and likewise so to impoverish their circumstances as to put it out of their power to be honest;
yea, and oft times to practise those dark and base
frauds and villanies which ruin them for ever.
This being a style of sermonizing rather too stubborn for the admiral to gainsay, William was permitted to go on, which he did at this rate: " Yes, sir, the
religion of Christ, and consequently the quakers, (its
expositors in the simplest sense,) will encourage no
Idolatry of the flesh; being fully persuaded, that in
proportion as this rises the soul sinks. And what but
this is the meaning of those awful passages which run
4tAroughout the religion of Christ —" The flesh lusteth
against the spirit"-", If ye live after the flesh ye shall
die" —" They that live in fleshly pleasures are dead
while they live."
The admiral said it was droll how a man could be
dead while he lived.
It is, nevertheless, awfully true, sir, replied William.
For a creature born with capacities to love God, and
thereby put on the immortal beauties of his likeness,
to neglect such ineffable glories as these, and meanly
pride himself because of fine clothes and gaudy equip




WILLIAM PENN.                65
age for this poor mortal body, is not such a creature
dead, while he liveth? yea, utterly dead to the true
end of living, that is, HAPPIrNESS; which consisteth not
in such unworthy gratifications, but in that perfect love
which feels the presence of God, banishing all grief
and kindling a perpetual heaven. Such were William's arguments; but all his arguments, cogent and
conclusive as they were, availed nothing with his father. Indeed they appear to have wrought a very
contrary effect in him, as, looking on William's person,
and listening to his speech, he was the more grieved
to think, that his only child, a youth of such a figure,
such a mind, such eloquence, and born for the highest
honours, should become the dupe and castaway, as he
called it, of the most pitiful and grovelling quakerism.
In hope yet to avert so great a calamity as he thought
it, from his family, he resolved to make one more effort; and to try, since argument had failed, what might
be done by menaces. So, fixing on William a stern
and angry eye, he said, " Well, sir, I have heard you
out: and now let me tell you, that with all your ingenuity and eloquence you have not started me one
inch from nmy moorings; no, sir, there is no reasoning
like facts. To say that a man can't be great and yet
wise and good, is all nonsense. It contradicts daily
observation, sir. Look at our nobility, sir, our HONOURABLES, and RIGHT HONOURABLES-look at our clergy,
our REVEREND and RIGHT REVEREND, the bishops and
archbishops! these are the GREAT ONES, sir, of the
realm; these are the first talents and titles, the first
riches and learning of the nation. And will you say
that none of these are good?"
William, with a modest firmness, replied, that he did
not take upon him to judge of others, but that he well
knew this, that Christ every where speaks of the pleasures of FILIAL FRIENDSHIP WITH GOD, as being of a
hature so entirely different from those that flow from
Ihe pride, and ambition, and lusts of this poor polluted




_6-              THE LIFE OF
world, that they can no more exist together than light
and darkness. And also, that for his own part he could
truly say, from oft and sad experience, that it was not
possible for him to enjoy blissful communion with
God, and at the same time conform to the spirit of the
world.
Here the admiral, with looks more angry still, replied, " I perceive, sir, that you are determined for ever
to misunderstand me. I don't mean that you should
conform to the world in any thing base and villanous.
No, sirrah, I despise that as heartily as you and your
friend Tom Loe. But I mean that you should conform to the world as our bishops and archbishops do
— that is, that you should be rich, and great too. And
such you shall be, I'm determined on it. And therefore
let me tell you, sir, that if you do not instantly forsake
that quaker fool, that Tom Loe and his principles,
you must no longer look on yourself as a son of mine.
William appeared much shocked. But after some
pause, observed, that his father must, to be sure, do as
he thought proper; but at the same time, he could not
help humbly craving his father's reasons for his dislike
of Thomas Loe. Is he not acknowledged, sir, said
William, to be a HOLY MAN, against whom not even his
bitterest enemies can say any harm? And as to his
principles, are they not the simple expressions of the
humble and benevolent spirit the gospel? And after
all, sir, continued William, what harm has Thomas
Loe ever done me? on the contrary, indeed, have we
not great cause to be thankful on his account?
Thankful on Tomn Loe's account I retorted the admiral quite in a rage. A plague on him! what has he
brought on us but trouble and vexation ever since his
vile name was heard by the family.
I think, sir, replied William, modestly, that, under
God, I owe Thomas Loe much for what he contributed towards the comparative innocency of my life,
at college.




WILLIAM PENN.                 67
You pay no great compliment to myself or your
mother, in saying that, sir. Did you not go to college
as innocent a youth as any in the realm? and do you
thank Tom Loe for that?
But, sir, replied William, was not the preservation of
my innocence a great blessing? And that I have been
less disgraced by vice than many other young men, as
well at the University as in the large and dissipated
cities wherein I was so early exposed, 1 feel myself,
chiefly indebted to the affectionate and powerfill eloquence of Thomas Loe. For considering my weakness of youth and inexperience, and separated too as I
was from you and my mother, had it not been for the
strong hold which his discourses took on my heart, I
do not see how I should have withstood that torrent
of bad example which swept away so many of those
once amiable young men who came to college as innocent as myself. So I think, sir, that if you love me
and prize my honour and happiness, you ought to
love Thomas Loe, who was to me, of God, the good
guardian angel that in your absence saved me from
much disgrace.
I am sure, retorted the admiral, you have no great
cause to brag of his saving you from disgrace at the
University; for it was all owing to him, that you came
by the disgrace of being expelled.
Yes, sir, replied William, blushing, I own I was expelled from  the University, and that too through
Thomas Loe: but still it was not for any vice, that I
should either hate hin or abhor myself. It was for
an act of zeal, intemperate indeed, but still well meant
and flowing from a love for the young men whose vain
ornaments I assisted to tear off. I confess it was error,
but thank God not shameful vice, such as many others
have been expelled for. And therefore I shall always
thank God for the poor quaker Thomas Loe, that
while many other young men have been expelled for
drunkenness, I lhave drank nothing hut water-that




68               THE LIFE OF
while others have been expelled for gambling, I never
touched a card-that while others have been expelled
for commerce with lewd women, I hasve been unspotted from the world —that while others, though great
sticklers for the high church, have run their fathers to
large expense for horses, and dogs, and gaudy dresses,
and balls, and masquerades, I have never brought any
cost upon you for these things-and that while many
others, because their fathers were rich, have thought
themselves privileged to be lazy, I have, thank God,
in my studies at college, and in acquiring the French
language at Paris, and the law at the Inner Temple,
and in settling your business in Ireland-have done all
I could to please you. But, continued William, though
my earthly father may forget my honest endeavours
to please him, yet I have the promise that my heavenly father will enter in his book of life every good act
that I perform from a single eye to his glory. And as
to my poor quaker friend, Thomas Loe, against whom
you have taken up such a dislike, let me once more
assure you, father, that he has never weakened but
greatly strengthened mne in all my duties. And above all,
he has taught me that, to do good for evil is the end
of the religion of Christ;  and that I am not to look for the
crown hereafter if I do not cheerfully bear the cross here.
"Phew!" returned the admiral with a tremendous
whistle, as of a boatswain, calling all hands on deck,
"why, Tom Loe has made a preacher of you already!
Well, go on, young man, go on with your canting.
But let me tell you that all this, and all your cross.
bearing to boot, though it might have done in former
times, is all mere nonsense now.-Yes, people ma)
be rich and great in this world, and take their plea
sures too, and yet after all go to heaven.  Many ol
our lords, both temporal and spiritual, are daily doing
it, to my own certain knowledge, and so may you: yes,
and you shall do it too, let me tell you that, or be no
son of mine.  If you are determined to go and play




WILLIAM  PENN.                 69
the fool, you must go and do it some where else; you shall
not do it in my family. And as I have had no hand in
your folly, so I will not be eternally suffering the mortification of it, that I am determined on."
William, of course, was turned out of his father's
doors. But though the admiral endeavoured to screen
himself from the reproaches of his own conscience,
and also from those of the world for this most unnatural act, yet it was abundantly plain, from his looks
and motions, that INHUMANITY is a breach of the eternal law, (of love) never to be reconciled to the moral
sense. -" HONOUR! HONOUR!" cries the infuriated duellist, as he is about to murder his fellow man; but
does the monster ever enjoy sweet peace afterwards?
So, no plea that pride can prefer will ever silence that
voice of God in the soul of man, which ceaselessly
cries against cruelty. The admiral was a proof of all
this. Even in the act of driving William from home
his every look evinced the torture of a soul engaged
in the horrid work of self-murder. Nor did the rolling
in his bosom subside with the storm that had excited
it. For after the son was gone, the father was seen
striding about the apartment dark and angry in his
looks; and often stroking down his whiskers, as it is
said he was wont, when going into battle. Nor was
his anguish diminished by the melancholy looks of the
servants as they passed by him in silence, and still less
by the cries of his lady, in the adjoining room, bewail
ing her "poor exiled son!" After some time he went
into her chamber where she lay a crying on the bed.
her face muffled up in the clothes.  He sat down by
her side to console her; but she turned her face still
more away. He repeated his tender efforts; but with
no better success. Such treatment from an elegant
wife whom he doted on, stung him to the quick.  At
length after a gloomy silence, he clasped his hands and
lifting his eyes of mingled grief and rage, he execl;imned-" My God! what a life is this!"




70               TIIE LIFE OF
She making no reply, he still went on —" and here
have I been all my miserable days, striving through
toils and tempests, through fightings and blood, to raise
my poor family to something: and after all have only
got to a serious doubt, whether I had not better be dead
than alive; whether I had not better at once cut my
throat than bear this cursed state any longer."
Alarmed at such expressions, Mrs. Penn half raised
herself from the bed, and turning to the admiral
with much of wildness in her red, tear-bathed eyes,
said,; "why, JMr. Penn, why will you make use of such
dreadful language."
Mortal man, replied he, never had better right to use
such language; yes, and ten times worse if I but knew
where to find it. I wanted to make my son, my only
son, a great man, but he won't hear of it. I wanted
to comfort you and you wont allow me to comfort
you.
" Comfort!" answered she, with a deep sigh, " don't
talk to me of comfort. I was never born to enjoy comfort in this world. I had but one child, and he every
thing that my heart and soul could desire, and yet his
life and mine too have been made bitter to us both ever
since he was born."
" Well, whose fault is it," cried the admiral, furiously, " whose fault is it but his own, a poor, sneaking,
mean-spirited blockhead!"
" Don't call him so," said Mrs. Penn, "for I have
heard you say, a thousand times, he was a boy of genitlIs."
" A boy of genius! yes, the boy has genius; and a
tine genius too; but what signifies his genius? what
signifies his education, and all his other rare advantages, if, like a poor fool as he is, he won't improve
them, won't let them make a great man of him?"
" A great man of him!" exclaimed she. " Ah my
God! there's what I fear will be the downfall of us
all. A great man of him indeed!"




WILLIAM PENN.                 71
"Yes," replied the admiral,'"I want to make a
great man of your son. And pray what can be more
natural? Isn't that the aim of the whole world? An't
the poor constantly aiming to become rich? and the
rich to become nobles? and the nobles to become
kings? and kings to become greater and greater still?"
" Yes, Mr. Penn, and it is the aiming at this sort of
greatness that has filled the earth with so many wretched beings.";" What do you mean by that?"
"Why, do not the holy scriptures assure us, that
it was by aiming at a greatness of this sort that our first
parents lost Paradise, and filled the world with, sin and
death? Nay, was it not by aiming at this sort of greatness that Satan and his angels lost their high place in
heaven and sunk to hell?"
"But how does that apply?"
"Why, Mr. Penn, is not this greatness of riches, and
pomps, and places, all from PRIDE, and not for HAPPINEss-which is the only end that rational creatures
should propose to themselves in all their actions?
And, therefore, did not that dear child, whom you just
now turned out of doors, did he not ask you' what
is the true end of greatness but happiness?' And if he
thought that the greatness you so press upon him
would not make him happy, was he not in the right to
despise it?"
" Despise greatness!" exclaimed the admiral.
" Yes, Mr. Penn, such greatness as that. I honour
my son for despising it; for what is the greatness that
consists merely in possessing great town houses and
country- houses-in entertaining great lords and ladies
-in having our gates constantly thronged with coaches
and chariots-wasting the day in idle visitings, and the
night in plays and cards-not an hour to call our own,
out all swallowed up in one continued round of hurry
and dissipation —and all this, too, among the VAIN and
WORTHLESS, whose manners are childishly frivolous;




72               THE LIF E OF
whose conversation is about nothing but fashions and
slander; whose looks ever wear the simper of folly or
the sadness of discontent and envy; and who court us
not from friendship, as we well know, but from vanity
and convenience because we are rich; and would desert us on the first reverse of our fortunes."
"You draw a very pretty picture of the great, 1
think, madam."
" Yes, Mr. Penn, but not one shade too black, nor,
indeed, half black enough. For, contemptible as such
a life may seem, yet there are thousands who, when
enslaved to it, like poor drunkards to their cups, will
sacrifice every thing to keep it up; will gamble, and
forge, and even rob on the highway! yes, and will
beggar and disgrace their wives and children, to preserve only a show of such pitiful greatness. And, because our dear boy was blessed with the rare wisdom
and fortitude to discover and abhor such madness, you
could turn him out of doors, even in the tender and
helpless morning of his days!"
Here the admiral begged his wife to talk no more
at that rate, for that he loved William very dearly,
though he had turned him out of doors. Nay, that he
had treated him in this way altogether out of love, that
he might constrain him into his views, and make something of him.
" Make something of him!" cried Mrs. Penn, "0
my God! that you should possess one of the richest
blessings in all this world, and yet not know it; I
mean a PIous child. For 0! what on all this earth
can be matter of such joy and triumph to a fond
parent as a PIOUS CHILD?" To me it was every thing.
I thought of nothing else. I prayed for nothing else.' Vain, delusive riches and honours!' I said, come not
near my son. You are not one ten thousandth part good
enough for him. Only let my son love God. Only let
him have this, the sweetest spur to every virtue, the
strongest curb from every vice, the best cordial under




WILLIAM PENN.                73
every affliction, and I ask no more!' Well, God, in
his infinite mercy, heard my prayer.  He gave me
that which I esteem above all worlds-a PIovs soN-.
And lo! you turn him out of doors! He has not ambition enough! he won't be RICH enough! nor GREAT
enough to please you! O what millions would not
many of our rich and great friends here in London
give if their sons had but half his virtues! —There's
the rich lord Sterling!-His eldest son and heir of all,
can't dine abroad, but -he must be brought home
drunk! and his face is now so bloated and fiery, that
his friends are ashamed to look at him!-There's the
great lady Warwick! —Her only son crippled and
shortly to die, mortally wounded in a duel!-There's
the earl of Coventry!-His only son sneaking about
the house, like a blackguard, for losing at cards in a
single week fifty thousand pounds left him by an
aunt! —And there's young lord Spencer! though heir
to a dukedom, and covered over with stars and
garters, yet eaten up in youth, of foul diseases!-In
short, what with drunkenness, or duelling, or gambling,
or raking, or some other detestable vice, there's hardly
one in ten of all our great families but is shrouded in
melancholy. Fathers, mothers, and sisters, throughout the town, mourning their disgraced and ruined
sons and brothers. And here, amidst all this shame
and sorrow, our child, our only dear child, not only
not disgraced with such vices, but adorned with all
the opposite virtues-harmless as an infant! temperate
as a saint! devout as an angel! and yet, in place of.
shouting incessant praises to God on his dear account,
you turn him out of doors! 0 Mr. Penn, Mr. Penn,
can you ever forget that look he gave you when taking
up his hat to go away, as you ordered him, he said,
" Father, had I been turned out of your doors because
of any crimes I had done, I should be wretched indeed.
But, thanks to God, I go away with a conscience unstained by an act that should cause you or my dear moG




74               THE LIFE OF
Iher, to blush for me." Here she burst into a flood of
tears. But it was plain they were not bitter tears, for
they flowed from eyes piously rolled towards heaven,
and bright with the joy of hope that her dear boy
would yet one day come out more than conqueror.
And O power resistless of truth! this great British admiral, whom not all the thunders and lightnings of hostile navies could have daunted, was so confounded by
the still small voice of sacred truth, that he turned
away pale with shame and trouble, and walked the
floor silent and humbled as a weaned child.
CHAPTER XII.
BUT leaving the admiral and his amiable consort
under the excitement of feelings of a very opposite
character, let us turn to William. On the first glance
at that dear boy, though but through the eye of fancy,
we can scarce refrain from crying out-O, come here
young men! come here! and mark the difference, the
wide, wide difference between the child of God and
the slave of Satan in the persecutions they suffer for
vice, or virtue's sake! The young sinner, who, for
debauching his neighbour's daughter, or murdering his
son in a duel, is kicked out of his father's doors, flies
from home like a ravening wolf from his wintry
den. And while the curses of the injured are beating upon him from behind, conscious guilt, like a
deadly frost, has blasted every flower of hope in front,
and left him nothing but dreariness and despair. Then
seizing the accursed halter he chokes himself over some
convenient gate-post, and dies, as he deserves, the death
of a mad dog. Such are, ofttimes, the effects of persecution for wickedness' sake. But the persecution for
righteousness' sake> O what is it like, or whereunto




WILLIAM PENN.                75
shall we compare it? It is like unto a whirlwind in
a garden of cinnamon, which, though it create a transient tempest, yet serves to reveal the richer glories of
the place; for by shaking the beds of spices it fills the
air with sweetest odours and spreads abroad a ravishment unknown before. Such was the effect of his father's persecution of young William. It excited, indeed,
an agitation that alternately bleached or reddened his
cheeks, and called forth his tears. But still as it was for
HIM " who will be no man's debtor," he quickly found
in it, that "peace which passeth all understanding!"'Tis true his mother's eyes, following him to the door,
melted him for a moment; but scarcely had he passed
the gate and entered on the fair clover-covered lawns
of Pennwood, and eyed the spacious skies, before his
heart was revived by a flood of joys of the noblest
kind. The painful state of halting between two opinions is now over, and, as he hopes, for ever. He has
at last bravely seized the cross. In thought he ascends
the mount of God, with his anchor of HOPE fast moored in heaven, and his eyes of FAITH, bright as the
everlasting hills, on which they are placed. And while
a voice within seems to whisper-" well done good
and faithful servant!" thou art now free-thou art
now for God-" thou art now living to the great end
of thy creation,"-he felt what he had often read, but
never felt before-" the joy unspeakable and full of
glory."
In this happy frame he repaired without loss of time
to London, in hopes of meeting his revered friend Thomas Loe. But learning that he was not yet returned
from Ireland, William inquired where he might find
any of the " PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS!"
Such an inquiry from the son of admiral Penn, and
in the meek looks too of one of that people excited
much surprise, but he was presently directed to the
house of one George Whitehead, anleminent minister
among the quakers. As God would have it, there was




7G               THE LIFE OF
a meeting that day, at Whitehead's house, which gave
great joy to William, who went in and took his seat
among the friends. He had not sat long before he
found himself very happy with his company. The
modesty of their dress-the sweet spirit on their countenances, shining at once with reverence and affection
in a noiseless but fervent devotion, filled his heart with
all the delights of a most heavenly fellowship. He
felt himself as he thought, among " the excellent ones
of the earth," —with them worshipping the best of all
beings-seeking the greatest of all goods —and by
means well suited to the end they aimed at, even by
a simple culture of the heart in those divine loves
which alone can take of the things of God and give
them to the soul. Soon as meeting was over, and the
younger people and the women gone out, Whitehead,
with several of the friends, approached William Penn,
where he still sat, to salute him. William rose and
giving his hand told them his name. They appeared
greatly pleased, and said they were glad to see him,
for that two years ago, they had heard friend Loe
speak often and much concerning him. Here William
blushed. They then asked him wether he was not
very lately from Ireland? for that they had just received letters from friend Loe speaking of having seen
admiral Penn's son at meeting there, and giving a
very favourable report of him. Thinking this a good
opening, William told him his whole exercises in Ire
land with friend Loe, also his persecutions and banishment from Pennwood. Moreover he told them with
a sigh, that for some time past he had been "halting
between two opinions," but that now his mind was
made up; that being fully convinced that to love the
world is the veriest madness and misery of man, and
to love God his highest wisdom and happiness, he was
resolved to forsake the world and cleave to God for
ever.
As William made this confession, the countenances




\VILLIAM PENN.               77
of the FRIENDS were brightened with joy. And when
he was done they assured him how happy they were
that one so young and of such high standing in the
world, should think of making an offering of himself to
God. William then told them, that he was indeed
thankfutl, and could never be sufficiently so, that God
had called him while so young, to the giory of his service. And, as to his wealth and high standing in the
world, he felt there too that the more he had, the more
he owed to God, and the stronger his obligations to
a pious life: and that now he was come on purpose to
cast in his lot among them.
They all smiled, and asked him if he was in good
earnest. William looked surprised. —They said they had
asked him this question because they were afraid he
had not counted the cost.
0 yes, replied he, I trust I have.
They all shook their heads; when Whitehead, with
great meekness, said, I fear, friend William, thee art almost too young for calculations of this sort. Thee ought
to remember that we are a " little flock," and withal
much despised, and that "not many rich, not many
wise, not many great of this world," have sought fel
lowship with us.
William said he had pondered all these things.
Well then, said Whitehead, thee has done well in
so doing; but still, friend William, there is something
against us much worse than all this yet.
William wanted to know what that was.
Why, friend William, said Whitehead, thee must
cknow that our religion is the hardest in the. whole
world. Here, William seeming to look as if he did not
entirely comprehend this, Whitehead repeated "yes,
friend William, ours is the hardest religion in the
world." Other religions go chiefly on NOTIONS, ours
on LOVE. And thou wilt learn, by and bye, that it is
easier to harangue about a thousand new fangled notions, than to inortitly one old lust. If thou soughtest
G 




78               THE LIFE OF
fellowship with many other societies, thou mightest
easily gain thy point by subscribing to their articles;
contending for their creeds; confessing their notions,
as about the trinity, and baptisms; &c. and by assenting
that all ought to be burnt who differ from them in these
things. But friend William,we have not so learned Jesus.
If his religion stood in these things, it were easy to
be a Christian.  Corrupt nature has always had a
strong leaning to religion of this sort. The heathens
gloried in their showy temples and gaudy sacrifices.
The Jews vaunted in their tythings of mint, anise and
cummin.  Many CHRISTIANS also make a great to do
about creeds and catechisms, about sacraments and no.
tions; because all the zeal they display on these points,
though it may bring them much fame and wealth, need
not cost them one dear lust or passion! But the quakers, friend William, put no confidence in these things.
We feel ourselves constrained to a deeper work, even
that hard lesson of Christ, " the perfect love out of a
pure heart."  And now since thou art come to join
our society; and, as is common when persons apply
for membership with us, we would ask thee a question
or two, but not concerning thy NOTIONS, but concerning thy affections. Hast thou theIn a perfect hatred of
sin, and dost thou sincerely desire to be holy? Hast
thou the "faith that worketh by love?" and does this
vital principle in thy heart manifest itself in every
thought and act of thy life? Is it the staid purpose of
thy soul never to shed thy brother's blood in war or
private strife? Wilt thou never provoke him to hate by
suing him at the law? Wilt thou never indulge thyself
in gaudy attire, or furniture, or equipage, to the depriving thy poor brother of the comforts of thy charity,
and thyself of the pleasure of extending it to him' Wilt
thou not only not put thy bottle to him, but wilt thou
drive from thy house all GIN and ardent spirits that
might prove a stumbling block to hinm? Wilt thou never
thyself rob him of his liberty, and wilt thou set thy




WILLIAM PENN.                 79
face against those who would? Wilt thou in thy furniture -and equipage, also in thy cookery and manners
of living, maintain whatever is plain and cheap, lest
by a contrary example thou shouldst tempt him to live
above his means, and thus involve him in debt and
suffering?
These things, friend William, will serve to show
thee the genius of our religion; what we would be
ourselves, and what we expect of all who enter into
communion with us. Now as thou art young and of
a great family in the world, thou mayest not relish
doctrines so mortifying to pride and carnal sense, and
which require that simplicity and perfect love so distasteful to corrupt nature. We would therefore advise thee to take time and revolve these things in thy
mind, lest thou shouldst fall into the condemnation of
those who are very ready to follow the Lord in the
days of " the loaves and fishes," but soon as he begins to
preach his heavenly moiality that would pull down
the brute and set up the angel in man, strait they are' offended and will walk no more with him."
William's eyes sparkled, as friend Whitehead spoke
in this way; then with a smile he replied, that he had
no need to take time to revolve these things. He was
already persuaded, that every pulse of the heart towards the world and the flesh was but fostering a fever fatal to true peace of mind; that it was the desire
of his soul to be crucified to the world and the flesh,
as the only wisdom for a happy life. And as to the
SIMPLICITY and SELF-DENYING doctrines of the people
called quakers, and also, the contempt they put on all
SOrIONAL religion, in comparison of that "PERFECT
LOVE" which so strongly inclines to do, in all cases, to
others, as we would they should do to us, he was always
charmed with them. He would not he said, so highly
prize the religion of Christ, if it were not for this
sweet spirit that runs through and animates the whole.
Hfe had within himself, added he, the witness of'the




80               THE LIFE OF
divinity of this religion of Christ-its tendency to heal
all the ills, and brighten all the goods of life. Repeated experience had taught him, that in proportion as
his heart was warmed and sweetened with this divine
charity, he had a disposition to feel for his brother as
for himself; to pity him; to forgive him; to mourn
his vices and misfortunes, and to rejoice in his virtues
and prosperities; and therefore instead of being offended thereat, he thought it the very best employment
God could set himself upon in this life to crucify inordinate self with all its pride, and envy, and hate, and
to perfect himself in that pure love which, by giving
him a tender interest in the welfare of others, would
make him a partaker in all their good."
Upon this, they all gave him the right hand of fellowship, and he was formally received as a FRIEND,
not more to the surprise and comfort of that benevolent and despised people, than to the astonishment
and displeasure of the proud ones and great of the dominant church, who from that day marked him as the
butt of their spite.
— *Q Q Q4@ 
CHAPTER XIII.
IT was about the twenty-fourth year of his life that
William Penn became a preacher among the quakers;
whence it appears, that, being only eighteen when he
joined them, he must have been six years preparing
himself for his " high calling," the ministry. What we
are to learn from that singular fact in the life of Christ,
that he was nine years after he came of age, as we say,
before he began to preach, I know not. But of William
Penn we may safely say this in the hearing of young
candidates for holy orders, that when they remember
that his talents were certainly of the first class, and his




WILLIAM PENN.                 81
life equally spotless; and when they remember too
that his convictions of the transcendent charm and
worth of religious affections, were very early and deep,
and yet he delayed coming forth to the public until his
twenty-fourth year, they ought, we think, to be very
cautious, lest, " running before they are sent, they fall
into the snare of the devil, and by bringing much reproach on their holy profession, pierce themselves
through with many sorrows."
What particular books and bodies of divinity Willim Penn studied during those six years of seclusion, I
have never been able to learn; but on reading the numerous tracts, which, like polished shafts of the quiver,
flew from his pen against the adversaries of the humble and loving gospel, (as set forth in the lives of the
quakers,) we are at a loss whether most to admire the
extent of his reading, or the powers of his memory- and
judgment.
As a skilful chemist, from a waggon load of plants,
will extract an essence which though compressible into
an ounce vial, shall yet contain the choice odour and
virtues of the whole heap, leaving the residue a mere
caput mortuum fit only for the dunghill-so, in passing
through the alembic of William Penn's brain, the
grossest bodies of divinity appeared all at once decomposed; the bonds whereby sophistry had coupled
truth and error, are instantly dissolved; and the vile and
the precious are shown in such characteristic colours,
that a child can easily mark the difference. The result
of all this was a plainness and purity in his principles
and practice which can hardly be enough admired and
imitated.
We read of the wise king of Israel, that after all his
sprightly  songs, and pregnant proverbs, and grave discourses, he winds up with a single text —" fear God and
keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of
man."  Even so, William  Penn, after all his deep
reading and reflection on that great subject, throws the




82               THE LIFE OF
whole of religion into two words, HUMILITY and LOVE.
Those who are in the habit of despising a religion that
is not bundled up and bloated with CREEDS and CATECHISMS, SACRAMENTS and CEREMONIES, will no doubt
think as meanly of Penn's simple religion of HUMILITY
and LOVE, as Naaman did of Elisha's simple prescription for the leprosy, " go and wash." But it is enough
for us to know that this religion, simple as it may seem,
is from God. And it is also enough for us to know that
the foolishness of God is wiser than man. Man must
always have a tedious 1" round about" way to come at his
object. God goes point blank to it at once. Man must
have a thousand springs to move one effect; God
touches but one spring, and lo millions of effects leap
into motion! Since then his power is so great why
may not God, if it please him, give command, and a
single pair of parent virtues shall instantly give birth
to innumerable beauties in the moral world? He does
so in the natural world. Look at wintry nature clad
in her dreary shroud of ice and snow-her lovely vegetable family all enhearsed!-her nobler animal offspring drooping in silent despair! "A.llas! shall these
dead bones live."  Yes, let the sun but come forth in
his strength-let the soaking showers smoke along the
ground-and straightway the little plants peep forth,
laughing, from their clods-the lambs gambol on their
hills —and the birds fill the spicy groves with songs!
-and all this wondrous change effected by the sole
agency of the sun and the shower! And what is that
sun; and what is that shower in the natural world,
but humility and love in the moral? For as the
warm sun and shower unbind the ice of winter, and
fill the lap of nature with precious fruits and flowers,
so by the tear of humility and the glow of love, the ice
of human nature is dissolved —the long dead seeds of
virtue begin to sprout-the man is revived —his face
blooms benevolence —his thoughts breathe kindnessand his lips utter a language sweeter than the song of




WILLIAM PENN.                 83
birds, and more refreshing than the odour of precious
spices.
Thus NATURE, by her still small voice of analogy,
proclaims to man that humility and love are the true
religion and life of the moral world. But for further
proof let us go up from nature to nature's God; from
his works to his word. And here, passing by the prophets who all assure us that Jehovah asks not our
"thousands of rams nor tens of thousands of rivers
of oil," but only that we "do justice; love mercy;
and walk humbly with God." Passing by the apostles
also, who with one voice declare that HUMILITY and
LOVE are the very " end of the lazw"-and that without
these all our zeal, though hot as the martyr's flame,
and all our faith though stronger than mountains, will
avail us nothing. Passing, I say, by the prophets and
apostles, let us come to a greater than all prophets and
apostles, I mean God himself " manifested in the flesh,"
and in him we shall see cause for ever to exclaim, " was
ever love, was ever humanity like his?"
His mother-an obscure virgin!
His supposed father-a poor carpenter!
His birth-place-a stable!
His cradle-a manger!
His heralds-shepherds!
His disciples-fishermen!
His family example-washing his disciples' feet!
His miracle-giving eyes to the blind, &c.!
His new commandment —love one another!
His favourites here —they that resemble little children!
His courtiers hereafter-they that feed the hungry,
&c. &c.!
His coming into the world —to seek those that were
lost!
His LIFE-doing good!
His death —on the cross to save sinners!
Now what does all this point to, but to humility and




84               THE LIFE OF
love —to a love stronger than death, and to a humility
lower than the grave!
And for those who hold no authority equal to reason, what says reason? Why the only religion in the
universe must be humility and love —because, BY HUMILITY WE ADORE GOD FOR ALL THAT HE GIVES TO
OURSELVES; AND BY LOVE WE PARTICIPATE WITH
OTHERS IN ALL THAT HE GIVES TO THEM.
But still a blind world will not be reconciled to HUMILITY and LOVE. They are too heavenly for earthly
natures —too much against the grain of flesh and blood,
to be submitted to. "What!" says Pride, " be the
servant of all! take the lowest seat'! wash the disciples' feet!" —" What!" says Hate, " bear to be called
a liar! love my enemies! do them good for all their
evil to me! no, never."
This is poor human nature all over. Whether Jew
or Gentile, Turk or Christian, they can't stomach humility and love. If God will but excuse them from
these, they will do any thing for him. Let them but
have their PRIDE and REVENGE, their COVETOUSNESS
and LUST, and they will give him thousands of willworship. The heathens will sacrifice their hecatombs
of fat bullocks and lambs; yea and their own children
too, on a pinch. The Jews will give him prayers in
the streets by the hour, with loads of mint and anise
into the bargain. The Mahometans will sheartheir whiskers, and make scores of pilgrimages to the prophet's
tomb-and the Christians, with all their better light,
will get baptized in every mode, whether of sprinkling
or dipping; and will take forty sacraments, if there be
as many. And yet, after all, what good was ever done
to the world by these alone? Have they ever yet made
mankind one jot the better or happier? Alas! can we
be ignorant that with the most pompous display of
these, the world has all along been " dead in trespasses
and sins?" The heathens universally, idolaters, gladi
ators, cannibals. The Jews, extortioners, and devourer



WILLIAM PENN.                85
of widows' houses. The Mahometans, polygamists,
s ave holders, robbers. And the Christians-(O shame!
shame! shame!) the Christians-drunkards, gamblers,
swindlers; duellists in private life; and in public,
butchers of one another in endless aDd- bloody wars.
But to come nearer to our own case as individuals,
let us suppose a man disordered with the leprosy of sin.
And for argument's sake, let us suppose, reader, that you
are that man; from the sole of your foot to the crown
of your head all distempered, all grievously afflicted.
Let us suppose that you are tormented with ENVY, SO
thatlike Cain, the prosperity of even your own brother
stirs a hell within you-or bloated with PRIDE, SO that,
like Haman, not all the smiles of a monarch and his
court can appease your vengeance for the neglect of
a beggar. Now under such cruel distempers as these,
will you look for a cure in the externals of religion?
Alas! have you not discovered, that all your bodily'2~oercises "profit nothing?" Have you not found, that
a'ter all your shiftings from one religion to another;
after all your humble kneelings and solemn. sacraments; all your china bowl baptisms, or your deeper
plungings,-your heart has continued just as hard, and
your life as much embittered with malignant passions
and the dread of death as ever? But say, 0 happy
reader, when at some subsequent period the God of
Elijah had descended into your heart, in streams of
humility and flames of love, have you not experienced
a change beyond all that you could have conceived?
Have you not found the haughty proudling converted
into the weaned child-through tears stmiling on injuries which formerly would have been insupportable-delighting in works of love which you would
once have utterly loathed-with brotherly tenderness
washing the feet of the meanest disciple-with angel
sympathy cleansing the ulcers of the poorest Lazarusand, more wondrous still, with godlike generosity
taking the bitterest enemy -to your arms, and even
HS




86               TIHE LIFE OF
rejoicing in the divine work of doing him good for
evil!
Of the wonderful difference between this religion
of Christ and that of the world-between the showy
religion of ceremonies and the simple religion of humility and love, few men perhaps ever had a livelier
sense than William Penn; and few ever took truer
pains to impart that sense to others. This was the
end of all his life's extraordinary labours —to caution
men against what he called WILL-WORSHIP. "Don't
think," he would say, " that preachings and prayings,
singings and sacraments, can make you Christians.
Baptism by water washes away only the filth of the
flesh;'tis baptism by fire and the Holy Ghost that is to
burn up our lusts, and restore union and oneness with
God.'Tis in vain you eat the flesh, and drink the
blood of Christ, unless they nourish in you his spirit,
which is humility and love. Without which there is
no salvation, because there is no qualification for it.
For without humility how can there be gratitude?
and without gratitude, how can there be enjoyment?
And without a child-like love of him, how can we
walk with God in the blessedness of sweet obedience
in this life, or in the joys of beatific vision in the life
to come? Thus humility and love are required, not
as arbitrary terms for God's pleasure, but as loving
prescriptions for man's happiness, to which indeed
they are so absolutely essential, that without them
God himself could not make us truly happy: for,
without them, we could no more enjoy the ravishing
glories of his presence than we now can enjoy beautiful pictures without eyes, or savoury dishes without
health.




WILLIAM PENN.                87
CHAPTER XIV.
Now one would have supposed that all men would
have been well pleased with William Penn, for thus
eloquently persuading people to exchange their barren
notions for divine loves, which alone can restore the
"golden age" of pleasure, to man and beast. One
would have supposed that every child, laughing with
plenteousness of bread; and that every animal gamboling with fat, would, by thus manifesting the blessed
effects of his doctrine, have caused all good men to
rejoice in it. At any rate, one would have supposed,
that though KINGS and their MINIONS, rioting on the
nation's substance, might hate such levelling doctrines,
yet assuredly their " thread bare subjects," and above
all, the oppressed dissenters, would have supported
him in a doctrine so well calculated to lighten their
burdens, and better their own condition. But alas,
poor human nature! let a man wear a coat never so
black, or a face never so grum, yet, without LOVE,
(the soul of all MAGNANIMITY,) he will soon manifest
himself the slave of some pitiful passion. And as
slaves on a VVest-India plantation, the worse they are
treated by their masters, the more cruel they become
to one another; so in a country where religion is not
left free to make men the children of God in humility
and love, but is enslaved to Inake them the " hewers
of wood and drawers of water" to a despot, the worse
they are afflicted and chafed in their mninds by him, the
more apt are they to hate their fellow sufferers.
Another reason may be assigned for the very unexpected persecution of William Penn by the dissenting
preachers. Man is seldom placed in a situation that
entirely extinguishes his strong natural wish to be
somebody. Hence the dissenters in England, though
shamefully kept under hatches by the national church,
yet never shed their liquorish tooth for power. And




88               THE LIFE OF
although they could not get what St. Paul calls " a
good thing," i. e. a bishopric; yet they affected to
come as near to it as possible. They must, (as our
Saviour charged their fathers,) be called " Rabbi!
Rabbi!" They must be seated in the "uppermost places
at the feast-be the chief men in the synagogues,
and receive praises of men."  Well, those among
them who possessed talents and education, often attained these objects of their ambition-they gathered
hearers-made proselytes-built meeting houses —
drew up their catechisms and confessions of faithpublished their hymn books and discipline —and thus
mimicked most bravely a church of Christ. But though
apparently, " so nigh unto the kingdom of God, yet one
thing they lacked. They did not this for God, —but for
filthy lucre sake —and for glory from  men."   Yes,
they must be great doctors of divinity and heads of
churches. Some of them, as before observed, succeeded. Success often tempts even the pulpit to
pride; and pulpit pride, like all the rest, kindles at opposition and sickens at talents superior to its own.
The shepherd who loses his lamb to the wolf, loses
nothing but his lamb; the fleece and flesh, that's
all. His own character, in the mean time, as a man,
and therefore lord of' the wolf, stands undisputed.
But the proud priest who loses his disciple, loses not
only his fleece and flesh, his taxable and tytheable,
who feeds his vanity and fattens his purse, but he
loses his reputation too! The world will say of him
that though he was great, another was greater. "a Saul
slew his thousands, but David his tens of thousands."
This were a stab incurable; he could never get over
it. And as such an idea must never go abroad, he
must pull down his rival, that's a clear case.
Such was the wretched spirit manifested against
William Penn, by some of the dissenting preachers
of his time. I mean not such "great and shining
lights," as the Watts's and Baxters and Doddridges




WILLIAM PENN.                89
and Wesleys, and Gills, of latter times, whom God, in
mercy to the world, has all along raised up to check
the corruption and decay of the gospel by wickedly
mixing it with this world, as popes and politicians
have done. But I am speaking of such, and such
there are in the purest churches, who preaching for
fame and for the fleece, would not thank St. Paul
himself to take away one of their hearers. It was a
dissenting preacher of this stamp who rose up so furiously against William  Penn. The case was thusThe divine sweetness of his countenance when he
stood up to speak, and the truths which fell from his
lips with such demonstration of light and love, produced the effect that might have been counted on.
Numbers were convinced and joined themselves to the
gospel. Among these were some persons belonging to
the meeting of a popular dissenting preacher of the name
of Irvine. This gentleman had, for some time, been
much displeased with William Penn for reflecting on
his favourite doctrine, "justification by faith alone,"" imputed righteousness," and other such notions which
some are fond of putting in place of the harder precepts
of humility and faith working by love." As yet he had
kept his displeasure to himself. But soon as he heard
that William Penn had drawn away some of his flock,
he could contain no longer, but broke forth against him
into the most indecent passion, calling him a JESUIT;
a FALSE PROPHET, and a preacher of DAMNABLE DOCTRINES.
Happily for William Penn his labours in religion
had been chiefly in quest of that treasure which is
better than the merchandize of gold, i. e. love. By virtue of this he had learned to look on his fellow man,
when tormented with sin, as no object of hate but of
pity. He therefore made no reply at first to such
abuse, but by his sighs. At length fearing that silence
might, by weak persons, be considered as a tacit acknowledgment of a bad cause, he permitted a public
H 2




90              - THE LIFE OF
notice, that " he and his friend William Mdead, would
meet James Irvine at any time and place he should think
proper to appoint, and in the spirit of meekness endeavour to answer the very uncharitable charges which he
had made against them."
If a rumored fight between the elephant and rhinoceros has always excited curiosity sufficient to fill the
largest amphitheatre, then how much more when
Christian divines, of highest reputation in their respective churches, are coming forward to public dispute
on the all-important subjects of religion and eternal
life. The crowd of hearers was immense. William
Penn, and his friend Mead being handed up to seats
prepared for them on a platform, Mr. Irvine in his
pulpit commenced with very formally charging William Penn, as an utter enemy to the glorious doctrine
of the trinity.
William Penn denied the charge.
Mr. Irvine set himself with great pomp to prove his
assertion in a lengthy series of subtile scholastic arguments.
William Penn with his usual simplicity and brevity,
showed that both his reasoning and language, being
utterly unscriptural, ought not to be relied on.
Finding that William Penn and his friend Mead had
a great deal more to say in favour of their opinions
than he had imagined, and that the controversy was like
to take a very different turn from what-he had expected, Mr. Irvine lost his temper and became quite
abusive. His disciples kept pace with him in his rage,
which they now indulged, not only without restraint,
out even with complacency, as thinking they were doing God service by abusing "false teachers," and " vile
jesuits."  In short, after an altercation continued till
late at night, Mr. Irvine, filled with holy wrath, could
refrain no longer, but leaping down from his pulpit
and snatching his hat, darted out of the meeting-house
with a soul as dark and stormy as the night he rushed




WILLIAM  PENN.                91
into.  This served as a signal to his party to maltreat
our poor quakers at pleasure, which they accordingly
did in the most indecent manner. They shuffled their
feet-they hissed-they put out their candles-and at
length pulling them down from the platform, thrust
them out of doors.
Seeing no chance of getting any thing like justice
from such blind persons, William Penn determined to
bring his defence before the public. Accordingly he
fell to writing and presently came out with a pamphlet
entitled 1" the sandy foundation shaken."' Now though
in this famous piece he only said what his divine master had said a thousand times before him, viz. that all
manner of dependence on Christ save that which
worketh IHoMILITY and LOVE, will only turn out like
the house built on the sand, yet he soon discovered
that, in writing it, he had brought himself into the predicament of that notable peasant, who, in running away
from the wolf, stumbled upon the lion. In place of the
skin-deep scratches of a few feeble dissenters, he was
all at once in the strong clutches of the bishop of London and his formidable clergy. These reverend and
right reverend gentlemen, with scarlet ribbons at their
knees and long swords by their sides, had for some
time past been frowning on William Penn, and for the
same goodly reasons for which certain worthies in his
day had so grinned at St. Paul, i. e. because he wished
"to be their friend. "
Every body knows that William Penn did not dread
the prince of darkness half as much as he did a NOIsY,
SHOWY RELIGION. Knowing, as he did, that the heart
of man is "6 deceitful above all things and desperately
wicked,"-and knowing also, that most men are such
extravagant lovers of themselves, that like certain
saints w-e read of in the gospel, if they only make a
bow at the altar, think themselves fiull holy enough to
"despise father and mother!" or if, like the pharisees,
they do but offer to God a sprig of mint, they set




92                THE LIFE OF
themselves down at once for Jbraham's children! —
Or if, like Christ's own disciples, who only for leaving
their beggarly trades and walking about a short season
with their divine master, who, by the bye, was every
day working miracles to fill their hungry bellies and
pay their taxes, yet they could boldly lay claim to the
"first seats in his kingdom!" —-Knowing, I say, as William Penn did, all this incalculable pride and naughtiness of the human heart, had he not abundant cause
to tremble for the bishop of London and his clergy,
when he saw the mighty noise and show which they
were making "for God's sake," —darkening the skies
with their tall cathedrals and spires —distracting the
air with their bells and organs —dazzlilng all eyes with
their rich pulpit-cloths and altar-pieces-keeping the
people on the stare at their constant change of gowns,
and cassocks, and the church in a holy bustle of kneelings and risings, with loud responses and amens?
Had not he good cause, as St. Paul speaks of certain
ostentatious saints of his day, "6 to stand int fear of
them," lest, after such wonderful exploits in religion,
they would, in the old way, begin to " thank God that
they were not like other men?"  And because he
thus feared for them, and often out of pure christian
love expressed his fears, the bishop of London, in
place of taking it in good part, kindled into wrath, and
by way of revenge, had him attainted of heresy, on account of his book, and thrown into prison!!
The clergy, many of whom had already raised the
old war-whoop, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians,'"
now felt themselves perfectly at liberty to fall upon
William  Penn, which they did in the most virulent
manner.  One of them went so far as to say, "he did
not see how it was possible for God, consistently with the
Bible, to save a quaker!"  Another reverend gentleman, going still further, published a book against William Penn, wherein he asserted roundly, that "Parliament would not be doing half' as much harm to the




WILLIAM PENN.                 93
nation by tolerating gamblers, horse-thieves, duellists
and all that pack of vermin, as by tolerating the qua-kers."
Had a whale or a grampus, during a heavy blow at
sea, put into the mouth of the Thames, no historian
of those days would on any account have missed relating the wonderful and portentous event. And yet
this reverend whale of spiritual ignorance and bigotry,
who made his appearance in the city of London so
late as the year 1669, is no where noticed by Hume,
Smollett, or any other British writer that I have seen.
So much apter are men to notice monsters in the natural than in the moral world! thus dipping, like
wanton swallows, at mere feathers on the surface to
amuse a vain fancy, when they ought to be diving like
men to the bottom of moral truths, for the precious
pearls of true wisdom.
After lying for some time in durance vile, William
Penn was let into the grand secret of his confinement
there, viz. for denying the divinity of the Saviour! He
was also given to understand from the good bishop,
that unless he recanted that' damnable error, he should
die and rot in prison!! Soon as possible he procuredpen and ink, and presently came out with another
pamphlet, entiled "TRUTH WITH HER OPEN FACE"
In this work, so far from making the Saviour less, as
his enemies slandered, he makes him much greater
than they do.  Instead of making him the second
person in the trinity, he makes him the first-yea, he
makes him as the scriptures make him, " The m'ightg
God"-" The everlasting Father" —" The ONLY WISE
GOD OUR SAVIOUR," even "God himself manifested
in the flesh" —who was " with God from the begin
ning, and who was God."  The bishop, a sturdy
ATHANASIAN, did not altogether like this exposition of
the trinity; but it gave great comfort to some, even to
those whose pious souls had often been grieved to hear
the blessed God misrepresented as having less love




94               THE LIFE OF
for them than Christ has. To them it gave unspeakable joy to find, as they did in this publication of William Penn's, that God was still their God, their infinite
friend and father, who so loved them even in their
death of sin, that he came into the world for their redemption; yea, that it was " God himself who in the
person of Christ redeemed the world." William Penn
is, however, in prison, where we mean to visit him,
next chapter.
CHAPTER XV.
William Penn in prison; his mother visits him.
A THOUSAND great things and glorious have been
said of RELIGION and her family of pleasures. But if
ten thousand times ten thousand more were added,
still would the happy Christian have cause to ex.
claim, as did the queen of the East, when with rapture-sparkling eyes she beheld the riches and glories
of Solomon's royal state, " verily the half was not told
me." 0, who, in praising can ever do half justice to
that blessed frame of mind which in every thing sees
and feels the presence of the Deity, with that holy joy
which antidotes all the ills of life, and makes men con.
tent in every state —content in poverty —content in
sickness —yea, content in bonds and imprisonment
where duty calls and the pleasure of pleasing God, is
felt. This blessed influence of religion was fully experienced by William Penn in a very important event
of his life about this time.
Because he could not think of the TRINITY exactly
as St. Athanasius thought, he was, as we have just seen,
locked up in prison by the bishop of London. Under
circumstances of this sort, the falsely GREAT have been




WILLIAM PENN.                95
known to exhibit symptoms of extreme dejection and
impatience; bitterly lamenting their own misfortunes,
and as keenly reflecting on the authors of them. But
far different was the state of William Penn in prison.
Iron bars and bolts could shut him in, but they could
not shut out his God. As to please him by pulling
down falsehood, and setting up truth, appeared to Penn
the highest glory of man, so it inspired the tenderest pity
of those who were blind to its importance, and who
did not greaten life by pursuing it. Hence, all the
malice of the bishop and his clergy, in place of harm,
wrought him much good, by exercising and strengthening in him that divine charity which draws the sting
of injuries, and spontaneously breathes that sublimest
of prayers, " Father forgive them for they know not
what they do."
With so much of heaven in his bosom, what wonder
that his confinement should have entirely changed its
nature, and instead of seeming dark and dreary as a
dungeon, should have reflected the gay and lightsome
air of a palace.
How long he had laid in prison before the news
thereof reached that affectionate parent, I know not.
And as little do I know by whom it was conveyed.
Certainly, it was not by him, for she was the last person on earth to whose tender bosom he would have
imparted such a pang; especially knowing, as he did,
that all her sighs and tears could avail him nothing.
The news, however, was brought to her that he was
in prison. The reader, especially if a parent, will ask
no poet's pen to describe the feelings of this tenderest of mothers on hearing that an only son, and one so
beloved, was in jail! And her sufferings must have
been more than ordinarily severe, as, from the silence
of the historian concerning him, it is more than probablle that her husband, the admiral, was from home
at this distressing juncture. Her coach was instantly
ordered to the door, and, with all the trembling eager



96               THE LIFE OF
ness of maternal affection, she threw herself into it and
set out for the prison, mournfully revolving no doubt
as she went, the dark cloud now obscuring those bright
prospects which she had so often formed for her son.
Her reveries were soon broken off by the appearance
of the prison. But if her tender spirits were chilled
with horror at sight of the gloomy walls and iron
gratings around that house of woe, what must she
have felt, as passing along those crowded chambers of
sin and suffering, her gentle senses were assailed with
the filth and rags and pallid looks of the wretches that,
on all sides, stared at her as she walked. Following
the steps of the sullen turnkey, she arrived at William's
chamber, whose iron door, reluctantly opening with
discordant jar, gave her eager eyes the dear object
they sought for. Absorbed in his studies, and sitting
at an opposite window, William Penn had not marked
the entrance of his mother, who, soon as she beheld
him, could not repress her feelings, but involuntarily
uttered a scream, calling on his beloved name. Starting from his chair, William Penn wheeled him around to
that well known voice, presenting to his mother a face
as like an angel as innocence and filial love, in rosy
youth could look. 0 never was the charm of virtue
more sensibly felt than now; and never was that charm
more needed. M' rs. Penn had come to weep over her
imprisoned son, and to bathe him with her tears. But
far from her were all such thoughts when she beheld
him, as leaping from his chair, and with all heaven in
his countenance, he flew to embrace her.
M1y.Mother!
0 my son! was all that nature, near swooning with
ineffable tenderness, could utter. After a moment of
delicious tears shed on his bosom, the happy mother
raised herself to feast her eager eyes on his beloved
face. It was a feast indeed. "   the difference! the
d(lffeerence! her joy sparkling eyes seemed to say as
they darted over his: looks-"-  0 the difference between




WILLIAM  PENN.                97
this my son and the ghastly wretches I but now beheld!
They, the dismal forms of guilt, disease, and death; but
He, all that fancy can conceive of the lovely reverse!
Health in his cheeks, heaven in his eyes, and in every
feature innocence and bliss." These honours of her
son were too bright and precious to escape her keen
searching inspection.  She caught and enjoyed them
all to ecstasy. Then pressing him once more in transport to her bosom, and looking at him with great tenderness, she said, "O  William, my son, my son, what
a medley of sweetest pains and pleasures has my life
been made to me; and all through you!"
Sweetest pains, my mother, and all through me!
"Yes, William, sweetest pains indeed, and all
through you. God be praised, you never gave me the
pang of a single vice. O no, your life has all been
brightened over with virtues.  But still, William,
through some rare dispensation of heaven, even your
virtues have caused me pains; but, as I said, they
have been sweet pains. Your early seriousness and
devotedness to God, were certainly the greatest of all
virtues: but then your father's violent persecutions of
you for it, and especially for your joining the quakers,
was cause of great pain to me, though it was, I confess, accompanied with much pleasure because of the
pure principles and firm, yet amiable spirit, you displayed under it all. And now your confinement in
this prison has cost me many tears, but -still, blessed
be God. they are comparatively sweet tears, because
not shed for grief of any crime that you have committed, but rather for joy of your angel innocence and
honest adherence to what you think your duty." But,
my dear son, although your looks, shining with heavenly innocence and peace, do cause me to feel myself the happiest of mothers, yet I must confess, WBil.
liam, that my joy would be still more complete if you
were not in this place."
Yes, mother, and could I obtain it on terms consistent
I




THE LIFE OF'
with duty, I also would prefer freedom to these bonds.
But with my present views of things how can I ever
expect it?
Why not, my son?  replied Mrs. Penn, eagerly.
Why, mother, I am in this prison not for any moral
law of God that I have violated; not for any harm that
I have ever done to any, or even for suspicion of such
thing, but merely because I will not conform with the
national church.  But how  can I conform to that
church while there is so much of antichrist in their
worship?
Of antichrist, William!
Yes, mother, of antichrist: for what is antichrist,
but to invent substitutes, no matter how costly or how
apparently holy, in place of the simple worship which
God has declared will please him? Now God every
where tells us that he " is A SPIRIT"-a spirit of" LIOLINESS AND LOVE"-that, this being his OWN NATURE,; HE SEEKS FOR WORSHIPERS -;" none but those who
thus worship him in spirit and truth."  He also every
where assures us that there is nothing which his soul
so abhors as all attempts, in place of these, to invent
outward substitutes, such as grand temples —rich offerings-thousands of rams —tens of thousands of rivers of oil-bowings of the head like bullrushes —observings of new moons and sabbaths —tythings of minit
and anise —disfiguring offaces —long prayers —freqiiuent
fastings-giving alms in the streets, &c. "WHILE THE
HE-ART IS FAR FROM HIM," and -of course the life
filled up with crimes, such as "devouring widows'
houses" —and not providing proper food and raiment
even for " their own household."  Now, my dear mother, look at our national church, my non-conformity
with which has caused the bishops to throw me (uncharged with a crime) into this prison; I say look at
our national church and see how awfully it has fallen
into these abominations-see how, leaving the simple,
inward, spiritual worship of Christ, that naturally




WILLIAM  PENN.                 99
leads to imitate him in all'moral virtues, they have
substituted. an outward, showy, gaudy worship, like the
Heathens, which is consistent with all their old sins of
pride, indulgence of self, and frauds and cruelties to
others. Look at their grand churches and cathedrals
which they have built for Christ! do these show any
thing like his HUMILITY in life, doctrine and example,
which i" he has left that we might follow his steps."
Do these show any thing of his LOVE, who "made himself poor that we might be rich" —who requires
"mercy and not sacrifice"-and who said "let nothing
be lost," no, not a scrap of broken meat, because
there is always some poor starving Lazarus who
wants it.
" And look at the ornamentings and furniture of
these grand churches and cathedrals,\which they say
they have built for Christ; their costly carvings and
paintings; their rich altar-pieces and pulpit-cloths,
flaming with crimson and gold; their piles of massy
plate; and, above all, their tall and towering steeples
and spires, reaching to the clouds! Do these things
suit the genius of his simple humble worship; or do
they match with his precepts of "perfect charity,"
which are as angels sent to earth, with their eyes bright
through tears, eagerly looking around for the poor and
miserable, that they may relieve them; and not throwing away their precious means on such blinding, deceiving, and fatal vanities.  For 6'who hath required
these things at your hands, saith the Lord God.  Behold the heaven of heavens cannot contain me: andwzill
you build me houses of brick and mortar, which perish
before the moth? Is not this the, sacrifice that I have
chosen, even to deal thy bread to the hungry? and that
thou bring the poor that are cast out of thy house?
when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and
that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?" And
then for the worshipo, both by the priests and the people, which is offered ulnto Christ in these their grand




100              THEI LIFE OF
churches, what precedents have they for it in his gospel? When the multitude was come together to hear
the words of eternal life from his lips, did he amuse
them with changes of garments, surplices, and gowns,
and cassocks? or did he keep the impatient crowds in
suspense, wearying and fatiguing them with repetitions
of long prayers, which, though excellent in themselves,
and apt to be very savoury and profitable to the devout,
ought not to be forced upon the multiude' And as to
his worshippers, did he, whose chief delight is in the' humble and contrite ones,' ever look to be served by
giddy crowds driving up to his house in proud carriages, alas! too often bought with monies taken from
their creditors; or, worse still, taken from the'poor
to whom he had appointed them his own stewards?'
or= did he expect that persons profaning his house with
pomps and vanities of attire so opposite to the charitable spirit of his religion, would set themselves down
as his disciples, because they had gone a formal round
of outward devotions, while in their tempers and manners they betrayed the most deplorable ignorance of'the Saviour whom they had been so pompously worshipping —living in their old scandalous neglects of those
moral duties which even heathens honour, to the great'
disgrace of the religion of Christ, and to the filling the
world with infidel philosophers, thus taught to laugh
at all revelation!"
As William Penn uttered this, which he did like one
who strongly felt what he was speaking, his mother,
who had been eagerly imbibing every syllable, thus
passionately replied:-" Oh William, my son, what a
horrible picture have you given of the degeneracy of
the church in these wretched days!  and the more horrible because it is so true."
" Yes, mother," replied he; "and yet, because I
cannot conform to such horrible corruptions of Christ's
gospel; because I cannot bring my feelings to go to such
churches and to partake of all that outward, noisy, showy,




WILLIAM PENN                  101
unspiritual worship, my name is cast out as evil; my
property is confiscated and sold; and I ant here, you see,
mother, locked up ia prison, cut off from the common
blessings of air and liberty, when all the time no man
dare come forward and say I ever did him harm; and
all this under the eyes of the bishops of the church,
whose tythings, and revenues, and palaces, and ponmps,
and pleasures are, in part, maintained out of the substance thus torn from  the poor quakers; and their
children beggared and ruined by such inhuman robberies.:' Well, William," replied Mrs. Penn, embracing
him, and her looks shining with heavenly joys, "you
have given me more of divine comfort to-day than I
ever experienced in one day in all my life. Such
bright lights on your duty, and such fortitude to adhere to it, in spite of all discouragements, 0 what glory
has it not shed over your person in my eyes; and
what ceaseless gratitude to God that he has given to
my dear son the honour to be such a champion and
martyr for his glorious truth, which yet shall triumph."
"Yes, mother," replied Williarn, catching up that
word, " yes, Christ's truth shall yet triumph over Satan's lies —and his heavenly love over hellish hate.
The fruits of his righteousness shall yet fill the earth,
and then all those who have honestly laboured for
that great change,' shall shine like the firmament, and
as the stars for ever and ever' "
"Well, William," returned Mrs. Penn, getting up
as to go away,  "I came here to comfort you, but thank
God for ever, you have much more comforted me.
Yes, I am going home very different friom what I came;
not with eyes flowing with bitter tears, but with a heart
overflowing with sweetest joys. But now I must be
going. I forgot to tell you that I expected your dear father
yesterday. He will, I think, certainly come to-day. fie
is coming home sick.  I long to pour of my joys into
his bosom   And besides, my dear son, this shameless
[.




102              TIlE LIFE OF
imprisonment of you may bring about great good. You
know what a high spirited man he is; and that, after
all his life's dangers and hard fightings for his king and
country; after all his large loans of money for the
glory of the British nation, you, his child, his only
child, should be thus rudely thrown into prison, it cannot but rouse his indignation. At any rate, it must set
him to thinking; and he may thence make such discoveries of the scandalous corruptions in the national
church, as shall produce an entire change in his respect for it, and even make him honour you for quitting it." Mrs. Penn then took a tender leave of her
son, not without promising to come and see him the
next day, and, perhaps, to bring his father with her.
CHAPTER XVI.
ON her return Mrs. Penn found the admiral had just
got home and very uneasy about her, as none of the
servants could tell him where she was gone. His surprise in hearing from her that she had been to the
prison, was changed into the deepest horror on hearing the cause-that she had been there to see William! The effect on his spirits was such as she had
predicted, that after all his hard fighting, and liberal
spendings for his country, his only son and child,
though innocent of crime as a lamb, should thus be
thrust into prison like a common felon, and that too
by an English bishop, for the slightest insult of whose
sacred lawn he would have fought to the knees in blood;
oh it was like the stab of a dagger. But he felt not as
he once would have done. His health, which for a
considerable time past, had been on the decline, had
experienced such rapid decay during the last four




WILLIAM PENN.                103
months' cruise that his impoverished heart could
scarely furnish blood enough for his cheeks and eyes
to express their resentments. Mrs. Penn did not fail
to aid his returning reason and conscience by all the
arguments she honestly could. She gave him an account of the interview with their son in prison. She
told him that instead of finding William dejected and
unhappy, she found him an angel of innocence and
serenity; cheerfully pursuing his studies, and in his
looks showing a heroic spirit, nobly triumphant over
all his enemies.  She then related their son's vivid
description of the horrible corruptions of the gospel
by worldly minded bishops, substituting outward forms
for the inward power of godliness; and the still morehorrible corruptions of the bishops themselves as too evident in their pride and ambition, living like princes in
their palaces, while thousands of widows and orphans
were pining for bread; and likewise their shutting up
in prisons and robbing of their substance, thousands of
the most humble and harmless souls, merely because
they chose to worship God in a way of greater simplicity and purity.
The admiral showed signs of deep contrition at this,
and with tears in his eyes, told his wife that he was
afraid he had treated that amiable boy, his son, too
harshly. He added that ever since his disputes with
William, his own eyes had been, he believed, opening;
and that he had for a good while past, been thinking
that there was a wide difference between the precepts
and example of Christ, and those of the great hierarchs
who call themselves his bishops-that he began now
to be satisfied that they were, most of them, a pack
of worldly-/minded, SELF-SEEKING hypocrites and impostors, whom he would never more go to hear preach
as long as he lived. "But, my dear," added he, let
us waste no more time in talking thus while our son
is in prison.  I long to see VWilliam; I long for an en



104              THE LIFE OF
tire reconciliation with him; and to encourage him to
persevere in his good walk, though I am afraid, poor
boy, the times are so bad he will meet with much
persecution." The next morning while they were at
breakfast, they were all at once surprised and delighted
with the fine, open, sweetly shining face of William,
who had received his discharge from prison early that
morning, through a friend to whom the admiral had
privately sent money for the purpose. Mrs. Penn as
usual, flew to embrace her son. But his father, suddenly struck with the recollection of his former harsh
treatment of William, manifested a momentary embarrassment; but quickly recovering himself he rose, and
with a slight suffusion on his cheeks, stepped forward
reaching out an eager hand, and calling, " come, William, my dear son, welcome to your father's embraces.
You saw me a little embarrassed, but no matter for
that; if I was angry with you, I meant it for your
good as I thought; but, thank God, I have lived to see
my error; and also to congratulate you, my dear child,
that you were so early a favourite of your God."
Such a speech from so great an officer as admiral
Penn, ought never to be forgotten by the young, whom
it should instruct that the'bravest men have always
been the first to acknowledge error, and to seek the
heartfelt satisfaction of making friiends with the injured.
From a father, ever so highly honoured, this speech
greatly affected William Penn, especially when he saw
in the looks of that honoured father such evident
symptoms of a constitutional decay and speedy dissolution. The admiral understood the meaning of the
tender melancholy that so suddenly settled on William's countenance; with his frequent sighs, which
served but to attach him the more to his beloved
child. " I am going, my son," said he to William, "I
am going; and very fast toc; and I am thankful above
measure that you are with me, and that things have




WILLIAM PENN.                105
worked about into such a good trim at last, as I have
been so long wishing. And now my dear boy you
must stay with me and see the last of me."
William Penn had his hands full at this time,many assailants having risen up rudely attacking himself as well
as the religious opinions of the people he patronised.
In addition to this he had just commenced his career
as a preacher of the gospel, to which his heart was
entirely devoted. But when he saw the low and languishing state of his father; and in his pale and emaciated looks recognized the dear author, under God,
of his own existence, with all his advantages of education and high standing in life, he was so affected that
he resolved to stay at home and aid his mother in the
pious work of cheering  his declining hours and
smoothing his rapid descent to the grave. Then was
seen the blessed, BLESSED power of religion to open
the understanding to a sense of parental obligation, and
to warm the heart with such filial gratitude, as to
cause a young man cheerfully to give up every thing
else and find no place so dear to him as the bedside
of a sick parent. Then also was seen the wide difference between gold and love to qualify for the tender offices of nursing and waiting in the house of
mourning. The coarsest hireling can bring to the sick
man his food, and can administer his physic. But it belongs solely to love to perform these offices in such an
endearing way as to give them their proper refreshing
effect.  And here it was that William Penn shone in
full lustre. He was not the ESAU, the rough man
whose duties coldly and reluctantly performed, only
served to show ingratitude and to grieve a father's
heart; but he was the fond and affectionate JACOB
whose love made him all eye, all ear, all attention to
anticipate his wishes and make him fly to supply them
even before they were breathed. And whatever he
did, whether it was to raise his father in bed, or to
smooth his pillow, or to wipe the cold sweat from his




106              THE LIFE OF
brow, or the phlegm from his lips, all was done with
such alacrity and tenderness as to cause the good old
admiral daily to lift the eye of gratitude to God for such
a child. And indeed few parents ever had more cause
to be thankful for such a child. For William  Penn's.
ardent love and unwearied attention to his father was
but a small part of his recommendations. His extraordinary talents, his studious habits, his rare acquirements, together with his gravity, his dignity of deportment, his unsullied morals and sublime principles of
religion, all, all conspired to furnish this happy parent
with an overwhelming flow of joy and thankfulness on
his dear account. And to see such a son as this, taking
all these his rare advantages and attainments, and with
the sweetest humility and affection, laying them at the
feet of his aged father, as if he had received all from
him, and found no pleasure equal to that of returning
all to him again. 0 how gratifying must this have
been to the soul of admiral Penn, especially when he
recollected that he had, twice, turned this same child
out of doors. How fully now must he have been
convinced that this his son "had learned, as he ought,
the truth as it is in Jesus!" It appears that he became completely a convert to the same blessed faith
as it is preached and exemplified in the simple childlike spirit and manners of the FRIENDs. Then it was
that the pride, and ambition, and worldly mindedness
of the bishops and clergy began to lay heavy upon his
heart; and he often said in his latter moments, that he
was "awfully afraid that the corrupt examples of the
national church, with those of the dissolute nobility
would overwhelm the country with ruin."  Feeling his
end approaching, and seeing the dark cloud of persecution hanging over his son's head, because of his religion, he sent a friend to the Duke of York, (afterterwards King James II. under whom he had fought
that great battle against the Dutch fleet) desiring it of
him as a death-bed request that he would protect his




WILLIAM PENN.                107
son in case of persecution; and to ask the king
(Charles the 2d) to do the same. They both returned
a comfortable answer —" that they would assuredly be
William's friends."  The day before his death, he
said, " son William, I am weary of the world! I would
not live over my days again if I could command them
with a wish, for the snares of life are greater than the
fears of death.  Three things I commend to you.
First and above all, let nothing ever tempt you to
wound your conscience!  0 be tender of your conscience! so you will have peace at home and a rich
feast in a day of trouble. Secondly, whatever you
design to do, lay it justly and time it seasonably; for
that gives security and despatch.-Thirdly, be not
troubled at losses and disappointments; for if they
may be recovered, well; if not, trouble is vain. If
you could not have helped it, be content, and trust in
Providence, whose afflictions are for our good. And
if you could have helped it, let not,your trouble exceed
instruction for another time!t
His dissolution which had been rapidly advancing,
began now sensibly to appear upon him: he felt its
cold and icy approach without the least alarm. His
last words contained the highest eulogy ever pronounced on the TRUTH.  "Son William," said he,
looking at him with the most composed countenance,
"if you and your friends keep to your plain way of
preaching, and keep to your plain way of living, you
will make an end of the PROUD PRIESTS to the end of
the world. —Bury me by my mother-live all in love —
shun all manner of evil; and I pray God to bless you
all! and he will bless you all."  He then bowed him
in his bed and gave up the ghost.
By the death of his father, William Penn became
owner of a very handsome estate, supposed to be
worth at that time 15001. sterling per annum, equal
to 15,000 dollars now; besides an immense sum of
mone~y due to him from the CRowI-, for loans made by




108              THE LIFE OF
his father, and which he had been kept out of for a
lon' time, as we shall see in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XVII.
c "WHO can tell what is good for man in this life?"
was a question which staggered Solomon himself, with
all his wisdom; and which, indeed, he proposes not
with any idea of ever solving it, but rather of throwing out to us a comfortable hint that there is ONE
who knows what is good for man in this life, and that
we should bow with reverential joys to that adorable
will which can easily convert what we think the heaviest misfortune into the greatest blessing.
To be kept out of their money, especially if a large
sum, is felt by the most of men as a serious misfortune.
It was so felt by admiral Penn, William's father. This
patriotic officer, for the glory of the British navy, was
continually making it loans out of his own private
purse, and with such a sailor-like neglect of calculation, that when he came to cast up the account, he
found, to his utter astonishment, that the government
owed him the afirightening sum of sixteen thousand
pounds sterling, equal, as money now goes, to two
hundred thousand dollars! After a world of fiuitless applications to the crown, the good admiral sickened and died, leaving this vast debt to his son to collect.  William's applications to government were
equally unavailing; but, happily, his mind was so
greatened by the mighty objects of religion, that he
suffered but little from this disappointment. After a
lapse of many years, and his prospects of payment
from the crown continuing as gloomy as ever, he proposed to the king, Charles the Second, an exchange of




WILLIAM  PENN.               109
his claim for a grant of lands in North America. Wili;am Penn had his reasons for-this.
In the first place, he saw no chance of ever getting
his money out of the hands of the king. And, in the
second place, he saw no end to the persecutions of
himself and his poor friends, the quakers. Even at
this time, 1680, so lamentably ignorant of the spirit of
the gospel were the bishops of the established church
that they not only tolerated, but even encouraged the
mad multitude in the most cruel abuses of the quakers.
Headed by the sheriffs and magistrates, the populace
would snatch off their hats and bonnets in the open
streets, even of Liverpool, Bristol, and London, and
dash them in their faces, or tread them under foot.
They would burst into their meeting-houses, even
while assembled in the worship of ALMIGHTY GOD!
and utterly regardless of the divine presence, drive
them out like dogs; break the windows; split up the
benches; tear down the galleries; and then nail up
the buildings as forfeited to "HIS SACRED MAJESTY,
-CHARLES THE SECOND, BY THE GRACE OF GOD DEFENDER OF.THE FAITH!" and yet, instead of being
ashamed of themselves for such brutal acts, or being
disarmed of their fury by the meekness and patience
of such gentle sufferers, they became more brutal
against them still, keeping a closer watch over their
proceedings-dogging them  from place to place-attacking them at their meetings, even in private housesand, after shutting them up too, as " CONVENTICLES forfeited to the king," they would then drive
them, like convicts, to the jails, and, without any regard to the weather, or to age or sex, turn them into,dark and dirty rooms, often in such crowds as to endanger their lives, for want of fresh air; the women,
even the most delicate, forced to sleep on the hard
planks, and the men in hammocks stretched above
them, while such as were supposed to have property,
were fined at the most inhuman rates, even, in some
K




I10              TIlE LIFE OF
instances, at twenty pounds sterling a month, for no
attending the established church! and when the money
could not be raised by these poor people, as was often
the case, the sheriffs would distrain their property, such
as cows, calves, horses, beds, household furniture,
and utensils, and sell them off, frequently at half
price; thus actually reducing many an innocent and
hard-working family, with their unoffending children
to beggary. And all these public robberies committed
under the eye of king Charles and his CLERGY!-the
former, great part of his time, revelling with his harlots and jesters! and the latter, in all the solemn pageantry of sanctified looks and lawn sleeves, devoutly
lifted to heaven, returning " THANKS to Almighty God.
that they were ever born in a Christian country;"
and making long prayers "for the poor Jews and heathens!"
William Penn, I say, seeing no end to these cruel
persecutions of himself and innocent followers, very
naturally turned his thoughts to North America, whither
the ROMAN-CATHOLIC Christians, and the PRESBYTERIAN Christians, had just before been flying, by thousands, from the fury of the CHURCH of ENGLAND Christians! (O glory to God that there is yet one government left on earth where the demagogues of one
church are not permitted to persecute and plunder the
rest.)
But the generous wish to place his friends beyond
the reach of persecution was not the sole motive with
William Penn for looking towards North America. tie
had a nobler motive still. His mind had long been
ravished with the beautiful ideas of a state of society
formed on the humble and loving spirit of the gospel.
That blessed state, where religion, stript of all her harlot-like trumpery of barren forms, and adorned in her
matron robes of divine simplicity, fruitful of love and
good works, should so illumine the wilderness, that
the Heathens, enamoured of her divine charms, should




WILLIAM  PENN.                111
press to become her converts and children. Eager to
plant such a colony of brothers in America, William
Penn applied to king Charles for a grant of land in
that country, "which, as was expressed in the petition.,
he was willing to receive in exchange for the sixteen
thousand pounds so long due to his family."
It would appear that that hand, which is so visible
in the growth of the lily and in the preservation of the
sparrow, was with William Penn in this great matter.
It was this hand, it is presumed, that had, so early as
1661, turned his thoughts to North America, as to an
asylum for his oppressed brethren. And it was this
hand, it is still believed, that had led him, in 1675, to
be concerned in the settlement of a small colony of
FRIENDS in East (now called'New Jersey) and principally about Mount Holly and Burlington. From these
people he often learned that the Indian country on
the western side of the great river Delaware was most
beautiful to look on —" the plains," said they, " along
the winding flood, are in most places covered with corn
and natural meadows and marshes; while all on the
back of this, a mighty forest rose, tall and stately,
darkening the western sky with its blue shade, and
stretching itself north and south with the river far as
the astonished eye can travel."  They stated too, that
sundries of their people had, at different times, gone
over the great river to trade; and that all of them, on
their return, had made the same very favourable reports both of the inhabitants and their country. And
first of the INHABITANTS. E" tfith respect to these," said
they, "we were never so agreeably disappointed. We
had expected to find a people fierce and rude as the
bears and panthers of their forests: but we met a people the most friendly that we had ever seen. As we
approached their towns, they would hasten forth to bid
us welcome, shaking hands with us very cordially, and
signifying, by the kindest smiles and nods, how glad they
were to see us; and with great vehemence and affec



112              THE LIFE OF
tion, addressing us in words which the interpreters
said, were to tell us how welcome we were to our INDIAN BROTHERS. After this they would take us to their
towns, and spread down skins for us to sit on; and
while the men entertained us with smoking, the women would bring us barbecued turkies, and venison,
and roasting ears to feast on.!
"And as to the COUNTRY, we can truly say of it,
that it is a land most rich and desirable to dwell in;
a land of fountains and brooks, a land of mighty oaks
and elms, and all manner of precious trees for timber,
a land whose soil, especially on the water-courses, was
a black mould very deep and rich, insomuch that the
Indian corn, without the aid of the plough, grew there
to an enormous size, with two and sometimes three
large shocks on a stalk; and we have counted seven
and eight hundred grains on a shock! And then for
the GAME in those ancient forests-it was wonderful
to look at; far sarpassing in abundance any thing that
we had ever thought of. For in walking through the
woods, we were ever and anon starting up the deer
in droves; and also frequently within sight of large
herds of the buffaloe, all perfectly wild, and wallowing
in fat, and seeming, in their course, to shake the earth
with their weight. And, indeed, no wonder; for the
grass, particularly in the low grounds, grew so rank
and tall, that the buffaloe and deer, on flying into it,
which they were wont to do when frightened, would
disappear in a moment.
" The rabbits and partridges too were exceedingly
numerous; and as to the wild turkeys, we have often
seen them perched in such numbers on the nut-trees,
especially the beech, that the branches seemed quite
black with them. Nor had the Creator been less mindful of the waters in that great country; foi they were
made to bring forth abundantly of fine fish of various
kinds, especially the sturgeon, of which the great river
was so full, that at no time could we look on it with



WILLIAM  PENN.               113
out seeing numbers of those great fishes leaping from
it into the air, not without much fright to the natives,
whose canoes they have many a time fallen into and
overset. And for water-fowl, such as geese and ducks,
they were in such quantities, that he who should tell
only one half of the truth, would be counted a romancer; for indeed the whole surface of the mighty river
seemed covered over and black with them; and when
at any time they were disturbed and rose up, their
rising all at once was like the sound of distant thunder,
and the day itself was darkened with their numbers.
We saw also the wild vine in that countrvy, the spontaneous birth of the woods, growing to an enormous
size, and spreading over the trees to an astonishing
extent, bending the branches with their dark-blue
clusters, most lovely to sight and taste, and capable,
no doubt, of yielding a very pleasant wine. Nor were
the bees forgotten in that favoured land; for we often
saw them at work among the sweet-scented bells and
blossoms of the wild wood-flowers. And besides, at the
simple feasts spread for us by these friendly heathens,
we were frequently regaled with calabashes of snowwhite honey-comb."
Now, counting all these advantages of this Indian
country, the nobleness of its waters, and the richness
of its lands, with that plenteousness of fowl and fish
and flesh of all sorts, how can we but say that it is a
land which the Lord has blessed; and that it only
wanteth a wise people to render it like the ancient
Canaan-"the glory of earth."
Such were the accounts which the settlers in New
Jersey often reported in their letters to William Penn,
concerning the great country on the western side of
the Delaware. They produced on him their proper
effect. Looking on all this as a finger pointing him to a
place of long-desired rest, he immediately presented a
petition to king Charles the 2d,'" praying that, in lieu
of the monies due to himrrfron the crozn, he, the kingo
K 2




114              THE LiFE OF
would be pleased to grant him a sufficientportion of lands
on the western side of the Delaware river in JNorth.Imericafor-a settlement for himself and his persecuted
followers the Friends."  The king was well pleased
with the, petition, himself, and had it laid before the
LORDS COMMITTEE OF COLONIES AND COMMIERCE.
Soon as the petition was read, and it was known that
both the petitioner and his followers were quakers, the
board appeared as if struck into a strange sort of dilemma. " // colony of quakers among the North emerzcan
Indians!"  The very name and sound of the thing excited a general stare. And it was unanimously agreed
that no good could possibly grow out of it, either to
the nation or the individuals. As to the first, "it was
ridiculous," said sir John Warden, agent of the Duke
of York and Lord Baltimore, who having grants of
" THE PLANTATIONS OF NEW YORK AND MARYLAND,~T
were opposed to the petition.-" It was ridiculous,"
said he, " to suppose that the interests of the British
nation were to be promoted by sending out a colony
of people that would not fight."  " What! a pack of
noddies that will have nothing to do with gin or gunpowder; but will gravely tell you that gin was never
invented to make savages drunk, and cheat them out of
their lands; but only for physic to cure the cholic withal. And that guns were invented, not to kill men, but
hawks and wolves! God's mercy on us, my lords!
what are we to expect from such colonists as these!
Are they likely to extend our conquests-to spread
our commerce-to exalt the glory of the British name
-and above all to PROPAGATE our MOST HOLY RELIGION? No, my lords, I hope it will never be so sup.
posed by this NOBLE BOARD. —And as to this crackbrained fellow, this William Penn and his tame, yea
forsooth, followers, what can they promise themselves
from settling among the fierce and blood-thirsty savages of North America, but to be tomahawked and
scalped, every man, woman, and child of them!"




This speech, pronounced with due emphasis, made
such an impression on the board, that they were on
the point of rejecting William Penn's petition at once.
And thus that beauteous city of Philadelphia, that
loveliest monument of the blessings of God on human
virtue, would have been lost for ever. But he whose
glorious prerogative it is to make even "the wickedness of man to praise him," appointed one of the lords
of the BOARD to advocate William  Penn's petition;
which he did with singular ingenuity. With trembling
voice and changeful countenance, as of a man about to
utter unwelcome truths, he began with assuring the
board that he was no quaker, nor any friend to that
silly people.  "No, my lords," continued he, raising
his voice, " I am no quaker. And I pray you let no gentleman in this noble house, hold me in such misprison.
But still, my lords, I am in favour of the petition for the
quakers to go off to North America. The reason, my
lords, to my mind Is very plain.  The swinish multitude, my lords, profanurm vulgus, my lords, the swinish
multitude as we properly call them, must have a government; yes, my lords, and aln iron government too.
They have not sense and virtue enough to govern themselves. All the boasted REPUBLICS, or governments
of the people, have, on trial, turned out no better than
BABELS of confusion and destruction to their foolish
undertakers. No, my lords, there is no government
on earth for the PROFANUM VULGUS, comparable to
that of KINGS, PRIESTS, and NOBLES. Now if this be
true, and I challenge the board to deny it, then William Penn and his quakers ought gladly to be permitted to leave the COUNTRY. Nay, I even assert, my
lords, that William Penn cannot stay in this country
consistently with the safety of the government; for if
ever he should get the ear of the populace, he would
bring such contempt on those glorious privileged orders
of KINGS, PRIESTS, and NOBLES, that no malln of spirit
would have any thing to do with them. For, my




116              THE LIFE OF
lords," said he, "what nobleman is there, with a drop
of English blood in his veins, but would blush for his
STARS and GARTERS, when, as he rolls along the streets
in only a fashionable coach and four, he hears on all
sides, the groans of these quakers upbraiding him for
being " a lover of pleasure more than a lover of God,"
and for squandering on vanities that precious gold,
which if laid out in feeding and clothing the fatherless
and widow, would yield him a feast of never-failing
pleasures! And as to our lords spiritual, our BISHOPS
and our ARCHBISHOPS would it not make these our
HOLY FATHERS in GOD, ashamed of their SACRED LAWN
SLEEVES and MITRES, to be told every day by William
Penn and his quakers, that these are' the marks of the
beast,' the vain trappings of carnal pride seeking glory
of men, and that those who use these things are none
of Christ's —that his poverty can have no fellowship
with their palaces-nor his staff and sandals with their
gilt coaches, and horses covered with silver harness,
and grooms bedecked with gold lace. But this is not
the worst yet; no my lords, let William Penn alone,
and his sacred majesty himself will soon have an uneasy seat of it on his throne. How can he otherwise,
my lords, having it rung daily in his ears, that' kings
are sent of God merely in his wrath as a punishment of
wicked nations.' And that if they will but repent and
become good quakers, following the light within, they
shall no longer have a king to reign over them; for that
God himself will be their king, and will break all other
yokes from off their necks. God's mercy, my lords!
who would be a king to be I ated after this sort? Surely
then, my lords, you will agree with me, that it is high
time for William Penn and his quakers to be off. Yes,
my lords, I repeat it; they must be off; or this excellent government of kings, priests, and nobles, is gone
for ever, and chaos, and wild uproar is come again."
This speech produced the desired effect. The petition was unanimonsly recommended to the approba



WILLIAM PENN.                117
tion of his gracious majesty, accompanied with a note,
"huinbly praying that his majesty would be graciously
pleasedto make urnto WTilliam Penn a grant of the lanlds
in.North sAmerica, which he had petitionedfor."
Charles, who, like Herod of old towards the honest
Baptist, had a great liking for William Penn, was well
pleased with this award of the board in his favour;
and knowing that the news would be very acceptable,
immediately despatched a special messenger to him on
that errand. The king was right in this conjecture.
The news was indeed very acceptable to William
Penn. His heart had been much in this North American
enterprise. The glory of God in the spread of human
happiness-the beauty of gospel virtues to charm the
savages —to overcome their hatreds-to conciliate
their loves-and to unite them, like brothers, with his
gentle followers, these were lovely ideas to his mind.
Nor less were the fair scenes thence ensuing —the
white men bringing to their red brethren all the rich
productions of their looms and anvils; on the other
hand, the red men smiling with friendship, bringing to
their white brothers, their venison and corn, with
grants of rich lands for them to dwell together in.
Then to see them both rising, like brothers indeed, to
the glorious toils that crown life with comfort —erecting pleasant habitations and spreading beautiful farms —
while, aided by science and religion, human nature
shakes off its brutal character and becomes angelic,
presenting a spectacle of all others the most lovely to
the eyes of God and good men. Such was the picture
which William Penn's benevolent fancy had long been
painting in North America-" the desert blossoming lik/-e
the rose, and the wilderness like the garden of God."
Thousands of prayers, had he put up that God would
realize such bright visions; and thousands of gold and
silver had he expended to settle such a colony in the
new world. And now having prayed his sovereign for
permission to pass over that Jordan and take possession




18              THE LIFE OF
of the- desired land, he was waiting to see whether the
Lord would prosper his way or not. It was a moment
big with anxiety and hope. No wonder then that the
news of such full success should have excited the
sweetest emotions. "Yes, God has heard the voice of
his prayer! God has appointed unto him the honours of
Joshua-to lead a remnant into the land of rest: the nobles have been made to consent, and even the king himself is stirred up to convey the greatful tidings."
Soon as possible he hastened up to court to make
his acknowledgments to the king; but not so soon but
that the king, In right royal generosity, had gotten
in readiness, fairly drawn up and endorsed " A DEED
OF A CERTAIN NEW PROVINCE IN NORTH AMERICA, FOR
MY BELOVED SUBJECT AND FRIEND WILLIAM PE'NNi."
It is not easy to conceive the feelings of this amiable
man, when, introduced into the drawing-room of the
palace, he was met by his sovereign and presented
with the above deed. " Well, friend William," said the
king in his frolicksome way, " you'll see in this paper
that I have done something handsome for you. Yes,
man, I have given you there a territory in North America, as large as my own Island of Great Britain. And
knowing what a fighting family you are sprung from.
I have made you governor and captain general of all
its coasts, and seas, and bays, and rivers, and moun
tains, and forests, and population. And now in re
turn for all this I have but a few conditions to make
with you."
William Penn begged the king would please to let
him know what they were.
Why, in the first place, replied Charles, you are to
give me a fifth of all the gold and silver you may find
there.  But as you quakers care but little about
the precious metals, I don't count on much from that
quarter.
In the second place, friend William, you are to be
sure not to make war on the nations without my con




WILLIAM PENN.               119
sent. But in case of a war you are always to remem
ber that you are an Englishman, and therefore must
never use the scalping knife.
In the third place, if any persons of my religion, the
honest Episcopalians, would wish to come and settle
in your quaker province, you shall receive them
kindly: and if they should at any time invite a preacher
of their own, he shall be permitted to come among
you. And moreover, if they should like to build what
we call a church, (but you a steeple-house,) you will
not forbid it."
William Penn smiled and said that FRIEND Charles,
for so he often called the king, "should certainly be
gratified in all these things: for," added he, c" I who
have drank so deeply of the bitter waters of persecution
myself, will never, I hope, consent to persecute others
on the score of religion." On retiring from the royal
presence, William Penn hastened to inspect his charter
to the new province; when lo! at the very threshold
he met an article that set his cheeks all on a glowhe found that his province was named PENN-SYLVANIA! that is, in English, " THE WOODY LAND OF
PENN."  Blushing at the bare idea of the enormous
vanity which this name might argue, he hurried to the
recorder and begged he would change the name. The
recorder, who happened to be a Welshman, said to
him, " well then, what name would hut like to give to
hsrprovince?"
New Wales, replied William Penn. The Welshman
answered that this name being a compliment to his
own native country, ought certainly to be very acceptable to him. But, continued he, "though hur
should be well pleased to hear hur province called New
Wales, yet hur has no business to alter the present
name." Upon this Penn drew his purse and offered
him twenty guineas to alter the name. The Welshman still refusing, Penn repaired to the king to have
it done. To this the king, in his jocose way, replied




120              THE LIFE OF
that as he had stood GOD-FATHER for the new province, he had, as he thought, a fair right to give it a
name: that he had accordingly given it a very good
name; and should take the blame on himself."
Having obtained his charter under the great seal of
England, Penn lost no time to inform the public of
the fair territory which he had purchased in North
America, and also the terms on which he meant to
dispose of it. This publication excited considerable
emotion throughout Great Britain. It was observed,
In the first place, That " while lands in England,
sold from  twenty to sixty pounds sterling per acre,
William Penn offered his lands, fresh and heavy timbered, for forty shillings the hundred acres! being but
little more than four pence an acre! with but one shilling per hundred acres as quit rent, to the proprietor
for ever!"
"' Secondly, That while lands in England rented from
one to three pounds sterling, per acre, William Penn
offered his for one shilling!"
" Thirdly, That while in England it was a trans
portation offence to kill a rabbit or partridge! and
few, except the nobility, ever tasted venison, in Pennsylvania any boy big enough to draw a trigger might
knock down a fat buck in the woods whenever he
pleased. And as to rabbits and partridges, they were
so abundant that the very children, if they but knew
how to set traps and pack-thread snares, might always
keep the house full of such savoury game."
If these are talked of by all, as great natural recommendations of Pennsylvania, the moral recommendations were still far greater; for it was observed,
" Fourthly, That while in England the servants were
a people but poorly rewarded for their services; in
Pennsylvania all servants, men or women, were to be
allowed fifty acres in fee simple, to be paid them with
a good suit of clothes at the expiration of their servitude! And the more cheerfully if they had acted




WILLIAM PENN.               12
with fidelity as servants, doing all things cheerfully as
with an eye to the glory of God.
" Fifth, That while in England, there was but one
creed, one catechism, one form of prayer, one baptism,
from which no man or woman might dissent without
peril of the whipping post, or pillory; in Pennsylvavania, all who acknowledged " one almighty and eternal God to be the moral governor of the world, and
honoured him as such by an honest and peaceable life,
should be equally protected in their rights, and made
capable of promotion to office, whether they were
Jews, Gentiles, or Christians."
"Sixth, That while in Virginia, Maryland, and New
England, the settlers were charged with cheating the
Indians, by putting bad merchandize upon them in exchange for their furs; in Pennsylvania all merchandize
offered in trade was to be brought into market and
exposed to public inspection, so that the Indians might
no longer be imposed on and provoked.
"Seventh, That while in the other colonies the Indians were treated very little better than dogs, whom
every blackguard might kick and cuff, to the exceeding
diversion of the white Christians; in Pennsylvania it
was enacted that the PERSONS and RIGHTS of the INDIANS should be held SACRED: and that no man,
whatever his rank or fortune, should affront or wrong
an Indian without incurring the same penalty as if he
had committed the trespass against the proprietor himself.," Eighth, That while in most new countries settled
by Christians, if a Christian was injured by a native,
he might instantly avenge himself even to the knocking out the brains of the offender; here it was enacted
by William Penn, that if " any Indian should abuse a
planter, the said planter should not be his own judge
upon the Indian, but apply to the next magistrate who
should make complaint thereof to the king of the Indian
for reasonable satisfaction for the injury.
L




122              THE LIFE OF
"Ninth, That while other Christian adventurers
thought they had a right to treat the inhabitants of
the countries they discovered, as mere animals of the
brute creation, whom they might abuse at pleasure,
William Penn framed his laws with an eye of equal
tenderness for the Indians and the quakers, ordering
that " all differences between them should be settled by
a jury of twelve men, six chosen from each party, that
so they might live friendly together as brethren"-thus
extending with impartial hand the rights of justice and
humanity to these poor people, who in proportion to
their weakness and ignorance, were the more entitled
to his fatherly protection and care.
C" Tenth, That while in England the children of the
rich were, too generally, brought up in pride and
sloth, good for nothing to themselves or others; in
Pennsylvania all children of the age of twelve were
to be brought up to some useful trade, that there might
be none of the worthless sort in the province; so that
the poor might get plenty of honest bread by their
work, and the rich,if brought low, might not be tempted
to despair and steal.
"Eleventh, That while in England, from the millions given to the KINGS, LORDS, and CLERGY, the numher and wretchedness of the poor were so increased,
that every year hundreds of them were hung for stealing-a little food for themselves and children; in Pennsylvania there were but two crimes deemed worthy
of death, i. e. deliberate murder, and treason against
the state. As for offences requiring confinement, it
was ordered by William Penn, that in the punishment
of these an eye was to be constantly kept on the reformation of the offender.  And hence all prisons
were to be considered as workshops, where the criminals might be industriously, soberly, and morally employed."
The perusal of this manifesto of William Penn's,
diffused a most lively joy through the hearts of all




WILLIAM PENN.               123
honest Englishmen; then what must have been its
effects on the spirits of those benevolent people the
F'RIENDS? To them it would have been welcome as
a ray fi-om the dawning millennium, no matter by what
hand, God had been pleased to send it. But that one
of their own long afflicted tribe should be thus raised
up of God to set such an example to the whole world,
and revive the hearts of the humble and contrite ones,
was peculiarly dear.
The change produced by it among that long oppressed people was wonderful. Till now their appearance in the streets was but rare; and even then
they made no stop, but hastened along to their business, serious and shy, like persons who know that the
public favoured them not. But now they are frequently
seen stopping each other and standing in the streets
in large groups, shaking hands with glad faces, as men
are wont who have heard good tidings. And amidst
their mutual congratulations on the bright prospects
dawning on themselves and a darkened world, the
pleasant name of William Penn was often heard. It
was heard in tones of pious joy triumphant, as when
the patriarch beheld a ray of hope from the distant
Shiloh, descending on the head of his beloved Joseph;
even on the head of him who was separate from his
brethren. " William, thou art a lovely vine; even a
lovely vine by a well, whose branches run over the
wall."
The archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at
him, and hated him.
But his bow abode in strength; and the arms of his
hands were made strong by the hands of the mighty
God of Jacob —from thence is the siiEPHERD —the stone
of Israel."
It now remains to be mentioned that this publication of William Penn was followed by consequences
far beyond what he himself had ever counted on, even
in his most sanguine moments,  It reminds us of that




124              THIE LIFE OF
other wonder of the world, Solomon's temple. We
read of this heaven-ordered edifice,that when the noble
materials, the stones and timbers were all hewn and
fitted for the purpose, and the golden trumpet sounded
to the work, straightway the workmen, whether Jews,
Tyrians, or Sidonians, all rose up as one man, and the
sacred building was put together with such perfect
harmony, that-no discordant sound of a hammer was
even once heard to disturb that sacred silence. Such
throughout Great Britain was the effect of William
Penn's publication. The general confidence inspired
by it is without a parallel in the annals of a private
man. Trading companies immediately bought their
thousands and tens of thousands of acres: while
crowds of individuals from all parts of the empire were
seen leaving their homes and the bones of their ancestors, that they might go to "THE LAND OF WILLIAM
PENN, " and there, safe from the red scourge of persecution, lead a peaceable and quiet life in all manner
of godliness.
Nor were they the quakers alone who followed his
fortunes to the western world. Numbers of the poor
and pious of other churches, won by the unusual benignity of his looks, which they had seen as he travelled
and preached through the realm, and confiding in that
good name which all seemed to delight in giving him,
offered themselves to partake of the good or ill fortune
that awaited him beyond the seas. Having sent offthree
ships laden with poor adventurers, and a fourth, in
which he meant to embark himself, being ready for sea,
he hastened up to London, to take leave of the king
(Charles the Second) who, though by no means the
man after his own heart, had yet shown great good will
towards him, and even a particular friendship.-" W ell,
friend William," said the king in his jocular way, 1 "I
have sold you a noble province in North America,
but still I suppose you have no thoughts of going thither
yourself."




WILLIAM PENN.               125
"' Yes, I have," replied William Penn, " and I am
just come to bid thee farewell."
"What! venture yourself among the savages of North
America! Why, man, what security have you that
you'll not be in their war-kettle in two hours after setting foot on their shores?"
"The best security in the world," replied William
Penn, calmly.' I doubt that, friend William: I have no idea of
any security against those cannibals but in a regiment
of good soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets.
And mind, I tell you beforehand, that, with all my
good will for you and your family, to whom I am
under obligations, I'll not send a single soldier with
"oI want none of thy soldiers, answered William
Penn, pleasantly.  "I depend upon something better
than thy soldiers."
The king wanted to know what that was.
"Why, I depend on themselves," replied William
Penn, "on their own moral sense; even on that'grace of God which bringeth salvation, and which hath
appeared unto all men.'"
"1 fear, friend William, that that grace has never
appeared to the Indians of North America."
"Why not to them as well as to all others!"
"If it had appeared to them, they would hardly
have treated my subjects so barbarously as they have
done." 
" That's no proof to the contrary, friend Charles.
Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects
first went to North America, they found these poor
people the fondest and kindest creatures in the world.
Every day they would watch for them to come ashore,
and hasten to meet them, and feast them on their best
fish, and venison, and corn, which was all that they had.
In return for this hospitality of the SAVAGES, as we
call them, thy subjects, termed Christians, seized on
r. 2




126              THE LIFE OF
their country and rich hunting grounds for farms for
themselves! Now is it to be wondered at, that these
much injured people should have been driven to
desperation by such injustice; and that, burning
with revenge, they should have committed some excesses-?"
&M"Well, then, I hope, friend William, you'll not
complain when they come to treat you in the same
manner.i.
" I am not afraid of it."
"Aye! how will you avoid it? you mean to get
their hunting grounds too, I suppose."
" Yes, but not by driving these poor people away
from them."
" No, indeed! how then will you get their lands?"
"I mean to buy their lands of them," replied William Penn, firinly.
" Buy their lands of them! why, man, you have already bought them of me."
" Yes, I know I have; and at a dear rate too: but I
did it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou
hadst any right to their lands."
" Zounds, man! no right to their lands!"
" No, friend Charles, no right at all. What right hast
thou to their lands'!?"
" Why, the right of discovery —the right which the
Pope and all Christian kings have agreed to give one
another."
"The right of discovery!" replied William Penn,
half smiling, "a strange kind of right indeed! Now suppose, friend Charles, some canoe loads of these Indians,
crossing the sea, and discovering thy island of Great
Britain, were to claim it as their own, and set it up
for sale over thy head, what wouldst thou think
of it'?"," Why-why- why," replied Charles, blushing, " I
must confess I should think it a piece of great impu
dence in them."




WILLIAM  PENN.               127
" Well, then, how canst thou, a CHRISTIAN, and a
CHRISTIAN PRINCE too, do that which thou so utterly
condemnest in these people whom thou callest SAVAGES?'
The king being rather too much staggered to make
a reply, William Penn thus went on:-" Yes, friend
Charles, and suppose, again, that these Indians, on thy
refusal to give up thy island of Great Britain, were to
make war on thee, and having weapons more destructive than thine, were to destroy many of thy subjects,
and to drive the rest away, wouldst thou not think it
horribly cruel?"
The king, with strong marks of conviction, agreeing
to this, William Penn thus added:-'"Well then, friend
Charles, how can 1, who call myself a Christian, do
what I should abhor, even in heathens. No, I will not
do it. I will not use the right to their land, though I
have bought it of thee at a dear rate. But I will buy the'ight of the proper owners, even of the Indians themselves. By doing this I shall imitate God himself in
his justice and mercy, and thereby ensure his blessing
on my colony, if I should ever live to plant one in
North America."
Tradition does not report the reply which king
Charles made to this modest yet cutting reproof; but it
is hoped that the AMERICAN YOUTH will take notice how
very small indeed, a wicked king appears when placed
by the side of an honest man.
"A king may make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' * that:
But an honest man's above his might,
Good troth he dare not paw that."
BURNS.
Having performed this duty of respect to the king,
he went down to his country-seat at Worminghurst,
where he spent one sweetly mournful day with his
* A', in Scots, means all.




128             - THE LIE LIFE OF
wife and children, whom he was so soon to leave, and
perhaps never to see again. The day was passed in a
very interesting manner, sometimes in the consolatory
exercises of devotion, or of valuable conversation, seasoned with a heavenly love, and sometimes in writing
the following letter, which as it is said by good judges
to be one of the richest pieces of tender, heart-touching, family eloquence any where to be met with, I do
the more cheerfully give it, word for word, to the
reader.
" Worminghurst, 4th of the 6th month (June.)
e "My dear wife and children,
" My love, which neither sea, nor land, nor death
itself can extinguish or lessen toward you, most endearedly visits you with eternal embraces, and will abide
with you for ever, and may the God of my life watch
over you, and do you good in this world and for ever!-Some things are upon my spirit to leave with you in
your respective capacities, as I am to one a husband,
and to the rest a father, if I should never see you more
in this world.
"' My dear wife! - remember thou wast the love of
my youth, and much the joy of my life; the most beloved, as well as most worthy of all my earthly comforts; and the reason of that love was more thy inward than thy outward excellencies, which yet were
many.  God knows, and thou knowest it, I can say it
was a match of Providence's making; and God's image
in us both was the first thing, and the most amiable and
engaging ornament in our eyes. Now I am to leave
thee, and that without knowing whether I shall ever
see thee more in this world, take my counsel into thy
bosom, and let it dwell with thee in my stead while
thou livest.
" First: —Let the fear of the Lord, and a zeal and
love to his glory dwell richly in thy heart; and thou wilt
watch for good over thyself and thy dear children and




WILLIAM PENN.               129
family, that no rude, light, or bad thing be committed
else God will be offended, and he will repent himself
of the good he intends thee and thine.
"'Secondly:-Be diligent in meetings for worship
and business; stir up thyself and others herein; it is
thy duty and place; and let meetings be kept once a
day in the family, to wait upon the Lord, who has
given us much time for ourselves: and, my dearest, to
make thy family matters easy to thee, divide thy time,
and be regular; it is easy and sweet. Thy retirement
will afford thee to do it; as in the morning to view the
business of the house, and fix it as thou desirest, seeing all
be in order; that by thy counsel all may move, and to
thee render an account every evening. The time for
work, for walking, for meals, may be certain, at least
as near as may be: and grieve not thyself with careless servants; they will disorder thee: ratherpay them,
and let them go, if they will not be better by admonitions. This is best to avoid many words, which I
know wound the soul, and offend the Lord.
" Thirdly:-Cast up thy income, and see what i
daily amounts to; by which thou mayest be sure to
have it in thy sight and power to keep within compass: and I beseech thee to live low and sparingly, till
my debts are paid, and then enlarge as thou seest it
convenient.  Remember thy mother's example, when
thy father's public-spiritedness had worsted his estate
(which is my case.)
"1 I know thou lovest plain things, and art averse to
the polnps of the world; a nobility natural to thee. I
write not as doubtful, but to quicken thee, for my sake,
to be more vigilant herein: knowing that God will
bless thy care, and thy poor children and thee for it.
My mind is wrapt up in a saying of thy father's. "l 
desire not riches, but to owe nothing;" and truly that
is wealth: and more than enough to live is a snare attended with many sorrows. I need not bid thee be
humble, for thou art so; nor meek and patient, for it




130              THE LIFE OF
is much of thy natural disposition; but I pray thee be
oft in retirement with the Lord, and guard against encroaching friendships. Keep them at arm's length, for
it is giving away our power, aye and self too, into the
possession of another; and that which might seem engaging in the beginning may prove a yoke and burden
too hard and heavy in the end. Wherefore keep dominion over thyself, and let thy children, good meetings, and friends, be the pleasure of thy life.;" Fourthly: —And now, my dearest, let me recommend to thy care my dear children; abundantly beloved of me, as the Lord's blessings, and the sweet
pledges of our mutual and endeared affections. Above
all things endeavour to breed them up in the love of
virtue, and that holy plain way of it which we have
lived.in, that the world in no part of it get into my
family. I had rather they were homely than finely
bred as to outward behaviour, yet I love sweetness
mixed with gravity, and cheerfulness tempered with
sobriety. Religion in the heart leads into this true
civility, teaching men and women to be mild and courteous in their behaviour, an accomplishment worthy
indeed of praise.
" Fifthly: —Next breed them up in a love one of another: tell them it is the charge I left behind me; and that
It is the way to have the love and blessing of God upon
them; also what his portion is, who hates, or calls his
brother fool. Sometimes separate them, but not long;
and allow them to send and give each other small
things to endear one another with. Once more, I
say, tell them it was my counsel they should be tender and affectionate one to another. For their learning be liberal. Spare no cost; for by such parsimony
all is lost that is saved: but let it be useful knowledge,
such as is consistent with truth and godliness, not
cherishing a vain conversation or idle mind: for ingenuity mixed with industry is good for the body and
mind too. I recommend the useful parts of mathec2,




WILLIAM PENN.               131
matics, as building houses or ships, measuring, surveying, dialling, navigation; but agriculture is especially
in my eye. Let my children be husbandmen and
housewives. It is industrious, healthy, honest, and of
good example, like Abraham and the holy ancients,
who pleased God, and obtained a good report. This
leads to consider the works of God and nature, of
things that are good, and diverts the mind from being
taken up with the vain arts and inventions of a luxurious world. It is commendable in the princes of
Germany, and the nobles of that empire, that they
have all their children instructed in some useful occupation. Rather keep an ingenious person in the
house to teach them, than send them to schools, too
many evil impressions being commonly received there.
" Be sure to observe their genius, and do not cross
it as to learning: let them not dwell too long on one
thing; but let their change be agreeable, and all their
diversions have some little bodily labour in them.
When grown big, have most care for them: for then
there are more snares both within and without. When
marriageable, see that they have worthy persons in
their eye, of good life, and good fame for piety and understanding.'I need no wealth, but sufficiency; and
be sure their love be dear, fervent, and mutual, that it
may be happy for them.
"I choose not they should be married to earthly,
covetous kindred; and of cities and towns of concourse
beware; the world is apt to stick close to those who
have lived and got wealth there: a country life and
estate I like best for rmy children. I prefer a decent
mansion, of a hundred pounds per annum, i. e. a neat
house and fifty or sixty acres in the country, before ten
thousand pounds in London, or such like place, in a
way of trade. In fine, my dear, endeavour to breed
them dutiful to the Lord, and his blessed light, truth,
and grace in their hearts, who is their Creator, and
his fear will grow up with them.' Teach a child,'




132              THE LIFE OF
says the wise man,'the way thou wilt have him te
walk, and when he is old he will not forget it.' Next,
obedience to thee, their dear mother; and that not
for wrath, but for conscience sake; liberal to the poor,
pitiful to the miserable, humble and kind to all; and
may my God make thee a blessing, and give thee comfort in our dear children, and in age gather thee to the
joy and blessedness of the just (where no death shall
separate us) for ever.'" And now, my dear children, that are the gifts and
mercies of the God of your tender father, hear my
counsel, and lay it up in your hearts; love it more
than treasure, and follow it, and you' shall be blessed
here, and happy hereafter.
" In the first place, remember your Creator in the
days of your youth. O how did God bless Josiah because he feared him in his youth! and so he did Jacob,
and Joseph, and Moses.
"O my dear children. remember, and fear, and
serve him who made you, and gave you to me and
your dear mother; that you may live to him, and glorify
him in your generations! To do this in your youthful
days, seek after the Lord, that you may find him; remembering his great love in creating you; that you
are not beasts, plants, or stones, but that he has kept
you, and given you his grace within, and substance
without, and provided plentifully for you. This remember in your youth, that you may be kept from the
evil of the world: for in age it will be harder to overcome the temptations of it.
" Wherefore, my dear children, eschew the appearance of evil, and love and cleave to that in your hearts
which shows you evil from good, and tells you when
you do amiss, and reproves you for it. It is the light
of Christ that he has given you for your salvation. If
you do this, and follow my counsel, God will bless
you in this world, and give you an inheritance in that
which will never have an end. For the light of Je



WILLIAM PENN.                133
sus is iof a purifying nature. It seasons those who love
it and take heed to it, and never leaves such, till it has
brought themrto' the city of God, that has foundations.'
O that you may be seasoned with the gracious nature
of it! hide it in your hearts, and flee, my dear children,
from all youthful lusts; the vain sports, pastimes, and
pleasures of the world;: redeeming the time, because
the days are evil!-You are now beginning to live.
What would some give for your time? Oh'. I could
have lived better, were 1, as you, in the flower of
youth!-Therefore love and fear the Lord; keep close
to meetings; and delight to wait on the Lord God of
your father and mother, among his despised people, as
we have done; and count it your honour to be members of that society, and heirs of that living fellowship which is enjoyed among them, for the experience
of which your father's soul blesseth the Lord foi
ever.
"'Next: —Be obedient to your dear mother, a woman whose virtues and good name is an honour to
you; for she hath been exceeded by none in her
time for her plainness, integrity, industry, humanity,
virtue, and good understanding; qualities not usual
among women of her worldly condition and quality.
Therefore honour and obey her, my dear children, as
your mother, and your father's love and delight; nay,
love her too, for she loved your father with a deep
and upright love, choosing him before all her many
suitors; and though she be of a delicate constitution
and noble spirit, yet she descended to the utmost tenderness and care for you, performing the painful acts
of service to you in your infancy, as a mother and a
nurse too. I charge you before the Lord, honour and
obey, love and cherish your dear mother.
"' Next: —Betake yourself to some honest, industrious
course of life, and that not of sordid covetousness, but
for example, and to avoid idleness. —And if you change
your condition and marry, choose with the knowledge
M




134              THlE LIFE OF
and consent of your mother if living, or of guardians,
or those that have the charge of you. Mind neither
beauty nor riches, but the fear of the Lord, and a sweet
and amiable disposition, such as you can love above
all the world, and that may make your habitations
pleasant and desirable to you.
"And being married, be tender, affectionate, patient
and meek. Live in the fear of the Lord, and he will
bless you and your offspring. Be sure to live within
compass; borrow not, neither be beholden to any. Ruin
not yourself by kindness to others, for that exceeds the
due bounds of friiendship; neither will a true friend
expect it. Small matters I heed not.
1" Let your industry and parsimony go no further
than for a sufficiency for life, and to make provision
for your children, and that in moderation, if the Lord
gives you any. I charge you to help the poor and
needy; let the Lord have a voluntary share of your
income for the good of the poor, both in your society
and others; for we are all his creatures; remembering that he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.
"  Know well your in-comings, and your out-goings
may be better regulated.
"Love not money, nor the world: use them only,
and they will serve you; but if you love them you
Qrve them, which will debase your spirits as well as
oftlnd the Lord.
" Pity the distressed and hold out a hand of help to
them; it may be your case; and as you mete to others
God will mete to you again.
"Be humble, and gentle in your conversation; of
few words I charge you; but always pertinent; hearing out before you attempt to answer, and then speaking as if you would persuade not impose.
" Affront none, neither revenge the affronts that are
done to you; but forgive and you shall be forgiven of
your heavenly father.
"In making friends consider well first; and when




WILLIAM PENN.                135
you are fixed be true; not wavering by reports, nor
deserting in affliction, for that becomes not the good
and virtuous.
"Watch against anger, and neither speak nor act in
it; for, like drunkenness, it makes a man a beast, and
throws people into desperate inconveniences.
" Avoid flatterers, for they are thieves in disguise;
their praise is costly, designing to get by those they bespeak. They are the worst of creatures; they lie to
flatter, and flatter to cheat; and, which is worse, if you
believe them you cheat yourselves most dangerously.
But the virtuous, though poor, love, cherish, and prefer. Remember David, who asking the Lord " who
shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell upon
thy holy hill?" answers, "he that walketh uprightly,
and speaketh the truth in his heart; in whose eyes the
vile person is contemned, but honoureth them who
fear the Lord."
" Next, my children, be temperate in all things; in
your diet, for that is physic by prevention; it keeps, nay,
it makes people healthy, and their generation sound.
This is exclusive of the spiritual advantage it brings.
Be also plain in your apparel; keep out that lust which
reigns too much over some; let your virtues be your
ornaments, remembering life is more than food, and
the body than raiment. Let your furniture be simple
and cheap. Avoid pride, avarice, and luxury. Read
my "No Cross, No Crown."  There is instruction.
Make your conversation with the most eminent for
wisdom and piety, and shun all wicked men, as you
hope for the blessing of God and the comfort of your
father's living and dying prayers.  Be sure you speak
no evil of any, no, not of the meanest; much less of
your superiors, as magistrates, guardians, tutors, teachers, and elders in Christ.'" Be no busy-bodies; meddle not with other folks'
matters, but when in conscience and duty pressed; foi




136               THE LIFE OF
it procures trouble, and is ill manners, and very unseemly to wise men.
" In your family, remember Abraham, Moses, and
Joshua, their integrity to the Lord, and do as you have
them for your examples.
"Let the fear and service of the living God be encouraged in your houses, and that plainness, sobriety,
and moderation in all things, as becometh God's chosen
people; and as I advise you, my beloved children, do
you counsel yours, if God should give you any. Yea,
I counsel and command them as my posterity, that
they love and serve the Lord God with an upright
heart, that he may bless you and yours from generatinon to generation.
" And as for you, who are likely to be concerned in
the government of Pennsylvania, and my parts of East
Jersey, especially the first, I do charge you before the
Lord God and his holy angels, that you be lowly, diligent, and tender, fearing God, loving the people, and
hating covetousness. Let justice have its impartial
course, and the law free passage. Though to your
loss protect no man against it, for you are not above
the law, but the law above you. Live therefore th(
lives yourselves you would have the people to live,
and then you have right and boldness to punish the
transgressor.  Keep upon the square, for God sees
you: therefore do your duty, and be sure you see with
your own eyes, and hear with your own ears. Entertain no luxuries; cherish no informers for gain or
revenge; use no tricks; fly to no devices to cover or
support injustice; but let your hearts be upright
before the Lord, trusting in him  above the contrivances of men, and none shall be able to hurt or
supplant you.
"Oh! the Lord is a strong God, and he can do whatsoever he pleases; and though men consider it not, it
is the Lord that rules and over-rules in the kingdom




WILLIAM PENN.                137
of men, and he builds up and pulls down.  I, your father, am a man that can say, he that trusts in the Lord
shall not be confounded.  But God, in due timle, will
make his enemies be at peace with him.
" If you thus behave yourselves, and so become a terror
to evil doers, and a praise to them that do well, God,
my God, will be with you in wisdom and a sound mind,
and make you blessed instruments in his hands for the
settlement of some of those desolate parts of the
world, which my soul desires above all worldly honours and riches, both for you that go, and you that
stay; you that govern and you that are governed; that
in the end you may be gathered with me to the rest
of God.
1" Finally, my children, love one another with a true
endeared love, and your dear relations on both sides,
and take care to preserve tender affection in your childrien to each other, often marrying within themselves, so
as it be without the bounds forbidden in God's law, that
so they may not, like the forgetting unnatural world,
grow out of kindred and as cold as strangers, but, as becomes a truly natural and christian stock, you and yours
after you, may live in the pure and fervent love of
God towards one another, as becometh brethren in the
spiritual and natural relation.
" So my God, that has blessed me with his abun
dant mercies, both of this and the other and better
life, be with you all, guide you by his counsel, bless
you, and bring you to his eternal glory! that you may
shine, my dear children, in the firmament of God's
power, with the blessed spirits of the just, that celestial family, praising and admiring him, the God and
father of it, for ever. For there is no God like unto
him; the God of Isaac, and of Jacob, the God of the
Prophets, the Apostles, and Martyrs of Jesus, in whom
I live for ever.
" So farewell to my thrice dearly beloved wife and
children!




138               THE LIFE OF
"Yours, as God pleaseth, in that which no waters
can quench, no time forget, nor distance weair away,
but remain -for ever,
WILLIAM PENN."
The next day leaving his family in tears, but sweetened with pious hope, and accompanied with several
friends, he hastened down to Deal, where the ship
Welcome, with about one hundred adventurers for the
new country of Pennsylvania, were waiting for him.
So general and strong among mankind is the confidence reposed in those who are remarkable for uprightness of life, that, no doubt, every passenger on
board the Welcome, thought himself perfectly safe with
William Penn, and counted on nothing but a voyage
as charming as fine health and smooth seas and pleasant breezes could render it.  But all such should remember, that "' God seeth not as man seeth."  HE the
infinite King, hath his plans; and be sure they are such
as are worthy of his own eternal wisdom and benevolence.  Physical ills, such as sickness, form a part of
his plan, and therefore should not be looked on as
any evidence of his displeasure.
"If plagues and earthquakes mar not heaven's design,
Then, why a Borgia or a Catiline?"
Accordingly, the Welcome had scarcely gotten to
sea before the confluent small-pox broke out among
the passengers, and raged with a fury that presently
swept no fewer than thirty corpses of them into the
sea. Here was a fair opportunity for William Penn
to display that generous sympathy with the unhappy,
for which he:was always so remarkable. And it is
agreed by all, that his attention to these poor sufferers
was worthy of a disciple of him who came to wash
the feet, and to administer comfort to the afflicted.
Day and night he was with the sick, administering




WILLIAM  PENN.               1 39
medicines, supplying proper diet, washing, fumigating,
and sprinkling with vinegar the floors of their cabins;
and, above all, chasing from their minds the gloom of
melancholy and despair, and lifting their thoughts to
that parent power who wounds but to heal, and with
divine complacency accepts the tear of repentance,
even at the eleventh hour.
After a voyage of six weeks, he reached the capes of
Delaware Bay, which he entered, and continued his
course up the same, until he found it narrowed into a
noble river about two miles wide. To one who had
been for six weeks beating the gloomy waves with
nothing but the same unvaried and monotonous prospect of boundless sea and sky around him, this last day's
voyage must have been highly entertaining.  To have
been sailing up this great bay, in many places from 10
to 20 miles wide, and gradually narrowing itself into
such a majestic river, skirted to the waters' edge with
natural meadows or marshes of vast extent and most
lustrous verdure; and back of these, on either side,
far as the exploring eye could reach, it beheld nought
save the startling range of huge forests stretched out
into an immeasurable expanse, bounded only by the
distant skies to a mind, like Penn's, ardently devout, such magnificent scenes as these must have yielded indescribable pleasure.  In the course of the two
days sail up this great bay, and at the place where they
found it narrowed, as aforesaid, to about two miles,
they beheld with great joy, on a vast plain on the left
bank of the river, and about ninety miles from the sea,
a little town, since called Newcastle, and which, with
some small villages, as Wilmington and Christiana, and
some country settlements of a few square miles, belonging to a little colony of Swedes and Dutch, who
settled themselves there as early as 1727.
These poor people, on seeing the tall ships of William Penn, were exceedingly alarmed, supposing that
they were come, according to custom, too common




140              THE LIFE OF
among nominal Christians, to attack and break them
up and their families. But when it was seen, on their
nearer approach, that the ships carried no cannon for
murderous war, but were altogether vessels of peace;
and also that the mariners on coming ashore, exhibited
nothing of the fierce looks and fiery regimentals of human man-killers,but, on the contrary, were clad in dovelike garments, with looks of answering meekness, their
fears all vanished, and they received William Penn and
his quakers with exceeding joy and hospitality.-The
next day he requested a meeting of the magistrates
and people, who all very promptly assembled themselves in the court-house at Newcastle, to hear what
he had to say. He told them that he supposed they
all knew that the country belonged to the English; but
he begged that they would not suffer this to give them
any uneasiness, for that having purchased it from his
own government, he could very honestly assure them
that he was not come to diminish, but greatly to increase, if possible, their enjoyments. IHe said he placed
it among the highest happinesses of his life, that God
had called him to the knowledge of the heavenly truth
as it is in Christ Jesus, whose divine doctrines are
all summed up in that blessed faith which even the,
poorest and most illiterate may always carry witlh
them, that is, "perfect love out of a pure heart."  He
declared that, under the guidance of this sweet and
holy light and love within, which God offers to all, he
wanted nothing of them but to make them one people,
and equally happy with himself and his followers. That
his own sorrowful sufferings from the cruel persecutions
of his own countrymen, had taught him most deeply
to abhor all persecution for religion's sake. That whatever therefore their country or their religion, they
were entirely secure from persecution from him: that
even if he should find, on better acquaintance with
them, that their religious opinions and practices were
not so good as his, he hoped that so far from hating




WILLIAM PENN                1.41
and persecuting them on that account, he should feel
a livelier tenderness, and show them greater kindness,
as being the only gospel way, and therefore the -only
right way to bring them to what he most of all wished
-the TRUTH. He concluded with saying, that, for the
present, all he expected of them was to " yield him the
legal possession of the country."
This was cheerfully assented to by these poor people; and with such an air of honest simplicity as affected him exceedingly. Hereupon he begged they
would not reflect on this act with any kind of alarm;
for that he felt a comfortable hope that neither himself nor those who came after him, would ever abuse
it. As a proof of his friendship for them, he renewed
the magistrates' commissions; intreated they would
strictly do their duty to discountenance all vicious and
disorderly persons; and to encourage and protect the
peaceable and honest. He then very pathetically begged them to remember that they were but as " exiles
ia a strange land, and as a handful of little children itn
a wide wilderness;" that the eyes of God were upon
them, marking their conduct whether it was towards
his glory by their cheerful and honest industry to make
the "wilderness blossom like the garden of God," or
by their idle and vicious courses to cover it with the
weeds of poverty, and thefts, and murders, and wretchedness. He begged them often to think of the precious
" PARABLE OF THE TALENTS," and of the GREAT DUTIES now devolved upon them, asl-st. How much they owed to GOD who had called
them to the honours of so high a trust.
2d. How much they owed to a YOUNG COUNTRY in
which they were the first settlers.
3d. How much they owed to the natives, the poor
HEATHENS, whom, by a blessed example of JUSTICE and
MERCY, they might draw to Christ.
4th. How much they owed to their own poor children, even the comforts of a FAIR ESTATE; the bless:




42              THE LIFE OF
ngs of a PIous EDUCATION; the sweets of a GOOD NAME,
and, in short, all that could render time and eternity
happy.
These truths, unspeakably interesting in themselves,
were rendered much more so by the very earnest and
affectionate manner with which he delivered them.
In short, they made such an impression on the minds
of these poor honest-hearted people, that they could
not rest until they had selected one of their nation, a
Lacy Cocke, to wait on him with their thanks, and to
assure him how heartily they esteemed him, and thatthey should for ever look on this as "one of the best
days they had ever seen."
Having, next morning, taken leave of these poor
simple people, who, in a body, followed him as a father to the shore; he went on board and gave command
to weigh anchor and proceed to finish the great object
of his voyage. As he sailed along up the mighty flood,
which he did, that day, about forty miles, his eyes were
constantly gazing on the western banks, the destined
seat of his Province, and which for beauty and grandeur of appearance, fully answered all the fair accounts which had been told him of it by his friends of
East Jersey. But although his eyes, straining with
curiosity, were deeply rivetted on those lovely shores,
yet his thoughts were not there: they were busily
travelling over the future and the past, with all the
keenest emotions of alternate joy and sorrow. " Yt
venerable forests, whose sacred silence was never disturbed by the sound of the axe, nor your dark brown
shades pierced by the enlivening sunbeam, 0 who can
relate your history! How long has my poor brother
man, in joyless hordes, roamed your gloomy wilds, contending forfood with beasts of prey, or mingling with
each other in murderous fight?"
But soon the vermilion of joy with its radiant smiles
would revisit his cheek, as he remembered the glorious
change at hand, when the Gospel of Christ, now




WILLIAM PENN.                 143
about to be set before these poor people, not in barren
faiths, but Heavenly loves, should seize their hearts
with its ravishing excellences, and mould them into
one people with his own followers, adopting their gentle spirit and endearing manners; and when quitting
their savage usages of hunting and war, and setting
themselves to build houses, to plough the fields, and to
plant orchards and vineyards, they should fill the land
with corn, wine, and oil, and thus attain all the elegant pleasures of civilized man. To a heart humble
and benevolent, like his, ever ready to adore God for
every notice taken of himself, and for every opportunity afforded of doing good to others, what a day of
enjoyment must this have been! 0 William Penn!
how far superior thy pleasures of this single day, to all
that Caesar or Napoleon, with their restless pride and
tormenting ambition, ever tasted!
" One self-approving hour whole years outweighs,
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas."  roPE.
After sailing this day, as aforesaid, about forty miles
before the mid-summer's smoky breeze, they opened,
on the larboard, a beautiful little river, whose silver
waves serpentining from  the north-west, joined the
parent Delaware through a mouth almost hid amidst
the luxuriant grass, hence by the Dutch called Schuylkill; the Indian name was MANAJUNG. Having passed this, and also a long grassy point, he beheld the great
river gentlv winlding to the left, and-then as gradually
turning out'o the right again, thus, in the shape of a
magnificent holf moon rolling along its mighty flood,
with a beautiful little island lying out to the right; and
on the left an extended level of handsome elevation,
and shaded with massy oaks-and a little further up,
two Indian villages Pear the water. A site combining
so much natural grandeur and convenience, could
hardly escape the discerning eye of William Penn,




144              THE LIFE OF
who was, at once, so struck with it, that lie ordered
the anchors to be cast, which was instantly done, nearly opposite to the Indian towns: and this he did the
more readily, as it was now in the afternoon, and the
flood-tide almost spent. Of these two little Indian towns,
the first was named COAQUANOC, standing on the upper part of what is now Philadelphia: and the other
stood a little higher up, about Kensington; this last
was called SHACKAMAXON by the Indians. They both
stood near the water: the Indian name of the Delaware was POWTAXAT. Soon as the ship was anchored,
the boat with an interpreter was sent on shore to inform the Indians that the sachem or chief of the Whites
wished to have a "grand talk with'his Red brothers
the next day, when the sun was at the half-way house in
the sky."  Soon as the natives saw the boat put off
from the ship, they came down from both villages, men,
women, and children, to meet them: and although
from a total ignorance of each others' language, there
was no conversation between them  except a little by
signs, and a word or two through the interpreter, yet
the interview was highly interesting, each party marking the colour, features, and dress of the other with all
the pleasures of surprise.
On the return of the boat, the interpreter reported
to William Penn, that the Indian chiefs on hearing that
he wished to have a grand talk with them, replied in
their language, "w zell, ver:y well."  They added, also,
that they had been told by their friends " the Raritons," (an Indian tribe then living below Burlington
and Mount Holly,) that this sachem of the Whites was
a good man, and that his white children which he had
sent into their country in the big canoes, had never
done them any harm." The interpreter also informed
William Penn that the Indian chiefs had said that they
would send their young meen to their towns and let all
their friends know, so that there might be a good many
at the talk.




WILLIAM PENN.                145
As to William Penn, he did not set foot on shore
that night, but rather spent it in fervent prayer that
God would, in his great mercy, now realize all those
bright visions of love and happiness between the Red
and White people, which he had so often and with
such pleasure dwelt upon. Indeed it was a most serious night to William Penn. He felt how much was
at stake. On the one hand, he himself had always
most confidently maintained that, " the grace of God
which bringeth salvation, appears to all men," i. e. that
the moral sense is universal, and of sufficient efficacy
to conciliate the affections even of heathens to strangers visiting them, provided those strangers in all their
dealings, would be most scrupulously honest and kind to
them: on the other hand the British king and ministry
had equally ridiculed these opinions of his as utterly
visionary, and had left him with a handful of his despised followers to make the rash and ruinous experiment.  The awful hour for that experiment is at hand,
and in a short time it is to be decided whether men
are creatures capable of moral and religious control or
not; or in other words, whether when Christians have
a mind to settle new discovered lands, they must, as
heretofore, use all manner of villanous frauds and violence, killing the inhabitants by fire-arms and gin; or
whether, by going among them, not with dumb bibles
and crucifixes in their hands, but its blessed spirit of
love in their hearts, and smiles in their looks, and justice and kindness in their actions, they may not change
these poor heathens into dearest friends, and in this
short and most honourable way to attain all the blessings of the safest and sweetest society in rich and new
countries.
N




146             - THE LIFE OF
CHAPTER XVIII.
Speech of William Penn to the Indians.
THE Indians having been informed, as aforesaid, that
the great SACHEM, (or CHIEF) of the white men, wanted to have a talk with their nation, assembled them.
selves together to hear him. Their numbers must have
been considerable; for to the quakers, on shipboard, it
appeared as though the woods were all alive with the
Red men. And marching to and fro, as they did, in
their military dresses, armed with bows and arrows,
and waving their warlike plumes of many a barbarous
hue, they formed a fearful sight; insomuch that some
o.f the meek lamb-like followers of William Penn,
thought he was doing wrong to venture himself among
those wild people.  But the middle of the day,
which was the time fixed on to meet them, being
come, he got into the boat and went on shore with a
countenance serene and pleasant as if he had been
going to dine with his friends; thus proving by his own
fair example, what has often been observed even by
heathen writers, that " a man of innocent life is afraid
of nothing. The place where the red and white men
met together, was on the western banks of the great
river Delawere, on a fine green near the pleasant villages of Shakamaxon and Coaquanoc, where Kensington now stands. As if purposely formed to be the
theatre of that memorable event, an elm-tree, of extraordinary size lifted high its towering top, and from its
giant arms threw far and wide a refreshing shade over
many a grassy acre. Seeing the Indians, men, women
and children, assembled under this tree, William
Penn, attended by only a few of his quakers, advanced
towards them with no other mark of rank but a sash
of blue silk, which is still seen in the Penn families in
England. The Indians were struck at his presence.




WILLIAM PENN.              147
A stranger advancing towards them, with no guards
around his person, no weapons of war in his hands, and
no armour of defence but the majestic sweetness of
his own looks, was a spectacle that impressed them all
with veneration. With such sentiments in his favour,
they readily obeyed his signal to sit down, which they
did in the form of a half moon, the men, women and
children of each tribe sitting round their own chiefs.
Then, while all eyes were rivetted on him eagerly
awaiting his speech, he stretched forth his hand, and
with the engaging air and voice of a brother, thus addressed them through an interpreter.
" Brothers, listen! Brothers we are come to bring
good words'to your ear! We call you brothers, and
so you are; and we are your brothers too. Yes, the
red men on this side the big water, and the white men
on the other side, are all children of the GREAT SPTRIT, and so must love one another, and neverfall out
The GREAT SPIRIT says so. HE says we have no need
to fall out; for he has made this world big-big enough
for all, red and white brothers too. And he has made
fish, and deer, and turkeys, and corn, and every thing
plenty for all. And if at any time the red or white
brothers want any thing that the others have, they
must not fight to take it away. Oh no; that will make
the Great Spirit angry. Now your own eyes see our
canoes yonder, (here he pointed to his ships) that they
are bigger than your canoes; and our bows and arrows
too that they are stronger than your bows and arrows.
They send out thunder and lightning; nothing can
stand before them. We could easily kill you with our
bows and arrows of fire, and take your land; but the
Great Spirit shakes his head and says no, you must not
hurt your red brothers. You must not touch their
land. Didn't I give this land to them and their children to hunt on? And also the buffaloes, and deer, and
turkeys, and corn, and beans, and squashes? And
havn't I given you good things too-great many good




148              THE LIFE OF
things' Well, then, give some to your red brothers,
and they will give you land; and so live together like
brothers. Now, brothers, lift up your eyes! and see
here the good things which the Great Spirit has given
us to bring to you."
Here the English sailors, with their usual alacrity,
opened out their ready bales of cloths, their true blues,
and fiery crimsons, and flaming reds, stretching them
along in all their dazzling colours on the grass. And
then as by magic, they unpacked their boxes of finely
painted guns, with shining tomahawks, and axes, and
hoes, and knives, and other articles of choice Britis}h
goods, which they also spread out to the best advantage,
William Penn in the mean time explaining their uses to
the Indians, who now no longer able to keep their seats
on the ground were risen up, crowded around him with
uncontrolled curiosity to look and wonder. But who
can paint the pleasure-sparkling eyes and looks of
these children of the forest, when with timid step they
approached, and gazed, and touched those beautiful
things before them, and heard their admirable uses —
the guns of thunder and lightning, so much stronger
than their bows and arrows, to conquer the bears and
panthers! the keen steel-edged axes so much better
than their flint tomahawks to hew down the trees of
the forest! the fine woollen cloths so much softer and
warmer than the rugged skins of the bear-and then
all these good things brought to them by a mildly lookinu stranger who called them BROTHIERS, and said he
had brought these good things from beyond the big
water to give to them for some of their land. Then
was seen the power which JUSTICE has to charm the
souls of all men. Those savage faces, but now so cold
and hard with hostile passions, were seen to glisten
with admiration and friendship: while Kwith broadest
smiles, such as Indians are wont towards whom they
love, they approached William Penn, and shaking his
hands called him BROTHER!  good brother!- They told




WILLIAM PENN.                149
him too that if he saw they had looked angry at first, it
was because they had heard from their friends the Chesapeakes, and Mussawomacs, and Susquehanocks, that
the white men beyond them had killed the red men
and had taken their land and deer. And also that their
neighbours the Passaicks and Manhattans had told
them how the white men with bows and arrows of
FIRE, had killed many Indians there too. " Bad white,men!" said they, shaking their heads —" bad white men
to kill their red brothers! But you no bad white man!
Oh no; you good white man! You all same as red man!
You one brother! you bring red men good things!
We love you much! Wi e give you land, and deer, and
turkeys plenty! You live wzith us, all brothers together,
long as the sun and moon give light."
Great was the joy of William Penn when he heard
these words. They served to confirm his belief of
that precious scripture truth, "The grace of God
which bringeth salvation hath appeared unto all men."
Or, as the quakers are fond of terming it —" there is a
light within," which teaches all men the difference
between right and wrong; and which, while it condemns and troubles them for the one, fills them with joy
for following the other. William Penn now saw with
his own eyes, this truth most gloriously illustrated in
those North American Indians. Judging from the unartificial vehemence of their tones, and their glowing
looks and sparkling eyes, it were questionable whether
any, the most civilized people on earth, could have
expressed a higher admiration of justice than did these
uneducated heathens.
After a considerable pause, chiefly to indulge a melancholy pleasure in looking at this branch of the great
family of Adam, and remarking their peculiarities, such
as their bright copper complexions, their broad faces,
their high cheek bones, their long lank hair, black as
the ravens' breast, and coarse as the mane of horsesand also their curiosity, which especially in the wON 2




150              THE LIFE OF
men, appeared to be as eager and unsatisfied as that
of the veriest children; William Penn proposed a going
to business. This he did by desiring the interpreters
to call up the sachems to him. The sachems all instantly gathered around him, and, on learning that he
wanted to have a talk with them about buying land,
they replied with great vehemence, "Yes, brothers!yes! —good! —very good!"
One of the sachems then gave a kind of whoop, as
a signal to order, after which he told them, in a very
short speech, that their good brother, the great sachem
of the white men, wanted to buy land. Soon as this
string was touched on, the Indians, though very fond
of the trade, began to look grave and assume an air
of business; and one of the sachems, with much of
a natural majesty about him, bound something like a
chaplet or cushion on his head, with a small horn projecting from it. This, as we read in the Holy Scriptures, was used among the great eastern nations as an
emblem of kingly power. And however curious it may
seem, was so used among these Indians of North
America; for, soon as it was put on by the chief
sachem, the rest all threw down their bows and arrows
in token of respect, as also of perfect friendship, and
seated themselves on the ground, in the form of a halfmoon, each tribe around its own sachems. The great
sachem then announced to William Penn, that the nations were ready to hear him; whereupon, with his
usual look and voice, all serene and loving, he thus addressed them.' BROTHERS,, listen! BROTHERS! the red men and
the white  ern, all children of the Great Spirit, are
going to exchange land and good things with one another. BROTHERS, this makes the Great Spirit smile.
He sees that this is doing as his good children ought
to do. He sees that this will help to make them love
one another very much, if they do it in true and good
hearts, BROTHERS! the Great Spirit sees our hearts




WILLIAM PENN.               15 
whether they be good, like his children, or bad, like
foxes and snakes. BROTHERS, since nothing that we
get will ever do us any good, if the Great Spirit is angry with us, let us bring something to your ear about
the Great Spirit. BROTHERS! The Great Spirit is
GOOD-MIGHTY GOOD.-Nobody can tell one half how
good he is. The red men know that he is good; but the
white men know it better still. BR~OTHERS, don't be
angry  Don't you see that the Great Spirit has taught
us, your white brothers, to make canoes (meaning his
ships) much better than your canoes; and bows and
arrows (meaning his guns) much better than your
bows and arrows? Well, then, the Great Spirit has
given us better talks too. BROTHERS, listen! BRoTHERS i! the GREAT SPIRIT has had mnuch talk with
your white brothers. He has told them in many talks,
that it was he who made the sun, and the moon, and the
stars-that it was he who made the skies, and the great
waters, and the land, with all the trees and grass, and
all the fishes, and birds, and beasts; and made the red
men and the white men, and gave all to them as his
own children, that they might live together as brothers,
and do good to one another, as he does good to them.
He says, too, that we must not be straitened and narrow in our doing good to one another, for that he is
great enough and rich enough for all. And that, if
we will but let his words sink deep in our hearts, he
will speak to the ground, and to the clouds, and to the
skies, and they shall pour down good things on good
things upon us, till there be no more room to hold
there. Hie says, "can you count the sands on the
shores; can you count the leaves on the trees, and the
stars in the skies? then you may count how many are
the good things which he will give to us. But he says,
too, that, if we throw his words behind our backs, and
tell lies, and cheat, and fight one another, he will turn
all his good things into bad things against us, and so
fill up our lives with trouble. —The spring may come;




152              THE LIFE OF
but no flower shall shine on the ground, no bird sing
in the trees; for the sky shall be cold and black like
winter. The ground under our feet shall be like stone;
and the clouds shall hold back their rain, so that the
beans shall be few on their vines, and the ears of corn
shrivelled on their stalks. The grass, too, shall wither
in the vallies, and the acorns shall fail; so that though
we hunt all day, we shall catch no game, and few fish
shall come to our hook. And as we delighted to kill
others, so the Great Spirit will suffer others, to kill us,
yea, after that they have killed our sons in our presence, and tomahawked our little ones before our eyes.
Now, BROTHERS, listen! These are the good talks
which the Great Spirit gave to our fathers on t'other
side of the big water. We bring there good talks to
you. We love these good talks ourselves.  We are
not like those white men who came with the big canoes
and bows and arrows of fire, and killed the Chesapeakes and Mussamomecs, and Susquehanocks; nor
are we of the white men who killed the Passaicks and
Mlanhattans; but we are of the white men who love
the good talks of the Great Spirit to our fathers. And
we have made a covenant with the Great Spirit, that
we will never lie, nor cheat, nor fight, nor kill any of
his children, whether red men or white men: but will
love them all as our brothers, and will do them good
out of the good things which he has given us for them.
Now, that you may know that the words which we
bring to your ear are true words, look and. see that we
have brought no canoes of the big bows and arrows of
thunders and lightnings to kill you; but have brought
nothing but our good things which the Great Spirit
gave us to bring and give to you for land. And now,
nBROTHERS, if it seem good to you to give us land that
we may live with you as brothers, tell us; and if not, tell
us, that we may turn to the right hand or to the left."
William Penn then sat down, still deeply gazed on
by the Indians, whose eagerly projecting eyes and shin




WILLIAM  PENN                153
ing looks strongly'showed how deeply they felt and
approved all that he said. And no wonder; for justice
is that godlike charm which no eye of man can look
on without being enamoured thereof. This was the,
enchantment practised by William Penn. I He was no
stupid missionary, telling by rote his dull tale of the
apple; nor was he the bigoted priest holding up his
idol crucifix and threatening DAMNATION to the uninstructed savages if they fell not down and worshipped
it. But he was the true Christian missionary indeed,
who set out, like St. Paul, with first preaching up "righteousness," and preaching it up too in that "spirit
which giveth life," even the spirit of love made visible
in its precious fruits of justice to these poor heathens,
with whom he began by acknowledging them to be
the rightful owners of the soil, and to whom he applied for a portion of it, bringing them at the same
time in his hands, the best necessaries of life in exchange.A For on William Penn's sitting down, after
this famous speech to the Indians, the sachem, with
the crown and horn on his head, got up, and with the
looks of one strongly excited, thus replied —" BROTHER!your words are fire. We feel them burning in
our hearts.  BROTHER! we believe that the Great
Spirit is good. Our mothers always told us so. And
we see it with our own eyes. This big water, which
runs along by this Shackamaxon and Coaquanoc, with
all the fish, speaks that the Great Spirit is good. This
ground which grows so much corn and beans and tobacco for us, speaks that the Great Spirit is good.
These woods that shelter so many deer and turkeys
for us, speak that the Great Spirit is good. The Great
Spirit would not have done all this for us if he had
not been good, and loved us very much. BROTHER,
we ought to be like the Great Spirit. We ought to
love one another as he loves us. But BROTHER! the
red men here have not done so. The red men do




154              THE LIFE OF
very bad. They sometimes fight and kill one another.
The Great Spirit has been very angry with us for it,
and has taken away our corn and deer; and then we
have become poor and weak, and have fallen sick and
died, so that our wigwams (cabins,) are empty. But
now we are very sorry and ashamed and will do so no
more. And now, BROTHERS, we are ready to sell you
land that you may live with us like good brothers,
never to fight us as we red men have done, but always
to love and do good to one another. And then the
Great Spirit will make his face to shine upon us as
his good children, and will always give us plenty of
deer, and corn, and beans, so that we may eat and
grow strong again!"
Soon as this speech was ended, the Sachems all gathered around William Penn, and the few FRIENDS he
had with him, cordially shaking hands all around, saying to them at the same time, " BROTHERS, the Great
Spirit sees our hearts, that they are not like FOXES and
SNAKES, but like brothers; good brothers." After this
they gave the calumet or pipe of lighted tobacco,
which was smoked out of by all; the great Sachem
first taking a whiff, then William Penn, and then the
Sachems and warriors and squaws of every tribe.
This is used among the Indians as a most sacred pledge
of friendship which, according to their strong language,
should endure long as the sunt and moon gave light.
They then proceeded to their great business of dealing
for land and goods. How much time was spent in
making this famous bargain, I have never been able to
ascertain, but the result was as followsIst. The Indians agreed to give the great Sachem
of the white men (William Penn,) all the land, binding on the great river from the mouth of Dudk creek
to what is now called Bristol, and from the river towards the setting sun, as far as a man could ride in two
days on a horse.




WILLIAM PENN.               155
2nd. William Penn agreed, in return, to give the
Indians as follows:
(The probable prices now.)
20 Guns,                   $140 00
20 Fathoms match-coat,       20 00
20    Do. stroud-water,      30 00
20 Blankets,                 25 00
20 Kettles,                  20 00
20 Pounds of powder,         10 00
100 Bars of lead,             25 00
40 Tomahawks,                30 00
100 Knives,                   25 00
40 Pair of stockings,        25 00
1 Barrel of beer,            4 00
20 Pounds of red lead,        5 00
100 Fathoms of wampum         50 00
30 Glass bottles,             2 50
30 Pewter spoons,             2 50
00 Awl blades,                  25
300 Tobacco pipes,             1 00
100 Hands of tobacco,         12 00
20 Tobacco tongs,             5 00
20 Steels,                    2 50
300 Flints,                    2 00
30 Pair of scissors,          6 00
30 Combs,                     8 00
60 Looking-glasses,          15 00
200 Needles,                     25
1 Skipple of salt,          10 00
30 Pounds of sugar,           3 75
5 Gallons of molasses,       2 00
20 Tobacco boxes,             2 50!00 Jews' harps,               6 25
20 Hoes,                     10 00
30 Girblets,                  2 00
3-0 Wooden screw boxes,         50




156              THE LIFE OF
Amount brought over.      $ 515 00
100 Strings of beads,            50
Total $515 50
Soon as the bargain was concluded and also ratified,
as is the manner of the Indians in great treaties, by a
second smoking of the calumet all around, William
Penn ordered the stipulated price in British merchandize, as the blankets, hatchets, axes, &c. &c. to be all
openly counted out to the Sachems and nicely put up
for them, which was accordingly done. But so strong
was the pulse of gratitude and esteem in the bosoms
of these poor heathens towards William Penn, because
of this his act of justice towards them, that it appeared
as though they could not leave him until they had
again shaken hands with him all round, with marlks
of an immortal affection, calling him father " ONAS,"
which in their language signifies quill, and being the
nearest word to Penn, and at the same time assuring
him in their earnest and vehement manner, that they
would be " good friends with him and his white children
long as the sun and moon gave light." After this they
took up their goods and went away. But not until
William Penn affectionately shaking hands with the
chiefs had bade them " remember that although he had
bought their lands of them, yet they must still use them
as their own; and fish and hunt and make corn for
their children as before: and also that if they had any
of these good things to spare, they must bring them to
him and he would pay them for them." In a transaction so honourable to human nature as this, every thing
seems important; and it would be highly gratifying at
this day, to know the number of Indians that were assembled on that memorable occasion. But although
we shall never be able to ascertain this, yet it is a gratification that we know something of the history of the
famous elm under which Penn's treaty with the In



WILLIAM PENN.               157
dians was made. From its unusual size it must have
been at least one hundred years at that time, which was
in 1682; in the American war, which was about one
hundred years later, it was still standing, and so justly
venerable on account of the glorious scene it had witnessed, that the British, then in possession of Philadel.
phia, although near freezing of cold, and the fancy-trees
and fruit-trees all abandoned to the axe, they placed a
sentinel under this tree so that not a twig of it should
be hurt. In the year 1811 it was blown down: but
still revered like the oak that sheltered the great William Wallace, it was piously wrought into little boxes
and cups by the curious, to be sent as presents to
friends, or laid up in their own cabinets to keep alive
the memory of what that tree had seen.
Having in his own honest and peaceable way ob,
tained of the poor natives a title to that fine province
which had so long dwelt on his mind, he then, with
great joy and thankfulness of heart, set about having
it surveyed. While the survey of the province was
going on, he diligently looked about for a good site for
his intended city. He was not 10ong in the search.
The elegant country round Shackamaxon and Coaquanoc soon arrested his delighted attention: a grand
extended surface, level as a die-full twenty feet elevation above the water-bounded on the east by the
mile wide Delaware-on the west by the narrow but
deep-flooded Schuylkill-and on the south, six miles
below Coaquanoc, by the junction of the two riversabove the surface, a noble forest of oak, poplar and
pine, for building beneath, an inexhaustible bed of
choice brick clay-and in the neighbourhood, millions
of stone laid up in ready quarries. If king Solomon had
been in quest of a site for a royal city for his peerless
bride, the daughter of Pharaoh, where could he have
Cound such a spot, and such abundant materials, as the
hand of Heaven had here laid up to forward the good
work which his servant William Penn was engaged in?
0




158              THE LIFE OF
Without loss of time he then sketched off a plan
fbr his new city, which for beauty and convenience.
for regularity of prospect and pure ventilation, is so
far superior to any other city that we have ever seep
or read of, as to incline us to believe that the hand
of the GREAT ARCHITECT was with him here also.
His first street was to lay on the Delaware, and his
second on the Schuylkill, both to run nearly north
and south one mile, straight as a mathematical line,
and from fronting these two rivers, to be called Front
streets-each sixty feet wide! His third street, to be
called High-street, full one hundred feet wide, was exactly to intersect his city by running due east and west
from the middle of DELAWARE Front-street, two miles
over, to the middle of SCHUYLKILL Front-street. Then,
exactly half way between the two rivers; his fourth
street, one hundred and thirteen feet wide, to be called
BRoAD-street, was to run due north and south crossing
High-street, as aforesaid, in the centre of the city. In
this centre point he laid off ten acres for a grand park
or square to be handsomely railed in, smoothly sodded
with grass, and planted with trees of finest shade, that
the citizens, often as they pleased, might here meet
and mingle with one another, and although in the
midst of the crowded city, enjoy an air and verdure
and shade equal to the country. For the same pleasant and beneficial uses, he ordered a park or square
of eight acres to be laid off in the centre of each quarter of his city. To complete the streets of his city,
which, as we have seen, was to be two miles in length,
from river to river, or east and west, and in width, from
north to south one mile, making a surface of upwards
of twelve hundred acres, he ordered eight streets to
be run parallel with High or Market-street, i. e. east
and west; and twenty streets parallel with Broadstreet. i. e. north and south; each of these streets was
to be fifty feet wide, except Mulberry, which is sixtysix feet wide. The streets running north and south




vWILLIAM  PENN.                159
were to be named according to their numerical order,
asfirst, second, third street, &c. and those running from
east to west after the woods of the country, as Vinestreet, Sassafras-street, Cedar-street, and so on.  The
city having been thus planned, was called PHILADELPHIA, which, in Greek, signifies the cITY oF BROTHERLY LOVE, that being, as he said, " the spirit in which he
had come to these parts; the spirit which he had swuorn
to Dutch, Swedes, Indians, all alike; and the spirit
which he earnestly prayed God would for ever,'rule in
his province."
No sooner was the city surveyed and laid off according to this plan, which gave universal joy to the
little colony, than the sound of innumerable axes was
heard in the woods, with the frequent crash of the
falling trees. And so ardent was the passion for buildingrthat, late as the season was, (September,) many
families had comfortable houses erected before winter.
In addition to these, several who came out in the fall
ships, being fuller handed, brought with them houses
in frame, all marked and ready for putting together;
with furniture of all sorts, and clothes, and provisions;
these, of course, went on swimmingly. But a great many
coming in late, and being poor withal, had to work day
and night to cover in their huts, and provide a good
stock of wood for fires, before the deep snows should
fall: while others, still worse ofi; were fain to go down
to the shores of the Delaware, and there in the sides
of the steep banks, dig large grottoes or caves with
chimnies at the tops for the smoke.  These places for
a long time afterwards went by the name of the CAVES;
and homely as they may appear, yet many families,
whose posterity have since made much noise in Pennsylvania, passed the winter of 1682, in those caves, and
in a very snug and healthy style too. Indeed, whether
it be that in those times of virtuous necessity, there is
generally the presence of him who " tempers the air to
the shorn lamb," or whether that, having created man




160              TIHE LIFE OF
to imitate himself in active, useful life, Heaven a ways
gives better appetite, sleep, and health to the steadily
laborious; but certain it is, that no adventurers, perhaps, in such numbers, ever enjoyed better health and
spirits than did the followers of William Penn, that
season. For while of the little colony, only one hundred and twenty in number, who settled, or rather invaded Virginia, in May, 1607, full one half of them
were in their graves before Christmas: of William
Penn's colony, though exceedingly more'numerous,
there is no record, that I have seen, of one single case
of mortality that season. But after all, the health of
this colony, though remarkable, is not so much to be
wondered at. "Cheerfulness," says Solomon, "does
good like a medicine;" and who ever had greater reason for cheerfulness than the followers of William Penn?
The cause for which, like faithful Abraham of old, they
had left father, mother, and country, i. e. for God and
religion's sake, was not that enough to make them
cheerful? The loving spirit in which they had treated
the poor natives, was not that enough to make them
cheerful'! The attainment, without blood and murder,
of the object of their perilous journeyings through the
watery wilderness, viz. an earthly Canaan of their
own, flowing with the milk and honey of peace and
quiet, was not that enough to make them cheerful?
The hand of Heaven, so visible in all this, was surely
enough to make them cheerful  And, to perpetuate
their cheerfulness, the same blessed hand was still
visibly present with them; for, like quails upon the
camps of Israel, so did delicious flesh seem to rain
down from Heaven upon them in their time of need.
Wafted on by the winds of autumn, the wild pigeons
from the Indian lakes, came down upon them in such
darkening clouds as overwhelmed them with astonishment: those who had powder and small shot could kill
thousands a day; while, as if for the sake of the poow
who had not such advantages, these savoury birds flem




WILLIAM PENN.                 161
so low, or fed on their berry bushes so utterly careless
of man, that they might be knocked down in any quantities that were wanted, insomuch, that besides feeding
on them fresh, they salted barrels of them up for future use. As to deer, buffaloe, bear, raccoons, opossums, squirrels, rabbits, turkeys, pheasants, partridges,
&c. the lands which William Penn bought of the Indians so abounded with all these varieties of delicious
game, that any man who chose to go after them with
his gun, might presently return loaded; while such as
could not hunt, might have them brought to their
doors for a mere trifle-turkeys of twenty pounds
weight for one shilling! and fat kidney-covered bucks
for two shillings! which was not indeed a fair price
for the skin. And all this done for them by those whom
the Christians call Savages, who appeared to have
such a true child-like love for father" ONAS" as they
called William Penn, that they could never, as they
said, do enough for his poor children. And indeed so
strong was this generous feeling in their bosoms that
if they saw any of " Onas's children" so poor that they
could not buy at the low rates above, they would, of
their own accord, go and hunt for them, and bring
them loads of the finest and fattest flesh, and fish, and
fowl, for nothing. And, as if there was to be no end to
the bounties of God, and to the thankfulness and joy of
William Penn and his people, the waters in this new
country were no less abundantly stored with dainty
food than the air and the land: swans, geese, brant,
and ducks of all sorts were here seen in flocks as no
European ever had any idea of; while as to the fish,
such as sturgeon, shad, rock, perch, &c. the rivers and
creeks were so full of them, that with the least industry in the world, a man might feast his family on them
every day. And in addition to all this, the Indians had
exquisite peaches in surprising abundance; and the
woods were, in numberless places, matted as it were
with vines, which in the fall season of the year were
o0 




162              THE LIFE OF
perfectly black with shining clusters of grapes; not
indeed so large as those of Europe, but remarkably
plump and sweet tasted, especially after a little touch
of the frost. Now with such ample cause of ceaseless
gratitude and cheerfulness, who can wonder that William Penn and his humble followers were always so
healthy and happy as they appear to have been? William Penn in a letter to one of his friends in England,
says, " I thank my good God that I have not missed one
meal's meat, nor one night's sleep since I came into
this fair province.  0! how sweet is the quiet of these
parts,freed from the anxious and, troublesome solicitations, hurries, andperplexities of woeful Europe!" But
leaving the settlers in the new city, driving on might
and main as aforesaid, with their buildings, and like
sagacious ants laying up the best store they could for the
approaching winter, William Penn took his surveyor
with him, and went into the country to finish the survey of his grand purchase of the Indians, and also the
little district then called the " TERRITORIES,"' now the
STATE OF DELAWARE, which had been ceded to him
by the Duke of York; and to divide them into counties. Three counties were created out of each of these
districts, those of his province were named as follow:
PHILADELPHIA, after his new city: BUCKS, or BUCKING1IAI, after a county in England, dear to him as the
long residence of his ancestors:-and CHESTER, which
he so named to pleasure his old travelling companion
Thomas Pearson, who was born in a county of that
name in England. His three counties in the TERRITORIES he named NEWCASTLE, KENT, and sussex: this
last out of respect to his wife, whose family for many
generations had resided in a county of that name in
England. At the sitting of the Assembly, which took
place in March ensuing, (1683) he procured a seal to
be struck for each of the above counties. That for
PHILADELPHIA, was an anchor,-to BUCKS, a tree
and vine, —to CHESTER, a plough, —to NEWCASTLE, a




WILLIAM  PENN.               163
cassia,-to KENT, three ears of Indian corn,-and to
SUssex, a wheat sheaf. Each of these seals, no doubt,
had a meaning, and particularly that of Philadelphia,
which very fitly denoted his long twenty years' servitude of hope and toil for this blessed land of religious
liberty, and CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE.
Having thus divided his land into counties, as just
mentioned, William Penn immediately appointed sheriffs in each county, and issued writs for the election
of members both for the Council and general Assembly,
as also summons for the formation of Grand Juries!
Now that all this was not a mere matter of pride and
affectation in him, (which none on earth ever more
heartily abhorred) but a course of proceeding to which
he was compelled by existing facts, the reader may
rest perfectly assured that so entire was the confidence
of the people of England in the wisdonm and honesty
of William Penn, and the probable great advantages
which they should derive from settling in his province,
that although he did not himself arrive in it till the
beginning of September, yet so great was the emigration, and the number of those who had purchased
grounds, and settled in the counties by the middle of
November, that he found a sufficient population in
each of them to require wise laws, and a prompt and
just administration of them. Weight of individual
character has rarely had such flattering respect paid
to it.  Nearly three thousand souls, by reasonable
computation, to follow a persecuted quaker across a
vast ocean to a wilderness, in three months!'tis wonderful!
Who can tell the joy that reddened over the cheeks
of this true FRIEND of man, when on his return from
the country, which was in November, he beheld the
bright prospects that were opening before him-his
new city, of upwards of fifty houses, risen as by magic
out of the woods, and thereby promising, what has
really happened, the speedy creation of a mighty me



164              THE LIFE OF
tropolis —and in addition to this, to see his noble, sil
ver-flooded Delaware already beginning to whiten with
the sails of ships; twenty-three of which came in about
this time almost in squadron, from different ports in
England and Ireland, and even from Wales, making
in all upwards of two thousand souls, who had bravely
left their country and friends to cross a howling wilderness of waves, and cast in their lot with William
Penn for their sweet peace and conscience sake.
And great also was the joy of the colony when they
saw that these ships, though tail, carried none of the
dread implements of death, nor of those men whose
fierce looks, and fiery- regimentals proclaim  that their
trade is human slaughter; but, on the contrary, were
filled with men and women whose dove-like clothing
bespoke them the children of peace, perhaps, humble
and industrious farmers and mechanics, who were
come into the wilderness to build up a ZOAR, a city for
God, and to aid the great and good cause by their useful labours. The scene that ensued was tender and interesting.'Nothing was to be seen or heard on all
sides but the noise of the citizens running down to the
shore to meet and welcome the stranger friends, also
with looks and eyes of friendship eagerly searching
round if happily they might find some beloved kinsman
in this noisy throng.  And ofttimes the heart was
touched at the sight of dearest relatives rushing to all
the transporting embraces of an unexpected meeting;
bathing each other's red swollen cheeks of joy with
gushing tears, and with sobs and cries rending the air,
O0 amy brother!" or, " 0 my dear mother," or "my dear
child!"' These persons had taken leave in England of
their relatives; the first adventurers, never expecting
to see themn- more.-But finding a void in their bleeding hearts, which nothing else could fill, they had suddenly sold off all and ventured across the seas, that
they might, as they said, 1" live an.d die together." William Penn was m:uch affected by these things, which




WILLIAM  PENN.                165
served to strengthen him the more, if possible, in his
resolutions to leave nothing undone to ensure the welfare of so many poor people who had confided their
all to him. And it is highly pleasing to record that
what with the very unusual length of the mild and
open weather that season, and the most hearty hospitality and great simplicity and industry prevalent
throughout this group of Christian friends, such good
preparation was made, both of huts and provisions,
that there was no instance of serious distress and suffering ever heard among them. It is worthy of remark,
that nearly the whole of the late arrival of two thousand persons, were QUAKERS, who had followed William  Penn, that, as appeared in a London paper of
those times, " they might lead a life quiet and peaceable,
free from the vexatious they had experienced; and worshipping the Creator in their own way; and that here, as
on a virgin elysian shore, they might shun the odious and
infectious examples of European profligacy and wickedness; and lastly, that by manifesting, in all their tempers and actions, a fair example of the humble and
loving spirit of the gospel, they might more effectually
impress the heathen around them, and thus bring them
from darkness to light-even that pure andperfect light
zwhich emanated from Jesus Christ."
When plain simple Christians can go abroad to win
the Heathens to Christ by his sweet charm of "love
and good works," exemplified in their own divine tempers and actions, we may well expect a good turn out.
But when missionaries, calling themselves Christians,
can travel to the other side of the globe to make
proselytes to their own party, and there, in the sight
of the Heathen, wrangle and abuse each other about
baptisms and sacraments, and free grace or election,
surely it is timle for all good men to pray that God
would have mercy upon such "blind leaders of the
blind," and send fitter " labourers in into his ozwn v7irneyards."




166              THE LIFE OF
CHAPTER XIX.
SNUG in their huts and caves, and well supplied, as
we have seen, with food timely laid up, William Penn
and his gentle followers passed the winter in much
comfort, often amusing themselves with an atmosphere
darkened with heavier snows, and the Indian forests
howling with far louder tempests than they had ever
witnessed in England. In the course of the season,
perhaps in January, there occurred an event which,
though trivial in itself, served for a while to be talked
of in this infant city, I mean the first birth, of English
parents, in the colony. The child was a boy, of the
family of Key, born in one of the caves. William Penn
took a fancy to record this event by making the child
a present of a lot of ground. The neighbours from
that day gave young Key the name of FYrst-born, which
he went by all his life, and that a very long one.
On the 10th of March, 1683, William Penn met his
first Council, in Philadelphia; two days afterwards
he met his first.ssembly, which sat at the same
place.
As a certain very unpromising youngster of Virginia,
on reading in a history of the revolution that his
grand-father was a favourite officer with general Washington, instantly took up, determining to render himself
worthy of such a noble ancestor; so I will let the
young people of Pennsylvania and Delaware see the
names of their great-grandfathers, ewho had the honour to sit under William Penn in the first Assembly,
in the year 1683 —also on the first grand jury of that
venerable period. For the assembly, as follow —Yardley, Darke, Lucas, Waln, Wood, Clowes, Witzwater,
Hall, and Boyden, for Bucks; Longhurst, Hart, King,
Binkson, Moon, Wynne, Jones, Warner, and Swanson,
for Philadelphia; Hoskins, Wade, Wood, Blunston,
Rochford, Bracy, Bezer, Harding, and Phipps, for Ches



WILLIAM PENN.                167
ter; Biggs, Irons, Hassold, Curtis, Bedwell, Windsmore,
Brinkloe, Brown, and Bishop, for Kent; Cann, Darby,
Hollingsworth, Herman, Dehoaef, Williams, Guest,
and Alrick, for New Castle; Watson, Draper, Flutcher, Bowman, Moleston, Hill, Bracy, Kipshaven, and
Verhoof, for Sussex.
For the first Grand Jury of Pennsylvania, in 1683.
Lloyd, (foreman,) Flower, WTood, Harding, Hill, Luff,
Wall, Darke, Parsons, Blunston, Fitzwater, Guest,
Curtis, Lucas, Jones, and Pusey.
As to what this famous assembly did-I call it famous, because it was the first that ever sat in the glorious colony of William Penn-I say as to what they
did, such as what wise laws they passed; who was
their chairman; who their great orator, and so forth,
they are now all effaced from the memory of man, as
though such an assembly had never existed. This most
mortifying fact, however overlooked by others, ought
certainly to stick awhile on the memory of those ambitious little ones, now-a-days, who vainly dream that
if they can but muster enough of whiskey-bought votes
to send them to " TIE LEGISLATURE,". the world is to
ring of them a thousand years hence.
But concerning the exploits of the first Grand Jury
of Pennsylvania, we are not so completely in the dark.
It appears that, early as good William Penn began to
draw his net for villains, he did not draw it without
catching a miserably bad fish.  A very hardened
wretch by the name of Pickering, a silver-smith of
London, finding what ship-loads of quakers had gone
off to Pennsylvania, took it into his head that a capital
speculation might be made on these easy unsuspicious
people, by palming upon them a barrel or two of counterfeit Spanish milled dollars, and thus handsomely, as
he hoped, to strip them of what little property they
had saved from the paws of the British monarchy and
hierarchy. The better to ensure success, he gets himself a deep drab and broad beaver, and off he sets for




168              THE LIFE OF
Penn's colony, and there in the guise of a very pious
friend, begins his villanous trade. His money passes
without the least suspicion: for who would think of suspecting FRIEND PICKERING! Success inspires confidence; confidence makes him forget caution; his money
is questioned, and he is arrested with thousands of it
upon him. Now,in England,such a villain as that would,
in five minutes, have been in a dungeon pinioned with
irons, and soon as possible, have been dangling in a
halter without -benefit of clergy.  But what was the
award of the first Grand Jury of Pennsylvania in
1683?  Why, it ran in these words:  "Whereas
Thomas Pickering hath been found guilty of coining
and stamping silver in the form of Spanish dollars with
more alloy of copper than the law allows, he the said
Thomas Pickering shall, for this high misdemeanor, make
full satisfaction in good and current pay, to all persons
who shall, within the space of one month, bring in any
of his base and counterfeit coin, (which shall be called
in to-morrow by proclamation;) and that he shall pay
a fine offorty pounds towards the building of a courthouse, stand committed till the same is paid, and afterwards find security for his good behaviour."
Having undergone an incessant fatigue of mind for a
long time past, and especially during the late session
of his Assembly, and Common Council, and Grand
Jury, of which lie was the prime mover and conductor,
Villiam Penn determined, for a necessary relaxation,
to make an excursion into the country, and taking a
few friends with him, now when the opening spring
with all its sweet birds and blossoms were inviting to
industry, to indulge the pleasure of a general view of
his beloved province. But to a mind like that of Wil
liam Penn, happily moulded into the spirit of divine
love, and, like that, always seeking opportunities of
doing good, relaxation only means a change in the
great business of being useful. During this grand tour
if we may so call it, lie made numberless minutes of




WILLIAM PENN.                169
every thing that he could see or hear that he thought
would entertain or benefit, and which may be looked
on as a panorama in miniature, or rapid sketch of thc
geography, botany, natural history, &c. of the country
and its aboriginal inhabitants, or Indians. I should like
to give it at length to my readers, were it not for fear
that from the lusty growth which our country has made
in these sciences during the long lapse of one hundred
and fifty active years, it would only excite a smile as
at sight of a dwarf by the side of a giant. But there
is one thing in this little journal which always affords
so much pleasure to myself, that I can, certainly, never withhold it from my readers. i. e. his tender sketches
of the poor simple natives of the country. Aye, there
William Penn was always at home. This was his first
and favourite theme, to be continually looking into
the moral condition (because all happiness lies there)
of his brother man; not indeed so much to scrutinize
his notions and shiboleths; or to ascertain how far orthodox and strict he was in his sectarian faiths, and
catechisms, and creeds, and confirmations, and baptisms,and sacraments,and sprinklings of holy water, and
signings with crosses, and other such things; because
from faithful history of popes, and cardinals, and bishops, and presbyters, William Penn had learned that
the utmost formalities in those things are perfectly
consistent with the vilest spirit and passions of the
world-with the most satanic pride and lust of universal domination-with mortal envies and hatreds of all
opponents-with kindlings of bloody wars and crusades among the-nations, and most unnatural inquisitions and burnings of their brethren-with multiplying
of great titles, and palaces, and revenues of the estabtished churches, and imprisonments, and confiscations,
and poverty, and starving of the rest!!! William Penn,
therefore, in his loving regards to the moral condition
of his brother man, paid no respect to those things;
but much rather to the plain evidences of that " grace
p




17')              THE LIFE OF
which bringeth salvation," and which always mani
festeth itself in acts of "justice, and hospitality, and
kindness, and brotherly love, without dissembling."
CHAPTER XX.
W'illiam Penn's.Narrative of the Aborigines, or native
Indians, whom he found in Pennsylvania, touching
their persons, language, manners, religion, and government.
" 1st. For their persons; they are generally tall,
straight, well built, and of singular proportion. They
tread strong and clever, and mostly walk with a lofty
chin. Greasing themselves with bears' fat, and using
no defence against the sun, their skins must needs be
swarthy. Their eyes are small and black, not unlike
a straight-eyed Jew. The thick lips and flat noses of
the East Indians and blacks, are not common to theri;
for I have seen as comely European faces among them
as in England; and truly an Italian complexion has
not much mnore of the white, and the noses of many
of them have as much of the Roman.
2d. For their language, it is lofty yet narrow, but,
like the Hebrew, in signification full. Like short-hand
in- writing, one word serves in place of several, and the
rest are supplied by the understanding of the hearer.
And I must say that I know not a language in Europe
that has words of more sweetness or grandeur.
3d. As to their customs and manners, these in some
things, as very curious, especially as regards their
children. Soon as these are born they plunge them
into cold water, the colder the better, to make them
hardy and bold as young otters.  Then, having wrapt
them up in skins, they brace them out straight on a




WVILLIAI1- PENN.              171
little board, and thus, when travelling, carry them on
their backs, or if at work, set them  up nearly erect
against the sides of their cabins.  Hence the Indians
are all remarkably straight.  The boys while young,
practise a great deal with their bows and arrows, at
which they come to be so expert that a sparrow must
be lucky that escapes them.  At fifteen they take to
the woods, eager to figure as men. If they make a
brave return of skins, they begin to take airs and talk
about wives; otherwise they are very silent. The girls
stay with their mothers and help them to plant and
hoe the corn, and carry burthens.'Tis happy that
they are timely used to this; for, when wives, they are
expected to do all the drudgery. The husband, if he
hunts and kills the buck, thinks he has done his share.
He comes home, sits down and lights his pipe; leaving
it to his wife and daughters to bring in the buck. Their
sagacity at finding it seems like a miracle. The husband has but to say a word or two and fling his arm in
the direction where it lies, and they go off as straight
to it, no matter how thick the swamps and woods, as a
buzzard to a carcass.
We Christians call these poor people savages, but
indeed, in many of the most Christian virtues, they
leave us far behind them. If a white man call at their
cabins, they are all joy and gladness to see him. They
give him the best place and the first cut. If they come
to visit us, and any thing is given them to eat or drink,
well, for they wrill not ask; and be it little or much if
it be with kindness, they are well pleased; otherwise
they go away sullen, but saying nothing.
But in liberality they excel. Nothing is too good for
their friend.  Give them  a fine gun, coat, or other
thing, it may pass twenty hands before it sticks: light
of heart, strong affections, but soon spent: the most
merry creatures that live. They never have much
nor want much. Wealth circulates like the blood. All
parts partake: and though none shall want what the




172               THE LIFE OF
others have, yet exact observers of property. Some of
their kings have sold, others presented me with parcels of land.  The pay or presents I made them were
not hoarded by the particular owners, but the neighbouring kings and their clans being present when the
goods were brought out, the parties chiefly concerned
consulted what and to whom they should give them.
To every king then, by the hands of a person for that
work appointed, is a proportion sent, so sorted, and
folded, and with that gravity which is admirable. Then
the king subdivideth it in like manner among his dependants, hardly leaving himself an equal share with
one of his subjects: and be it on such occasions as
festivals, or at their common meals, the kings distribute, and to themselves last.  They care for little,
because they want but little; and the reason is, a little contents them.  In this they are sufficiently revenged on us. If they are ignorant of our pleasures,
they are also free from our pains.-rWe sweat and toil
to live. Their pleasure feeds them; I mean their
hunting, fishing, and fowling; and this table is spread
every where.
In sickness they are very impatient, and use strange
remedies, such as stewing themselves in a close cabin
with hot steam from water thrown on red hot stones,
until the sweat pours down from them, and in this state
they will plunge into brooks of coldest water. If they
die, they bury them in their apparel, the nearest
of kin throwing into the grave with them something
precious, as a token of their love; for dead or alive
nothing is cared for by these people but love to and
from their friends. They are very choice of the graves
of their dead, and will sometimes go out of their way
great distances to sit by them.
These poor people are under a dark night in things
of religion, at least the tradition; yet they firmly believe in the Great Spirit or God, and the immortality
of the soul; for they say there is a grcat king who




VILLIAM PENN.                173
made them, who dwells in a bright country to the
southward of them; and that the souls of the good shall
go thither where they shall live again. Their xorship
consists of two parts, SACRIFICE and CANTICO. Their
SACRIFICE is their first fruits. The first and -fullest
buck they kill goes to the fire, where he is all burnt,
with a mournful ditty of him who performeth the
ceremony, but with such marvellous fervency and labour of body, that he will even sweat to a foam. The
other part is their CAN'TICO, performed by round
dances accompanied sometimes with words, sometimes
songs, and then shouts, which are raised by two persons.
standing in the middle, who begin, and by singing and
drumming on a board, direct the chorus. Their postures in the dance are very antic and various, but all in
exact measure. The whole is done with surprising
earnestness and labour, and with strong expressions of
joy. In the fall when the corn comes in, they begin
to feast one another.  There have been twogreat festivals already, to which all who choose can come. I
was at one myself. Their entertainment was by a
large spring under some shady trees, and twenty fat
bucks with hot cakes made of the meal of new corn
and beans baked in leaves in the ashes. After dinner
they fell to dance. All who go carry a small present in
their kind of money; it may be sixpence, made of the
bone of a fish; the black is with them as gold; the
white, silver; they call it wainpum.
Their government is by kings, called sachems, who
reign by succession; but always of the mother's side.
The children of him who is now king will not succeed, but his brother by the same mother, or the sons
of his sister, for no woman inherits. It is astonishing
to see how piously and peaceably they all follow this
ancient usage,
Every king has his COUNCIL, consisting of all the ol1
and wise men of the nation. Nothing of moment is undertaken. be it war, peace, or selling of land, without ad-,. 2




174               THE LIFE OF
vising with them; and which is more, with the young
men too. It is admirable to consider how powerful
the kings are, and yet how entirely the creatures of
their people. - And it is equally admirable to see the
exquisite order and decorum that are always observed
in their national councils.  The king sits in the middle of a half moon, formed by the old and wise- men,
his counsellors, on the right and left. Behind them
sit the younger fry in the same half moon figure. Every
thing being ready for business, the king beckons to one
of his old men to speak, which he does, rising with
much solemnity, and begging it to be kept in mind
that it is not he, but the-KING who is speaking. While
he is on the floor not a man among them, young or old,
would be guilty of such rudeness as to whisper, smile,
or move a foot, for the world.-Their speeches are
short, but always vehement, and sometimes figurative
and eloquent in the highest degree.  And as to their
natural sagacity and management of the business, especially such as they are familiar with, he must be a wit
who gets the advantage of them.
As to the original of this extraordinary people, I cannot but believe they are of the Jewish race, I mean of
the stock of the ten tribes so long lost; for-the reasons
following:Firstly. The ten tribes were to go to a land "not
planted nor known," which certainly Asia, Africa, and
Europe zoere. And God who pronounced that singular judgment upon them, might make the way passable to them as it is " not impossible in itself from  the
eastermost parts of Asia to the westernmost parts of.iAnerica." S
Secondly. I find the Indians of the like countenance
with the Jews i and their children of so lively resem* The world laughed at William Penn for this bold conjecture.
But captain Cook, and later nyVigators, have shown it to be very
i:racticable and probable.




WILLIAM PENN.                175
blance, that a man on looking at them, would think
himself in DUKE'S PLACE, or Berry street, London.
Thirdly. They agree with the Jews in many of their
religious rites.
Fourthly. They reckon time by JMloons, like the
Jew.
Fifthly. They offer theirfirstfruits, as the Jews do.
Sixthly. They have a kind of feast of tabernacles,
like them.
Seventhly. They are said to lay their altar upon
twelve stones.
Eighthly. They have the same practice of mourning
a year.
Ninthly. They have the same delicate customs of
women.
Now all these things considered of them, and also
taking into the account their many and grand cardinal
virtues which they practise, such as,
1st. Their noble readiness to forgive any injuries
done them by one who was drunk, saying, "it was the
drink and not the man who abused'em."
2d. Their exceeding hospitality to strangers.
3d. Their never-ending esteem of those who only
do them justice, (as in the case of William Penn.)
4th. Their love stronger than death to theirfriends.
5th. Their everlasting gratitude to benefactors.
Now on a people possessing so distinct a knowledge
of good and evil, 0 what immortal fruits might not be
grafted by persons of a still brighter light and love
coming among them; not in vain words, preaching up
notions and sacraments, but in their own brotherly
tempers and actions, showing the divine beauty and
blessedness of men " dwelling together in love "




176              THE LIFE OF
CHAPTER XXI.
WILLIAM PENN had now been in his colony near two
years; and indeed, as is said, had serious thoughts of
spending the rest of his days in it, with his family,
whom he meant to send for. But alas, why should
poor mortals talk of years to come, when the wisest
among them cannot tell "' what a day may bringforth!"
For while this most virtuous of men, like a good angel
descended from heaven, was thus diligently and delightfully employed in ameliorating the physical and
moral condition of the red and white men of his great
family, and to render his province the garden spot and
glory of the earth, behold a ship arrived from England
with packages of letters from his best friends, recommending it to him by all means to return without loss
of time.-They stated that he was every where posted
as a " PAPIST"' and a " JESUIT," and that too in such
terms of execration that there was no telling how it
might affect the government against him, even to the
taking away of his charter and province. And still
worse, (for indeed he smiled at such baseless fabrications that affected only himself,) the letters informed
him of things infinitely more painful to his feelings,
viz. that the persecutions against his poor friends, the
quakers, had broken out again, and with a malignity
and fury far beyond any thing ever known before.
The letters concluded with entreating that he would
instantly return and use all his interest in their favour
with the king, who, it was well known, was much his
fi'iend.
The effect of these letters on him, was an immediate determination to return to England, as soon as
possible: so having empowered his COUNCIL to act in
his place, and filled up all the various offices and departments of government with the fittest men, he tcok
his leave, exceedingly to the reayret of all. but of none




WILLIAM PENN.                177
more than of the Indians. To these poor people, the
report that their " FATHER ONAS" was going away to
leave them, was matter of deep heart-sinking and sorrow. Havirig found out the day on which he was to
depart, they came in betimes into the city, in great
crowds both men and women, and all of them with
some present in their hands for "father Onas." They
followed him to the shore, like children crowding to
the funeral of a beloved father, and in shaking hands
with him, many of them shed tears.
Immediately on his arrival in England, (October
1684) he commenced his inquiries into the condition
of the quakers, and the persecutions against them, which
he found to be fully equal, in point of savage unfeelingness and barbarity, to the worst accounts he had
received. I will detail a few of those cases, that our
horror-struck readers, while they mark the blinding
influence of an ancient priestcraft, and mourn the sufferings of its unfortunate victims, may raise their
shouts of praise to God for the blessed time and country in which they live: and also do their part, in the
way of a good life, to prevent disunion and civil war,
which, by introducing a KING and an ESTABLISHED
CHURCH, may revive those calamities upon our hapless posterity.
Ectetract of cruel persecutions of the poor quakers zn
England, in the days of king Charles 1!. viz.
"Only for attending a meeting in Leicestershire,
four persons were sent to prison, and their goods of
various kinds, with beds, working tools, &c. taken
from them to the amount of two hundred and thirty
six pounds sterling, equal now to three thousand dollars!! In clearing the meeting-house 6n this occasion,
not only men but women were dragged out, some by
the heels, and others by the hair of their heads!"
"In Nottinghamshire, James Nevil, Justice of the
Peace, took from T. Samson, by zwarrant (on account




178              THE LIFE OF
of his attending two meetings,) nineteen head of cattle,
and goods to the amount of sixty pounds sterling,"
equal now to seven or eight hundred dollars.
"In the county of Norfolk, John Patterson had two
hundred fat sheep taken from him, —equal to three
hundred dollars.
"William Borbu of Norfolk, had cows, carts, a plough,
harrows, and hay, taken from him to the amount of
fifty pounds sterling.
"William Brazier, a shoemaker at Cambridge, was
fined by John Hunt, (Mayor) and John Spencer (Vicechancellor,) twenty pounds, only for having a religious
meeting in his own house."
N. B. The officers who distrained for this sum, took
his leather, his lasts, the seat he worked upon, wearing
clothes, bed and bedding!!!
" In Somersetshire, F. Pawlet, Justice of the Peace,
fined thirty-two persons only for being at a burial! and
seized for the fines, cows, corn, and other goods to the
amount of eighty-two pounds sterling. No one appearing to buy the distrained cattle, the justice employed
a person to buy them in for himself!!
" In Berkshire, Thomas Curtis was fined three
pounds fifteen shillings by Justice Craven, who ordered his mare to be seized, which was worth seven
pounds. Curtis put in an appeal against this proceeding, according to the act; but it was thrown out. The
officers also offered the fine to Craven, but he would
not take it; but had the mare valued at 41, and then
kept her himself!!
"In Cheshire, Justice Daniel took from T. Briggs
the value of 1161. in corn, horses, and cattle; the latter he kept and worked for his own use!
"In the same county, Justice Manwaring took by
warrant for fines which amounted to 871. goods to the
value of 1011. in cattle, bacon, brass, pewter, corn, cloth,
shoes, and cheese. Some of the sufferers appealing,
the Jury acquitted them; but the Justices would not




WILLIAM PENN.                179
receive the verdict, and at the next sessions gave judgment for the informers, with treble costs!!!"
Scores of other cases equally shocking might be
quoted; but these are sufficient to show what man is
capable of when under the dominion of bigotry and
superstition; and how easy a thing it is, for a selfish
Priest to persuade a poor sinner, that if he but mutters
a few prayers after him, and kneels and sings as he directs, and gravely takes the Sacrament, he may fly like
a wild Arab upon the most humble, and harmless, and
industrious, and peaceable of his fellow creatures, and
triumphantly carry off their carts and horses, and cows,
and calves, and corn, and meal, thus breaking them up
root and branch, and leaving their poor little children
crying in vain to their mothers for their simple suppers
of bread and milk.
With a heart bleeding for such cruelties of man to
man, William Penn flew to the King, entreating him
even with tears, that he would interpose his royal arm
to the prevention of such hellish practices, dishonourable to his reign and disgraceful to the most benevolent religion in the world —THE GOSPEL. But to his
equal astonishment and grief, all that he could obtain
was " a sort of promise from  the King, that he would
do something in the matter." But while he, Felix like,
was waiting for that "more convenient season," to do
the good work to which William Penn so earnestly
entreated him, hundreds of poor harmless and humble
souls were suffering all the horrors of starving at home,
or groaning in dungeons. But his time to act so inhuman a part, and to abuse the high trust confided to
him of God, was not long. In about a quarter of a
year after this, as he sat down one Sunday morning
to be shaved, he was suddenly seized with violent
spasms, or twitchings of his head to both sides, when,
uttering a fearful shriek, he fell down as dead, and so
remained for three hours.- His physician, at hand, bled
him, and fearing to lose the time necessary to blister




180              THE LIFE OF
him by flies, ordered his head to be shaved, and plied
with red-hot frying pans. Being brought to his senses by
such unheard of tortures, he showed himself humble
as a whipped child-seemed deeply penitent-begged
pardon of all, even the poorest he had ever wrongedprayed most fervently himself, and prayed that others
would pray to God for him. And in this way he breathed on, till the following Saturday at noon, and then
died-an awful lesson to the proud and great, how easy
a thing it is for God to make such worms bow before
him! His throne had not time to get cold, before it
was filled up by his brother the Duke of York, who,
at three o'clock that same day, was proclaimed KING
JAMES THE SECOND! The reader will remember that
this was the same Duke of York, under whom, and
next in command, William Penn's father had fought
so gallantly against the Dutch fleet, in 1666; and who
had sent word to that officer, on his death-bed, that he
would be a friend to his son. And, indeed, in many
respects he was as good as his word; for like Herod
towards the holy Baptist, he had a most exalted opilion of William Penn; not only of his " rare honesty,"
but also of his "rich mind and acquirements," insomuch
that he would often have William Penn with him,
and allowed him such lengthy conversations as gave
umbrage to his nobles, who, more than once, took the
liberty to tell him, that when he was with Penn heforgot them."
Soon as decency would permit, William Penn
waited upon his royal friend, with the grievous case
of his poor afflicted subjects the quakers. The King,
with a smile, clapped his hand upon his shoulder, and
said, " Friend William, don't make thyself uneasy on
that score, for it is not my desire that peaceable people should be disturbed for their religion." Finding
the King in such good humour, Penn put in a word for,
his friend the celebrated John Locke, who it is known
was almost if not altogether a quaker, and who had




WILLIAM  PENN.               181
recently been deprived of his place and salary in the
University of Oxford. " Well, William," replied the
King, in the same gracious manner, "for thy sake I do
pardon John Locke, and thou mayest so tell hmunfrom
wne." indeed so high did Penn stand in favour with the
Kiing, and so generally was this known, as also the exceeding pleasure which he took in improving it to the
relief of the oppressed, that he was always surrounded
by applicants. His firmness in the case of the Duke
of Hamilton, while it shows exactly the character of
Penn, affords a striking proof what important services
a benevolent and brave man may sometimes render to
the injured. Learning that Robert Stewart, of Coltness, a very worthy Scotchman, had been obliged,
through the religious persecutions of the times, to fly
his country, and that his estate had been given to the
Earl of Arran, afterwards the Duke of Hamilton, William Penn called upon this nobleman, and with all the
majesty of truth, thus gravely accosted him,-" Friend
James; what is this I hear of thee? thou hast taken pos.
session of Robert Coltness's estate.  Thou knowest it is
not thine." The Duke, evidently self-condemned, but
straining for an apology, replied, " Why, Mr. Penn, I
received no other reward for my expensive and troublesome embassy to France, but this estate; so that
I am sure I am very much out of pocket by the bargain."
" That may be," returned the intrepid quaker, " but
let me assure thee now, that if thou do not immediately
send for Coltness, who is in town, and pay him 2001.
to carry him on his journey, and also 1001. a year to
subsist on till matters are adjusted, I will make it as
many thousands out of thy way with the king."
The Duke was so struck with this manly pleading in
favour of the injured, that he immediately sent for Coltness, and did by him exactly as Penn had advised. And
behold! after the revolution which took place in some
two or three years subsequent to this date, poor ColtQ




~182         -   THE LIFE OF
ness (with the rest of the fugitives for their religion)
was restored; when the duke of Hamilton was obliged
to return him not only his estate, but all the back
rents, except the payments which he had made, as
above, at the instance of William Penn.
But to be the most successful friend and protector
of injured individuals, even on the large scale that he
filled, seemed but a small thing to the boundless charity of Penn. Nay, to promote the tenderest love between his own followers the quakers, or between the
church and the quakers alone, did not half satisfy him.
He longed to see that sweet spirit of the gospel shining on the faces of all Christian societies towards each
other, as the only thing that can ever bring glory upon
the religion of Christ, and give it a universal spread
among the nations. Hence his incessant and most vehement labours with the king and government, if not
to do away all established churches, yet to do away
all "' religious tests, and all penal statutes, and fines, and
confiscations, and imprisonments, and murders for religion," as being utterly anti-chr?.stian, and barbarous,
and most fatal in their effects upon the tempers and
morals of society, destroying that which is the very end
of all Christ's preaching, that is, LOVE, which can seldom grow in men's hearts towards others, when agonizing under cruel treatment from them.
"What signifies," says he, "6 all this pomp and show
of religion; these great cathedrals, and these ringings
of bells, and noise of organs, with all this to do about
sacraments, and baptisms, and parade of so many
priests in their white robes and black? What is the
end and design of all this, but, as these preachers themselves will confess, to promote religion and brotherly
love? But what chance is there that all this outward
noise and show of one sect, will promote the brotherly
love of the rest, when their dearest rights (of religion)
are not only denied them, but when the.y are robbed
and ruined for only claiming them! When the poor




WIhIGAM PENN.                183
presbyterian sees the rich churchman, (made rich too
out of his spoils,) or when the half-starved catholic sees
the fat protestant bishop rolling by him in his coach
and four, set up out of the fines on the poor catholics!
Ah, fiow hardly can love grow there! St. Paul would
not "as long as the world stood, taste a peice of meat,"
though honestly come by, from making and selling his
own tents, "if it gave his weak' brother offence!!,
There was a Christian bishop of the right sort! But
what sort of Christian bishop must he be who can
consent to ride in his coach and four, with his revenues of thousands, when it tends to stir up deadly
hate and to destroy immortal souls for whom Christ
died!
And for these cruel penal laws and tests, are they to
be found among the examples of Christ? Did he " call
dowzn fire from heaven upon those who dissented from
him?" Or, are they to be found any where in the
genius and spirit of that blessed religion which is summed up in " doing unto others as you would they should
do unto you?"  Ah! who among us would like to be
lying on the cold floor of a dungeon, with tears trickling down his cheeks, thinking of his poor wife and
children starving at home, by Christian hands too;
and all because he could not worship God as did the
bishop! But indeed what common honesty is there in
these penal laws and tests? Suppose that for fear of
having his cows and calves taken from his children, a
man should consent to go and kneel and pray by rote
after the priest whose cold formalities he despised,
what would this but make a hypocrite of him; and thus,
instead of a trophy to God, erect a monument to the
devil! And even suppose that your brother should
stout it out, and in spite of all your penal laws and
tests, still stick to his conscience, what glory could
you win in so infamous a contest with your poor brother, as whether he should bear with most patience,
or you inflict with most cruelty? Oh shame! shame!




184              THE LIFE OF
shame upon our profession as Christians! Oh, when
will come the time, the happy time that these practices shall no more be mentioned among us as becometh
saints! nor indeed as becometh true patriots who know
that the prosperity of their common country depends
on the union of the citizens: and that again on their
treating each other with such justice and kindness in
all things that every man shall look on his neighbour
as his brother, and by such union of fruitful loves and
interests, and not of barrenforms and opinions render
old England the glory of the earth.
The effect of this address, on king James and his
council, was but little short of miraculous. A royal
proclamation was issued, the week following, for a general pardon of 1" all who were then in prison for conscience sake!" In consequence of this, twelve hundred
quakers alone were restored to their families and business-many of whom had been in confinement for
years! also of the papists and other sects, hundreds
upon hundreds were let loose to enjoy the sweet aii
and light of day, with all the countless blessings of
liberty and dear society.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE joy of William Penn for such services to his
fellow men must have been very great; but they were
somewhat dashed by certain wormwood advices, received at this time (1685,) from Pennsylvania. These
advices turned upon the most unexpected and scandalous conduct of his colonists; not indeed of any of his
own society, the quakers; for of them he learned, with
exceeding joy, that they continued the same industrious, orderly and peaceable citizens he left them: but
that his beloved COUNCIL, whom he had left to rule,




WILLIAM PENN.               185
had all fallen to discord and neglect of the public
good-that many others preferred a life of sloth and
extortion in town, to the independence and innocent
delights of the country, were filling his virgin city of
Philadelphia with taverns! —that even "THE CAVES,"
were converted into tipling shops!-that his surveyors, fond of collations and gin, had spread their tables
for such uses in his land offices, making the purchasers
of lots pay the expense, which in some cases amounted
to one foburth of the prime cost of the lots, thus checking the sale of his land; retarding the population of
his province; encouraging drunkenness and immorality,
especially among his Indians; and bringing infamy and
ruin both upon himself and his colony-and to render
such news the more painful, with all his anxiety to
hasten to America, he actually had not the meanshe could get no remittances of his quit rents, although
tive hundred pounds sterling a year were due to him
for one million of acres which he had sold, (the
low quit rents of one shilling the hundred acres,)
for twenty thousand pounds sterling-these twenty
thousand pounds had been laid out in presents to the
Indians —in various purchases of lands —in aiding his
poor followers —in setting up and maintaining his government and governor —besides, sixteen thousand
pounds which he had given up to king Charles, barely
for his good will —also six thousand pounds which he
had spent on this philanthropic enterprise, making in
all, as money now values, at least one half a million
of dollars! which, with maintenance of his own large
family —much hospitality-costs for travelling and
preaching; printing his numerous books, &c. had kept
him low, and confined him to England. And even
there it does not appear that he was allowed much
peace, owing chiefly to the most unlucky state of public affairs at that time, on account of James's turn to
popery, and the nation's dread of the dismal times of
bloody Mary. Hence if William Penn waited on the
Q2




186              THE LIFE OF
king though but to beg, as usual, some kindness for the
injured, he was branded as a papist, and jesuit. If petitioners, for favours, crowded his own door, the suspicious populace would have it, "all these people did
not come to him for nothing!" of course a gun-powder
vlot or something worse was a brewing; and both
himself and his poor quakers were often insulted in
thie streets, and the windows of their houses broken.
If he preached a sermon though never so much like
that of Christ on the mount —conjuring his hearers to
dc nothing " to get praise of men;" but every thing for:h, " glory of God," making his love and that of our
neighbour, the sole end of our being; he was sure to
stir up a hornet's nest of angry hard-visaged puritans,
reviling him as a false prophet who would make the'blood of Christ of none effect-by mixing it with
nan's good works.  But, for the sake of poor human
nature, let us drop the recital of such unamiable
truths, and bring our history towards a close. My
readers will not, I hope, be offended. We are all born
for pleasure; and the moment that pleasure ceases,
the work we engaged in for pleasure ought to cease
also.  Writing a book should be like decanting wine,or our friends; we ought never to pay them so ill a
~ompliment as to disgust them  with the dregs.  Let
others spin out the history of an individual to three
or four large volumes; 1, for my part, like the bettei
example of the sacred biographers. These inspired
penmen, in the life of any great personage they paint,
whether it be good king Josiah or wicked king Ahab,
after giving his characteristic features, and in colours
never to fade, delicately add-" as for the rest of the
acts of Josiah, are they not written in the book of the
Chronicles of the kings of Israel?" So I must take the
liberty to say to my readers concerning Penn; " I
have given them the history of a " POLYCHRESTUS,"
i. e. a man of many virtues, the least of which have
conferred immortality on saints of old; a man meek as




WILLIAM  PENN.                187
Moses; pure as Joseph; patient as Job; intrepid as
Paul; and affectionate as St. John; and who, by the
same spirit that made him  all this, has been made a
blessing to millions, and his name, engraved on their
hearts in lines of moral beauty, never to be forgotten
while goodness retains power to heave the throb of
admiration and esteem-" and as to the rest of the acts
of William Penn, and what he did to break the power
of antichrist, even religious persecutions; and to pull
down the high places of priestcraft, that he might erect
a pure spiritual worship for his God,:are they not written
in the book of the chronicles of the people called Quakers, by Joseph Proud, and T'horeas Clarkson, and divers others?"
But, passing by much of these thin histories of
Penn, which, from this period,1686, are little else than
histories of the unceasing vexations which he suffered, alternately, from pontifical persecution in England,
and from the blunders of his own provincial governors
in America.
I will give my reader the few following facts of William Penn, and which are the only ones in the life of
this great good man, that I think he would take much
interest in.
Be it known unto thee, then, O most patient reader,
In the first place, that William Penn still continued,
(such is the charm of honesty!) to be a great favourite
with king James; and that he never once abused
that favouritism to supplant rivals, or to fill his own
house with gaudy carpets, and side-boards, but often
improved it to the advantage of merit oppressed, and
chiefly to promote religious toleration and love among
Christians.
2d. That the English nation, getting alarmed about
king James, for saying his prayers to the Almighty in
ILatin, a tongue they did not understand, compelled
him, in 1689, to give up the throne to his son-in-law,




188              THE LIFE OF
the Prince of Orange, alias king William, a stiff no.
TESTANT.
3d. That this prince, though no persecutor in heart,
yet put up to it by his great ones in church and state,
revived what his more honest predecessor, although a
papist, had put to sleep, i. e. the persecution of the poor
quakers, which in his reign was carried to such scandalous lengths, that, " if a quaker was seen on a horse
worth five guineas or upwards, (no matter whether
fifty or five hundred) any man of the national church
might, by law! order him to dismount and give up his
horse!"
4th. That king William, soon hurled by death from
a throne which he had so disgraced, was succeeded by
his consort queen Anne, whose Christian spirit, taking
part, of course, with the oppressed quakers, quickly
put a stop to measures so disgraceful to humanity.
5th. That, in 1693, William Penn was severed, by
the consumption, from his wife Wilhelmina Maria; of
whose rare piety the reader will ask no better eulogy
than the following-feeling the icy hand of death gaining fast on her vitals, she begged that her children might
be brought to her bed side. —Then giving them the last
tender embrace with a dying mother's blessing, she lifted
her eyes, beaming with reverence and hope, and said,
" Lord thou knowvest I never asked grandeur for my
children but only GODLINESS."  After this solemn duty
performed, she desired them to be taken out of her
sight; then sinking on her husband's bosom, she calm
ly breathed her last.
6th. That, in 1696, William Penn was honoured in
his own family with another glorious triumph of piety
over mortality, in the case of his eldest son Springett
Penn; who in the article of dying, uttered shouts of
victory over the grave, that drew tears of joy from
every eye; and sufficient to make those blush who
think that the Father of Mercies can save none but




WILLIAM  PENN.                 g9
those who sprinkle or plunge, take the bread or the
wafer exactly as they do.
7th. That, in consequence of much disorder in
Pennsylvania, occasioned by his governors and councils, William Penn's charter was taken away by the
king.
8th. That his majesty, fully convinced of the blamelessness of William Penn in those matters, restored his
charter.
9th. That, in 1699, being stricken in years, and al
most worn out with weighty cares and labours, Willialn Penn, with his family, went over to North America, to spend his last days in peace and in the improvement of his province.
10th. That the following fact, almost the first after
his landing, affords pleasing proof, that persecutions
to those who " walk with God," instead ofserving like
water to extinguish, only act like oil to kindle higher
their godlike affections. "Being told of a large slip
of choice lands lying on the Neshaminy, and not included in his first purchase, William Penn caused it to
be inquired of the sachems, whether they would sell
it to him. They replied that they did not wish to part
with that piece of ground, the bones of their fathers
and mothers lying there; but still to please " their fa.
ther Onas who was so good as to come to live with his
red children again, they would sell him some of it. rIn
short, they agreed to sell him as much land as could be
walked around in one day by one of his own young men,
beginning at the great river above Coaquanoc (Kensington,) and ending at the great river just below Kallapingo, (Bristol.)  The Indians were to be paid, as
usual, in British goods. The bargain being made, a
young Englishman was pitched on, who having been
much exercised in his own country as a pedestrian,
made a walk that equally astonished and mortified
the Indians.  Observing that their looks when they




190              THE LIFE OF
came to receive their pay, were not bright towards
him as formerly, William Penn asked them the cause.
They replied, that father Onas's young man had
cheated them.
Aye, how could that be, replied he, calmly; was it
not of your own choosing that the ground should be
measured in this way?
True, returned the Indians, but the zwhite brother
made too big a walk!
Here some of the commissioners getting warm, said
that the bargain was a very fair one, and that the Indians
ought to stand to it; and that if they did not, they
ought to be compelled. At this William Penn looking exceedingly shocked, replied, compelled! how are
they to be compelled! Don't you see that this points
to murder! Then turning to the Indians with the kind
liest smile on his countenance, he said, Well, if you
think you have given too much land for the goods first
agreed on, tell us now how much more will do? At
this they appeared greatly pleased, and said, if father
Onas would give them so many more yards of cloth
and fishing hooks, they would be well satisfied. Soon
as the Indians, having received their goods and shaken
hands with him, were gone away smiling and happy,
Penn looking very significantly on his friends, and lifting his hands and eyes, exclaimed, 0 what a SWEET
and CHEAP thing is CHARITY! Here mention was made
just now of compelling these poor creatures to stick to
their bargain; that is in plain English, to fight and kill
them, and all about a little piece of land! Don't you
consider that the very rumn which a regiment of soldiers would drink, would cost twice as much as those
few yards of poor cloth which we have given them?
and which has sent them away happy as little children,
with their apples and cakes?"
0 what is there in the universe that can so greaten
the soul, and dispose it to every thing generous and




WILLIAM PENN.                191
godlike, as the simply sublime religion of Christ!
For lack of the spirit of this most ennobling religion,
several of his old enemies in England, sickening at his
growing fame and fortunes in America, began to revive their former slanders, wherein they were so successful, that several of his best friends in England advised him to return and defend himself.
1 lth. I am sorry to add, that, yielding to the wishes
of his friends, Penn embarked with his family in 1701,
and bidding farewell to Pennsylvania, never to see it
again, returned to England, where his presence, like a
summer morning sun, quickly dispersed all the clouds
which his enemies had gathered over him.
12th. That from this period, 1712, though now neariy threescore, he still enjoyed excellent health, which,
as he had been wont from his youth, he continued to
consecrate to the most delightful, because most useful
purposes, such as writing masterly defences of the quaker construction of the gospel, which being, as he said,
"intendedfor the ignorant, must be simple; not requiring great learning in the head, but honesty in the heart,
bravely to practice the arduous lessons of loving and doing
good to all men." Also constantly corresponding with
his governors and councils, and all others of influence
in his province, but particularly his own followers the
quakers: conjuring them to keep in mind, "what an
honour was done them of God, in placing them on a
field of action, where they might do so much for his
pleasure, in the world's good and their own temporal
and eternal welfare; to remember the divine philosophy of the Bible, that'.no man liveth for himself alone,
but for all:' and that he who, in all his dealings, tramples base self. under foot, and acts justice and mercy
to all, shall in the universal good find his particular
and great reward." He begged them to remember
too, that, though far retired beyond the sea, and in the
wild woods of America, they were not beyond the eagle
eye of malice, which was constantly watching the op



92'             THE LIFE OF
portunity, through any wrong act of theirs, to pounce
down and bear them aloft to the world's scorn: and that
now was the time to vindicate before the universe, the
excellency of their faith; and to demonstrate, that while
pride, extravagance, and base flesh-pleasing of all sorts,
tend to poverty, and desperation, and wars that pull
down the greatest nations, the opposite virtues ofjustice
and mercy, manifested in all the blessed fruits of honest,
industrious, and peaceable lives, will exalt the poorest
families and nations to riches and honours."
13th. I have now to add, in the thirteenth place,
that while engaged in these divine labours with a zeal
too great for his advanced age, (near 70,) he was suddenly struck with two or three shocks of the apoplexy.
This desirable messenger of mortality did not at once
dissolve the ties between soul and body, but it left his
memory and judgment so impaired, that he was never
able afterwards to write or speak with his pristine
perspicuity and vigour. But as a vessel early filled
with choice wine, will, ever after it is empty, still refresh the sense with the precious odour of what it
once contained, so the mind of Penn, though almost
gone, still supported even to the last, the angel character which it had acted through life.
As all men take such an interest in the sun as to feel
a strong curiosity to look at him, though under an
eclipse, even so, many will wish to see Penn, though
in the last stage of nature's decay.  The following is
from the journal of a learned and pious friend, who
frequently visited him.
" In March, 1713, I was much witb him at his own
house, and always found him happy.  And though he
recollected a great number of his past actions, he was
often at a loss for the names of persons.  The finest
sentiments, however, were often falling from his lips,
rendering his company quite delightful, and abundantly
proving, that his religious principles were founded on
a rock that nothing could shake.




WILLIAM PENN.                193
"In 1714, his faculties were by no means altered for
the worse. I accompanied him in his coach to meeting. He could speak but little, but what he did say
was very affecting. Every eye seemed to press forward upon him with the deepest interest. He put me
in mind of what we are told of the Evangelist John,
who in his extreme age and feebleness, placed by his
disciples in his pulpit; and able only to whisper, " little children love one another," was yet listened to with
a devotion, that none of his congregation would have
exchanged for the eloquence of the world.
"In 1715, towards the end, his memory became
sensibly altered for the worse; but his love of the
Deity and his habitual rejoicings were the same; as
also the peculiar lovingness in his manner of receiving
and parting from his friends.
" In 1716, 1 went to see him, taking with me another friend of his acquaintance. He manifested great
joy at seeing us; and although he could not recollect
our names, his conversation proved that he knew us
perfectly well. He was then in a state of great weakness both of body and mind, but still exhibited all the
endearing sensibilities of the most affectionate spirit,
which, happy in itself, thought of nothing but to make
others so. Hence I could never look at him without
Cancying I saw personified in him, all those brilliant
adornings which Solomon gives to his honoured "' WIsDOM," with crowns of glory on her head, and chains of
gold around her neck. For while worldly-minded old
men, suddenly stopped in their career by sickness, and
no longer able to bustle and vapour, are low spirited,
silent and sad; William Penn, on the contrary, was a
perfect model of the most enviable serenity. He appeared to me like a soldier, who, after a long life of
brilliant victories for his sovereign, and disabled
through age for further duties, has now his armour
thrown aside, and given himself up to welcome repose;
nut still ever smiling, at thought of what he has done,
R




194              THE LIFE OF
and of the reward that awaits him. Yes, such is the
divinity of virtue like his, that I never looked on William Penn without feeling an affectionate reverence
that I lack words to express. I shall never forget how
I felt, when at our taking leave of him, he said-my love
is with you. Mlay the Lord take care of you; and remember that I am bound to you by a friendship that is eternal.
" In 1717 1 visited him again, and for the last time
His mind was so entirely gone, that he could not recollect me one instant; and his body so feeble, that he
could not walk a step without support; and even his
speech, now reduced to a whisper, was hardly intelligible. But still he was William Penn. I shed tears as
I looked at him; but they were tears of joy to think
what he had been; and my tears rose to rapture, when
I remembered, as he tottered, that he tottered at the
THRESHOLD OF HEAVEN."
Thus, after a gradual decay of six years, without
suffering any of those pangs that often embitter the
close of human life, his vital spark silently went out,
and on the 30th of May, 1718, his happy spirit exchanged its coarse tenement of clay for that glorious
body not made with hands, eternal in the heavens'"
His hallowed ashes slept at JORDAN, in the county
of Buckingham, by the side of his first wife and many
of his family.
Such was the end of a man whose life was a long
exercise of patience and submission to the will of Hea
ven; who, by the faith of Christ, was enabled to over
come the vices of flesh and blood, and all the enemies
of human nature; and to demonstrate a truth too little
known, that to escape the miseries of life, man has but
to conquer himself; and that to enjoy all its pleasures,
he has but to obey the laws of God, and resolutely
maintain an unwounded conscience.
Such were the achievements of William Penn, who
had the rare wisdom to improve nobility of birth with




WVILLIAM  PENN.              195
the majesty of the virtues; and to sacrifice the illusions of false grandeur to the solid charms of moral
feeling and of real goodness-humble in prosperity,
superior in adversity, and sublimed to all the greatness of benevolence, he smiled on insult, and found a
godlike satisfaction in forgiving injuries.  He trampled under foot all the allurements of the senses, that
he might labour unceasingly for the benefit of suffering,
humanity, and establish in the new world, as he had
always wished, " a government founded on the pure
principles of the gospel; a worship most simple, yet
most sublime; a morality pure as that of angels; a
toleration universal; laws perfectly equal; magistrates
more anxious to prevent crimes than to punish them;
thence, a country filling up with a new and vast popu-.ation-cities springing up out of the wilderness —a
people fond of peace, and enjoying it in the happy simplicity of patriarchal manners —abounding in the friuits
of the earth —blessed with a flourishing trade-honoured by the sister colonies-beloved by the neighbouring savages, and under the sacred canopy of innocence and harmony, enjoying the sweetest calm,
undisturbed by discord, and unstained by a drop of
human blood. Such were, during the days of William
Penn, and such during the rule of his quaker successors, even 70 years, have been the influences of the
pure religion of Christ, whose sublime sweetness has
rendered this people so happy, because it has for its
object to adore the one true God; to love all men
without distinction; never to harm any; and to fly,
as monsters of nature, those persecuting homicides,
who, in the name of the God of peace, can murder
their fellow men only that they may plunder them




196               THIE LIFE OF
CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PENN,
By Dr. Marsillac, Deputy Extraordinary from the Qua
kers in France, to the.National.Issembly, 1791.
" After so many acts of violence and oppression, so
many robberies and murders committed by the Europeans in the new world, the heart finds some consolation in pausing over the part which William Penn
acted there. In an age when savage Europe put to
death so many innocent people merely because they
could not embrace the faith of their sovereigns; and
spread over so large a part of America those horrors
of fire and sword at which nature revolts, William
Penn, like an angel from heaven, presented the olive
branch to those afflicted people, and by acts of godlike
justice, not only restored tranquillity to their ravaged
quarters, but laid the foundation of extensive liberty
and happiness.  He was perhaps the first who ever
built one of the fairest empires of the world, on the
sole basis of general good; and by assuring universal
toleration and community of rights, offered a happy
asylum to persecuted innocence throughout the earth.
" There are but few sections of the American continent that have not been drenched with human blood;
and to their eternal shame, it was the enlightened and
polished Europeans who did this; and who murdered
by thousands, the poor harmless natives, who received
them with hospitality! and then, to extenuate their
guilt, they branded those as SAvAGES, whom they had
so'barbarously slaughtered. The arrival of William
Penn put a stop to those frightful enormities. His godlike humanity to these oppressed people; treating
them as brothers, buying their lands and heaping them
with favours, melted their simple natures with gratitude and affection. Astonished to see a white man who
was good, and who abhorred injustice and bloodshed,




WILLIAM PENN.                197
they revered him as something more than man, and
gloried in calling him "FATHEr.."
"Of all the Europeans who have mitigated the ills
of life and the fury of religious persecution, William
Penn most deserves the gratitude of posterity. His
first act in America held up a lovely presage of the
prosperity that was to follow. And in his unyielding
efforts to shield the oppressed, he looks like Moses,
followed by a host of religious friends, whom he conducted across the wilderness of waves, to a new " land
of promise," flowing with the milk and hone~y of freedom, peace and plenty.
"' Abhorring persecution, as the direst reproach and
scourge of mankind, he resolved effectually to bar the
door against it. Hence that sublime charter of his,
guaranteeing the most perfect liberty of conscience,
to all the honest worshippers of God, no matter what
their opinions and forms. Instantly crowds of persons,
oppressed in their own country because of religion,
embarked for the country of William Penn. Then
shone forth that divine philosophy, " LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR AS THYSELF," in the blessed fruits resulting from
it. For, while among the antichrists of Europe, the
Popes and Bishops, nothing was heard but cries and
groans from the inquisitions and dungeons; nothing
talked of but sales of property belonging to heretics
and dissenters; nothing seen but marks of deadly hate,
between the oppressing and the oppressed churches,
in good William Penn's country, glory to God, you met
with no spectacles of this sort; but on the contrary,
every thing to sparkle the eye of charity with pleasure-there you saw worshippers of an hundred different sects, moving along the streets to their several
churches, in the most perfect peace and harmony —
there, whether Jews or Christians, Catholics or Protestants, all adored God in the way they thought most
rational; and meeting with no persecution themselves,
they felt no temptation to persecute others. Every




198               TIlE I1FE OF
poor emigrant to Pennsylvania, was welcomed as an
exile from his native land; and having neither country nor family of his own, he found in William Penn a
tender and generous father. This most virtuous of
men, was the honoured instrument of blessings to thousands of the unfortunate; and his institutions have laid
the imperishable foundations of a new empire, which
shines like a star in the west, and whose rays have already begun to open the eyes of Europe.
"Having held the reins of government no longer
than was necessary for the good of his province, he
mixed among his people, as only one of their number;
and despising, on the one hand, all the pomps of the
falsely great, and filling up life, on the other, with the
most beneficent labours, he came to the grave in a good
old age, eulogized by the greatest philosophers, honoured above the proudest kings; and to this day revered by the Indians, as a benevolent spirit, sent down
from heaven to establish the reign of peace and happiness on the earth."
*6 POWER MAY COMMAND AWE; WISDOM MAY EXCITE
ADMIRATION; BUT IT IS GOODNESS ALONE THAT CAN
CAPTIVATE OUR HEARTS."T
No man, perhaps, has ever had the honour, by a single act of his life, to confer such an obligation on mankind as William Penn has done by his treaty with the
Indians. The greatest philosophers of the civilized
world, no matter what their country, or what their
religious opinions, have never ceased to gaze on it
with an enthusiasm that shows the immortal charms
which justice holds in the eyes of all men. And we




WILLIAM PENN.               199
should fill a volume were we to transcribe only one
half of all the handsome eulogies that have been pronounced on it. But if this famous treaty has appeared
so lovely in the eyes of all good men, who only beheld it
as a distant star that shone on other times and people,
then how must it have appeared to those people themselves, who beheld it near at hand as their own sun in
all his full-orbed glory; at once delighting their eyes
with its beauties, and showering on their heads its delicious fruits? Indeed the blessed fruits of this treaty
both on the red and white men, are sufficient to convince us that he who created man in his own likeness,
has implanted in him certain noble springs of action
which may be far more advantageously wrought by
justice and mercy, than by fraud and violence. Ana
these springs, glory be to God, are implanted in a..
men, the wildest not excepted; as hath been seen in
Penn's memorable treaty, wherein it would seem as
though God, in order to show the " universality of his
grace," had purposely called that heavenly-spirited
man to the exceeding honour of demonstrating it, in
the face of the whole world, by his extraordinary experiments on those North American Indians, generally
thought the most lawless and savage of the human
race.  Indeed, fi-om the unparalleled fierceness with
which they carried on their wars, and the long and
painful marches which they would make to surprise
their enemies, and the lingering and cruel deaths which
they inflicted on their wretched captives, many have
doubted whether, as Charles II. said, the grace of God
had ever appeared to them. At any rate it appears that
the Europeans treated them as though they were
beasts in human shape, and even worse; for while
they would show kindness to a dog to win his friendship, they treated the Indians as if they thought that
nothing but powder and ball could ever manage such
cannibals, This was the line of march pursued by all
the first English settlers in this country. Take that




200               T THE LIFE OF
case which, having happened in Virginia, is best knov,,
to us, I mean the English colony settled at old James
town, in 1607. When this devoted company sailed up
James river, it appears that they never once dreamt
of setting foot on shore until they should first have
discovered some snug little peninsula which might
easily be defended against the murderous natives. After much slow sailing and sharp looking out, they happened to light on just such a spot! Then thanking God
as for a most lucky discovery, they landed their nunitions of war, and heaving up a tremendous ditch, co.
vered it over with their cannon with mouths of hideous
red and black, threatening destruction to the "bloodthirsty savages." The next thing they did was to build
a church. But this was only another fort in disguise.
with loop-holes all around; and while one half of the
congregation, pale and quaking, were praying very
devoutly, the other half, more bold, with their guns
poked out at the loop-holes were drawing their sights
towards the dark woods, as if they momently expected
a host of brindled savages to burst out upon them.
Now, why had they all this fear and precaution, but
because their hearts were not right towards these poor
people. They who meditate injuries against others
are always suspicious and fearful. These false Christians had an evil eye upon the country to make it their
own; hence, feeling themselves enemies to the natives,
they felt that the natives were enemies to them. All
this was but honest instinct; or the voice of God himself, in their guilty consciences prophesying evil con.
cerning them. And so it turned out; for, by making
the above forcible lodgment in their country, and invading their hunting grounds, they virtually hurled defiance into the teeth of the natives. Powhatan, the old
king of the country, and his people all felt it as such;
and SHYNESS, and HATE, and FEAR, with all manner
of ill offices, quickly appeared on both sides. If the
Christians went out to trade with the Indians though




WILLIAM PENN.                201
but for a little corn, they always carried their muskets
with them, and kept their matches lighted ready for
battle. If they invited the Indians on board their, hips.
to dine with them, it was only to seize some royal
hostage that might serve to keep their subjects from
filhting them. If the Indian kings sent them a supper
of barbacued venison and roasting ears, it was that
they might take advantage of them while eating, and
mingle their blood with their dishes. If an Indian approached their fort, though but to sell a raccoon, he
was not suffered to enter until he had undergone a
strict search both of his greasy bear-skin coat and
mocassins, for fear the "bloody wretch," had some
weapon or other about him to kill the good Christians
withal. And so true is that voice which saith-" the ungodly are in fear where nofear is," that the English,
even at noon day, still acted with as much circumspection as though they continually felt themselves in the
country of an implacable enemy. And at night, so great
was their dread of the Indians, that even in Jamestown they did not think of going to sleep until fully
satisfied that every street and lane was well guarded
by the soldiers, all ready to fire at a moment's warning.
And even then it was no easy matter to fall into a
doze, though easy enough to be started out of it, as
they often were, by a frightened fancy, dreaming of
the savages and their bloody tomahawks. If an Englishman ventured outside of the fort, he was way-laid
and murdered even in broad day, if the Indian who
fell in with him had but the strength to do it. And,
indeed, so deadly was the hate of the Indians against
the Christians, for wronging them out of their lands
and driving them from the bones of their fathers, that
they never lost sight of revenge. And ten years afterwards, while the English, suspecting no harm, were
ploughing the soil which they had so unjustly acquired
the Indians took them by surprise, and with their own
hoes and'axes, in one fatal hour, murdered near four




202               THE LIFE OF
hundred of these poor wretches; mingling, in many instances, the blood of the innocent children with that
of their guilty parents.
See there, 0 horror-struck reader, see there the
HELL which was introduced into Virginia by following
the selfish policy of this poor blind world. But to raise
our spirits from the depression occasioned by such horrible scenes, let us turn to Pennsylvania and contemplate that HEAVEN which is created among men
who act up to the just and benevolent spirit of the
gospel. And if we wish to see an angel in human
shape, let us look at William Penn among the savages
of North America —let us look at him as, with a countenance shining with the heavenliest charity, and a
voice of music, he salutes them as BROTHERS-honours
them as the proprietors of the country given unto them
of the " GREAT SPIRIT," and expresses a modest petition
that they would give unto him, their brother from beyond the Big water, a portion of their land in exchange
for GOOD THINGS which the " GREAT SPIRIT" had given
to him.  Ye narrow bigots who can think that Christ
has no sheep but those of your own fold, look at these
Indians in the wilds of North America, and say whether eyes, thus bright with the admiration of eternal
justice, and faces glowing with such affection for the
honest stranger, do not bespeak the operation of that
spirit who is "no respecter of persons, but in every nation, and to every soul of man, imparts grace sufficient
for salvation." And as that grace never displayed
itself in smiles of more undissembled love, than in the
countenances of these uneducated heathens, so never
did it bring forth richer fruits of " PEACE and GOOD
WILL,"' than were manifested in all the intercourse between them and William Penn.
Captain John Smith, after that he had invaded their
rights in Virginia, was fain to seek his safety in his
soldiers, and cannon, and stockade forts, and loophole churches. But honest William Penn saved all




WILLIAM PENN.                203
that' expense; and proved in the face of the whole
world, that a Philadelphia (a city of brotherly love)
needs no soldiers nor cannon to defend it. —Captain
Smith and his freebooters in James-town, could not
sleep without their sentinels and guards constantly
around them. Honest William Penn and his quakers,
in their infant Philadelphia, though surrounded by
thousands of savages, slept sweetly even without bars
and bolts to their doors! At James-town, an Indian
was never suffered to come in without strict search.
At Philadelphia the Indians came in and out, just as
familiarly as the large dogs in a tanner's yard, to which,
if need was, they were a ready defence. In Virginia,
Captain John Smith could not get a grain of corn for
his starving colony at James-town, without pushing up
the rivers in his boats, often at the risk of life from
the arrows of the Indians, who were so desirous to
drive these invaders out of their country, that they
held back their provisions, whereby numbers of the
little colony (only one hundred and twenty at first)
were actually starved to death. But in Pennsylvania,
in consequence of the godlike justice and humanity of
William Penn, the hearts and souls of the Indians were
so strongly knit to him like children to a father, as indeed they called him, that they brought him in provisions in such quantities as abundantly to supply his
followers the quakers, near three thousand in numher. And if any of these were so poor that they could
not buy at the low prices set, they would give to them
for nothing, as to the poor children of'" their father
Onas," as they called William  Penn! Yes, and they
would both show and assist them to make bark huts
against the winter; and also freely and lovingly offer
their services to unload their ships and bear their goods
to their huts and houses. Captain Smith himself, only
taking a solitary walk along the shore near Jamestown, was suddenly attacked by a single Indian, and
but for superior address would certainly have he~i




204              THE LIFE OF
slain in spite of the broad-sword by his side. But honest William Penn, or any of his quakers, with only
his broad-brimmed beaver, and staff in his hand, might
have walked throughout the country, not only in safety, but even thronged by the Indians, eagerly running
to shake hands, calling him  brother! brother! and
carrying him with joy to their cabins to feast him on
the best provisions they had. Captain Smith and the
Indians were always in "hot water," and often in
bloody wars, which never ended but in the extermination of the latter. But honest William Penn and the
Indians lived so perfectly in the spirit of brothers,
that during all the time that he and his followers, the
FRIENDS, had the rule in Pennsylvania, even seventy
years, there was never known one single instance of
murder. Captain Smith's city, (old James-town) built
on violence and blood, is now swept from the face of
the earth; scarcely a broken tomb-stone remaining
to tell where it stood. But William Penn's city, Phi
ladelphia, established in justice and brotherly kindness
though founded a long time after the other, has grown
uip to be the glory of this western world —with lovely
streets, extending from the Delaware to the Schuylkill, and noble wharves, warehouses, work-shops,
arsenals, bridges, markets, aqueducts, hospitals, dispensaries, alms-houses, museums, academies, colleges,
universities, and churches, with other buildings public
and private, to an exceeding amount, both in numbet
and elegance, and filled up with a crowded popula
tion of between one and two hundred thousand souls
Indeed no man can cast his eyes over this beauteous
city, covering as it does, for many a mile, the lovely
plains of silver-flooded Delaware and the winding
Schuylkill-with its thousands of red shining edifices,
and stately domes, and towering spires, without exclaiming, as did the prophet when from the tops of
Pisgah he beheld the plains of Jericho covered over
with the chosen seed, " how goodly are thy tents, 0
2




WILLIAM PENN.                205
Jacob, and thy tabernacles, 0 Israel! Happy are they
who are in such a state; yea, blessed are the people who
have the Lordfor their God."
O when will mankind learn that " GoD IS LOVE" —
that his plan embraces the happiness of ALL; and that
none but those who seek their own consistently with
the good of others, shall ever find it?




206              TI:THE LIFE OF
CHARACTER OF WILLIAM  PENN,
FROM EDMUND BURKE.
"WILLIAM PENN, as a legislator, deserves great honour among all mankind. He created a commonwealth,
which, from a few hundreds of indigent refugees, have
in seventy years grown to a numerous and flourishing
people. A people who, from a wilderness, have brought
their territory to a state of high cultivation; filled it
with wealthy and populous towns; and who, in the
midst of a fierce and lawless race of men have preserved themselves, with unarmed hands, by the rules
of JUSTICE and MIODERATION, better than any other
have done by policy and arms. The way in which he
did this, deserves eternal notice. Though brought up,
as it were, in the corrupt courts of Charles the Second,
who had endeavoured to carry the kingly prerogative
to as high a pitch of aristocracy as possible, yet-O
glorious! 0 all subduing power of RELIGION! when he
got that, he thought of nothing but to make every body
happy. To take the lands from the Indians, he abhorred; he bought their lands.-To exact and starve
the poor who followed him across the ocean for conscience and quiet sake, he could not brook. He put
the lands at the low rate of forty shillings a hundred
acres, and one shilling per hundred acres yearly quit
rent.
" But what crowned all, was the noble charter of
privileges by which he made them more free, perhaps,
than any people on earth; and which, by securing both
civil and religious liberty, caused the eyes of the oppressed from all parts of the world to look to his country for relief. This one act of godlike wisdom and




WILLIAM PENN.                207
goodness has settled Penn's country in a more strong
and permanent manner than the wisest regulations
could have done on any other plan. A man has but
to believe that there is a God; that he is the inspector of our actions, and the future rewarder and punisher of our good and ill, and he is not only tolerated,
but, if possessed of talents and integrity, is on the road
to place.
"'This great and good man lived to see an extensive
country rescued from the wilderness and filled with a
free and flourishing people- he lived to lay the foundation of a splendid and wealthy city - he lived to see
it promise every thing from the situation which he
himself had chosen, and from the encouragement which
he himself had given it - he lived to see all this - but
he died in the Fleet prison!'T is pleasing to do honour to those great men
whose virtues and generosity have contributed to the
peopling of the earth, and to the freedom and happiness of mankind -who have preferred the interest of
a remote posterity, and times unknown, to their own
fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own
lives. Now, both Britain and America reap great benefit from his labours and his losses. And his posterity
have a vast estate out of the quit rents of that very
province, whose establishment was the ruin of their
predecessor's fortune."
MONTESQUIEU, ON PENN.
A character so extraordinary in the institutions of
Greece, has shown itself lately in the dregs and corruption of modern times. A very honest legislator




208        LIFE OF WILLIAM PENN..
has formed a people, to whom probity seems as natural as bravery to the Spartans. William.Penn is a
real Lycurgus: and though the former made peace
his principal aim, as the latter did war, yet they resemble one another in the singular way of living to
which they reduced their people —in the ascendant
they gained over freemen, in the prejudices they overcame, and in the passions which they snbdued.
THE END.




REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
or
WILLIAM PENN,.
IGNORANCE.
1. IT is admirable to consider how many millions of
people come into and go out of the world, ignorant of them-.
selves, and of the world they have lived in.
2. If one went to see Windsor-castle, or Hampton-court,
it would be strange not to observe and remember the situation, the building, the gardens, fountains, &c., that make
up the beauty and pleasure of such a seat.  And yet few
people know themselves: no, not their own bodies, the
houses of their minds, the most curious structure in the
world; a living, walking tabernacle; nor the world of
which it was made, and out of which it is fed; which
would be so much our benefit, as well as our pleasure, to
know.. We cannot doubt of this when we are told that the
"invisible things of God are brought to light by the things
that are seen;" and consequently we read our duty in them,
as often as we look upon them, to Him that is the great and
wise author of them, if we look as we should do.
3. The world is certainly a great and stately volume of
natural things, and may be not improperly styled the hieroglyphics of a better; but, alas, how very few leaves of it do
we seriously turn over! This ought to be the subject of
the education of our youth; -who, at twenty, when they
should be fit for business, know little or nothing of it.
EDUCATION.
4. We are in pain to make them scholars, but not men;
to talk, rather than to know; which is true canting..5. The first thing obvious to children is what is sensible;
and that we make no part of their rudiments.
6. We press their memory too soon, and puzzle, strain,
(227)




28             REFLECTION 3 AND MAXIMS
and load them with words and rules to know grammar and
rhetoric, and a strange tongue or two, that it is ten to one
may never be useful to them; leaving their natural genius
to mechanical, and physical or natural knowledge uncultivated and neglected; which would be of exceeding use and
pleasure to them through the whole course of their lives.
7. To be sure languages are not to be despised or neglected; but, things are still to be preferred.
8. Children had rather be making tools and instruments
of play: shaping, drawing, framing, and building, &c., than
getting some rules of propriety of speech by heart: and
those also would follow with more judgment, and less trouble and time.
9. It were happy if we studied nature more in natural
things; and acted according to nature: whose rules are few,
plain, and most reasonable.
10. Let us begin where she begins, go her pace, and
close always where she ends, and we cannot miss of being
good naturalists.
11. The creation would not be longer a riddle to us.
The heavens, earth, and waters, with their respective, various, and numerous inhabitants, their productions, natures,
seasons, sympathies, and antipathies, their use, benefit, and
pleasure, would be better understood by us; and an eternal
wisdom, power, majesty, and goodness, very conspicuous to
us, through those sensible and passing forms: the world wearing the mark of its Maker, whose stamp is everywhere visible,
and the characters very legible to the children of wisdom.
12. And it would go a great way to caution and direct
people in their use of the world, that they were better studied
and known in the creation of it.
13. For how could men find the confidence to abuse it,
while they should see the great Creator stare them in the
face, in all and every part thereof?
14. Their ignorance makes them insensible; and to that
insensibility may be ascribed their hard usage of several
parts of this noble creation: that has the stamp and voice
of a Deity every where, and in everything, to the observing.
15. It is a pity therefore that books have not been composed for youth, by some culrious and careful naturalists,




o0 WILLIAM PENN.                  29
and also mechanics, in the Latin tongue, to be used in
schools, that they might learn things with words; things
obvious and familiar to them, and which would make the
tongue easier to be obtained by them.
16. Many able gardeners and husbandmen are ignorant
of the reason of their calling; as most artificers are of the
reason of their own rules that govern their excellent work.
manship. But a naturalist and mechanic of this sort is
master of the reason of both; and might be of the practice
too, if his industry kept pace with his speculation; which
were very commendable; and without which he cannot be
said to be a complete naturalist or mechanic.
17. Finally, if man be the index or epitome of the world,
as philosophers tell us, we have only to read ourselves well,
to be learned in it.  But because there is nothing we less
regard than the characters of the Power that made us,
which are so clearly written upon us, and the world he has
given us, and can best tell us what we are and should be, we
are even strangers to our own genius: the glass in which
we should see that true, instructing, and agreeable variety,
which is to be observed in nature, to the admiration of that
wisdom, and adoration of that Power, which made us all.
PRIDE.
18. And yet we are very apt to be full of ourselves, in.
stead of him that made what we much value: and but for
whom we can have no reason to value ourselves. For we
have nothing that we can call our own; no, not ourselves;
for we are all but tenants, at will too, of the great Lord of
ourselves, and the rest of this great farm, the world that we
live upon.
19. But, methinks, we cannot answer it to ourselves, as
well as our Maker, that we should live and die ignorant of
ourselves, and thereby of him, and the obligations we are
under to him for ourselves.
20. If the worth of a gift sets the obligation, and directs
the return of the party that receives it, he that is ignorant
of it, will be at a loss to value it, and the giver for it.
21. Here is a man in his ignorance of himself: he knows
not how to estimate his Creator, because he knows not how
0 -I;




~88            tREFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
to value his creation. If we consider his make, and lovely
compositure, the several stories of his wonderful structure,
his divers members, their order, function, and dependency;
the instruments of food, the vessels of digestion, the several
transmutations it passes, and how nourishment is carried
and diffused throughout the whole body, by most intricate
and imperceptible passages; how the animal spirit is thereby
refreshed, and, with an unspeakable dexterity and motion,
sets all parts at work to feed themselves; and, last of all,
how the rational soul is seated in the animal, as its proper
house, as is the animal in the body; I say, if this rare fabric
alone were but considered by us, with all the rest by which
it is fed and comforted, surely man would have a more reverent sense of the power, wisdom, and goodness of God, and
of that duty he owes to him for it. But if he would be acquainted with his own soul, its noble faculties, its union with
the body, its nature and end, and the providence by which
the whole friame of humanity is preserved, he would admire
and adore his good and great God. But man has become
a strange contradiction to himself; but it is of himself; not
being by constitution, but corruption, such.
22. He would have others obey him, even his own kind;
but he will not obey God, that is so much above him, and
who made him.
23. Hie will lose none of his authority; no, not abate an
ace of it. He is humorsome to his wife, beats his children,
is angry with his servants, strict with his neighbors, revenges all affronts to the extremity; but, alas! forgets all
the while that he is the man; and is more in arrear to God
that is so very patient with him than they are to him, with
whom he is so strict and impatient.
24. He is curious to wash, dress, and perfume his body,
bult careless of his soul; the one shall have many hours,
the other not so many minutes; this shall have three or
four new suits a year, but that must wear its old clothes still.
25. If he be to receive or see a great man, how nice and
anxious is he that all things be in order; and with what
respect and address does he approach and make his court 1
But to God, how dry and formal, and constrained in his
devotion.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                 31
26. In his prayers he says, "Thy will be done;" but
means his own: at least acts so.
27. It is too frequent to begin with God, and end with
the world.  But he is the good man's beginning and end,
he is Alpha and Omega.
LUXURY.
28. Such is now become our delicacy, that we will not
eat ordinary meat, nor drink small, palled liquor; we must
have the best, and the best coolked for our bodies, while our
souls feed on empty or corrupted things.
29. In short, man is spending all upon a bare house, and
hath little or no furniture within to recommend it; which
is preferring the cabinet to the jewel, a lease of seven years
before an inheritance.  So absurd a thing is man, after all
his proud pretences to wit and understanding.
INCONSIDERATION.
30. The want of due consideration is the cause of all
the unhappiness man brings upon himself. For his second
thoughts rarely agree with the first; which pass not without
a considerable retrenchment or correction. And yet that
sensible warning is, too frequently, not precaution enough
for his future conduct.
31. Well may we say, " Our infelicity is of ourselves;
since there is nothing we do that we should not do, but we
know it, and yet do it.
DISAPPOINTMENT AND RESIGNATION.
32. For disappointments, that come not by our own
folly, they are the trials or corrections of Heaven: and it
is our own fault, if they prove not to our advantage.
33. To repine at them does not mend the matter: it is
only to grumble at our Creator. But to see the hand of
God in them, with an humble submission to his will, is the
way to turn our water into wine, and engage the greatest
love and mercy on our side.
34. We must needs disorder ourselves, if we only look
at our losses.  But if we consider how little we deserve




32             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
what is left, our passion will cool, and our murmurs will
turn into thankfulness.
35. If our hairs fall not to the ground, less do we, or our
substance, without God's providence.
36. Nor can we fall below the arms of God, how low
soever it be we fall.
37. For though our Saviour's passion is over, his compassion is not. That never fails his humble, sincere disciples. In him they find more than all that they lose in the
world.
MURMURING.
38. Is it reasonable to take it ill, that anybody desires
of us that which is their own? All we have is the Almighty's: and shall not God have his own when he calls
for it?
39. Discontentedness is not only in such a case ingratitude, but injustice: for we are both unthankful for the time
we had it, and not honest enough to restore it, if we could
keep it.
40. But it is hard for us to look on things in such a glass,
and at such a distance from this low world; and yet it is
our duty, and would be our wisdom and our glory, to do so.
CENSORIOUSNESS.
41. We are apt to be very pert at censuring others,
where we will not endure advice ourselves. And nothing
shows our weakness more, than to be so sharp-sighted at
spying other men's faults, and so purblind about our own.
42. When the actions of a neighbor are upon the stage,
we can have all our wits about us, are so quick and critical
we can split a hair, and find out every failure and infirmity;
but are without feeling, or have but very little sense, of
our own.
43. Much of this comes from ill nature, as well as from
an inordinate value of ourselves: for we love rambling bet.
ter than home, and blaming the unhappy, rather than cover.
ing and relieving them.
44. In such occasions some show their malice, and are
witty upon misfortunes; others their justice, they can reflect




OF WILLIAM PENN.                33
apace; but few or none their charity, especially if it be
about money matters.
45. You shall see an old miser come forth with a set
gravity, and so much severity against the distressed, to
excuse his purse, that he will, ere he has done, put it out
of all question that riches is righteousness with him.' This,'
says he,' is the fruit of your prodigality, (as if, poor man,
covetousness were no fault,) or, of your projects, or grasp.
ing after a great trade;' while he himself would have done
the same thing, but that he had not the courage to venture
so much ready money out of his own trusty hands, though
it had been to have brought him back the Indies in return.
But the proverb is just, "Vice should not correct sin."
46. They have a right to censure, that have a heart to
help: the rest is cruelty, not justice.
BONDS OF CHARITY.,
47. Lend not beyond thy ability, nor refuse to lend out
of thy ability; especially when it will help others more
than it can hurt thee.
48. If thy debtor be honest and capable, thou hast thy
money again, if not with increase, with praise. If he prove
insolvent, do not ruin him to get that which it will not ruin
thee to lose: for thou art but a steward, and another is thy
owner, master, and judge.
49. The more merciful acts thou dost, the more mercy
thou wilt receive: and if with a charitable employment of
thy temporal riches, thou gainest eternal treasure, thy purchase is infinite: thou wilt have found the art of multiplying indeed.
FRUGALITY, OR BOUNTY.
50. Frugality is good, if liberality be joined with it.
The first is leaving off superfluous expenses; the last bestowing them to the benefit of others that need. The first
without the last begins covetousness; the last without the
first begins prodigality. Both together make an excellent
temper.  Happy the place where that is found.
51. Were it universal, we should be cured of two extremes, want and excess: and the one would supply the




34             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
other, and so bring both nearer to a mean; the just degree
of earthly happiness.
52. It is a reproach to religion and government, to suffer
so much poverty and excess.
53. Were the superfluities of a nation valued, and made
a perpetual tax for benevolence, there would be more alms
houses than poor, schools than scholars, and enough to spare
for government besides.
54. Hospitality is good, if the poorer sort are the subjects
of our bounty; else too near a superfluity.
DISCIPLINE.
55. If thou wouldst be happy and easy in thy family,
above all things observe discipline.
56. Every one in it should know their duty; and there
should be a time and place for every thing; and, whatever
else is done or omitted, be sure to begin and end with God.
INDUSTRY.
57. Iove labor: for if thou dost not want it for food,
thou mayest for physic. It is wholesome for thy body, and
good for thy mind.  It prevents the fruits of idleness, which
many times come of nothing to do, and lead too many to
do what is worse than nothing.
58. A garden, an elaboratory, a workhouse, improve.
ments, and breeding, are, pleasant and profitable diversions
to the idle and ingenious; for here they miss ill company,
and converse with nature and art; whose varieties are
equally grateful and instructing, and preserve a good constitution of body and mind.
TEMPERANCE.
59. To this a spare diet contributes much. Eat therefore to live, and do not live to eat. That is like a man, but
this below a beast.
60. Have wholesome, but not costly food: and be rather
cleanly than dainty in ordering it.
61. The receipts of cookery are swelled to a volume, bu'
a good stomach excels them all: to which nothing con
tributes more than industry and temperance.




OF -WILLIAM PENN.                35
62. It is a cruel folly to offer up to ostentation so many
lives of creatures, as make up the state of our treats; as it
is a prodigal one to spend more in sauce than in meat.
63. The proverb says, " That enough is as good as a
feast;" but it is certainly better, if superfluity be a fault,
which never fails to be at festivals.
64. If thou rise with an appetite, thou art sure never to
sit down — without one.
65. Rarely drink but when thou art dry; nor then, between meals, if it can be avoided.
66. The smaller the drink, the clearer the head, and the
cooler the blood: which are great benefits in temper and
business.
67. Strong liquors are good at some times, and in small
proportions: being better for physic than food; for cordials
than common use.
68. The most common things are the most useful; which
shows both the wisdom and goodness of the great Lord of
the family of the world.
69. What, therefore, he has made rare, do not use too
commonly; least thou shouldst invert the use and order of
things, become wanton and voluptuous, and thy blessings
prove a curse.
70. "Let nothing be lost," said our Saviour; but that
is lost that is misused.
71. Neither urge another to that thou wouldst be unwilling to do thyself: nor do thyself what looks to thee unseemly, and intemperate in another.
72. All excesses is ill; but drunkenness is of the worst
sort. It spoils health, dismounts the mind, and unmans
men. It reveals secrets, is quarrelsome, lascivious, impudent, dangerous, and mad. In fine, he that is drunk is not
a man; because he is so long void of reason, that distinguishes a man from a beast.
APPAREL.
73. Excess in apparel is another costly folly. The very
trimming of the vain world would clothe all the naked one.
74. Choose thy clothes by thine own eyes, not another's.
The more plain and simple they are, the better; neither




36             REFLECTIONS AND'MAXIMS
unshapely nor fantastical; for use and decency, and not for
pride.: 75. If thou art clean and warm, it is sufficient, for more
doth but rob the poor, and pleases the wanton.
76. It is said of the true church, " The King's daughter
is all glorious within." Let our care, therefore, be of our
minds, more than our bodies, if we would be of her communion.
77. - We are told with truth,' That meekness and modesty
are the rich and charming attire of the soul;' and the plainer
the dress, the more distinctly, and with greater lustre,
their beauty shines.
78. It is a great pity such beauties are so rare, and
those of Jezebel's forehead are so common; whose dresses
are incentives to lust; but bars, instead of motives, to love
or virtue.
RIGHT MARRIAGE.
79. Never marry but for love; but see that thou lovest
what is lovely.
80. If love be not thy chiefest motive, thou wilt soon
grow weary of a married state, and stray from thy promise,
to search out thy pleasures in forbidden places.
81. Let not enjoyment lessen, but augment, affection: it
being the basest of passions to like when we have not, what
we slight when we possess.
82. It is the difference betwixt lust and love: this is fixed,
that volatile. Love grows, lust wastes, by enjoyment: and
the reason is, that one springs fiom an union of souls, and
the other springs from an union of sense.
83. They have divers originals, and so are of different
families: that, inward and deep; this, superficial: this,
transient; and that permanent.
84. They that marry for money, cannot have the true
satisfaction of marriage; the requisite means being wanting.
85. Men are generally more careful of the breed of their
horses and dogs, than of their children.
86. Those must be of the best sort, for shape, strength,
courage, and good condition; but as for these, their own
posterity, money shall answer all things. With such, it




OPF WILLIAM PENN.               37
makes the crooked straight, sets squint eyes right, cures
madness, covers folly, changes ill conditions, mends the
skin, gives a sweet breath, repairs honor, makes young,
works wonders.
87. 0 how sordid is man grown! man, the noblest creature of the world, as a God on earth, and the image of him
that made it thus to mistake earth for heaven, and worship
gold for God.
AVARICE.
88. Covetousness is the greatest of monsters, as well as
the root of all evil. I have once seen the man who died to
save charges!' What! give ten shillings to a doctor, and
have an apothecary's bill besides, that may come to I know
not what!' No, not he: valuing life less than twenty shillings. But indeed, such a man could not well set too low
a price upon himself; who, though he lived up to the chin
in bags, had rather die, than find in his heart to open one
of them, to help to save his life.
89. Such a man is' felo de se,' and deserves not christian burial.
90. He is a common nuisance; a way across the stream,
that stops the current; an obstruction, to be removed by a
purge of the law. The only gratification he gives his
neighbors, is to let them see that he himself is as little the
better for what he has as they are. For he always looks
like Lent: a sort of Lay-Minim.  In some sense he may
be compared to Pharaoh's lean kine; for all that he has
does him no good. He commonly wears his -clothes till
they leave him, or that nobody else can wear them. He
affects to be thought poor, to escape robbery and taxes; and
by looking as if he wanted an alms, excuse himself from
giving any. He ever goes late to markets to cover buying
the worst; but does it because -that is cheapest.  He lives
on the offal. His life were an insupportable punishment,
to any temper but his own: and no greater torment to him
on earth, than to live as other men do. But the misery of
his pleasure is, that he is never satisfied. with getting, and
always in fear of losing what he cannot use.
4




38             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
91. How vilely he has lost himself, that becomes a slave
to his servant, and exalts him to the dignity of his Maker t
Gold is the God, the wife, the friend, of the money-monger
of the world. But in
MARRIAGE
92. Do thou be wise: prefer the person before money,
virtue before beauty, the mind before the body: then thou
hast a wife, a friend, a companion, a second self, one that
bears an equal share with thee, in all thy toils and troubles.
93. Choose one that measures her satisfaction, safety,
and danger, by thine;, and of whom thou art sure, as of
thy most secret thoughts: a friend as well as a wife; which
indeed, a wife implies; for she is but half a wife that is not,
or is not capable of being such a friend.
94. Sexes make no difference; since in souls there is
none: and they are the subjects of friendship.
95. He that minds a body and not a soul, has not the
better part of that relation; and will consequently want the
noblest comfort of a married life.
96. The satisfaction of our senses is low, short, and
transient; but the mind gives a more raised and extended
pleasure, and is capable of a happiness founded upon reason;
not bounded and limited by the circumstances that bodies
are confined to.
97. Here it is we ought to search out our pleasure, where
the field is large and full of variety, and of an enduring
nature: sickness, poverty, or disgrace, being not able to
shake it, because it is not under the moving influences of
worldly contingencies.
98. The satisfaction of those that do so is in well-doing,
and in the assurance they have of a future reward; that
they are best loved by those they love most; and that they
enjoy and value the liberty of their minds above that of
their bodies: having the whole creation for their prospect;
the most noble and wonderful works and providences of
God, the histories of the ancients, and in them the actions
and examples of the virtuous: and lastly, themselves, their
affairs and family, to exercise their minds, and friendship
upon.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                39
99. Nothing can be more entire and without reserve;
nothing more zealous, affectionate, and sincere; nothing
more contented and constant, than such a couple; nor no
greater temporal felicity, than to be one of them.
100. Between a man and his wife, nothing ought to rule
but love.  Authority is for children and servants; yet not
without sweetness.
101. As love ought to bring them together, so it is the
best way to keep them well together.
102. Wherefore use her not as a servant, whom thou
wouldst, perhaps, have served seven years to have obtained.
103. A husband and wife that love and value one another,
show their children and servants that they should do so too.
Others visibly lose their authority in their families by their
contempt of one another; and teach their children to be
unnatural by their own examples.
104. It is a general fault, not to be more careful to pre.
serve nature in children; who, at least in the second descent, hardly have a feeling of their relation; which must
be an unpleasant reflection to affectionate parents.
105. Frequent visits, presents, intimate correspondence,
and intermarriages within allowed bounds, are mneans of
keeping up the concern and affection that nature requires
from relations.
FRIENDSHIP.
106. Friendship is the next pleasure we may hope for.
and where we find it not at home, or have no home to find
it in, we may seek it abroad. It is an union of spirits, a
marriage of hearts, and the bond thereof virtue.
107. There can be no friendship where there is no freedom. Friendship loves a free air, and will not be penned
up in straight and narrow inclosures. It will speak freely,
and act so too; and take nothing ill where no ill is meant;
nay, where it is, it will easily forgive, and forget too, upon
small acknowledgments.
108. Friends are true twins in soul; they sympathize
in everything, and have the same love and aversion.
109. One is not happy without the other; nor can either
of them be miserable alone. As if they could change




40            lREFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
bodies, they take their turns in pain as well as in pleasure;
relieving one another in their most adverse conditions.
110. What one enjoys, the other cannot want. Like the
primitive Christians, they have all things in common, and
no property, but in one another.
QUALITIES OF A FRIEND.
111. A true friend unbosoms freely, advises justly, assists readily, adventures boldly, takes all patiently, defends
courageously, and continues a friend unchangeably.
112. These being the qualities of a friend, we are to find
them before we choose one.
113. The covetous, the angry, the proud, the jealous, the
talkative, cannot but make ill friends, as well as false.
114. In short, choose a friend as thou dost a wife, till
death separate you.
115. Yet be not a friend beyond the altar, but let virtue
bound thy friendship; else it is not friendship, but an evil
confederacy.
116. If my brother, or kinsman, will be my friend, I
ought to prefer him before a stranger; or I show little duty
or nature to my parents.
117. And as we ought to prefer our kindred in point of
affection, so too, in point of charity, if equally needing and
deserving.
CAUTION AND CONDUCT.
118. Be not easily acquainted; lest, finding reason to
cool, thou makest an enemy instead of a good neighbor.
119. Be reserved, but not sour; grave, but not formal;
bold, but not rash; humble, but not servile; patient, not
insensible; constant, not obstinate; cheerful, not light;
rather sweet, than familiar; familiar, than intimate; and
intimate with very few, and upon very good grounds.
120. Return the civilities thou receivest, and be ever
grateful for favors.
REPARATION.
121. If thou hast done an injury to another, rather own
it than defend it.  One way thou gainest forgivness; the,ther, thou doublest the wrong and reckoning.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                41
122. Some oppose honor to submission; but it can be
no honor to maintain what it is dishonorable to do.
123. To confess a fault that is none, out of fear, is
indeed mean; but not to be afraid of standing in one, is
brutish.
124. We should make more haste to right our neighbour, than we do to wrong him; and instead of being vindictive, we should leave him to judge of his own satisfiaction.
125. True honor will pay treble damages, rather than
justify one wrong by another.
126. In such controversies, it is but too common for
some to say,' Both are to blame,' to excuse their own un.
concernedness; which is a base neutrality. Others will
cry,'They are both alike;' thereby involving the injured
with the guilty, to mince the matter for the faulty, or cover
their own injustice to the wronged party.
127. Fear and gain are great perverters of mankind;
and where either prevails, the judgment is violated.
RULES OF CONVERSATION.
128. Avoid company, where it is not profitable or
necessary: and on these occasions, speak little, and
last.
129. Silence is wisdom where speaking is folly, and always safe.
130. Some are so foolish, as to interrupt and anticipate,
those that speak, instead of hearing and thinking before
they answer; which is uncivil, as well as silly.
131. If thou thinkest twice before thou speakest once,
thou wilt speak twice the better for it.
13.2, Better say nothing than not to the purpose.  And
to speak pertinently, consider both what is fit, and when
it is fit, to speak.
133. In all debates, let truth be thy aim; not victory,
or an unjust interest: and endeavor to gain, rather than to
expose, thy antagonist.
134. Give no advantage in argument, nor lose any that
is offered.  This is a benefit which arises from temper.
4*




42             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
135. Do not use thyself to dispute against thine own
judgment, to show wit; lest it prepare thee to be too indiflerent about what is right: nor against another man,
to vex him, or for mere trial of skill; since to inform, or
to be informed, ought to be the end of all conferences.
136. Men are too apt to be more concerned for their
credit, than for the cause.
ELOQUENCE.
137. There is a truth and beauty in rhetoric; but it oftener serves ill turns than good pnes.
138. Elegancy is a good mien and address given to
matter, be it by proper, or by figurative speech: where
the words are apt, and allusions very natural, certainly it
has a moving grace; but it is too artificial for simplicity,
and oftentimes, for truth. The danger is, lest it delude the
weak; who, in such cases, may mistake the handmaid for
the mistress, if not error for truth.
139. It is certain, truth is least indebted to it because
she has least need of it, and least uses it.
140. But it is a reproveable delicacy in them that despise truth in plain clothes.
141. Such luxuriants have but false appetites; like
those gluttons, that by sauce force them, where they have
no stomach, and sacrifice to their palate, not their health:
which cannot be without great vanity, nor that without
some sin.
TEMPER.
142. Nothing does reason more right, than the cool.
ness of those that offer it; for truth often suffers more by
the heat of its defenders, than from the arguments of its
opposers.
143. Zeal ever follows an appearance of truth, and the
assured are too apt to be warm; but it is their weak side
in argument; zeal being better shown against sin, than
persons, or their mistakes.
TRUTlH.
144. Where thou art obliged to speak, be sure to speak




OF WILLIAM PENN.                 43
the truth, for equivocation is half way to lying the whole
way to hell.
JUSTICE.
145. Believe nothing against another, but upon good
authority: nor report what may hurt another, unless it be
a greater hurt to others to conceal it.
SECRECY.
146. It is wise not to seek a secret; and honest not to
reveal one.
147. Only trust thyself, and another shall not betray
thee.
148. Openness has the mischief, though not the malice
oftreachery.
COMPLACENCY.
149. Never assent merely to please others; for that is,
besides flattery, oftentimes untruth, and discovers a mind to
be servile and base: nor contradict to vex others: for
that shows an ill temper, and provokes, but profits no.
body.
SHIFTS.
150. Do not accuse others to excuse thyself; for that
is neither generous nor just. But let sincerity and ingentousness be thy refuge, rather than craft a falsehood; for
cunning borders very near upon knavery.
151. Wisdom never uses nor wants it. Cunning to the
wise, is ais an ape to a man.
INTEREST.
152. Interest has the security, though not the virtue, of
a principal.  As the world goes, it is the surest side; for
men daily leave both relations and religion to follow
it.
153. It is an odd sight, but very evident, that families
and nations of cross religions and humors, unite against
those of their own, where they find an interest to do it.
154. We are tied down by our senses to this world;




44            REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
and where that is in question, it can be none with worldly
men, whether they should not forsake all other considerations for it.
INQUIRY.
155. Have a care of vulgar errors. Dislike as well as
allow, reasonably.
156. Inquiry is human, blind obedience brutal. Truth
never loses by the one, but often suffers by the other.
157. The most useful truths are plainest; and while we
keep to them, our differences cannot rise high.
158. There may be a wantonness in search, as well as
stupidity in trusting. It is great wisdom equally to avoid
the extremes.
RIGHT TIMING.
159. Do nothing improperly. Some are witty, kind,
cold, angry, easy, stiff, jealous, careless, cautious, confident, close, open, but all in the wrong place.
160. It is ill mistaking, where the matter is of importance.
161. It is not enough that a thing be right, if it be not
fit to be done.  If not prudent, though just, it is not
adviseable.  He that loses by getting, had better lose than
get.
I NOWLEDGE.
162. Knowledge is the treasure, but judgment the treasurer, of a wise man.
163. He that has more knowledge than judgment, is
made for another man's use more than his own.
164. It cannot be a good constitution, where the appe.
tite is great, and the digestion weak.
165. There are some men, like dictionaries, to be looked into upon occasions; but have no connection, and are
little entertaining.
166. Less knowledge than judgment, will always have
the advantage upon the injudicious, knowing man.
167. A wise man makes what he learns his own;- the
other shews he is but a copy, or a collection at most.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                40
WIT.
168. Wit is a happy and striking way of expressing a
thought.
169. It is not often, though it be lively and mantling,
that it carries a great body with it.
170. Wit, therefore, is fitter for diversion than busi.
ness, being more grateful to fancy than judgment.
171. Less judgment than wit, is more sail than ballast.
172. Yet it must be confessed that wit gives an edge to
sense, and recommends it extremely.
173. Where judgment has wit to express it, there is the
best orator.
OBEDIENCE TO PARENTS.
174. If thou wouldst be obeyed being a father, being a
son, be obedient.
175. He that begets thee owns thee, and as a natural right
over thee.
176. Next to God, thy parents; next to them, the magistrate.
177. Remember that thou art not more indebted to thy
parents for thy nature, than for their love and care.
178. Rebellion therefore, in children was made death
by God's Law, and in the people, the next thing to idolatry
which is renouncing God, the great parent of all.
179. Obedience to parents, is not only our duty; but
our interest. If we received our life from them, we prolong it by obeying them; for obedience is the first com-.
mandment with promise.
180. The obligation is as indissoluble as the relation.
181. If we must not disobey God to obey them, at least
we must let them see that there is nothing else in our refusal: for some unjust commands cannot excuse the general neglect of our duty. They will be our parents, and
we must be their children still: and if we cannot act for
them against God, neither can we act against them for our.
selves, or any thing else.




46             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
BEARING.
182. A man in business must put up with many affronts,
if he loves his own quiet.
183. We must not pretend to see all that we see, if we
would be easy.
184. It were endless to dispute upon every thing that is
disputable.
185. A vindictive temper is not only uneasy to others,
but to them that have it.
PROMISING.
186. Rarely promise; but, if lawful, constantly perform.
187. Hasty resolutions are of the nature of vows; and
to be equally avoided.
188.' 1 will never do this,' says one, yet does it.'I am
resolved to do that,' says another; but flags upon second
thoughts; or does it, though awkwardly for his word's
sake; as if it were worse to break his word, than to do
amiss in keeping it.
189. Wear none of thine own chains; but keep free,
whilst thou art free.
190. It is an effect of passion that wisdom corrects, to
lay thyself under resolutions that cannot be well made, and
worse performed.
FIDELITY.
191. Avoid, all thou canst, being entrusted; but do thy
utmost to discharge the trust thou undertakest; for care.
lessness is injurious if not unjust.
192. The glory of a servant is fidelity, which cannot be
without diligence, as well as truth.
193. Fidelity has enfranchised slave and adopted servants to be sons.
194. Reward a good servant well: and rather quit, than
disquiet thyself with an ill one.
MASTER.
195. Mix kindness with authority; and rule more by
discretion than rigor.




OP WILLIAM PENN.                47
196. If thy servant be faulty, strive rather to convince
him of his error, than to discover thy passion; and when
he is sensible, forgive him.
197. Remember he is thy fellow-creature; and that
God's goodness, not thy merit, has made the difference betwixt thee and him.
198. Let not thy children domineer over thy servants;
nor suffer them to slight thy children.
199. Suppress tales in the general; but where a matter
requires notice, encourage the complaint, and right the aggrieved.
200. If a child, he ought to entreat, and not to command; and if a servant, to comply, where he does not
obey.
201. Though there should be but one master and mistress in a family, yet servants should know that children
have the reversion.
SERVANT.
202. Indulge not unseemly things in thy master's children, nor refuse them what is fitting; for one is the highest unfaithfulness, and the other indiscretion, as well as
disrespect.
203. Do thine own work honestly and cheerfully; and
when that is done, help thy fellow, that so another time he
may help thee.
204. If thou wilt be a good servant, thou must be true;
and thou canst not be true if thou defraudest thy master.
205. A master maybe defrauded many ways by a ser.
vant: as in time, care, pains, money, trust.
206. But atrue servant is the contrary; he is diligent,
careful, trusty.  He tells no tales, reveals no secrets, refuses no pains, is not to be tempted by gain or awed by
fear, to unfaithfulness.
207. Such a servant serves God, in serving his master;
and has double wages for his work, to wit, here and hereafter.




48             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
JEALOUSY.
208. Be not fancifully jealous, for that is foolish; as to
be reasonably so is wise.
209. He that superfines upon other men's actions, cozens himself as well as injures them.
210. To be very subtle and scrupulous in business is as
hurtful, as being over confident and secure.
211. In difficult cases such a temper is timorous, and in
dispatch irresolute.
212. Experience is a safe guide; and a practical head
is a great happiness in business.
rOSTERITY.
213. We are too careless of posterity; not considering
that as they are, so the next generation will be.
214. If we would amend the world, we should mend
ourselves; and teach our children to be, not what we are,
but what they should be.
215. We are too apt to awaken and tune up their passions by the example of our own; and to teach them to be
pleased, not with what is best, but with what pleases best,
216. It is our duty, and ought to be our care, to ward
against that passion in them, which is more especially our
own weakness.and affliction, for we are in great measure
accountable for them, as well as for ourselves.
217. We are in this, also, true turners of the world up.
side down: for money is first, and virtue last, and least in
our care.
218. It is not how we leave our children, but what we
leave them.
219. To be sure, virtue is but a supplement, and not a
principal, in their portion and character: and therefore we
see little wisdom, or goodness, among the rich, in proportion to their wealth.
A COUNTRY LIFE.
220. The country life is to be preferred, for there we
see the works of God; but in cities, little else but the
works of men: and the one makes a better subject for our
contemplation than the other.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                49
221. As puppets are to men, and babies to children;
so is man's workmanship to God's: we are the picture,
he the reality.
222. God's works declare his power, wisdom; and
goodness: but man's works, forthe most part, his pride,
folly, and excess. The one is for use, the other, chiefly,
for ostentation and lust.
223. The country is both the philosopher's garden and
library, in which he reads and contemplates the power,
wisdom, and goodness of God.
224. It is his food, as well as study: and gives him
life, as well as learning.
225. A sweet and natural retreat from noise and tallk,
and allows opportunity for reflection, and gives the best
subjects for it.
226. In short, it is an original, and the knowledge and
improvement of it man's oldest business and trade, and the
best he can be of.
ART AND PROJECT.
227. Art is good, where it is beneficial. Socrates wisely bounded his knowledge and instruction by practice.
228. Have a care, therefore, of projects; and yet despise nothing rashly, or in the lump.
229. Ingenuity, as well as religion, sometimes suffers
between two thieves: pretenders and despisers.
230. Though injudicious and dishonest projectors often
discredit art; yet the most useful and extraordinary inventions have not, at first, escaped the scorn of ignorance; as
their authors rarely have cracking of their heads, or breaking of their backs.
231. Undertake no experiment in speculation, that ap.
pears not true in art; nor then at thine own cost, if costly
or hazardous in making.
232. As many hands make light work, so several purses make cheap experiments.
5




50            REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
INDUSTRY.
233. Industry is certainly very commendable, and supplies the want of parts.
234. Patience and diligence, like faith, remove mountains.
235. Never give out while there is hope; but hope not
beyond reason; for that shows more desire' than judgment.
236. It is profitable wisdom to know when we have
done enough: much time and pains are spared, in not flat.
tering ourselves against probabilities.
TEMPORAL HAPPINESS.
237. Do good with what thou hast, or it will do thee no
good.
238. Seek not to be rich, but happy. The one lies in
bags, the other in content, which wealth can never give.
239. We are apt to call things by wrong names. We
will have prosperity to be happiness, and adversity to be
misery; though that is the school of wisdom, and oftentimes the way to eternal happiness.
240. If thou wouldst be happy, bring thy mind to thy
condition, and have an indifference for more than what is
sufficient.
241. Have but little to do, and do it thyself; and do to
others as thou wouldst have them do to thee: so thou canst
not fail of temporal felicity.
242. The generality are the worse for their plenty. The
voluptuous consumes it, the miser hides it; it is the good
man that uses it, and to good purposes.  But such are
hardly found among the prosperous.
243. Be rather bountiful, than expensive.
244. Neither make nor go to feasts; but let the labor.
ious poor bless thee at home in their solitary cottages.
245. Never voluntarily want what thou hast in possession; nor so spend it as to involve thyself in want unavoidable.
246. Be not tempted to presume by success: for many,




OF WILLIAM PENN.                51
that have got largely, have lost all by coveting to get
more.
247. To hazard much to get much, has more of avarice
than wisdom.
248. It is great prudence, both to bound and use prosperity.
249. Too few know when they have enough; and fewer
know how to employ it.
250. It is equally adviseable not to part lightly with
what is hardly gotten, and not to shut up closely what
flows in freely.
251. Act not the shark upon thy neighbor; nor take
advantage of the ignorance, prodigality, or necessity of
any one, for that is next door to a fraud, and, at best,
makes but an unblessed gain.
252. It is oftentimes the judgment of God upon greedy
rich men, that he suffers them to push on their desires of
wealth to the excess of over-reaching, grinding, or oppression; which poisons all they have gotten: so that it
commonly runs away as fast, and by as bad ways, as it
was heaped up together.
RESPECT.
253. Never esteem any man, or thyself, the more for
money; nor think the meaner of thyself, or another, for
want of it: virtue being the just reason of respecting, and
the want of it of slighting any one.
254. A  man, like a watch, is to be valued for his
goings.
255. He that prefers him upon other accounts, bows to
an idol.
256. Unless virtue guide us, our choice must be
wrong.
257. An able bad man is an ill instrument, and to be
shunned as the plague.
258. Be not decieved with the first appearance of things,
but give thyself time to be in the right.
259. Show it not substance: realities govern wise
men.




52             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
260. Have a care therefore, where there is more sail
than ballast.
HAZARD.
261. In all buisness, it is best to put nothing to hazard:
but where it is unavoidable, be not rash, but firm and
resigned.
262. We should not be troubled for what we cannot
help; but if it was our fault, let it be so no more. Amendment is repentance if not reparation.
263. As a desperate game needs an able gamester, so
consideration often would prevent, what the best skill in the
world cannot recover.
264. Where the probability of advantage exceeds not
that of loss, wisdom never adventures.
265. To shoot well flying, is well; but to choose it, has
more of vanity than judgment.
266. To be dexterous in danger, is a virtue; but to
court danger, to show it, is weakness.
DETRACTION.
267. Have a care of that base evil, detraction.  It is the
fruit of envy, as that is of pride, the immediate offspring
of the Devil; who, of an angel, a Lucifer, a son of the
morning, made himself a serpent, a Devil,a Beelzebub, and
all that is noxious to the eternal Goodness.
268. Virtue is not secure against envy. Men will
lessen what they will not imitate.
269. Dislike what deserves it; but never hate, for that
is of the nature of malice; which is almost ever to persons,
not things; and is one of the blackest qualities sin begets
in the soul.
MODERATION.
270. It were a happy day if men could bound and
qualify their resentments with charity to the offender: for
then our anger would be without sin, and better convict
and edify the guilty: which alone can make it lawful.
271. Not to be provoked is best; but if moved, never




OF WILLIAM PENN.                53
correct till the fume is spent; for every stroke our fury
strikes, is sure to hit ourselves at last.
272. If we did but observe the allowances our reason
makes upon reflection, when our passion is over, we
could not want a rule how to behave ourselves again on
the like occasion.
273. We are more prone to complain than redress, and
to censure than excuse.
274. It is next to unpardonable, that we can so often
blame what we will not once mend.  It shows that we
know, but will not do, our Master's will.
275. They that censure, should practise; or else, let
them have the first stone, and the last too.
TRICK.
276. Nothing needs a trick, but a trick; sincerityloathes
one.
277. We must take care to do things rightly; for a
just sentence may be unjustly executed.
278. Circumstances give great light to true judgment, if
well weighed.
PASSION.
279. Passion is a sort of fever in the mind, which ever
leaves us weaker than it found us.
289. But, being intermitting, to be sure it is curable
with care.
281. It, more than any thing, deprives us of the use of
our judgment; for it raises a dust very hard to see
through.
282. Like wine, whose lees fly up, being jogged, itis too
muddy to drink.
283. It may not unfitly be termed the mob of the man,
that commits a riot upon his reason.
284. I have oftentimes thought, that a passionate man is
like a weak spring that cannot stand long locked.
285. And it is as true, that those things, are unfit for
use, that cannot bear small knocks without breaking.
286. He that will not hear, cannot judge; and he that,
5*




54             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
cannot bear contradiction, may with all his wit, miss the
mark.
287. Objection and debate sift our truth; which needs
temper as well as judgment.
288. But above all, observe it in resentments; for there
passion is most extravagant.
289. Never chide for anger, but instruction.
290. He that corrects out of passion, raises revenge
sooner than repentance.
291. It has more of wantonness than wisdom; and resembles those that eat to please their palate, rather than
their appetite.
292. It is the difference between a wise and weak man;
this judges by the lump, that by parts and their connexion.
293. The Greeks used to say,' All cases are governed
by their circumstances.' The same thing may be well
and ill, as they change or vary the matter.
294. A man's strength is shown by his bearing.' Bonum agere, and mala pati, regis est.'
PERSONAL CAUTION.
295. Reflect without malice, but never without need.
296. Despise nobody, nor any condition; lest it come
to be thy own.
297. Never rail nor taunt. The one is rude, the other
is scornful, and both evil.
298. Be not provoked by injuries to commit them.
299. Upbraid only ingratitude.
300. Haste makes work, which caution prevents.
301. Tempt no man, lest thou fall for it.
302. Have a care of persuming upon after games, for
if that miss, all is gone.
303. Opportunities should never be lost, because they
can hardly be gained.
394. It is well to cure, but better to prevent a distemn
per. The first shows more skill, but the last more wisdom.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                55
305. Never make a trial of skill in difficult or hazardous cases.
306. Refuse not to be informed, for that shows pride or
stupidity.
307. Humility and knowledge in poor clothes, excel
pride and ignorance in costly atti-re.
308. Neither despise, nor oppose, what thou dost not
understand.
BALANCE.
309. We must not be concerned above the value of the
thing that engages us; nor raised above reason, in maintaining what we think reasonable.
310. It is too common an error, to invert the order of
things, by making an end of that which is a means, and a
means of that which is an end.
311. Religion and government escape not this misehief;
the first is too often made a means instead of an end: the
other an end, instead of a means.
312. Thus men seek wealth, rather than subsistence;
and the end of clothes is the least reason of their use. Nor
is the satisfying of our appetite our end in eating, so much
as the pleasing of our palate.  The like may be also said
of building, furniture, &c., where the man rules not the
beast, and appetite submits not to reason.
313. It is great wisdom to proportion our esteem to the
nature of the thing: for as that way, things will not be undervalued, so neither will they engage us above their intrinsic worth.
314. If we suffer little things to have great hold upon us,
we shall be as much transported for them, as if they deserved it.
315. It is an old proverb,' Maxima bella ex lavissimis
causis;' The greatest feuds have had the smallest beginnings.
316. No matter what the subject of the dispute be, but
what place we give it in our minds; for that governs our
concern and resentment.
317. It is one of the most fatal errors of our lives, when




56             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
we spoil a good cause by an ill management: and it is
not impossible but we may mean well in an ill buisness;
but that will not defend it.
318. If we are but sure the end is right, we are too apt
to gallop over all bounds to compass it; not considering,
that lawful ends, may be very unlawfully attained.
319. Let us be careful to take just ways to compass
just things; that they may last in their benefits to us.
320. There is a troublesome humor some men have,
that if they may not lead, they will not follow; but had
rather a thing were never done, than not done their own
way, though otherwise very desirable.
321. This comes of an over-fullness of ourselves, and
shows we are more concerned for praise, than the success
of what we think a good thing.
POPULARITY.
322. Affect not to be seen, and men will less see thy
weakness.
323. They that show more than they are, raise an expectation they cannot answer; and so loose their credit, as
soon as they are found out.
324. Avoid popularity. It has many snares, and no
real benefit to thyself; and uncertainty to others.
PRIVACY.
325. Remember the proverb,'Bene qui latuit, bene
vixit;' They are happy, that live retiredly.
326. If this be true, princes and their grandees, of all
men are the unhappiest; for they live least alone: and they
that must be enjoyed by every body, can never enjoy
themselves as they should.
327. It is the advantage little men have upon them;
they can be private, and have leisure for family comforts,
which are the greatest worldly contents men can enjoy.
328. But they that place pleasure in greatness, seek it
there: and we see, rule is as much the ambition of some
natures, as privacy is the choice of others.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                57
GOVERNMENT.
329. Government has many shapes; but it is sov.
ereignty, though not freedom, in all of them.
330. Rex and Tyrannus, are very different characters: one rules his people by laws, to which they consent;
the other by his absolute will and power. That is called
fieedom; this, tyranny.
331. The first is endangered by the ambition of the
populace, which shakes the constitution; the other by an
ill administration, which hazards the tyrant and his family.
332. It is great wisdom, in princes of both sorts, not to
strain points too high with their people; for whether the
people have a right to oppose them or not, they are ever
sure to attempt it when things are carried too far: though
the remedy oftentimes proves worse than the disease.
333. Happy that king who is great by justice, and the
people who are free by obedience.
334. Where the ruler is just, he may be strict; else it
is two to one it turns upon him: and though he should
prevail, he can be no gainer, where his people are the
losers.
335. Princes must not have passions in government,
nor resent beyond interest and religion.
336. Where example keeps pace with authority, power
hardly fails to be obeyed, and magistrates to be honored.
337. Let all the people think they govern, and they
will be governed.
338. This cannot fail, if those they trust are trusted.
~339. That prince who is just to them in great things,
and humours them oftentimes in small ones, is sure to
have and keep them from all the world.
340. For the people are the politic wife of the prince,
that may be better managed by wisdom, than ruled by
force.
341. But where the magistrate is partial, and serves ill
turns, he loses his authority with the people, and gives the
populace opportunity to gratify their ambition: and so lays
a stumbling-block for his people to fall.




58             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
342. It is true, that where a subject is more popular
than the prince, the prince is in danger; but it is as true,
that it is his own fault: for nobody has the like means,
interest, or reason, to be as popular, as he.
343. It is an unaccountable thing, that some princes
incline rather to be feared than loved; when they see, that
fear does not oftener secure a prince against the dissatisfaction of his people, than love makes a subject too many
for such a prince.
344. Certainly service upon inclination is like to go
farther, than obedienee upon compulsion.
345. The Romans had a just sense of this, when they
placed Optimus before Maximus, to their most illustrious
captains and Cmesars.
346. Besides, experience tells us, that goodness raises
a nobler passion in the soul, and gives a better sense of
duty, than severity.
347. What did Pharaoh get by increasing the Israelites'
task? Ruin to himself in the end.
348. Kings, chiefly in this, should imitate God; their
mercy should be above all their works.
349. The difference between the prince and the peasant
is in this world; but a temper ought to be observed by him
that has the advantage here, because of the judgment of the
next.
350. The end of every thing should direct the means:
now that of government being the good of the whole, nothing less should be the aim of the prince.
351. As often as rulers endeavor to attain just ends by
just mediums, they are sure of a quiet and easy government; and as sure of convulsions, where the nature of
things are violated, and the order over ruled.
352. It is certain, princes ought to have great allowances made them for faults in government, since they see
by other people's eyes, and hear by their ears: but ministers of state, their immediate confidants and instruments,
have much to answer for, if, to gratify private passions,
they misguide the prince to do public injury.
353. Ministers of state should undertake their posts at
their peril. If princes overrule them, let them shew the




OF WILLIAM PENN.                59
law, and humbly resign; if fear, gain, or flattery prevail,
let them answer it to the law.
354. The prince cannot be preserved, but where the
minister is punishable; for people as well as princes, will
not endure' imperium in imperio.'
355. If ministers are weak or ill men; and so spoil their
places, it is the prince's fault that chose them; but if their
places spoil them, it is their own fiault to be made worse
by them.
356. It is but just, that those that reign by their princes,
should sufler for their princes: for it is a safe and necessary maxim, not to shift heads in government, while the
hands are in being that should answer for them.
357. And yet it were intolerable to be a minister of
state, if every body may be accuser and judge.
358. Let, therefore, the false accuser no more escape an
exemplary punishment, than the guilty minister.
359. For it profanes government to hate the credit of the
leading men in it subject to vulgar rceisure, which is often
ill.grounded.
360. The safety of a prince, therefore, consists in a well
chosen council: and that only can be said to be so, where
the persons that compose it are qualified for the business
that comes before them.
361. Who would send to a tailor to make a lock, or to
a smith to makbe a suit of clothes?
362. Let there be merchants for trade, seamen for the
admiralty, travellers for foreign affairs, some8 of the leading men of the country for home-business, and common
and civil lawyers to advise of legality and right, who
should always keep to the strict rules of law,
363. Three things contribute much to ruin government;
looseness, oppression, and envy.
364. Where the reins of government are too slack,
there the manners of the people are corrupted: and that
destroys industry, begets effeminacy, and provokes Heaven
against it.
365. Oppression makes a poor country, and a desperate
people, who always wait an opportunity to change.
u ~              eti)                   m:




60             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
366. "He that ruleth over men, must be just, ruling in
the fear of God;" said an old and wise king.
367. Envy disturbs and distracts government, clogs the
wheels, and perplexes the administration: and nothing contributes more to this disorder, than a partial distribution of
rewards and punishments in the sovereign.
368. As it is not reasonable that men should be compelled to serve; so those that have employments should
not be endured to leave them humorsomely.
369. Where the state intends a man no affront, he
should not affront the state.
A PRIVATE LIFE.
370. A private life is to be preferred; the honor and
gain of public posts bearing no proportion with the comfort
of it. The one is free and quiet, the other servile and
noisy.
371. It was a great answer of the Shunamite woman,
" I dwell among my own people."
372. They that live of their own, neither need, nor
often list, to wear the livery of the public.
373. Their subsistence is not during pleasure, nor have
they patrons to please or present.
374. If they are not advanced, neither can they be disgraced; and as they know not the smiles of majesty, so
they feel not the frowns of greatness, nor the effects of
envy.
375. If they want the pleasures of a court, they also
escape the temptations of it.
376. Private men, in fine, are so much their own, that,
paying common dues, they are sovereigns of all the rest.
A PUBLIC LIFE.
377. Yet the public must and will be served; and they
that do it well, deserve public marks of honor and profit.
378. To do so, men must have public minds, as well
as salaries; or they will serve private ends at public cost.
379. Government can never be well administered, but
where those entrusted make conscience of well discharging
their places.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                61
QUALIFICATIONS.
380. Five things are.requisite to a good officer; ability,.
clean hands, despatch, patience, and impartiality.
CAPACITY.
381. He that understands not his employment, whatever else he knows, must be unfit for it; and the public
suffer by his inexpertness.
382. They that are able should be just too; or the
government may be the worst for their capacity.
CLEAN HANDS.
383. Covetousness in such men, prompts them to prostitute the public for gain.
384. The taking of a bribe, or gratuity, should be punished with as severe penalties as the defrauding of the
state.
385. Let men have sufficient salaries, and exceed them
at their peril.
386. It is a dishonor to government, that its officers
should live on benevolence; as it ought to be infamous for
officers to dishonor the public, by being twice paid for the
same business.
387. But to be paid and not do business, is rank oppression.
DESPATCH.
388. Despatch is a great and good quality in an officer,
where duty, not gain, excites it. But of this too many
make their private market, and overplus to their wages.
Thus the salary is for doing and the bribe for despatching
the business; as if business could be done before it was
despatched; or they were to be paid apart, one by the
government, the other by the party.
389. Despatch is as much the duty of an officer, as
doing; and very much the honor of the government he
serves.
390. Delays have been more injurious than direct injustice.




62              REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS:391. They too often starve those they dare not deny.
392. The very winner is made a loser, because he pays
twice for his own'; like those that purchase estates, mortgaged before to the full value.
393. Our law says well, I To delay justice, is injustice.
394. Not to have a right, and not to come at it, differ
little.
395. Refusal, or despatch, is the duty and wisdom of a
good officer.
PATIENCE.
396. Patience is a virtue every where; but it shines
with greatest lustre in the men of government.
397. Some are so proud or testy, they will not hear
what they should redress.
398. Others are so weak, they sink or burst, under the
weight of their office; though they can lightly run away
with the salary of it.
399. Business can never be well done, that is not well
understood; which cannot be without patience.
400. It is cruelty, indeed, not to give the unhappy a
hearing, when we ought to help; but it is the top of oppression to brow beat the humble and modest miserable, when
they seek relief.
401. Some, it is true, are unreasonable in their desires
and hopes; but then we should inform, not rail at and reject them.
402. It is, therefore, as great an instance of wisdom as
a rln in business can give, to be patient under the imper.
tineDn,(es and contradictions that attend it.
403. Method goes far to prevent trouble in business;
for it makes the task easy, hinders confusion, saves abundance of time, and instructs those that have business depending, what to do, and what to hope.
IMPARTIALITY.
404. Impartiality, though it be the last, is not the least
part of the character of a good magistrate.
405. It is noted as fault in holy writ, even to regard the
poor in judgment; how much more the rich?




OF WILLIAM PENN,.                 3
406. If our compassion must not sway us: less should
our fears, profits, or prejudices.
407. Justice is justly represented blind, because she sees
no difference in the parties iconcerned.
408. She has but one scale and weight, for rich and
poor, great and small.
409. Her sentence is not guided by the person, but the
cause.
410. The impartial judge, in judgment, knows nothing
but the law; the prince, no more than the peasant; his
kindred, than a stranger. Nay, his enemy is sure to be
on equal terms with his friend, when he is upon the bench.
411. Impartiality is the life ofjustice, as that is of government.
412. Nor is it only a benefit to tile state: for private
families cannot subsist comfortably without it.
413. Parents that are partial, are ill obeyed by their
children; and partial masters not better served by their
servants.
414. Partiality is always indirect, if not dishonest: for
it shows a bias, where reason would have none; if not an
injury, which justice every where forbids.
415. As it makes favorites without reason, so it uses
no reason in judging of actions: confirming the proverb,' The crow thinks her own bird the fairest.'
416. What some sees to be no fault in one, th6y will
have criminal in another.
417. Nay, how ugly do our failings look to us in the
persons of others; which yet we see not in ourselves.
418. And but too common it is, for some people not to
know their own maxims and principles in the mouths of
other men, when they give occasion to use them.
419. Partiality corrupts our judgment of persons and
things, of ourselves and others.
420. It contributes more than any thing, to factions in
the government, and feuds in families.
421. It is a prodigal passion, that seldom returns till it
is hunger-bit, and disappointments bring it within bounds.
422. And yet we may be indifferent to a fault.




64             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
INDIFFERENCE.
423. Indifference is good in judgment, but bad in relation, and stark naught in religion.
424. And even in judgment, our indifference must be to
the persons, not causes; for one, to be sure, is right.
NEUTR ALITY.
425. Neutrality is something else than indifference; and
yet of kin to it too.
426. A judge ought, to be indifferent; and yet he cannot be said to be neutral.
427. The one being, to be even in judgment, and the
other not to meddle at all.
428. And where it is lawful, to be sure, it is best to be
neutral.
429. He that espouses parties, can hardly divorce himself from their fate; and more fall with their party than
rise with it.
430. A wise neuter joins with neither; but uses both, as
his honest interest leads him.
431. A neuter only has room to be a peace maker; for
being of neither side, he has the means of meditating a
reconciliation of both.
A PARTY.
432. And yet where right or religion gives a call, a
neuter must be a coward or a hypocrite.
433. In such cases we should never be backward; nor
yet mistaken.
434. When our right or religion is in question, then is
the fittest time to assert it.
435. Nor must we always be neutral, where our neighbor is concerned: for though meddling is a fault, helping
is a duty.
436. We have a call to do good, as often as we have
the power and occasion.
437. If Heathens could say,' We are not born for our.
selves;' surely Christians should practise it.




OF WILLIAM PENN.               65
438. They are taught so by his example, as well as
doctrine, from whom they have borrowed their name.
OSTENTATION.
439. Do what good thou canst unknown; and be not
vain of what ought rather to be felt than seen.
440. The humble, in the parable of the day ofjudgment,
forgot their good works, " Lord when we did so and so?"
441. He that does good for good's sake, seeks neither
praise nor reward, though sure of both at last.
COMPLETE VIRTUE.
442. Content not thyself that thou art virtuous in the
general; for one link being wanting, the chain is defective.
443. Perhaps thou art rather innocent than virtuous, and
owest more to thy constitution than to thy religion.
444. To be innocent is to be not gnilty; but to be virtuous is to overcome our evil inclinations.
445. If thou hast not conquered thyself in that which
is thy own particular weakness, thou hast no title to virtue,
thoug)h thou art free of other men's.
446. For a covetous man to inveigh against prodigality,
an atheist against idolatry, a tyrant against rebellion, or a
liar against forgery, and a drunkard against intemperance,
is vice reproving viciousness.
447. Such a reproof would have but little success, because it would carry but little authority with it.
448. If thou wouldst conquer thy weakness, thou must
never gratify it.
449. No man is compelled to evil; his consent only
makes it his.
450. It is no sin to be tempted, but to be overcome.
451. What man, in his right mind, would conspire his
own hurt?  Men are beside themselves, when they transgress against their convictions.
452. If thou wouldst not sin, do not desire: and if thou
wouldst not lust, do not embrace the temptation: no, not
look at it, nor think of it.
453. Thou wouldst take much pains to save thy body:
take some, prithee, to save thy soul.
6*




66             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
RELIGION.
454. Religion is the fear of God, and its demonstration
good works; and faith is the root of both: "For without
faith we cannot please God;" nor can we fear what we do
not believe.
455. The devils also believe and know abundance; but
in this is the difference, their faith works not by love, nor
their knowledge by obedience; and therefore they are
never the better for them. And if ours be such, we shall
be of their church, not of Christ's; for as the head is, so
must the body be.
456. He was holy, humble, harmless, meek, merciful,
&c., when among us; to teach us what we should be
when he was gone; and yet he is among us still, and in
us too, a living and perpetual preacher of the same grace,
by his spirit in our consciences.
457. A minister of the gospel ought to be one of Christ's
making, if he would pass for one of Christ's ministers.
458. And if he be one of his making, he knows and does,
as well as believes.
459. That, minister, whose life is not the model of his
doctrine, is a babbler rather than a preacher, a quack
rather than a physician of value.
460. Of old time, they were made ministers by the Holy
Ghost: and the more that is an ingredient now, the fitter
they are for that work.
461. Running streams are not so apt to corrupt as stagnant waters; nor itinerant, as settled preachers; but they
are not to run before they are sent.
462. As they freely receive from Christ, so they give.
463. They will not make that a trade, which they know
ought not, in conscience, to be one.
464. Yet there is no fear of their living, that design not
to live by it.
465. The humble and true teacher meets with more
than he expects.
466. He accounts content with godliness great gain, and
therefore seeks not to make a gain of godliness.




OF WILLIAM PENN,                 67
467. As the ministers of Christ are made by him, and
are like him, so they beget people into the same likeness.
468. To be like Christ, then, is to be a christian. And
regeneration is the only way to the kingdom of God, which
we pray for.
469. Let us to day, therefore, hear his voice, and not
harden our hearts who speaks to us many ways: in the
scriptures, in our hearts, by his servants and providences;
and the sum of all his holiness, and charity.
470. St. James gives a short draught of the matter, but
very full and teaching:  Pure religion, and undefiled be.
f(re God the Father, is this, to visit the fatherless and the
widows in their afflictions, and to keep ourselves unspotted
from the world;" which is comprised in these two words,
charity and piety.
471. They that truly make these their aim, will findthem their attainment; and, with them, the peace that follows so excellent a condition.
472. Amuse not thyself, therefore, with the numerous
opinions of the world; nor value thyself upon verbal orthodoxy, philosophy, or thy skill in tongues, or knowledge
of the fathers; (too much the business and vanity of the
world) but in this rejoice, ",That thou knowest God, that
is the Lord, who exerciseth loving kindness, and judgment, and righteousness in the earth."
473. Public worship is very commendable, if well performed.  We owe it to God and good example.  But we
must know, that God is not tied to time or place, who is
every where at the same time; and this we shall know as
far as we are capable, if, wherever we are, our desires are
to be with him.
474. Serving God, people generally confine to the acts
of public and private worship; and those the more zealous
do often repent, in hopes of acceptance.
475. But if we consider that God is an infinite spirit,
and as such, everywhere; and that our Saviour has taught
us, that he will be worshipped in spirit and in truth, we
shall see the shortness of such a notion.
476. For serving God concerns the frame of our spirits,




68&            REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
in the whole course of our lives; in every occasion we
have, in which we may show our love to his law.
477. For as men in battle are continually in the way of
shot, so we in this world, are ever within the reach of
temptation; and herein do we serve God, if we avoid what
we are forbid, as well as do what he commands.
478. God is better served in resisting a temptation to
evil, than in many formal prayers.
479. This is but twice or thrice a day; but that every
hour and moment of the day. So much more is our con-.
tinual watch, than our evening and morning devotion.
480. Wouldst thou then serve God? Do not that alone,
which thou wouldst not that another should see thee do.
481. Do not take God's name in vain, nor disobey thy
parents, nor wrong thy neighbor, nor commit adultery,
even in thy heart.
482. Neither be vain, lascivious, proud, drunken, revengeful, or angry' nor lie, detract, backbite, overreach
oppress, deceive, or betray; but watch vigorously against
all temptation to these things, as knowing.that God is present, the overseer of all thy ways and most inward thoughts,
and the avenger of his own law upon the disobedient; and
thou wilt acceptably serve God.
483 Is it not reason, if we expect the acknowledgments
of those to whom we are bountiful, that we should reverently pay ours to God, our most munificent and constant
benefactor?
484. The world represents a rare and sumptuous palace;
mankind the great family in it; and God, the mighty
Lord and Master of it.
485. We are all sensible what a stately seat it is; the
heavens adorned with so many glorious luminaries; and
the earth with groves, plains, valleys, hills, fountains,
ponds, lakes, and rivers; and variety of fruits and creatures for food, pleasure and profit; in short, how noble a
house he keeps, and the plenty, and variety, and excellency of his table; his orders, seasons, and suitableness
of every time and thing. But we must be as sensible, or
at least ought to be, what careless and idle servants we are,
DeI  hov short and disproportionable our behaviour is to




OF WILLIAM PENN.                 69
his bounty and goodness; how long he bears, how often he
reprieves, and forgives us; who, notwithstanding our
breach of promises, and repeated neglects, has not yet been
provoked to break up house, and send us to shift for ourselves. Should not this great goodness raise a due sense
in us of our undutifulness, and a resolution to alter our
course, and mend our manners; that we may be for the
future more worthy communicants at our Maker's good
and great table? Especially, since it is not more certain
that we deserve his displeasure, than that we shall feel it,
if we continue to be unprofitable servants.
486. But though God has replenished this world with
abundance of good things for man's life and comfort, yet
they are all but imperfect goods. He only is the perfect
good to whom they point.  But alas! men cannot see him
for themrn; though they should always see him in them.
487. 1, have often wondered at the unaccountableness of
man in this, among other things; that, though he loves
changes so well, he should care so little to hear or think
of his last, great, arid, if he pleases, his best, change.
488. Being, as to our bodies composed of changeable
elements, we, with the world, are made up of, and subsist
by revolution; but our souls being of another and nobler
nature, we should seek our rest in a more enduring habitation.
489. The truest end of life is to know the life that never
ends.
490. Hle that makes this his care will find it his crown
at last.
491. Life else were a misery, rather than a pleasure;
a judgment not a blessing.
492. For, to know, regret, and resent, to desire, hope,
and fear, more than a beast, and not live beyond him, is to
make a man less than a beast.
493. It is the amends of a short and troublesome life,
that doing good, and suffering ill, entitle man to one longer
and better.
494. This ever raises the good man's hope, and gives
him tastes beyond this world.
495. As it is his aim, so none else can hit the mark.




70             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
496. Many make it their speculation, but it is the good
man's practice.
497. His work keeps pace with his life, and so leaves
nothing to be done when he dies.
498. And he that lives to live for ever, never fears
dying.
499. Nor can the means be terrible to him that heartily
believes the end.
500. For though death be a dark passage, it leads to immortaliy; and that is recompense enough for suffering of
it.
501. And yet faith lights us, even through the grave;
being the evidence of things not seen.
502. And this is the comfort of the good, that the grave
cannot hold them and that they live as soon as they die.
503. For death is no more than a turning of us over from
time to eternity.
504. Nor can there be a revolution without it; for it sup.
poses the dissolution of one form in order to the succession
of another.
505. Death, then, being the way and condition of life, we
cannot love to live, if we cannot bear to die.
506. Let us, then, not cozen ourselves with the shells and
husks of things; nor prefer form to power, nor shadows to
substance: pictures of bread will not satisfy hunger, nor
those of devotion please God.
507. This world is a form; our bodies are forms; and
no visible acts of devotion.can be without forms. But yet
the less form in religion the better, since God is a spirit;
for the more mental our worship, the more adequate to the
nature of God; the more silent, the more suitable to the
language of a spirit.
508. Words are for others, not for ourselves: nor for
God, who hears not as bodies do, but as spirits should.
509. If we would know this dialect, we must learn of
the divine principle in us. As we hear the dictates of that,
so God hears us.
510. There we may see him too in all his attributes;
though but in little, yet as much as we can apprehend or
bear: for as he is in himself, he is incomprehensible, and




OF WILLIAM PENN.                ~. I
"dwelleth in that light no eye can approach."  But in his
image we may behold his glory: enough to exalt our
apprehensions of God, and to instruct us in that worship
which pleaseth him.
511. Men may tire themselves in a labyrinth of search,
and talk of God; but if we would know him indeed, it
must be from the impressions we receive of him: and the
softer our hearts are, the deeper and livelier those will be
upon us.
512. If he has made us sensible of his justice, by his
reproof; of his patience, by his forbearance; of his mercy,
by his forgiveness; of his holiness, by the sanctification of
our hearts through his spirit; we have a grounded know.
ledge of God. This is experience, that speculation; this
enjoyment, that report.  In short, this is undeniable evidence, with the realities of religion, and will stand all winds
and weathers.
513. As our faith, so our devotion, should be lively.
Cold meat will not serve at those repasts.
514. It is a coal from God's altar must kindle our fire:
and without fire, true fire, no acceptable sacrifice.
515. "Open thou my lips, and then" said the royal
prophet, " my mouth shall praise God." But not till then.
516. The preparation of the heart, as well as the answer of the tongue, is of the Lord: and to have it, our
prayers must be powerful, and our worship grateful.
517. Let us choose, therefore, to commune, where there
is the warmest sense of religion; where devotion exceeds
formality, and practice most corresponds with profession;
and where there is, at least, as much charity as zeal: for
where this society is to be found, there shall we find the
church of God.
518. As good, so ill men, are all of a church: and every
body knows who must be head of it.
519. The humble, meek, merciful, just, pious, and devout souls, are every where of one religion; and when
death has taken off the mask, they will know one another,
though the diverse liveries they wear here make them
strangers.
520. Great allowances are made for education and per.




72             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
sonal weaknesses; but it is a rule with me,'That man is
truly religious, that loves the persuasion he is of for the
piety, rather than the ceremony of it.'
521. They that have one end, can hardly disagree when
they meet. At least their concern in the greater, moderates their value for, and difference about., the lesser
things.
522. It is a sad reflection, that many men hardly have
any religion at all, and most men have none of their own;
for that which is the religion of their education, and not of
their judgment, is the religion of another, and not theirs.
52.3. To have religion upon authority, and not upon
conviction, is like a finger-watch, to be set forwards or
backwards, as he pleases that has it in keeping.
524. It is a preposterous thing, that men can venture
their souls, where they will not venture their money: for
they will take their religion upon trust, but not trust a
synod about the goodness of half a crown.
525. They will follow their own judgment when their
money is concerned, whatever they do for their souls.
526. But, to be sure, that religion cannot be right, that a
man is the worse for having.
527. No religion, is better than an unnatural one.
528. Grace perfects, but never sours or spoils, nature.
529. To be unnatural in defence of grace is a contradiction.
530. Hardly any thing looks worse than to defend religion by ways that show it has no credit with us.
531. A devout man is one thing, a stickler is quite another.
532. When our minds exceed their just bounds, we
must not discredit what we would recommend.
533. To be furious in religion is to be irreligiously
religious.
534. If he that is without bowels is not a man; how,
then, can he be a Christian?
535. It were better to be of no church, than to be bitter
for any.
536. Bitterness comes very near to enmity, and that is
Beelzebub; because the perfection of wickedness.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                 73
537. A good end cannot sanctify evil means; nor must
we ever do evil that good may come of it.
538. Some folks think they may scold, rail, hate, rob,
and kill too; so it be but for God's sake.
539. But nothing in us unlike him can please him.
540. It is a great presumption to send onr passions upon
God's errands, as it is to palliate them with God's name..541. Zeal dropt in charity, is good; without it, good for
nothing: for it devours all it comes near.
542. They may first judge themselves, that presume
to censure others; and such will not be apt to over-shoot
the mark.
543. We are too ready to retaliate, rather than forgive,
or gain by love and information.
544. And yet we could hurt no man that we believe
loves us.
545. Let us, then, try what love will do; for if men
do once see that we love them, we should soon find they
would not harm us.
546. Force may subdue, but love gains; and he that
forgives first, wins the laurel.
547. If I am even with my enemy, the debt is paid; but
if I forgive it, I oblige him for ever.
548. Love is the hardest lesson in christianity; but, for
that reason, it should be most our care to learn it.'Difficilia quae pulchra.'
549. It is a severe rebuke upon us, that God makes us
so many allowances, and we make so few to our neighbor: as if charity had nothing to do with religion; or love
with faith, that ought to work by it.,550. 1 find all sorts of people agree, whatsoever were
their animosities, when humbled by the approaches of
death; then they forgive, then they pray for, and love one
another: which shows us, that it is not our reason, but our
passion, that makes and holds up the feuds that reign
among men in their health and fullness. They, therefore,
that live nearest to that state in which they should die,
must certainly live the best.
551. Did we believe a final reckoning and judgment,
7




74             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
or did we think enough of what we do believe, we should
allow more love in religion than we do: since religion
itself is nothing else but love to God and man.
552. " He that lives in love, lives in God." says the beloved disciple: and, to be sure, a man can live no where
better.
553. It is most reasonable men should value that benefit which is most durable. Now tongues shall cease, and
prophecy fail, and faith shall be consummated in sight,
and hope in enjoyment; but love remains.
554. Love is indeed heaven upon earth; since heaven
above would not be heaven without it; for where there is
not love, there is fear; but, " Perfect love casts out fear."
And yet we naturally fear most to offend what we most love.
555. What we love, we will hear; what we love, we
will trust: and what we love, we will serve, aye, and
suffer for too. " If you love me," says our blessed Redeemer, "keep my commandments."  Why.? Why then,
he will love us: then we shall be his friends; then he will
send us the Comforter; then whatever we ask we shall
receive; and then, where he is we shall be also, and that
for ever.  Behold, the fruits of love; the power, virtue,
benefit, and beauty of love!
556. Love is above all; and when it prevails-in us all,
we shall all be lovely, and in love with God, and one with
another. Amen.
THE RIGHT MORALIST.
557. A right moralist is a great and good man; but for
that reason, he is rarely to be found.
558. There are a sort of people that are fond of the
character, who, in my opinion, have but little title to it.
559. They think it enough, not to defraud a man of his
pay, or betray his fiiend; but- never consider, that the law
forbids the one at his peril, and that virtue is seldom the
reason of the other.
560. But certainly, he that covets can no more be a
moral man, than he that steals; since he does it so in his
mind.  Nor can he be one that robs his neighbor of his
credit, or that craftily undermines him of his trade or
office.




Op WILLIAM PENN.                75
561. If a man pays his tailor, but debauches his wife,
is he a current moralist?
562. But what shall we say of the man that rebels
against his father, is an ill husband, or an abusive neighbor; one that is lavish of his time, of his health, and of
his estate, in which his family is so nearly concerned?
Must he go for a right moralist, because he pays his rent
well?
563. I would ask some of those men of morals, whether
he that robs God, and himself too, though he should not
defraud his neighbor, be the moral man?
564. Do 1 owe myself nothing? And do I not owe all
to God? And if paying what we owe maltes the moral
man, is it not fit we should begin to render our dues where
we owe our very beginning; aye, our all?
565. The complete moralist begins with God; he gives
him his due, his heart, his love, his service: the bountiful
giver of his well being, as well as being.
566. He that lives without a sense of this dependence
and obligation, cannot be a moral man, because he does
not know his returns of love and obedience, as becomes
an honest and sensible creature: which very term implies
he is not his own; and it cannot be very honest to misemploy another's goods.
567. But now! can there be no debt to a fellow creature? Or, will our exactness in paying those trifling
ones, while we neglect our weightier obligations, cancel the
bonds we lie under, and render us right and thorough
moralists?
568. As judgments are paid before bonds, and bonds
before bills or book-debts; so the moralist considers his
obligations according to their several dignities.  In the
first place, him to whom he owes himself. Next, himself,
in his health and livelihood. Lastly, his other obligations,
whether rational or pecuniary; doing to others, to the extent of his ability, as he would have them do unto hirn.
569. In short, the moral man is he that loves God
above all, and his neighbor as himself; which fulfils both
tables at-once.




76              REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
THE WORLD S ABLE MAN.
570. It is by some thought the character of an able
man, to be dark, and not understood. But I am sure that
is not fair play.
571. If he be so by silence, it is better; but if by disguises, it is insincere and hateful.
572. Secrecy is one thing, false lights are another.
573. The honest man that is rather free than open, is
ever to be preferred: especially when sense is at the helm.
574. The glorying of the other humor is in a vice:
for it is not human to be cold, dark, and unconversable.
I was going to say, they are like pickpockets in a crowd,
where a man must ever have his hand on his purse: or as
spies in a garrison, that, if not prevented, betray it.
575. They are the reverse of human nature; and yet
this is the present world's wise man and politician.
576. Like highwaymen, that rarely rob without vizards,
or in the same wigs and clothes, but have a dress for every
enterprise.
577. At best, he may be a cunning man, which is a sort
of lurcher in politics.
578. He is never too hard for the wise man upon the
square; for that is out of his element, and puts him quite
by his skill. Nor are wise men ever catched by him, but
when they trust him.
579. But as cold and close as he seems, he can and
will please all, if he gets by it; though' it should neither
please God nor himself at bottom.
580. He is for every cause that brings him gain; but
implacable, if disappointed of success.
581. And what lie cannot hinder, he will be sure to
spoil by over-doing it.
582. None are so zealous then as he, for that which he
cannot abide.
583. What is it he will not, or cannot do, to hide his
true sentiments?
584. For his interest he refuses no side or party; and
will take the wrong by the hand, when the other will not
do,. with as good a grace as the right.




OP WILLIAM PENN.                 7 7
585. Nay, he commonly chooses the worst, because
that brines the best bribe; his cause being ever money.
586. He sails with all winds, and is never out of his
way, where any thing is to be had.
587. A  privateer, indeed, and every where a bird of
prey.
588. True to nothing but himself: and false to all persons and parties, to serve his own turn.
589. Talk with him as often as you please, he will
never pay you in good coin; for it is either false or clipped.
590. But to give a false reason for any thing, let my
reader never learn of him, no more than to grive a brass
half crown for a good one: not only because it is not true,
but because it deceives the person to whom it is given:
which I take to be an immorality.
591. Silence is much preferable; for it saves the secret,
as well as the person's honor.
592. Such as give themselves the latitude of saying
what they do not mean, come to be arrant jockeys at more
things than one: but in religion and politics it is pernicious.
593. To hear two men talk the reverse of their own
sentiments, with all the'good breeding and appearance of
fiiendship imaginable, on purpose to cozen or pump each
other, is, to a man of virtue and honor, one of the most
melancholy, as well as most nauseous things in the world.
594. But that it should be the character of an able man,
is to disinherit wisdom, and paint out our degeneracy to
the life, by setting up fraud, an arrant impostor, in her
room.
595. The trial of skill between these two is, who shall
believe least of what the other says; and he that has the
weakness or good nature, to give out first, (viz.to believe
any thing the other says) is looked upon to be tricked.
596. 1 cannot see the policy, any more than the necessity, of a man's mind giving the lie to his mouth; or his
mouth giving false alarms of his mind: for no man can be
long believed, that teachss all men to distrust him; and
since the ablest have sometimes need of credit, where lies
the advantage oftheir politic cannt or banter lpon mankind?




78.            REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
597. 1 remember a passage of one of queen Elizabeth's
great men, as advice to his friend:' The advantage,' says,
he,' I had upon others at court, was, that I always spoke
as I thought; which being not believed by them, I both
preserved a good conscience, and suffered no damage from
that freedom:' which, as it shows the vice to be older than
our times, so does it that gallant man's integrity to be the
best way of avoiding it.
598. To be sure it is wise, as well as honest, neither to
flatter other men's sentiments, nor dissemble, and less to
contradict, our own.
599. To hold one's tongue, or to speak truth, or talk
only of indifferent things, is the fairest conversation.
600. Women that rarely go -abroad without vizard
masks, have none of the best reputation.  But when we
consider what all this art and disguise are for, it equally
heightens the wise man's wonder and aversion; perhaps
it is to betray a father, a brother, a master, a friend, a
neighbor, or one's own party.
601. A fine conquest! what noble Grecians and Romans abhorred; as if government could not subsist without knavery, and that knaves were the most useful props
to it; though the basest, as well -as greatest, perversions
of the ends of it.
602. But that it should become a maxim, shows but too
grossly the corruptions of the times.
603. 1 confess I have heard the stile of' An usefiul
knave,' but ever took it to be a silly or a knavish saying;
at least, an excuse of knavery.
604. It is as reasonable to think a loose woman makes
the best wife, as a knave the best officer.
605. Beside, employing knaves encourages knavery,
instead of punishing it, and alienates the reward of virtue;
or at least, must make the world believe the country yields
not honest men enough, able to serve her.
606. Art thou a magistrate? Prefer such as have clean
characters where they live; and men of estates to secure
a just discharge of their trusts, that are under no temptation to strain points for a fortune: for sometimes such mav
be found sooner than they are employed.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                 79
607. Art thou a private man? Contract thy acquaintance in a narrow compass, and choose those for the subjects of it that are men of principle; such as will make
full stops, where honor will not lead them on: and that
had rather bear the disgrace of not being thorough-paced
men, than forfeit their peace and reputation by a base compliance.
THE WISE MAN.
608. The wise man governs himself by the reason of
his case, and because what he does is best: best, in a
moral and prudent, not a sinister sense.
609. He proposes just ends, and employs the fairest
and most probable means and methods to attain them.
610. Though you cannot always penetrate his design,
or his reasons for it, yet you shall ever see his actions of
a piece, and his performance like a workman: they will
bear the touch of wisdom and honor, as often as they are
tried.
611. He scorns to serve himself by indirect means, or
to be an interloper in government; since just enterprises
never want any unjust ways to make them succeed.
612. To do evil that good may come of it, is for bunglers, in politics as well as morals.
613. Like those surgeons that will cut off an arm  that
they cannot cure, to hide their ignorance and save their
credit.
614. The wise man is cautious, but not cunning; judicious, but not crafty; making virtue the measure of'
usincf his excellent understanding in the conduct of his life.
615. The wise man is equal, ready, but not officious;
hais in every thing an eye to surefooting; he offends no
body, nor is easily offended; and is always willing to
compound for wrongs, if not forgive them.
616. He is never captious nor critical; hates banter and
jests; lie may be pleasant but not light-; he never deals but
in substantial ware, and leaves the rest for the toy-pates,
(or shops) of the world; which are so far from being his
business, that they are not so much as his diversion.
617. He is always for some solid good, civil or moral:




80             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
as to make his country more virtuous, preserve her peace
and liberty, employ her poor, improve land, advance trade,
suppress vice, encourage industry, and all mechanical
knowledge; and that they should be the care of the government, and the blessing and praise of the people.
618. To conclude, he is just, and, fears God, hates
covetousness, and eschews evil, and loves his neighbor as
himself.
OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THOUGHTS.
619. Man being made a reasonable, and so a thinking
creature, there is nothing more worthy of his being, than
the right direction and employment of his thoughts: since
upon this depends both his usefulness to the public, and
his own present and future benefit in all respects.
620. The consideration of this has often obliged me to
lament the unhappiness of mankind, that, through too great
a mixture and confusion of thoughts, have hardly been
able to make a right or mature judgment of things.
621. To this is owing the various uncertainty and con.
fusion we see in the world, and the intemperate zeal that
occasions them.
622. To this, also is to be attributed the imperfect
knowledge we have ofthings, and the slow progress we
make in attaining to a better; like the children of Israel,
that were forty years upon their journey from Egypt to
Canaan, which might have been performed in less than one.
623. In fine, it is to this we ought to ascribe, if not ail,
at least most of the infelicities we labor under.
624. Clear, therefore, thy head, and rally and manage
thy thoughts rightly, and thou wilt save time, and see and
do thy business well: for thy judgment will be distinct,
thy mind free, and thy faculties strong and reguiar.
625. Always remember to bound thy thoughts to the
present occasion.
626. If it be thy religious duty, suffer nothing else to
share in them. And if any civil or temporal affair, observe
the same caution, and, thou wilt be a whole man to every
thing, and do twice the business in the same time.
627. If any point over-labors thy mind, divert and re



OF WILLIAM PENN.                81
lieve it by some other subject, of a more sensible or manual
nature, rather than what may affect the understanding: for
this were to write one thing upon another, which blots out
our former impressions, or renders them illegible.
628. They that are least divided in their care, always
give the best account of their business.
629. As, therefore, thou art always to pursue the present subject till thou hast mastered it, so if it fall out that
thou hast more affairs than one upon thy hands, be sure
to prefer that which is of most moment, and will least wait
thy leisure.
630. He that judges not well of the importance of his
affairs, though he may be always busy, must make but a
small progress.
631. But make not more business necessary than is so;
rather lessen than augment work for thyself.
632. Nor yet be over eager in the pursuit of any thing;
for the mercurial too often happen to leave judgment behind them, and sometimes make work for repentance.
633. He that over-runs his business, leaves it for him'that follows more leisurely to take it up: which has often
proved a profitable harvest to them that never sowed.
634. It is the advantage that slower tempers have upon
the men of lively parts, that though they do not lead, they
will follow well, and glean clean.
635. Upon the whole matter, employ thy thoughts as
thy business requires, and let that have place according to
merit and urgency, giving every thing a review and due
digestion; and thou wilt prevent many errors and vexations, as well as save much time to thyself in the course
of thy life.
OF ENVY.
636. It is the mark of ill nature, to lessen good actions,
and aggravate ill ones,
637. Some men do as much begrudge others a good
name, as they want one'themselves: and perhaps that is
the reason of it.
638. But certainly they are in the wrong that can think
they are lessened, because others have their due.




52             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
639. Such people generally have less merit than ambition, that covet the reward of other men's; and, to be sure,
a very ill nature, that will rather rob others of their due,
than allow them their praise.
640. It is more an error of our will than our judgment:
for we know it to be an effect of our passion, not our
reason; and therefore we are the more culpable in our
partial estimates.
641. It is as envious as unjust, to underrate another's
actions, where their intrinsic worth recommends them  to
disengaged minds.
642. Nothing shews more the folly, as well as fraud of
man, than clipping merit and reputation.
643. And as some men think it an alloy to themselves,
that others have their right; so they know no end of pilfering, to raise their own credit.
644. This envy is the child of pride; and mis-gives
rather than mis-takes.
645. It will have charity to be ostentation; sobriety,
covetousness; humility, craft; bounty, popularity.  In
short, virtue must be design, and religion only interest.
Nay, the best of qualities must not pass without a' but' to
alloy their merit, and abatetheir praise.  Basest of tempers! and they that have it, the worst of men.
646. But just and noble minds rejoice in other men's
success, and help to augment their praise.
647. And, indeed they are not without a love to virtue,
that take a satisfaction in seeing her rewarded; and such
deserve to share her character, that do abhor to lessen it.
OF MAN S LIFE.
648. Why is man less durable than the works of his
hands, but because this is not the place of his rest.
649. And it is a great and just reproach upon him, that
he should fix his mind where he cannot stay himself.
650. Were it not more his wisdom to be concerned
about those worIks that will go with him, and erect a mansion
for him, where time has power neither over him nor it?
651. It is a sad thing for a man so often to miss his
way to his best, as well as most lasting home.




WILLIAM PENN.                83
OF AMBITION.
652. They that soar too high, often fall hard; which
makes a low and level dwelling preferable.
653. The tallest trees are most in the power of the
winds; and ambitious men of the blasts of fortune.
654. They are most seen and observed, and most envied; least quiet, but most talked of, and not often to their
advantage.
655. Those buildings had need of a good foundation,
that lie so much exposed to weather.
656. Good works are a rock that will support their
credit; but ill ones, a sandy foundation that yields to calamities.
657. And truly they ought to expect no pity in their
fall, who, when in power, had no bowels for the unhappy.
658. The worst of distempers; always craving and
thirsty, restless and hated; a perfect delirium in the mind;
insufferable in success, and in disappointments most revengeful.
OF PRAISE OR APPLAUSE.
659. We are apt to love praise, but not to deserve it.
660. But if we would deserve it, we must love virtue
more than that.
661. As there is no passion in us sooner moved, or
m.ore deceivable, so, for that reason, there is none over
which we ought to be more watchful, whether we give or
receive it: for if we give it, we must be sure to mean it,
and measure it too.
662. If we are penurious it shews emulation; if we exceed, flattery.
663. Good measure belongs to good actions; more,
looks nauseous, as well as insincere: besides, it is perse.
cuting the meritorious, who is out of countenance to hear
what he deserves.
664. It is much easier for him to merit applause, than
hear of it: and he never doubts himself more, or the person
that gives it, than when he hears so much of it.
665. But, to say true, there need not many cautions on




84             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
this hand; since the world is rarely just enough to the deserving.
666. However, we cannot be too circumspect how we
receive praise: for if we contemplate ourselves in a false
glass, we are sure to be mistaken about our dues: and because we are too apt to believe what is pleasing, rather
tha;n what is true, we may be too easily swelled beyond
our just proportion, by the windy compliments of men.
667. Make ever, therefore, allowances fobr what is said
on such occasions; or thou exposest, as well as deceivest
thyself.
668. For an over value of ourselves, gives us but a
dangerous security in many respects.
669. We expect more than belongs to us; take all that
is given us, though never meant us; and fall out with
those that are not so full of us as we are of ourselves.
670. In short, it is a passion that abuses our judgment,
and makes us both unsafe and ridiculous.
671. Be not fond, therefore, of praise; but seek virtue
that leads to it.
672. And yet no more lessen or dissemble thy merit,
than over-rate it; for, though humility be a virtue, an
affected one is none.
OF CONDUCT IN SPEECH.
673. Inquire often, but judge rarely, and thou wilt not
often be mistaken.
674. It is safer to learn than to teach; and he who
conceals his opinion has nothing to answer for.
675. Vanity or resentment often engages us, and it is
two to one but we come off losers; for one shews a want
of judgment and humility, as the other does of temper and
discretion.
676. Not that I admire the reserved; for they are next
to unnatural that are not communicable. But if reserved.
ness be at any time a virtue, it is in throngs, or ill company.
677. Beware also of affectation in speech: it often
wrongs matter, and ever shows a blind side.
678. Speak properly, and in as few words as you can,




OF WILLIAM PENN.                 85
but always plainly: for the end of speech is not ostentation,
but to be understood.
679. They that affect words more than matter will dry
up that little they have.
680. Sense never fails to give them that have it, words
enough to make themselves understood.
681. But it too often happens in some conversations, as
ill apothecaries shops, that those pots that are empty, or
have things of small value in them, are as gaudily dressed
and flourished as those that are full of precious drugs.
682. This laboring of slight matter with flourished turns
of expression is fulsome; and worse than  the modern
imitation of tapestry, and East-India goods, in stuffs and
linens.  In short, it is but tawdry talk, and next to very
trash.
UNION OF FRIENDS.
683. They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
684. Death cannot kill what never dies.
685. Nor can spirits ever be divided, that love and live
in the same divine principle, the root and record, of their
fiiendship.
686. If absence be not death, neither is theirs.
687. Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the
seas;' they live in one another still.
688. For they must needs be present that love and liNve
in that which is omnipresent.
689. In this divine glass they see face to face; and their
converse is free as well as pure.
690. This is the comfort of friends, that though they
may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in
the best sense, ever present, because immortal.
ON BEING EASY IN LIVING.
691. It is a happiness to be delivered from  a curious
mind, as well as from a dainty palate.
692. For it is not only a troublesome but slavish thing
to be nice.
8




86             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
693. They narrow their own freedom and comforts,
that make so much requisite to enjoy them.
694. To be easy in living is much of the pleasure of
life; but difficult tempers will always want it.
695. A careless and homely breeding is therefore preferable to one nice and delicate.
696. And he that is taught to live upon little, owes more
to his father's wisdom, than he that has a great deal left
him, does to his father's care.
697. Children cannot well be too hardily bred: for besides that it fits them to bear the roughest providences, it
is more active and healthy.
698. Nay, it is certain, that the liberty of the mind is
mightily preserved by it; for so it is served, instead of
being a servant, indeed a slave, to sensual delicacies.
699. As nature is soon answered, so are such satisfied.
700. The memory of the ancients is hardly in any thing
more to be celebrated, than in a strict and useful instruction
of youth.
701. By labor they prevented luxury in their young
people, till wisdom and philosophy had taught them to resist and despise it.
702. It must be therefore a gross fault to strive so hard
for the pleasure of our bodies, and be so insensible and
careless of the freedom of our souls.
OF MAN'S INCONSIDERATENESS AND l'ARTIALITY.
703. It is very observable, if our civil rights are invaded
or encroached upon, we are mightily touched, and fill every
place with our resentment and complaint; while we suffer
ourselves, our better and nobler selves, to be the property
and vassals of sin, the worst of invaders.
704. In vain do we expect to be delivered from such
troubles, till we are delivered from the cause of them, our
disobedience to God.
705. When he has his dues from us, it will be time
enough for him to give us ours out of one another.
706. It is our great happiness if we could understand
it, that we meet with such checks in the career of our
worldly enjoyments: lest we should forget the giver, adore




OF WILLIAM PENN.                 87
the gift, and terminate our felicity here, which is not man's
ultimate bliss.
707. Our losses are often made judgments by our guilt,
and mercies by our repentance.
708. Besides, it argues great folly in men to let their
satisfaction exceed the true value of any temporal matter:
for disappointments are not always to be measured by the
loss of the thing, but the over-value we put uponl it.
709- And thus men improve their own miseries, for
want of an equal and just estiniate of what they enjoy or
lose.
710. There lies a proviso upon every thing in this world,
and we must observe it at our own peril, viz. to love God
above all, and act for judgment; the last I mean.
OF THE RULE OF JIUDGING:
711. In all things reason should prevail: it is quite
another thing to be stiff, than steady in an opinion.
712. This may be reasonable, but that is ever wilful.
713. In such cases, it always happens, that the clearer
the argument, the greater the obstinacy, where the design
is not to be convinced.
714. This is to value humor more than truth, and prefer
a sullen pride to a reasonable submission.
715. It is the glory of a man to vail to truth; as it is
the mark of a good nature to be easily entreated.
716. Beasts act by sense, man should act by reason;
else he is a greater beast than ever God made: and the
proverb is verified,' The corruption of the best things is
the worst and most offensive,'
717. A reasonable opinion must ever be in danger where
reason is not judge.
718. Though there is a regard due to education, and
the tradition of our fathers, truth will ever deserve, as well
as claim the preference.
719. If, like Theophilus and Timofhy, we have been
brought up in the knowledge of the best thing, it is our advantage; but neither they nor we lose by trying the truth;
for so we learn their, as well as its, intrinsic worth.




88            REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
720. Truth never lost ground by inquiry, because she
is, most of all, reasonable.
721. Nor can that need another authority that is selfevident.
722. If my own reason be on the side of a principle,
with what can I dispute or withstand it?
723. And if men would once consider one another reasonably, they would either reconcile their differences, or
mantain them more amicably.
724. Let that, therefore, be the standard, that has most
to say for itself: though of that let every man be judge for
himself.
725. Reason, like the sun, is common to all: and it is
for want of examining all by the same light and measure,
that we are not all of the same mind: for all have it to
that end, though all do not use it so.
OF FORMALITY.
726. Form is good, but not formality.
727. In the use of the best of forms there is too much
of that I fear.
728. It is absolutely necessary, that this distinction
should go along with people in their devotion; for too many
are apter to rest upon what they do, than how they do their
duty.
729. If it were considered, that it is the frame of the
mind that gives our performances acceptance, we would
lay more stress on our inward preparation than our outward action.
OF THE MEAN NOTIONS WE HAVE OF GOD.
730. Nothing more shows the low condition man is
fallen into, than the unsuitable notion we must have of
God, by the ways we take to please him.
731. As if it availed any thing to him, that we per.
formed so many ceremonies and external forms of devotion;
who never meant more by them than to try our obedience
and through them, to show us something more excellent
and durable beyond them.
732. Doing, while we are undoing, is good for nothing.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                89
733. Of what benefit is it to say our prayers regularly,
go to church, receive the sacrament, and, may be, go to
confessions too; aye, feast the priest, and give alms to the
poor; and yet lie, swear, curse, be drunk covetous, unclean, proud, revengeful, vain, or idle, at the same time.
734. Can one excuse or balance the other? Or will
God think himself well served, where his law is violated?
Or well used where there is so much more show than substance?
735. It is a most dangerous error, for a man to think to
excuse himself in the breach of a moral duty, by a formal
performance of positive worship; and less, when of human
invention.
736. Our blessed Saviour most rightly and clearly distinguished and determined this case, when he told the Jews,
"That they were his mother, his brethren, and sisters,
who did the will of his Father."
OF THE BENEFIT OF JUSTICE.
737. Justice is a great support of society, because an
insurance to all men of their property: this violated, there
is no security; which throws all into confusion to recover
it.
738. An honest man is a fast pledge in dealing. A man
is sure to have it, if it be to be had.
739. Many are so, merely of necessity; others not so
only for the same reason; but such an honest man is not
to be thanked; and such a dishonest man is to be pitied.
740. But he that is dishonest for gain, is next to a rob.
ber, and to be punished for example.
741. And, indeed, there are few dealers but what are
faulty; which makes trade difficult, and a great temptation
to men of virtue.
742. It is not what they should, but what they can get:
faults or decays must be concealed, big words given where
they are not deserved, and the ignorance or necessity of
the buyer imposed upon, for unjust profit.
743. These are the men that keep their words for their
own ends; and are only just for fear of the magistrate.
744. A politic rather than a moral honesty; a con8*




90              REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
strained, not a chosen justice; according to the proverb,'Patience perforce, and thank you for nothing.'
745. But of all injustice, that is the greatest that passes
under the name of law. A cut-purse in Westminster Hall
exceeds; for that advances injustice to oppression, where
law is alleged for that which it should punish.
OF JEALOUSY.
746. The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.
747. Jealousy is a kind of civil war in the soul, where
judgment and imagination are at perpetual jars.
748. This civil dissension in the mind, like that of the
body politic, commits great disorders, and lays all waste.
749. Nothing stands safe in its way: nature, interest,
religion, must yield to its fury.
750. It violates contracts, dissolves society, breaks wedlock, betrays friends and neighbors: no body is good, and
every one is either doing or designing them a mischief.
751. It has a venom that more or less rankles whereever it bites: and as it reports fancies for facts, so it disturbs its own house, as often as other folks.
752. Its rise is guilt or ill-nature; and by reflection it
thinks its own faults to be other men's; as he that is overrun with the jaundice takes others to be yellow.
753. A jealous man only sees his own spectrum when
he-looks upon other men, and gives his character in theirs.
OF STATE.
754. I love service, but not state: one is useful, the
other superfluous.
755. The trouble of this, as well as charge, is real; but
the advantage only imaginary.
756. Besides, it helps to set us up above ourselves, and
augments our temptation to disorder.
757. The least thing out of joint, or omitted, makes us
uneasy; and we are ready to think ourselves ill served
about that which is of no real service at all; or so much
better than other men, as we have the means of greater
state.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                  91
758. But this is all for want of wisdom, which carries
the truest and most forcible state along with it.
759. He-that makes not himself cheap by indiscreet conversation, puts value enough upon himself every where.
760. The other is rather pageantry than state.
OF A GOOD SERVANT.
761. A true, and a good servant, are the same thing.
762. But no servant is true to his master that defrauds
him.
76:3. Now there are many ways of defrauding a master,
as, of time, care, pains, respect, and reputation, as well as
money.
764. He that neglects his work, robs his master, since
he is fed and paid as if he did his best: and he that is not
as diligent in the absence as in the presence of his master,
cannot be a true servant.
765. Nor is he a true servant that buys dear to share
in the profit with the seller.
766. Nor yet he that tells tales without doors; or deals
basely, in his master's name, with other people; or connives at other's loiterings, wastings, or dishonorable reflections.
767. So that a true servant is diligent, secret, and respectful; more tender of his master's honor and interest,
than of his own profit.
768. Such a servant deserves well; and, if modest under
his merit, should liberally feel it at his master's hand.
OF AN IMMODERATE PURSUIT OF THE WORLD.
769. It shows a depraved state of mind, to cark and
care for that which one does not need.
770. Some are as eager to be rich, as ever they were to
live; for superfluity, as for subsistence.
771. But that plenty should augment covetousness, is a
perversion of providence; and yet the generality are the
worse for their riches.
772. But it is strange that old men should excel; for
generally money lies nearest them, that are the nearest
their graves; as if they would augment their love, in proa




92             REFLECTIONS AND. MAXIMS
portion to the little time they have left to enjoy it: and yet
their pleasure is without enjoyment, since none enjoy what
they do not use.
773. So that instead of learning to leave their great
wealth easily, they hold it the faster, because they must
leave it: so sordid is the temper of some men.
774. Where charity keeps pace with gain, industry is
blessed: but to slave to get, and keep it sordidly, is a sin,
against providence, a vice in government, and an injury to
their neighbors.
775. Such as they, spend not one fifth of their income;
and, it may be, give not one tenth of what they spend to
the needy.
776. This is the worst sort of idolatry, because there
can be no religion in it, nor ignorance pleaded in excuse
of it; and that it wrongs other folks that ought to share
therein.
OF THE INTEREST OF THE PUBLIC IN OUR
ESTATES.
777. Hardly any thing is given us for ourselves, but the
public may claim a share with us. But of all we call ours,
we are most accountable to God, and the public, for our
estates: in this we are but stewards: and to hoard up all
to ourselves is great injustice, as well as ingratitude.
778. If all men were so far tenants to the public, that
the superfluities of gain and expense were applied to the
exigences thereof, it would put an end to taxes, leave not
a beggar, and make the greatest bank for national trade in
Eu rope.
779. It is a judgment upon us, as well as weakness,
though we will not see it, to begin at the wrong end.
780. If the taxes we give are not to maintain pride, I am
sure there would be less, if pride were made a tax to the
government.
781. I confess I have wondered that so many lawful
and useful things are exercised by laws, and pride left to
reign free over them and the public.
782. But, since people are more afraid of the laws of
man than of God, because their punishment seemns to be




or WILLIAM PENN.                93
nearest, I know not how magistrates can be excused in
their suffering such excess with impunity.
783. Our noble English patriarchs as well as patriots,
were so sensible of this evil, that they made several excellent laws, commonly called sumptuary, to forbid, at least
limit, the pride of the people; and, because the execution
of them would be our interest and honor, their neglect must
be our just reproach and loss.
784. It is but reasonable that the punishment of pride
and excess should help to support the government; since
it must otherwise inevitably be ruined by them.
785. But some say,' It ruins trade, and will make the
poor burdensome to the public:' but if such trade, in consequence, ruins the kingdom, is it not time to ruin that
trade?  Is moderation no part of our duty; and is temperance an enemy to government.
786. He is a Judas, that will get money by any thing.
787. To wink at a trade that effeminates the people, and
invades the ancient discipline of the kingdom, is a crime
capital, and to be severely punished, instead of being ex.
cused by the magistrate.
788. Is there no better employment for the poor than
luxury? Miserable nation!
789. What did they before they fell into these forbidden
methods?  Is there not land enough in England to culti.
vate, and more and better manufactories to be made?
790. Have we no room for them in our plantations, about
things that may augment trade, without luxury?
791. In short, let pride pay, and excess be well excised;
and if that will not cure the people, it will help to keep
the kinadom.
THE VAIN MAN..792. But a vain man is a nauseous creature: he is sc
full of himself, that he has no room for anything else, be
it ever so good or deserving.
793. It is I, at every turn, that does this, or can do that,
And as he abounds in his comparisons, so he is sure to give
himself the better of every body else: according. to the
proverb,' All his geese are swans.'




94            1nRrLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
794. They are certainly to be pitied that can be so much
mistaken at home.
795. And yet I have sometimes thought, that such people are, in a sort, happy, that nothing can put out of countenance with themselves, though they neither have nor
merit other people's.
796. But, at the same time, one would wonder they
should not feel the blows they give themselves, or get from
others, for this intolerable and ridiculous temper; nor show
any concern at that, which makes others blush for, as well
as at them; viz. their unreasonable assurance.
797. To be a man's own fool is bad enough; but the
vain man is every body's.
798. This silly disposition comes of a mixture of igno.
rance, confidence and pride; -and as there is more or less
of the last, so it is more or less offensive, or entertaining.
799. And yet, perhaps the worst part of this vanity is
its unteachableness. Tell it any thing, and it has known
it long ago; and outruns information and instruction, or
else proudly puffs at it.
800. Whereas the greatest understandings doubt most,
are readiest to learn, and least pleased with themselves;
this, with nobody else.
801. For though they stand on higher ground, and so
see farther than their neighbors, they are yet humbled by
their prospect, since it shows them something so much
higher, and above their reach.
802. And truly then it is that sense shines with the
greatest beauty, when it is set in humility.
803. An humble able man is a jewel worth a kingdom;
it is often saved by him, as Solomon's poor wise man did
the city.
804. May we have more of them or less need of them.
THE CONFORMIST.
805. It is reasonable to concur, where conscience does
not forbid compliance; for conformity is at least a civil
virtue.
806. But we should only press it in necessaries; the
rest may prove a snare or temptation to break society.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                95
807. But, above all, it is a weakness in religion and
government, where it is carried to things of an indifferent
nature;. since, besides that it makes way for scruples,
liberty is always the price of it.
808. Such conformists have little to boast of, and,
therefore, the less reason to reproach others that have more
latitude.
809. And yet the latitudinarian that I love, is one that
is only so in charity: for the freedom I recommend is no
skepticism in judgment, and much less so in practice.
THE OBLIGATIONS OF GREAT MEN TO AL.IIGMt'I'G
GOD.
810. It seems but reasonable that those whom God has
distinguished from others by his goodness, should distinguish themselves to him by'their gratitude.
811. For though he has made of one blood all nations,
he has not ranged or dignified them upon the level, but in
a sort of subordination and dependency.
812. If we look upwards, we find it in the heavens,
where the planets have their several degrees of glory; and
so the other stars, of magnitude and lustre.
813. If we look upon the earth, we see it among the
trees of the wood, from the cedar to the bramble; among
the fishes, from  the leviathan to the sprat; in the air,
among the birds, from the eagle to the sparrow; among
the beasts, from the lion to the cat; and among mankind,
from the king to the scavenger.
814. Our great men, doubtless, were designed, by the
wise framer of the world, for our religious, moral, and
politic planets; for lights and directions to the lower ranks
of the numerous company of their own kind, both in precepts and examples; and they are well paid for their pains
too, who have the honor and service of their fellow creatures, and the marrow and fat of the earth for their share.
815. But is it not a most unaccountable folly, that men
should be proud of the providences that should humble
them? or think the better of themselves, instead of him
who raised them so much above the level; or of being so
in their lives, in return for his extraordinary favors?




96             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
816. But it is but too near akin to us, to think no further
than ourselves either in the acquisition, or use, of our wealth
and greatness: when, alas! they are the preferments of
Heaven, to try our wisdom, bounty and gratitude.
817. It is a dangerous perversion of the end of providence, to consume the time, power, and wealth, he has
given us above other men, to gratify our sordid passions,
instead of playing the good stewards, to the honor of our
great benefactor, and the good of our fellow creatures.
818. But it is an injustice too; since those higher ranks
of men are but the trustees of Heaven, for the benefit of
lesser mortals: who as minors, are entitled to all their care
and provision.
819. For though God has dignified some men above
their brethren, it never was to serve their pleasures; but
that they might take pleasure to serve the public.
820. For this cause, doubtless, it was that they were
raised above necessity, or any trouble to live, that they
might have more time and ability to care for others: and
it is certain, where that use is not made of the bounties of
providence, they are embezzled and wasted.
821. It has often struck me with a serious reflection,
when I have observed the great inequality of the world;
that one man should have such numbers of his fellow
creatures to wait upon him, who have souls to be saved as
well as he; and this not for business, but state. Certainly a
poor employment of his money, and a worse of their time.
822. But that any one man should make work for so
many, or rather keep them from work to make up a train,
has a levity of luxury in it very reprovable, both in religion and government.
823. But even in allowable services, it has an humbling
consideration, and what should raise the thankfulness of
the great mnen to him who so much bettered their circum.
stances; and moderate the use of their dominion over those
of their own kind.
824. When the poor Indians hear us call any of our
family by the name of servants, they cry out,' What! call
brethren servants! we call our dogs servants, but never
men.' The moral certainly can do us no harm, but may




OF WILLIAM PENN.                97
instruct us to abate our height and narrow our state and
attendance.
825. And what has been said of their excess may, in
some measure, be applied to other branches of luxury, that
set ill examples to the lesser world, and rob the needy of
their pensions..826. God Almighty touch the hearts of our grandees
with a sense of his distinguished goodness, and the true
end of it; that they may better distinguish themselves in
their conduct, to the glory of Him that has thus liberally
preferred them, and to the benefit of their fellow creatures I
OF REFINING UPON OTHER MEN' S ACTIONS OR
INTERESTS.
827. This seems to be the master piece of our politicians; but no body shoots more at randon than those refiners.
828. A perfect lottery, and mere hazard! since the true
spring of the actions of men is as invisible as their hearts;
and so are the thoughts too, of their several interests.
829. He that judges of other men by himself, does not
always hit the mark: because all men have not the same
capacity, nor passions in interest.
830. If an able man refines upon the proceedings of an
ordinary capacity, according to his own, he must ever
miss it: but much more the ordinary man, when he shall
pretend to speculate the motives to the able man's actions;
for the able man deceives himself by making the other
wiser than he is in the reason of his conduct; and the
ordinary man makes himself so, in presuming to judge of
the reasons of the abler man's actions.
831. It is, in short, a word, a maze; and of nothing
are we more uncertain, nor in any thing do we oftener
befool ourselves.
832. The mischiefs are many that follow this humor,
and dangerous: for men misguide themselves, act upon
false measures, and meet frequently with mischievous disappointments.
833. It excludes all confidence in commerce, allows of
no such thing as a principle in practice; supposes every
9




98             REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS
man to act upon other reasons that what appear; and that
there is no such thing as uprightness or sincerity among
mankind: a trick, instead of truth.
834. Neither allowing nature, or religion, but some
worldly turn or advantage, to be the true, the hidden motive
of all men.
835. It is hard to express its uncharitableness, as well
as uncertainty; and has more of vanity than benefit in it.
836. This foolish quality gives a large field; but let
what I have said serve, for this time.
OF CHARITY.
837. Charity has various senses, but is excellent in all
of them.
838. It imparts, first, the commiseration of-the poor and
unhappy of mankind, and extends a helping hand to mend
their condition.
839. They that feel nothing of this are, at best, not
above half of kin to the human race; since they must have
no bowels, which make such an essential part thereof, who
have no more nature.
840. A man! and yet not have the feeling of the wants
or needs of his own flesh and blood! a monster rather! and
may he never be suffered to propagate such an unnatural
stock in the world!
841. Such an uncharitableness spoils the best gains;
and two to one but it entails a curse upon the possessors.
842. Nor can we expect to be heard of God in our
prayers, that turn the deaf ear to the petitions of the distressed among our fellow creatures.
843. God sends the poor to try us; as well as he tries
them by being such: and he that refuses them a little, out
of the great deal that God has given him, lays up poverty
in store for his own posterity.
844. I will not say these works are meritorious, but I
dare say they are acceptable, and go not without their
reward; though, to humble us in our fullness, and liberality too, we only give what is given us to give, as well
as to use: for if we ourselves are not our own, less is that
so which God has intrusted us with.




OF WILLIAM PENN.                 99
845. Next, charity makes the best construction of things
and persons; and is so far from being an evil spy, a backbiter, or a detractor, that it excuses weakness, extenuates
miscarriages, makes the best of every thing, forgives every
body, serves all, and hopes to the end.
846. It moderates extremes, is always for expedients,
labors to accommodate differences, and had rather suffer
than revenge; and is so far from exacting the utmost
farthing, that it had rather lose, than seek its own violently.
847. As it acts freely, so zealously too; but it is always
to do good, for it hurts nobody..848. An universal enemy against discord, and a holy
cement for mankind.
849. And lastly, it is love to God and the brethren,
which raises the soul above all worldly considerations;
and as it gives a taste of heaven upon earth, so it is heaven,
in the fullness of it, to the truly charitable here.
850. This is the noblest sense charity has:' after which
all should press, as that " more excellent way."
851. Nay, most excellent; for as  faith, hope, and
charity, were the more excellent way that the great apostle
discovered to the Christians; (too apt to stick in outward
gifts and church performances) so, of that better way, he
preferred charity as the best part, because it would outlast
the rest and abide forever.
852. Wherefore a man can never be a true anl good
Christian without charity, even in the lowest sense of it;
and yet he may have that part thereof, and still be none
of the apostle's true Christian: since he tells us, "' That
though we should give all our goods to the poor, and want
charity, (in her other and higher senses) it would profit us
nothing."
853. Nay, "Though we had all tongues, all knowledge,
and even gifts of prophecy, and were preachers to others,
aye, and had zeal enough to give our bodies to be burned;
yet if we wanted charity, it would not avail us for salvation.
854. It seems it was his (and indeed ought to be our)
"Unurn necessarium," or the " One thing needful;" which
our Saviour attributed to Mary, in preference to her sister




100            REFLECTIONS AND MAXIMS, &C.
Martha, that seems not to have wanted the lesser parts of
charity.
855. Would to God this divine virtue were more implanted and diffused among mankind, the pretenders to
Christianity especially; and we should certainly mind
piety more than controversy; and exercise love and compassion, instead of censuring and persecuting one another,
in any manner whatsoever.




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