tock Shelter under fome Bufh, which he knew 1657. where to find, though I did not. Mean while the Coachman, who had fufficiently the Outfide of a Man, excus'd himself from intermedling, under Pretence that he durft not leave his Horfes, and fo left me to shift for myself. And I was gone fo far beyond my Knowledge, that I understood not which Way I was to go, till by hollowing, and being hollowed to again, I was directed where to find my Company.

We had eafy Means to have found out who thefe Men were (the principal of them having been in the Day-time at the Inn, and both quarrelled with the Coachman, and threatned to be even with him when he went back ;) but fince they came off no better in their Attempt, my Father thought it better not to know them, than to oblige himself to a Prosecution of them.

At that Time, and for a good while after, I had no Regret upon my Mind for what I had done, and defigned to have done, in this Cafe; but went on, in a fort of Bravery, refolving to kill, if I could, any Man that should make the like Attempt, or put any Affront upon us; and for that Reafon, feldom went afterwards upon those publick Services, without a loaded Pistol in my Pocket. But when it pleased the Lord, in His infinite Goodness, to call me out of the Spirit and Ways of the World, and give me the Knowledge of His faving Truth, whereby the Actions of my fore-paft Life were fet in Order before me; a fort of Horror feized on me, when I confidered how near I had been to

the

1657. the ftaining of my Hands with human Blood. And whenfoever afterwards I went that Way, and indeed as often fince as the Matter has come into my Remembrance, my Soul has bleffed the Lord for my Deliverance, and Thanksgivings and Praises have arifen in my Heart (as now, at the relating of it, they do) to Him who preferved and with-held me from shedding Man's Blood. Which is the Reason, for which I have given this Account of that Action, that others may be warned by it.

1658.

About this Time my dear and honoured Mother, who was indeed a Woman of fingular Worth and Virtue, departed this Life, having a little before heard of the Death of her eldest Son; who (falling under the Displeasure of my Father, for refufing to refign his Intereft in an Eftate which my Father fold, and thereupon defiring that he might have Leave to travel, in hopes that Time and Abfence might work a Reconciliation) went into Ireland with a Perfon powerful there in thofe Times, by whofe Means he was quickly preferred to a Place of Truft and Profit, but lived not long to enjoy it.

I mentioned before, that during my Father's Abode in London, in the Time of the Civil Wars, he contracted a Friendship with the Lady Springett, then a Widow, and afterwards married to Ifaac Penington, Efq; to continue which, he fometimes vifited them at their Country Lodgings, as at Datchet, and at Caufham Lodge near Reading. And having heard, that they were come to live upon their own Eftate at Chalfont

in

in Buckinghamshire, about fifteen Miles from 1659. Crowell, he went one Day to vifit them there, d and to return at Night, taking me with him.

But very much furprized we were, when, being come thither, we first heard, then found, they were become Quakers; a People we had no Knowledge of, and a Name we had, till then, fcarce heard of.

So great a Change from a free, debonair and courtly fort of Behaviour, which we formerly had found them in, to so strict a Gravity as they now received us with, did not a little amufe us, and disappoint our Expectation of fuch a pleasant Vifit as we used to have, and had now promifed ourselves. Nor could my Father have any Opportunity, by a private Conference with them, to understand the Ground or Occafion of this Change, there being fome other Strangers with them (related to Ifaac Penington) who came that Morning from London to vifit them alfo.

For my part I fought, and at length found Means to caft myself into the Company of the Daughter, whom I found gathering fome Flowers in the Garden, attended by her Maid who was also a Quaker. But when I addreffed myself to her after my accuftomed Manner, with Intention to engage her in fome Discourse, which might introduce Converfation, on the Foot of our former Acquaintance; though she treated me with a courteous Mein, yet, as young as he was, the Gravity of her Look and Behaviour ftruck fuch an Awe upon me,

that

1659. that I found myfelf not fo much Mafter of myself, as to purfue any further Converfe with her. Wherefore afking Pardon for my Boldness, in having intruded myself into her private Walks, I withdrew, not without fome Disorder (as I thought at least) of Mind.

We ftaid Dinner, which was very handsome, and lacked nothing to recommend it to me, but the want of Mirth and pleasant Difcourfe, which we could neither have with them, nor, by reafon of them, with one another amongst ourfelves; the Weightiness that was upon their Spirits and Countenances, keeping down the Lightness that would have been up in us. We ftaid notwithstanding till the reft of the Company took Leave of them, and then we alfo, doing the fame, returned, not greatly fatisfied with our Journey, nor knowing what in ticular to find Fault with.

par

Yet this good Effect that Vifit had upon my Father, who was then in the Commiffion for the Peace, that it difpofed him to a more favourable Opinion of, and Carriage towards those People when they came in his Way; as not long after one of them did. For a young Man, who lived in Buckinghamshire, came on a Firstday to the Church (fo called) at a Town called Chinner, a Mile from Crowell, having it seems, a Preffure on his Mind to fay fomething to the Minister of that Parish. He being an Acquaintance of mine, drew me fometimes to hear him, as it did then. The young Man stood in the Ile before the Pulpit, all the Time of the

Sermon,

Sermon, not speaking a Word till the Sermon 1659. and Prayer after it was ended; and then spake a few Words to the Prieft. Of which, all that I could hear was, That the Prayer of the Wicked is Abomination to the Lord; and that God heareth not Sinners.

Somewhat more, I think, he did fay, which I could not diftinctly hear for the Noife the People made; and more probably he would have faid, had he not been interrupted by the Officers who took him into Cuftody, and led him out in order to carry him before my Father.

When I understood that, I haftened home, that I might give my Father a fair Account of the Matter before they came. I told him the young Man behaved himself quietly and peaceably, fpake not a Word till the Minifter had quite done his Service; and that what he then fpake was but fhort, and was delivered without Paffion or ill Language. This I knew would furnish my Father with a fair Ground, whereon to discharge the Man if he would.

And accordingly when they came, and made an high Complaint against the Man (who faid little for himself) my Father having examined the Officers who brought him, what the Words that he spake were? (which they did not well agree in) and at what Time he spake them? (which they all agreed to be after the Minifter had done) and then, whether he gave the Minifter any reviling Language, or endeavoured to raise a Tumult among the People? (which

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