family, rendered my undertaking more satisfactory, and my stay there more easy to me.

But, alas! not many days (not to say weeks) had I been there, ere we were almost overwhelmed with sorrow, for the unexpected loss of Edward Burrough, who was justly very dear to us all. This not only good but great good man, by a long and close confinement in Newgate, through the cruel malice and malicious cruelty of Richard Brown, was taken away by hasty death, on the 14th of 12th month, 1662; to the unutterable grief of very many, and unspeakable loss to the church of Christ in general.

CHAPTER V.

1663 1667.

I went on in my new province, instructing my little pupils in the rudiments of the Latin tongue, to the mutual satisfaction of both their parents and myself. As soon as I had gotten a little money in my pocket, which as a premium without compact I received from them, I took the first opportunity to return to my friend William Penington the money which he had so kindly furnished me with in my need, at the time of my imprisonment in Bridewell, with a due acknowledgment of my obligation to him for it. He was not at all forward to receive it, so that I was fain to press it upon him.

While thus I remained in this family, various suspicions arose in the minds of some concerning me, with respect to Mary Penington's fair daughter Guli. For having now arrived to a marriageable age, and being in all respects a very desirable woman, whether regard was had to her outward person, which wanted nothing to render her completely comely, or to the endowments of her mind, which were every way extraordinary, and highly obliging; or to her outward fortune, which was fair, and which with some hath not the last, nor the least place in consideration, she was openly and secretly

sought and solicited by many, and some of them almost of every rank and condition; good and bad, rich and poor, friend and foe. To whom in their respective turns, till he at length came for whom she was reserved, she carried herself with so much evenness of temper, such courteous freedom, guarded with the strictest modesty, that, as it gave encouragement or ground of hopes to none, so neither did it administer any matter of offence or just cause of complaint to any. But such as were thus either engaged for themselves, or desirous to make themselves advocates for others, could not, I observed, but look upon me with an eye of jealousy and fear, that I would improve the opportunities I had, by frequent and familiar conversation with her, to my own advantage, in working myself into her good opinion and favour, to the ruin of their pretences.

According therefore to the several kinds and degrees of their fears of me, they suggested to her parents their ill surmises against me. Some stuck not to question the sincerity of my intentions in coming at first among the Quakers; urging with a Why may it not be so? that the desire and hopes of obtaining by that means so fair a fortune, might be the prime and chief inducement to me to thrust myself amongst that people. But this surmise could find no place with those worthy friends of mine, her father-in-law and her mother, who, besides the clear sense and sound judgment they had in themselves, knew very well upon what terms I came among them; how strait and hard the passage was to me; how contrary to all worldly interest, which lay fair

another way; how much I had suffered from my father for it; and how regardless I had been of attempting or seeking anything of that nature, in these three or four years that I had been amongst them.

Some others, measuring me by the propensity of their own inclinations, concluded I would steal her, run away with her, and marry her. Which they thought I might be the more easily induced to do, from the advantageous opportunities I frequently had of riding and walking abroad with her, by night as well as by day, without any other company than her maid. For so great indeed was the confidence that her mother had in me, that she thought her daughter safe if I was with her, even from the plots and designs that others had upon her. And so honourable were the thoughts she entertained concerning me, as would not suffer her to admit a suspicion, that I could be capable of so much baseness, as to betray the trust she with so great freedom reposed in me.

I was not ignorant of the various fears which filled the jealous heads of some concerning me; neither was I so stupid, nor so divested of all humanity, as not to be sensible of the real and innate worth and virtue which adorned that excellent dame, and attracted the eyes and hearts of so many, with the greatest importunity to seek and solicit her. But the force of truth, and sense of honour, suppressed whatever would have risen beyond the bounds of fair and virtuous friendship. For I easily foresaw, that if I should have attempted anything in a dishonourable way, by force or fraud upon her, I should have thereby brought a wound upon mine own soul,

a foul scandal upon my religious profession, and an infamous stain upon mine honour; either of which was far more dear unto me than my life. Wherefore, having observed how some others had befooled themselves, by misconstruing her common kindness, expressed in an innocent, open, free, and familiar conversation, springing from the abundant affability, courtesy, and sweetness of her natural temper, to be the effect of a singular regard and peculiar affection to them, I resolved to shun the rock on which I had seen so many run and split; and remembered that saying of the poet,

Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum.

Happy's he,

Whom others dangers wary make to be.

I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage towards her, that I thereby both preserved a fair reputation with my friends, and enjoyed as much of her favour and kindness, in a virtuous and firm friendship, as was fit for her to shew, or for me to seek.

Thus leading a quiet and contented life, I had leisure sometimes to write a copy of verses, on one occasion or another, as the poetic vein naturally opened, without taking pains to polish them.

About this time my father, resolving to sell his estate, and having reserved for his own use such parts of his household goods as he thought fit, not willing to take upon himself the trouble of selling the rest, gave them Whereupon I went down to Crowell, and

unto me.