zen years old; but for his dexterity at pocket- from one prison to another, from Newgate to picking, was held to be one of the top of the Bridewell,What,' said they, without a trade. As for the budge, I had it given me keeper?' 'No,' said we, for our word which often in the street, but understood not the we have given, is our keeper.' Some there. meaning of it till now; and now I found it upon would advise us not to go to prison, but was a jostle enough to throw one almost upon to go home. But we told them, we could not his nose. do so; we could suffer for our testimony, but could not fly from it. I do not remember we had any abuse offered us, but were generally pitied by the people.

These are some of the common evils which make the common side of Newgate in measure a type of hell upon earth. But there was at that time, something of another nature, more particular and accidental, which was very offensive to me.

When we were come to Bridewell, we were not put up into the great room in which we had been before, but into a low room in an other fair court, which had a pump in the middle of it. And here we were not shut up as before, but had the liberty of the court to walk in, and of the pump to wash or drink at. And indeed we might easily have gone quite away if we would, there being a pas sage through the court into the street; but we were true and steady prisoners, and looked upon this liberty, arising from their confidence in us, to be a kind of parole upon us; so that both conscience and honour stood now engaged for our true imprisonment.

and

When we came first into Newgate, there lay in a little by-place like a closet, near the room where we were lodged, the quartered bodies of three men, who had been executed some days before, for a real or pretended plot; which was the ground, or at least pretext, for that storm in the city, which had caused this imprisonment. The names of these three men were Philips, Tongue, and Gibs; and the reason why their quarters lay so long there was, the relations were all that while petitioning to have leave to bury them; which at length with much ado was obtained for the Adjoining to this room wherein we were, quarters, but not for the heads, which were was such another, both newly fitted up for ordered to be set up in some parts of the city. work-houses, and accordingly furnished with I saw the heads when they were brought very great blocks for beating hemp upon, up to be boiled. The hangman fetched them a lusty whipping-post there was in each. And in a dirty dust basket, out of some by-place, it was said, that Richard Brown had ordered and setting them down amongst the felons, he those blocks to be provided for the Quakers and they made sport with them. They took to work on, resolving to try his strength with them by the hair, flouting, jeering and laugh- us in that case; but if that was his purpose, ing at them; and then giving them some ill it was over-ruled, for we never had any work names, boxed them on the ears and cheeks. offered us, nor were we treated after the manWhich done, the hangman put them into his ner of those that are to be so used. Yet we kettle, and parboiled them with bay salt and set ourselves to work on them; for being very cummin seed; that to keep them from putre-large, they served the tailors for shop-boards, faction, and this to keep off the fowls from seizing on them. The whole sight, as well that of the bloody quarters first, as this of the heads afterwards, was both frightful and loathsome, and begat an abhorrence in my nature. Which as it had rendered my confinement there by much the more uneasy, so it made our removal from thence to Bridewell, even in that respect, the more welcome: whither we now go.

For having, as I hinted before, made up our packs, and taken our leave of our friends, whom we were to leave behind, we took our bundles on our shoulders, and walked two and two abreast, through the Old-bailey into Fleet street, and so to old Bridewell. And it being about the middle of the afternoon, and the streets pretty full of people, both the shopkeepers at their doors, and passengers in the way, would stop us, and ask us what we were, and whither we were going? And when we had told them we were prisoners, going

and others wrought upon them as they had occasion; and they served us very well for tables to eat on.

We had also besides this room, the use of our former chamber above, to go into when we thought fit; and thither sometimes I with drew, when I found a desire for retirement and privacy, or had something on my mind to write, which could not so well be done in company. And indeed, about this time my spirit was more than ordinarily exercised, though on very different subjects. For, on the one hand, the sense of the exceeding love and goodness of the Lord to me, in his gra cious and tender dealings with me, deeply af fected my heart, and caused me to break forth in a song of thanksgiving and praise to him: and on the other hand, a sense of the profane. ness, debaucheries, cruelties, and other horrid impieties of the age, fell heavy on me, and lay as a pressing weight upon my spirit.

In this sort did I spend some leisure hours

farewell of each other, we departed with bag and baggage. And I took care to return my hammock to the owner, with due acknowledgment of his great kindness in lending it me.

during my confinement in Bridewell, especially after our return from Newgate thither; when we had more liberty, and more opportunity and room for retirement and thought. And this privilege we enjoyed by the indulgence of our keeper, whose heart God disposed to favour us. So that both the master and his porter were very civil and kind to us, and had been so indeed all along. For when we were shut up before, the porter would readily let some of us go home in the evening, and stay at home till next morning; which was a great conveniency to men of trade and busi-Buckinghamshire, to visit my worthy friends ness, which I being free from, forbore asking for myself, that I might not hinder others.

This he observed, and asked me when I meant to ask to go out? I told him I had not much occasion or desire; yet at some time or other, perhaps I might have; but when I had, I would ask him but once, and if he then denied me, I would ask him no more.

Being now at liberty, I visited more generally my friends that were still in prison, and more particularly my friend and benefactor, William Penington, at his house, and then went to wait upon my master Milton. With whom yet I could not propose to enter upon my intermitted studies, until I had been in

Isaac Penington and his virtuous wife, with other Friends in that country.

Thither therefore I betook myself, and the weather being frosty, and the ways, by that means, clean and good, I walked it through in a day, and was received by my friends there with such demonstration of hearty kindness, as made my journey very easy to me.

ledgment of her husband's and her great care of me, and liberality to me in the time of my need. She would have had me kept it. But I begged her to accept it from me again, since it was the redundancy of their kindness, and the other part had answered the occasion for which it was sent and my importunity prevailed.

After we were come back from Newgate, I I had spent in my imprisonment that twenty had a desire to go thither again, to visit my shillings which I had received of William friends who were prisoners there, more espe- Penington; and twenty of the forty which cially my dear friend, and father in Christ, had been sent me from Mary Penington, and Edward Burrough, who was then a prisoner, had the remainder then about me. That therewith many Friends more, in that part of New-fore I now returned to her, with due acknowgate which was then called justice hall. Whereupon the porter coming in my way, I asked him to let me go out for an hour or two, to see some friends of mine that evening. He to enhance the kindness, made it a matter of some difficulty, and would have me stay till another night. I told him I would be at a word with him; for as I had told him before, that if he denied me, I would ask him no more; so he should find I would keep to it. He was no sooner gone out of my sight, but I espied his master crossing the court. Wherefore stepping to him, I asked him if he was willing to let me go out for a little while, to see some friends of mine that evening. 'Yes,' said he, 'very willing;' and thereupon away walked I to Newgate, where having spent the evening among Friends, I returned in good time.

Under this easy restraint we lay, till the court sat at the Old-bailey again; and then, whether it was that the heat of the storm was somewhat abated, or by what other means Providence wrought it, I know not; we were called to the bar, and without further question discharged.

Whereupon we returned to Bridewell again, and having raised some monies among us, and therewith gratified both the master and his porter for their kindness to us, we spent some time in a solemn meeting, to return our thankful acknowledgment to the Lord, both for his preservation of us in prison, and deliverance of us out of it; and then taking a solemn

I intended only a visit thither, not a continuance; and therefore purposed, after I had staid a few days, to return to my lodging and former course in London; but Providence ordered it otherwise.

Isaac Penington had at that time two sons and one daughter, all then very young; of whom the eldest son, John Penington, and the daughter, Mary, the wife of Daniel Wharley, are yet living at the writing of this. And being himself both skilful and curious in pronunciation, he was very desirous to have them well grounded in the rudiments of the English tongue-to which end he had sent for a man out of Lancashire, whom, upon inquiry, he had heard of, who was undoubtedly the most accurate English teacher that ever I met with, or have heard of. His name was Richard Bradley. But as he pretended no higher than the English tongue, and had led them, by grammar rules to the highest improvement they were capable of in that, he had then taken his leave of them, and was gone up to London to teach an English school of Friends' children there.

This put my friend to a fresh strait. He

had sought for a new teacher to instruct his by a long and close confinement in Newgate, children in the Latin tongue, as the old had through the cruel malice and malicious cruelty done in the English, but had not yet found of Richard Brown, was taken away by hasty one. Wherefore, one evening as we sat to-death, to the unutterable grief of very many, gether by the fire in his bed-chamber, which and unspeakable loss to the church of Christ for want of health he kept, he asked me, his in general. wife being by, if I would be so kind to him as to stay awhile with him, till he could hear of such a man as he aimed at; and in the mean time enter his children in the rudiments of the Latin tongue.

This question was not more unexpected than surprising to me; and the more, because it seemed directly to thwart my former purpose and undertaking, of endeavouring to improve myself by following my studies with my master Milton, which this would give at least a present diversion from, and for how long I could not foresee.

But the sense I had of the manifold obligations I lay under to these worthy Friends, shut out all reasonings, and disposed my mind to an absolute resignation to their desire, that I might testify my gratitude by a willingness to do them any friendly service that I could be capable of.

The particular obligation I had to him, ast the immediate instrument of my convincement, and high affection for him resulting therefrom, did so deeply affect my mind, that it was some pretty time before my passion could prevail to express itself in words; so true I found that of the tragedian,

Light griefs break forth, and easily get vent,
Great ones are through amazement closely pent.

1663.—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

And though I questioned my ability to carry on that work, to its due height and propor-obligation to him for it. He was not at all tion; yet as that was not proposed, but an ini- forward to receive it, so that I was fain to tiation only by accidence into grammar, I con- press it upon him. sented to the proposal, as a present expedient, till a more qualified person should be found, without further treaty or mention of terms between us, than that of mutual friendship. And to render this digression from my own studies the less uneasy to my mind, I recollected, and often thought of that rule in Lilly;

He that th' unlearned doth teach, may quickly be

More learn'd than they, though most

unlearned he.

While 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 she having now ar rived 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 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 With this consideration I undertook this least place in consideration,—she was openly province, and left it not until I married, which and secretly sought, and solicited by many, was not till the year 1669, nearly seven years and some of them almost of every rank and from the time I came thither. In which time, condition; good and bad, rich and poor, friend having the use of my friend's books, as well and foe. To whom, in their respective turns, as of mine own, I spent my leisure hours till he at length came, for whom she was remuch in reading, not without some improve- served-she carried herself with so much ment to myself in my private studies; which, evenness of temper, such courteous freedom, with the good success of my labours bestowed guarded with the strictest modesty, that as it on the children, and the agreeableness of con- gave encouragement or ground of hopes to versation which I found in the family, render-none, so neither did it administer any matter ed my undertaking more satisfactory, and my stay there more easy to me.

But, alas! not many days 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,

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 not it 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, 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 mehow 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 any thing of that nature, in these three or four years that I had been amongst them.

upon my religious profession, and an infamous stain upon my honour; either of which was far more dear to 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 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 show, or for me to seek.

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 to me. Whereupon I went down to Crowell, and having before given notice there and thereabouts, that I intended a public sale of Some others, measuring me by the propen- them, I sold them, and thereby put some mosity of their own inclinations, concluded Iney into my pocket. Yet I sold such things would steal her, run away with her, and mar- only as I judged useful; leaving the pictures ry her. Which they thought I might be the and armour, of which there was some store more easily induced to do, from the advan- there, unsold. tageous 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, that they 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; nor was I so devoid of natural heat, as not to feel some sparklings of desire as well as others. But the force of truth and sense of honour, suppressed whatever would have risen beyond the bounds of fair and virtuous friendship. For I easily foresaw, that if I should attempt any thing in a dishonourable way, by force or fraud upon her, I should have thereby brought a wound upon my own soul, a foul scandal VOL. VII.-No. 10.

Not long after this, my father sent for me to come to him at London about some business; which, when I came there, I understood was to join with him in the sale of his estate, which the purchaser required for his own satisfaction and safety, I being then the next heir to it in law. And although I might probably have made some advantageous terms for myself by standing off; yet when I was satisfied by counsel, that there was no entail upon it, or right of reversion to me, but that he might lawfully dispose of it as he pleased, I readily joined with him in the sale, without asking or having the least gratuity or compensation; no, not so much as the fee I had given to counsel, to secure me from any danger in doing it.

Some time before this, a very severe law was made against the Quakers by name, prohibiting our meetings under the penalty of five pounds for the first offence so called, ten pounds for the second, and banishment for the third; with pain of felony for escaping or returning without license. This law was looked upon to have been procured by the bishops, in order to bring us to a conformity to their way of worship.

1665. And no sooner was it made, but it was put in execution with great severity. The sense whereof working strongly on my spirit,

50

made me cry earnestly to the Lord, that ing command for apprehending us, the conhe would arise and set up his righteous judg-stables with the rabble fell on us, and drew ment in the earth, for the deliverance of his some, and drove others into the inn, giving people from all their enemies, both inward thereby an opportunity to the rest to walk and outward.

Although the storm, raised by the act for banishment, fell with the greatest weight and force upon some other parts-as at London, Hertford, &c., yet we were not, in Buckinghamshire, wholly exempted therefrom, for a part of the shower reached us also.

away.

Of those that were thus taken, I was one. And being, with many more, put into a room under a guard, we were kept there till another justice, called sir Thomas Clayton, whom jus tice Bennett had sent for to join with him in committing us, was come. And then, being A friend of Amersham, whose name was called forth severally before them, they picked Edward Perot, or Parret, departing this life, out ten of us, and committed us to Aylesbury and notice being given that his body would be jail, for what neither we nor they knew. We buried there on such a day, which was the were not convicted of having either done or first-day of the fifth month 1665, the Friends said any thing which the law could take hold of the adjacent parts of the country resorted of; for they took us up in the open street, pretty generally to the burial; so that there the king's highway, not doing any unlawful was a fair appearance of Friends and neigh-act, but peaceably carrying and accompany. bours, the deceased having been well-beloved by both.

After we had spent some time together in the house, Morgan Watkins, who at that time happened to be at Isaac Penington's, being with us, the body was taken up and bore on Friends' shoulders along the street, in order to be carried to the burying ground, which was at the town's end, being part of an orchard belonging to the deceased, which he in his life-time had appointed for that service.

It so happened that one Ambrose Bennett, a barrister at law and a justice of the peace for that county, riding through the town that morning in his way to Aylesbury, was by some ill-disposed person or other, informed that there was a Quaker to be buried there that day, and that most of the Quakers in the country were come thither to the burial.

ing the corpse of our deceased friend to bury it. Which they would not suffer us to do, but caused the body to lie in the open street, and in the cart-way; so that all the travellers that passed by, whether horsemen, coaches, carts, or wagons, were fain to break out of the way to go by it, that they might not drive over it, until it was almost night. And then having caused a grave to be made in the unconsecrat ed part, as is accounted, of that which is called the church-yard, they forcibly took the body from the widow, whose right and property it was, and buried it there.

When the justices had delivered us prisoners to the constable, it being then late in the day, which was the seventh-day of the week, he not willing to go so far as Aylesbury, nine long miles, with us that night, nor to put the town to the charge of keeping us there that night, and the first-day and night following, dismissed us upon our parole to come to him again at a set hour on the second-day morn ing; whereupon we all went home to our respective habitations; and coming to him punc tually according to promise, were by him, without guard, conducted to the prison.

Upon this he set up his horses and staid; and when we, not knowing any thing of his design against us, went innocently forward to perform our Christian duty for the interment of our friend, he rushed out of his inn upon us, with the constables and a rabble of rude fellows, whom he had gathered together, and having his drawn sword in his hand, struck The jailer, whose name was Nathaniel one of the foremost of the bearers with it, com- Birch, had not long before behaved himself manding them to set down the coffin. But the very wickedly, with great rudeness and cru. Friend who was so stricken, whose name was elty to some of our friends of the lower side Thomas Dell, being more concerned for the of the county, whom he, combining with the safety of the dead body than his own, lest it clerk of the peace, whose name was Henry should fall from his shoulder, and any inde- Wells, had contrived to get into his jail; and cency thereupon follow, held the coffin fast; after they were legally discharged in court, which the justice observing, and being en- detained them in prison, using great violence raged that his word, how unjust soever, was and shutting them up close in the common not forthwith obeyed, set his hand to the cof-jail among the felons, because they would not fin, and with a forcible thrust threw it off from give him his unrighteous demand of fees; the bearers' shoulders, so that it fell to the which they were the more straitened in, from ground in the midst of the street, and there his treacherous dealing with them. And they we were forced to leave it. having through suffering, maintained their For immediately thereupon the justice giv-freedom, and obtained their liberty, we were