might not discourage me, and make me faint. When the meeting was ended, the Friends of the town taking notice that I was the man who had been at their meeting the week before, whom they then did not know, some of them came and spake lovingly to me, and would have had me stayed with them, but Edward Burrough going home with Isaac Penington. he invited me to go back with him, to which I willingly consented. For the love I had more particularly to Edward Burrough, through whose ministry I had received the first awakening stroke, drew me to desire his company; and so away we rode together.

Yet I was somewhat disappointed of my expectation; for I hoped he would have given me both opportunity and encouragement to have opened myself to him, and to have poured forth my complaints, fears, doubts, and questionings into his bosom. But he, being sensible that I was truly reached, and that the witness of God was raised, and the work of God rightly begun in me, chose to leave me to the guidance of the Good Spirit in myself, the Counsellor that could resolve all doubts, that I might not have any dependence on man. Wherefore, although he was naturally of an open and free temper and carriage, and was afterwards always very familiar and affectionately kind to me, yet at this time he kept himself somewhat reserved, and shewed only common kindness to me.

Next day we parted, he for London, I home, under a very great weight and exercise upon my spirit. For I now saw, in and by the farther openings of the divine Light in me, that the Enemy by his false reasonings

had beguiled and misled me, with respect to my carriage towards my father. For I now clearly saw, that the honour due to parents did not consist in uncovering the head, and bowing the body to them, but in a ready obedience to their lawful commands, and in performing all needful services unto them. Wherefore, as I was greatly troubled for what I already had done in that case, though it was through ignorance, so I plainly felt I could no longer continue therein, without drawing on myself the guilt of wilful disobedience, which I well knew would draw after it divine displeasure and judgment.

myself into of

towards me; But over this

Hereupon the Enemy assaulted me afresh, setting before me the danger I should run provoking my father to use severity and perhaps to casting me utterly off. temptation the Lord, unto whom I cried, supported me, and gave me faith to believe that he would bear me through whatever might befall me on that account. Wherefore I resolved, in the strength which he should give me, to be faithful to his requirings, whatever might come of it.

Thus labouring under various exercises on the way, I at length got home, expecting I should have but a rough reception from my father. But when I came home, I understood my father was from home. Wherefore I sat down by the fire in the kitchen, keeping my mind retired to the Lord, with breathings of spirit to him, that I might be preserved from falling. After some time I heard the coach drive in, which put me into a little fear; and a sort of shivering came over me. But

by the time he was alighted and come in, I had pretty well recovered myself; and as soon as I saw him, I rose up, and advanced a step or two, with my head covered, and said, Isaac Penington and his wife remember their

loves to thee."

He made a stop to hear what I said, and observing that I did not stand bare, and that I used the word Thee to him, he, with a stern countenance, and tone that spake high displeasure, only said, "I shall talk with you, Sir, another time;" and so hastening from me went into the parlour, and I saw him no more that night.

Though I foresaw there was a storm arising, the apprehension of which was uneasy to me, yet the peace which I felt in my own breast raised in me a return of thanksgivings to the Lord, for his gracious supporting hand, which had thus far carried me through this exercise; with humble cries in spirit to him, that he would vouchsafe to stand by me in it to the end, and uphold me, that I might not fall.

CHAPTER II.

1659-1660.

My spirit longed to be among Friends, and to be at some meeting with them on the first day, which now drew on, this being the sixth day night. Wherefore I purposed to go to Oxford on the morrow, which was the seventh day of the week, having heard there was a meeting there. Accordingly, having ordered my horse to be made ready betimes, I got up in the morning and made myself ready also. Yet before I would go, that I might be as observant to my father as possibly I could, I desired my sister to go up to him in his chamber, and acquaint him, that I had a mind to go to Oxford, and desired to know if he pleased to command me any service there. He bid her tell me, he would not have me go till he had spoken with me; and getting up immediately, he hastened down to me before he was quite dressed.

As soon as he saw me standing with my hat on, his passion transporting him, he fell upon me with both his fists; and having by that means somewhat vented his anger, he plucked off my hat, and threw it away. Then stepping hastily out to the stable, and seeing my borrowed nag stand ready saddled and bridled, he asked

his man whence that horse came; who telling him he fetched it from Mr. Then ride him presently back," said my father, "and tell Mr. - I desire he will never lend my son an horse again, unless he brings a note from me."

The poor fellow, who loved me well, would fain have made excuses and delays; but my father was positive in his command, and so urgent, that he would not let him stay so much as to take his breakfast, though he had five miles to ride, nor would he himself stir from the stable, till he had seen the man mounted and gone. Then coming in, he went up into his chamber to make himself more fully ready, thinking he had me safe enough now my horse was gone; for I took so much delight in riding, that I seldom went on foot.

But while he was dressing himself in his chamber, I, who understood what had been done, changing my boots for shoes, took another hat, and acquainting my sister, who loved me very well, and whom I could confide in, whither I meant to go, went out privately, and walked away to Wycombe, having seven long miles thither, which yet seemed little and easy to me, from the desire I had to be among Friends.

As thus I travelled all alone, under a load of grief, from the sense I had of the opposition and hardship I was to expect from my father, the Enemy took advantage to assault me again, casting a doubt into my mind, whether I had done well in thus coming away from my father, without his leave or knowledge.

I was quiet and peaceable in my spirit before this