ALTHOUGH my Station, not being ſo Eminent either in the Church of Chriſt, or in the World, as others who have moved in higher Orbs, may not afford ſuch conſiderable Remarks as theirs; yet, inaſmuch as in the Courſe of my Travels through this Vale of Tears, I have paſſed through various, and ſome uncommon Exerciſes, which the Lord hath been graciouſly pleaſed to ſupport me under, and conduct me • hrough; I hold it a matter excuſable, at leaſt, • f not commendable, to give the World ſome • ittle Account of my Life, that in, Recounting • he many Deliverances and Preſervations, which the Lord hath vouchſafed to work for me, both I, by a grateful Acknowledgmen • thereof, and Return of Thankſgivings unt • him therefore, may, in ſome meaſure ſet forth hi • abundant Goodneſs to me; and others, whoſ • Lot it may be to tread the ſame Path, and fal • into the ſame, or like Exerciſes, may be encouraged to perſevere in the way of Holineſ • and, with full aſſurance of Mind to truſt in th • Lord, whatſoever Trials may befal them.

date 1639 To begin therefore with mine own Beginning. I was Born in the Year of our Lord 1639, about the Beginning of the Eighth Mont • (ſo far as I have been able to inform my ſelf • for the Pariſh Regiſter, which relates to th • time (not of Birth, but) of Baptiſm, (as the • call it) is not to be relied on.

The Place of my Birth was a little Countr • Town, called Crowell, ſituate in the upper ſid • of Oxfordſhire, Three Miles Eaſt-ward fro • Thame the neareſt Market-Town.

My Father's Name was Walter Ellwood; an • my Mothers Maiden-Name was Elizabeth P • man: both well deſcended; but of declinin • Families. So that what my Father Poſſeſſe • (which was a pretty Eſtate in Lands, and mo • as I have heard in Monies) he received (as h • had done his Name Walter) from his Grandf • ther Walter Gray; whoſe Daughter, and onl • Child, was his Mother.

date 1641 In my very Infancy, when I was but abo • two Years Old, I was carried to London. F • the Civil War, between King and Parliamen • breaking then forth; my Father (who favou • ed the Parliament-Side, though he took not Arms) not holding himſelf ſafe at his Country Habitation (which lay too near ſome Gariſons of the King's) betook himſelf to London, that City then holding for the Parliament.

There was I bred up (though not without much Difficulty, the City Air not agreeing with my tender Conſtitution) and there continued, until Oxford was ſurrendred, and the War, in Appearance, ended.

In this time, my Parents contracted an Acquaintance, and intimate Friendſhip with the Lady Springett; who being then the Widow of Sir William Springett (who died in the Parliament Service) was afterwards the Wife of Iſaac Penington, Eldeſt Son of Alderman Penington of London. And this Friendſhip devolving from the Parents to the Children, I became an early and Particular Play-fellow to her Daughter Gulielma; being admitted, as ſuch, to ride with her in her little Coach, drawn by her Footman about Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.

I mention this in this Place, becauſe the Continuation of that Acquaintance and Friendſhip having been an Occaſional Means of my being afterwards brought to the Knowledge of the Bleſſed TRUTH, I ſhall have frequent Cauſe, in the Courſe of the following Diſcourſe, to make honourable Mention of that Family, to which I am under ſo many and great Obligations.

date 1646 Soon after the Surrender of Oxford, my Father returned to his Eſtate at Crowell; which by that time he might have need enough to look after, having ſpent (I ſuppoſe) the greateſt Part of the Monies which had been left him by his Grandfather, in maintaining himſel • and his Family at an high Rate in London.

My elder Brother (for I had one Brothe • and two Siſters, all elder than my ſelf) was • while we lived in London, Boarded at a privat • School, in the Houſe of one Francis Atkinſon, a • a Place called Hadley, near Barnet in Hertfordſhire; where he had made ſome good Proficiency in the Latin and French Tongues. But after we had left the City, and were reſettled i • the Country; he was taken from that privat • School, and ſent to the Free School at Tham • in Oxfordſhire.

Thither alſo was I ſent, as ſoon as my tender Age would permit: for I was indeed bu • young when I went, and yet ſeemed younge • than I was, by reaſon of my low and little Stature. For it was held, for ſome Years, a doubtful Point, whether I ſhould not have proved a Dwarf. But after I was arrived to the Fifteenth Year of my Age (or thereabouts) I began to ſhoot up, and gave not over growing • till I had attained the middle Size and Statu • of Men.

At this School (which at that time was i • good Reputation) I profited apace; havin • then a natural Propenſity to Learning: ſo tha • at the firſt reading over of my Leſſon, I commonly made my ſelf Maſter of it: And y • (which is ſtrange to think of) few Boys in th • • chool wore out more Birch than I. For tho' • was never (that I remember) whip't upon • he Score of not having my Leſſon ready, or of not ſaying it well: yet being a little buſie Boy, full oſ Spirit, of a working Head, and • ctive Hand, I could not eaſily conform my ſelf to the grave and ſober Rules, and (as I • hen thought) ſevere Orders of the School; but was often playing one waggiſh Prank or other among my Fellow-Scholars, which ſubjected me to Correction, ſo that I have come under the Diſcipline of the Rod twice in a Forenoon. Which yet brake no Bones.

Had I been continued at this School, and in due time preferred to an higher; I might in likelihood have been a Scholar: for I was obſerved to have a Genius apt to learn. But my Father having, ſo ſoon as the Republican-Government began to ſettle, accepted the Office of a Juſtice of the Peace (which was no way Beneficial, but meerly Honorary, and every way Expenſive) and put himſelf into a Port, and Courſe of Living agreeable thereunto; and having alſo removed my Brother from Thame-School to Merton-Colledge in Oxford, and entred him there in the higheſt and moſt chargeable Condition, of a Fellow-Commoner: he found it needful to retrench his Expences elſewhere; the Hurt of which fell upon me. For he thereupon took me from School, to ſave the Charge of Maintaining me there: which was ſomewhat like plucking green Fruit from the Tree, and laying it by, before it was come to its due Ripeneſs; which will thenceforth ſhrink and wither, and loſe that little Juice and Reliſh which it began to have.

Even ſo it fared with me. For being taken home when I was but young, and before I was well ſettled in my Studies, (though I had made a good Progreſs in the Latin Tongue, and was entred in the Greek) being left too much to my ſelf, to ply, or play with my Books, or without them, as I pleaſed: I ſoon ſhook Hands with my Books by ſhaking my Books out of my Hands, and laying them, by degrees, quite aſide; and addicted my ſelf to ſuch youthfu • Sports and Pleaſures as the Place afforded, and my Condition could reach unto.

By this Means, in a little time, I began to loſe that little Learning I had acquired at School; and by a continued diſuſe of my Books, became at length ſo utterly a Stranger to Learning, that I could not have read, far leſs have underſtood a Sentence in Latin. Which I was ſo ſenſible of, that I warily avoided reading to others, even in an Engliſh Book, leſt, if I ſhould meet with a Latin Word, I ſhould ſhame my ſelf, by miſpronouncing it.

Thus I went on, taking my Swing in ſuch vain Courſes, as were accounted harmleſs Recreations; entertaining my Companions, and familiar Acquaintance, with pleaſant Diſcourſes in our Converſations, by the meer Force of Mother-Wit and Natural Parts, without the Help of School-Cultivation: and was accounted good Company too.

But I always ſorted my ſelf with Perſons of • ngenuity, Temperance and Sobriety: for I • athed Scurrilities in Converſation, and had a • atural Averſion to Immoderate Drinking. So • at in the Time of my greateſt Vanity, I was • reſerved from Prophanneſs, and the groſſer E • ils of the World: which render'd me accept • ble to Perſons of the beſt Note in that Coun • ry then. I often waited on the Lord Wenman, • t his Houſe Thame-Park (about two Miles • rom Crowell, where I lived;) to whoſe Favour held my ſelf intituled in a two-fold Reſpect: • oth as my Mother was nearly related to his Lady; and as he had been pleaſed to beſtow his Name upon me, when he made large Promiſes • or me at the Font. He was a Perſon of great Honour and Virtue, and always gave me a kind Reception at his Table, how often ſoever I came. And I have cauſe to think, I ſhould have received from this Lord ſome advantageous Preferment in this World, as ſoon as he had found me capable of it (though betwixt him and my Father there was not then ſo good an Underſtanding as might have been wiſh'd) had I not been, in a little time after, called into the Service of the beſt and higheſt Lord: and thereby loſt the Favour of all my Friends, Relations and Acquaintance of this World. To the Account of which moſt happy Exchange I haſten, and therefore willingly paſs over many Particularities of my youthful Life. Yet one Paſſage I am willing to mention, for the Effect it had upon me afterwards: which was thus:

date 1657 My Father being then in the Commiſſion 〈◊〉 the Peace, and going to a Petty-Seſſions at Wa • lington, I waited on him thither. And whe • we came near the Town, the Coachman ſeeing a nearer and eaſier Way, than the commo • Road, through a Corn Field, and that it wa • wide enough for the Wheels to run, withou • endammaging the Corn, turned down there • Which being obſerved by an Husband-ma • who was at Plow not far off, he ran to us; an • ſtopping the Coach, poured forth a Mouthfu • of Complaints, in none of the beſt Language • for driving over the Corn. My Father mildly anſwered him, That if there was an Offenc • committed, he muſt rather impute it to hi • Servant, than himſelf; ſince he neither directed him to drive that Way, nor knew whic • way he drove. Yet added, that he was going to ſuch an Inn at the Town; whither if h • came, he would make him full Satisfaction, fo • whatſoever Dammage he had ſuſtained thereby. And ſo on we went, the Man venting his Diſcontent, as he went back, in angry Accents. At the Town, upon enquiry, we underſtood that it was a way often uſed, and without Dammage, being broad enough; but that it was not the common Road, which yet lay not far from it, and was alſo good enough: Wherefore my Father bid his Man drive Home that way.

It was late in the Evening when we returned, and very dark; and this quarrelſome Man, who had troubled himſelf and us in the Morning, date 1657 having gotten another luſty Fellow, like • mſelf, to aſſiſt him, way-lay'd us in the • ight, expecting we would return the ſame • ay we came. But when they found we did • ot, but took the common Way, they, angry • at they were diſappointed, and loth to loſe • eir Purpoſe, (which was to put an Abuſe up • us) coaſted over to us in the dark, and lay • g hold on the Horſes Bridles, ſtopt them from • oing on. My Father asking his Man, what • e Reaſon was that he went not on, was an • wered, That there were two Men at the Horſes • eads, who held them back, and would not ſuffer • em to go forward. Whereupon my Father, o • ening the Boot, ſtep't out, and I followed cloſe 〈◊〉 his Heels. Going up to the place where • e Men ſtood, he demanded of them the • eaſon of this Aſſault. They ſaid, We were • pon the Corn. We knew, by the Routs, we • ere not on the Corn, but in the common way, nd told them ſo. But they told us, They were eſolved they would not let us go on any farther, but • ould make us go back again. My Father endea • oured, by gentle Reaſoning, to perſwade them 〈◊〉 forbear, and not run themſelves farther into • he Danger of the Law, which they were run • oo far into already: but they rather derided • im for it. Seeing therefore fair Means would • ot work upon them, he ſpake more roughly • o them, charging them to deliver their Clubs • for each of them had a great Club in his Hand, • omewhat like thoſe which are called Quarter • taves.) They thereupon, laughing, told him, date 1657 They did not bring them thither for that En • Thereupon my Father, turning his Head to m • ſaid, Tom, Diſarm them.

I ſtood ready at his Elbow, waiting only fo • the Word of Command. For being naturall • of a bold Spirit, full then of youthful Hea • and that too heightned by the Sence I had, no • only of the Abuſe, but inſolent Behaviour o • thoſe rude Fellows; my Blood began to boy • and my Fingers itch'd (as the Saying is) to b • dealing with them. Wherefore, ſtepping boldly forward, to lay hold on the Staff of him tha • was neareſt to me, I ſaid, Sirrah, Deliver you • Weapon. He thereupon raiſed his Club (whic • was big enough to have knock't down an Ox • intending (no doubt) to have knock't me dow • with it; as probably he would have done, ha • I not, in the twinkling of an Eye, whip't o • my Rapier, and made a Paſs upon him. 〈◊〉 could not have failed running of him throug • up to the Hilt, had he ſtood his Ground: b • the ſuddain and unexpected Sight of my brigh • Blade, gliſtering in the dark Night, did ſo amaze, and terrifie the Man, that ſlipping aſid • he avoided my Thruſt; and letting his Sta • ſink, betook himſelf to his Heels for Safety • which his Companion ſeeing, fled alſo. I fo • lowed the former as faſt as I could: but Tim • addidit Alas, Fear gave him Wings, and mad • him ſwiftly fly: ſo that although I was accoun • ed very nimble, yet the farther we ran, th • more ground he gain'd on me; ſo that I coul • not overtake him: which made me think h • date 1657 • k ſhelter under ſome Buſh; which he knew • ere to find, though I did not. Mean while • e Coachman (who had ſufficiently the outſide • a Man) excus'd himſelf from intermedling, • der pretence that he durſt not leave his • rſes: and ſo left me to ſhift for my ſelf. • d I was gone ſo far beyond my Knowledge, • t I underſtood not which way I was to go: 〈◊〉 by Hollowing, and being Hollowed to a • in, I was directed where to find my Company. • We had eaſie Means to have found out who • ſe Men were (the principal of them having • en in the Day time at the Inn, and both • arrelled with the Coachman, and threatned • be even with him when he went back:) but • ce they came off no better in their Attempt, • y Father thought it better not to know them, • an to oblige himſelf to a Proſecutiou of them. • At that time, and for a good while after, I • d no regret upon my Mind, for what I had • ne, and deſigned to have done, in this Caſe; • t went on, in a ſort of Bravery, reſolving to • l, if I could, any Man, that ſhould make • e like Attempt, or put any Affront upon us: • d for that reaſon, ſeldom went afterwards, • on thoſe publick Services, without a loaded • ſtol in my Pocket. But when it pleaſed the • ord, in his infinite Goodneſs, to call me out 〈◊〉 the Spirit and Ways of the World, and give • e the Knowledge of his ſaving Truth; where • y the Actions of my fore-paſt Life were ſet in • der before me: a ſort of Horror ſeized on me, • hen I conſidered how near I had been to the date 1657 ſtaining of my Hands with Human Blood. A • whenſoever afterwards I went that way, a • indeed as often ſince as the Matter has come i • to my remembrance, my Soul has bleſſed t • Lord for my Deliverance; and Thankſgivin • and Praiſes have ariſen in my Heart (as no • at the relating of it, they do) to Him, w • preſerved, and with-held me from ſheddi • Man's Blood. Which is the Reaſon, for whi • I have given this Account of that Action, th • others may be warned by it.

date 1658 About this time my dear and Honoured M • (who was indeed a Woman of ſingular Wor • and Virtue) departed this Life; having a litt • before heard of the Death of her eldeſt Son: w • (falling under the Diſpleaſure of my Fath • for refuſing to reſign his Intereſt in an Eſtat • which my Father ſold, and thereupon deſiri • that he might have Leave to Travel; in hop • that Time and Abſence might work a Recon • liation) went into Ireland, with a Perſon po • erful there in thoſe Times, by whoſe Means 〈◊〉 was quickly preferred to a Place of Truſt a • Profit, but lived not long to Enjoy it.

I mentioned before, that during my Father • Abode in London, in the time of the Civil Wa • he contracted a Friendſhip with the Lady Spri • gett, then a Widow, and afterwards Marri • to Iſaac Penington, Eſq To continue which 〈◊〉 ſometimes Viſited them at their Country-Lodg • ings (as at Datchet, and at Cauſham Lodge nea • Reading.) And having heard that they we • come to live upon their own Eſtate at Chalfo • date 1659 〈◊〉 Buckinghamſhire (about Fifteen Miles from • well) he went one Day to Viſit them there, • d to return at Night; taking me with him.

But very much ſurpized we were, when, • ing come thither, we firſt heard, then found, • ey were become Quakers; a People we had 〈◊〉 Knowledge of, and a Name we had, till • en, ſcarce heard of.

So great a Change, from a free, debonair • d courtly ſort of Behaviour (which we for • erly had found them in) to ſo ſtrict a Gra • ty as they now received us with, did not a • tle amuſe us, and diſappoint our Expectation • f ſuch a pleaſant Viſit, as we uſed to have, and • ad now promiſed our ſelves. Nor could my • ather have any Opportunity, by a private • onference with them, to underſtand the Ground or Occaſion of this Change; there be • g ſome other Strangers with them (related to • ſaac Penington) who came that Morning from • ondon to Viſit them alſo.

For my Part, I ſought, and at length found Means to caſt my ſelf into the Company of the Daughter, whom I found gathering ſome Flowers in the Garden, attended by her Maid, who was alſo a Quaker. But when I addreſſed my ſelf to her after my accuſtomed Manner, with Intention to engage her in ſome Diſcourſe, which might introduce Converſation, on the Foot of our former Acquaintance: though ſhe treated me with a Courteous Mein; yet, (as young as ſhe was) the Gravity of her Look and Behaviour ſtruck ſuch an Awe upon me, that 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 date 1659 I found my ſelf not ſo much Maſter of my ſ • as to purſue any further Converſe with h • Wherefore asking Pardon for my Boldneſs, 〈◊〉 having intruded my ſelf into her private Wa • I withdrew, not without ſome Diſorder (a • thought at leaſt) of Mind.

We ſtay'd Dinner, which was very ha • ſome; and lacked nothing to recommend it 〈◊〉 me, but the want of Mirth and pleaſant D • courſe: which we could neither have w • them, nor, by reaſon of them, with one a • ther amongſt our ſelves; the Weightineſs t • was upon their Spirits and Countenances, kee • ing down the Lightneſs that would have be • up in us. We ſtay'd notwithſtanding till t • reſt of the Company took leave of them: a • then we alſo, doing the ſame, returned, n • greatly ſatisfied with our Journey, nor kno • ing what in particular to find fault with.

Yet this good Effect that Viſit had upon m • Father, who was then in the Commiſſion f • the Peace, that it diſpoſed him to a more f • vourable Opinion of, and Carriage towards tho • People, when they came in his way; as not lo • after one of them did. For a young Man, wh • lived in Buckinghamſhire, came on a Firſt Day 〈◊〉 to the Church (ſo called) at a Town calle • Chinner (a Mile from Crowell) having, it ſeem • a Preſſure on his Mind to ſay ſomething to th • Miniſter of that Pariſh. He being an Acquain • tance of mine, drew me ſometimes to hea • him, as it did then. The young Man ſtood i • the Iſle before the Pulpit, all the Time of th • date 1659 • rmon; not ſpeaking a Word till the Sermon • d Prayer after it was ended: and then ſpake 〈◊〉 few Words to the Prieſt. Of which all that 〈◊〉 could hear was, That The Prayer of the Wicked 〈◊〉 Abomination to the Lord; and that God heareth • t Sinners.

Somewhat more, I think, he did ſay (which 〈◊〉 could not diſtinctly hear, for the Noiſe the • eople made) and more probably he would • ave ſaid, had he not been Interrupted by the • fficers, who took him into Cuſtody, and led • im out, in order to carry him before my Fa • er.

When I underſtood that, I haſtened home, • at I might give my Father a fair Account of • e Matter, before they came. I told him the • oung Man behaved himſelf quietly and peace • bly; ſpake not a Word, till the Miniſter had • uite done his Service: and that what he then • ake was but ſhort; and was delivered with • ut Paſſion, 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 〈◊〉 high Complaint againſt the Man (who ſaid • ittle 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 Miniſter had done) and then whether he gave the Miniſter any reviling Language, or endeavoured to raiſe a Tumult among the People date 1659 (which they could not charge him with:) 〈◊〉 finding that he had broken the Law, he Cou • ſelled the young Man to be careful that he d • not make, or occaſion any publick Diſturbance • and ſo diſmiſſed him. Which I was glad of.

Some time after this, my Father, having go • ten ſome further Account of the People calle • Quakers; and being deſirous to be informed co • cerning their Principles, made another Viſit 〈◊〉 Iſaac Penington and his Wife, at their Hou • called the Grange in Peter's-Chalfont; and to • both my Siſters and me with him.

It was in the Tenth Month, in the Year, 165 • that we went thither; where we found a ve • kind Reception, and tarried ſome Days: o • Day, at leaſt, the longer, for that, while w • were there, a Meeting was appointed, at • Place about a Mile from thence; to which w • were invited to go, and willingly went.

It was held in a Farm-Houſe, called T • Grove; which, having formerly been a Ge • tleman's Seat, had a very large Hall, and th • well filled.

To this Meeting came Edward Burrough, b • ſides other Preachers, as Thomas Curtis an • James Nailor: but none ſpake there, at tha • Time, but Edward Burrough. Next to who • (as it were under him) it was my Lot to ſit (o • a Stool by the Side of a long Table, on whic • he ſate;) and I drank in his Words with D • ſire: for they not only Anſwered my Underſtanding, but warmed my Heart with a certain date 1659 Heat, which I had not till then felt from • he Miniſtry of any Man.

When the Meeting was ended, our Friends • ook us home with them again; and after Sup • er, the Evenings being long, the Servants of • he Family (who were Quakers) were called in, • nd we all ſate down in Silence. But long we • ad not ſo ſate, before Edward Burrough began • o ſpeak among us. And although he ſpake • ot long, yet what he ſaid did touch, as I ſup • oſe, my Father's (Religious) Copy-hold, as the • hraſe is. And he, having been from his • outh a Profeſſor (though not join'd in that which is call'd Cloſe Communion with any one Sort;) and valuing himſelf upon the Knowledge • e eſteemed himſelf to have, in the various Notions of each Profeſſion: thought he had now a fair Opportunity to diſplay his Knowledge; and thereupon began to make Objections againſt what had been delivered.

The Subject of the Diſcourſe was, The univerſal free Grace of God to all Mankind. To which he oppoſed the Calviniſtical Tenet of Particular and Perſonal Predeſtination. In defence of which indefenſible Notion, he found imſelf more at a Loſs than he expected. Edward Burrough ſaid not much to him upon it, though what he ſaid was cloſe and cogent. But James Nailor interpoſing, handled the Subject with ſo much Perſpicuity, and clear Demonſtration, that his Reaſoning ſeemed to be irreſiſtable; and ſo I ſuppoſemy Father found it, which made him willing to drop the Diſcourſe.

date 1659 As for Edward Burrough, he was a Bri • young Man, of a ready Tongue, (and migh • have been, for ought I then knew, a Schola • which made me the leſs to admire his way o • Reaſoning. But what drop't from James Na • lor had the greater Force upon me; becauſe h • look'd but like a plain ſimple Country-Ma • having the Appearance of an Husbandman, o • a Shepherd.

As my Father was not able to maintain th • Argument on his Side: ſo neither did the • ſeem willing to drive it on to an Extremity o • their ſide. But treating him in a ſoft an • gentle Manner, did, after a while, let fall th • Diſcourſe: and then we withdrew to our reſpective Chambers.

The next Morning we prepared to retur • Home (that is, my Father, my younger Siſte • and my ſelf: for my elder Siſter was gone before, by the Stage Coach, to London.) An • when, having taken our Leaves of our Friend • we went forth; they, with Edward Burroug • accompanying us to the Gate: he there directed his Speech, in a few Words to each of u • ſeverally; according to the Senſe he had o • our ſeveral Conditions. And when we were gone off, and they gone in again; they asking him what he thought of us: he anſwered them, (as they afterwards told me) to this Effect, As for the Old Man, he is ſettled on his Lees; and the Young Woman is light and airy: but the Young Man is Reach't, and may do well, if he don't loſe it. And ſurely that which he ſaid to me, or date 1659 rather that Spirit in which he ſpake it, took ſuch faſt hold on me; that I felt Sadneſs and Trouble come over me, though I did not diſtinctly underſtand what I was troubled for. I knew not what I ayled, but I knew I ayled ſomething more than ordinary: and my Heart was very heavy.

I found it was not ſo with my Father and Siſter: for as I rode after the Coach, I could hear them talk pleaſantly one to the other, but they could not diſcern how it was with me, becauſe I, riding on Horsback, kept much out of Sight.

By that time we got home it was Night. And the next Day, being the firſt Day of the Week, I went in the Afternoon to hear the Miniſter of Chinner; and this was the laſt time I ever went to hear any of that Function. After the Sermon, I went with him to his Houſe, and in a Freedom of Diſcourſe (which, from a certain Intimacy that was between us, I commonly uſed with him) told him where I had been, what Company I had met with there, and what Obſervations I had made to my ſelf thereupon. He ſeemed to underſtand as little of them, as I had done before: and civilly abſtained from caſting any unhandſome Reflections on them.

I had a Deſire to go to another Meeting of the Quakers; and bid my Father's Man enquire, if there was any in the Country thereabouts. He thereupon told me, he had heard at Iſaac date 1659 Penington's, that there was to be a Meeting at High-Wiccomb on Thurſday next.

Thither therefore I went, though it was Seven Miles from me. And that I might be rather thought to go out a Courſing, than to a Meeting; I let my Gray-Hound run by my Horſe-ſide.

When I came there, and had ſet up my Horſe at an Inn; I was at a Loſs how to find the Houſe where the Meeting was to be. I knew it not: and was aſhamed to ask after it. Wherefore having order'd the Horſtler to take Care of my Dog, I went into the Street, and ſtood at the Inn-Gate; muſing with my ſelf what Courſe to take. But I had not ſtood long, e're I ſaw an Horſe-man riding along the Street; whom I remember'd I had ſeen before at Iſaac Penington's: and he put up his Horſe at the ſame Inn. Him therefore I reſolved to follow, ſuppoſing he was going to the Meeting, as indeed he was.

Being come to the Houſe (which proved to be John Raunce's) I ſaw the People ſitting together, in an outer Room: wherefore I ſtept in, and ſate down on the firſt void Seat, the End of a Bench juſt within the Door; having my Sword by my Side, and Black Cloaths on, which drew ſome Eyes upon me. It was not long e're one ſtood up and ſpake, whom I was afterwards well acquainted with (his Name was Samuel Thornton;) and what he ſpake was very ſuitable, and of good Service to me: for date 1659 it reached Home, as if it had been directed to me.

As ſoon as ever the Meeting was ended, and the People began to riſe, I, being next the Door, ſtep't out quickly; and haſtning to my Inn, took Horſe immediately homewards: and (ſo far as I remember) my having been gone was not taken Notice of by my Father.

This latter Meeting was like the Clinching of a Nail; confirming, and faſtening in my Mind, thoſe good Principles, which had ſunk into me at the former. My Underſtanding began to open, and I felt ſome Stirrings in my Breaſt, tending to the Work of a New Creation in me. The general Trouble, and Confuſion of Mind, which had for ſome Days lain heavy upon me, and preſſed me down, without a diſtinct Diſcovery of the particular Cauſe for which it came, began now to wear off; and ſome Glimmerings of Light began to break forth in me; which let me ſee my Inward State, and Condition towards God. The Light (which before had ſhone in my Darkneſs, and the Darkneſs could not comprehend it) began now to ſhine out of Darkneſs, and in ſome Meaſure diſcovered to me what it was, that had before clouded me, and brought that Sadneſs and Trouble upon me. And now I ſaw, that although I had been, in a great degree, preſerved from the common Immoralities, and groſs Pollutions of the World; yet the Spirit of the World had hitherto ruled in me, and led me into Pride, Flattery, Vanity and Superfluity; date 1659 all which was Naught. I found there were many Plants growing in me, which were not of the Heavenly Father's Planting: and that all theſe (of whatever ſort or kind they were, or how ſpecious ſoever they might appear) muſt be plucked up.

Now was all my former Life ripped up, and my Sins, by Degrees, were ſet in order before me. And though they looked not with ſo black a Hue, and ſo deep a Dye, as thoſe of the lewdeſt Sort of People did: Yet I found that all Sin (even that which had the faireſt or fineſt ſhew, as well as that which was more courſe and foul) brought Guilt, and with and for Guilt, Condemnation on the Soul that ſinned. This I felt: and was greatly bowed down under the Senſe thereof.

Now alſo did I receive a New Law, (an Inward Law ſuperadded to the Outward) The Law of the Spirit of Life in Chriſt Jeſus, which wrought in me againſt all Evil, not only in Deed, and in Word, but even in Thought alſo: ſo that every thing was brought to Judgment, and Judgment paſſed upon all. So that I could not any longer go on, in my former Ways, and Courſe of Life: for when I did, Judgment took hold upon me for it.

Thus the Lord was graciouſly pleaſed to deal with me, in ſomewhat like manner as he had dealt with his People Iſrael of Old (when they had tranſgreſſed his Righteous LAW) whom, by his Prophet, he called back, required to put away the Evil of their Doings: date 1659 bidding them, Firſt, Ceaſe to Do Evil; Then, Learn to Do Well: before He would admit them to Reaſon with Him; and before he would impart to them the Effects of His free Mercy, Iſa. 1. 16, 17.

I was now required, by this Inward and Spiritual LAW (The Law of the Spirit of Life in Chriſt Jeſus) to put away the Evil of my Doings; and to Ceaſe to do Evil. And what, in Particulars, the Evil was, which I was required to to put away, and to ceaſe from: that Meaſure of the Divine LIGHT, which was now manifeſted in me, diſcovered to me: and what the Light made manifeſt to be Evil, Judgment paſſed upon.

So that here began to be a Way caſt up, before me, for me to walk in: A direct and plain Way; ſo plain, that a way-faring-Man, how weak and ſimple ſoever (though a Fool, to the Wiſdom, and in the Judgment of the World) could not Err, while he continued to walk in it: the Error coming in by his going out of it. And this Way, with reſpect to me, I ſaw was that Meaſure of Divine Light, which was manifeſted in me; by which the Evil of my Doings, which I was to put away, and to ceaſe from, was diſcovered to me.

By this Divine Light then I ſaw, that though I had not the Evil of the common Uncleanneſs, • bauchery, Prophanneſs, and Pollutions of the • rld to put away, becauſe I had, through the • at Goodneſs of GOD, and a Civil Educa • , been preſerved out of thoſe groſſer Evils: date 1659 yet I had many other Evils to put away, and 〈◊〉 ceaſe from: ſome of which were not, by t • World (which lies in Wickedneſs, 1 Joh. 5. 1 • accounted Evils: but by the Light of Chr • were made manifeſt to me to be Evils, and, 〈◊〉 ſuch, condemned in me.

As particularly, Thoſe Fruits and Effects 〈◊〉 PRIDE, that diſcover themſelves in the • nity and Superfluity of APPAREL: which I ( far as my Ability would extend to) took, ala • too much Delight in. This Evil of my Doi • I was required to put away, and ceaſe from: a • Judgment lay upon me till I did ſo. Whe • fore, in Obedience to the Inward Law (whi • agreed with the Outward, 1 Tim. 2. 9. 1 P • 3. 3. 1 Tim. 6. 8. Jam. 1. 21.) I took 〈◊〉 from my Apparel thoſe unneceſſary Trimmin • of Lace, Ribbands and uſeleſs Buttons, whi • had no real Service: but were ſet on only 〈◊〉 that, which was, by miſtake, called Orname • And I ceaſed to wear Rings.

Again, The giving of flattering Titles to Me • between whom and me there was not any R • lation, to which ſuch Titles could be preten • ed to belong. This was an Evil I had be • much addicted to, and was accounted a read • Artiſt in: therefore this Evil alſo was I • quired to put away, and ceaſe from. So th • thenceforward I durſt not ſay, Sir, Maſter, M • Lord, Madam (or My Dame) or ſay, Your Se • vant, to any one to whom I did not ſtand i • the real Relation of a Servant; which I ha • never done to any.

date 1659 Again, Reſpect of Perſons, in Uncovering the • ead, and Bowing the Knee, or Body in Saluta • ns, was a Practice I had been much in the • ſe of. And this being one of the Vain Cuſtoms 〈◊〉 the World, introduced by the Spirit of the World, inſtead of the true Honour, which this • a falſe Repreſentation of; and uſed in Deceit, 〈◊〉 a Token of Reſpect, by Perſons one to another, • ho bear no real Reſpect one to another. And • eſides, This being a Type, and proper Emblem • f that Divine Honour which all ought to pay • o Almighty GOD, and which all, of all ſorts • who take upon them the Chriſtian Name) ap • ear in, when they offer their Prayers to Him; • nd therefore ſhould not be given to Men. I • ound this to be one of thoſe Evils, which I had • een too long doing; therefore I was now re • uired to put it away, and ceaſe from it.

Again, The Corrupt and Unſound Form of Speak • g in the Plural Number to a Single Perſon (YOU • o One, inſtead of THOU;) contrary to the Pure, Plain, and Single Language of TRUTH (THOU to One, and YOU to more than One) which had always been uſed, by GOD to Men, and Men to GOD, as well as one to ano • er, from the oldeſt Record of Time, till Cor • pt Men, for Corrupt Ends, in later and Corrupt Times, to Flatter, Fawn, and work upon the Corrupt Nature in Men, brought in that falſe and ſenſeleſs Way of Speaking, YOU to One; which hath ſince corrupted the Modern Languages, and hath greatly debaſed the Spirits, and depraved the Manners of Men. This date 1659 Evil Cuſtom I had been as forward in as others • and this I was now called out of, and require • to ceaſe from.

Theſe, and many more Evil Cuſtoms, whic • had ſprang up in the Night of Darkneſs, an • general Apoſtacy from the TRUTH, and Tru • RELIGION; were now, by the Inſhining o • this pure Ray of Divine Light in my Conſcience • gradually Diſcovered to me, to be what I ough • to ceaſe from, ſhun, and ſtand a Witneſs againſt •

But ſo ſubtilly, and withal ſo powerfully • did the Enemy work upon the weak Part in me, as to perſwade me, that, in theſe things, I ought to make a Difference between my Father and all other Men: And that therefore, though I did diſuſe theſe Tokens of Reſpect to others, yet I ought ſtill to uſe them towards him, as he was my Father. And ſo far did this Wile of his prevail upon me, through a Fear, leſt I ſhould do amiſs, in withdrawing any ſort of Reſpect, or Honour from my Father, which was due unto him; that being thereby beguiled, I continued for a while to demean my ſelf in the ſame manner towards him, with reſpect both to Language and Geſture, as I had always done before. And ſo long as I did ſo (ſtanding Bare before him, and giving him the accuſtomed Language) he did not expreſs (whatever he thought) any Diſlike of me.

But as to my ſelf, and the Work begun in me; I found it was not enough for me to Ceaſe to do Evil; though that was a good and a great Step. I had another Leſſon before me, which date 1659 To learn to do well: which I could by no • ns do, till I had given up, with full Purpoſe 〈◊〉 Mind, to Ceaſe from doing Evil. And when • d done that, the Enemy took Advantage of 〈◊〉 Weakneſs, to miſlead me again.

• or whereas I ought to have waited in the • t, for Direction and Guidance into, and • e Way of Well-Doing; and not to have mo • till the Divine Spirit (a Manifeſtation of • ich the Lord hath been pleaſed to give unto • e, for me to profit with, or by:) the Enemy, • nsforming himſelf into the Appearance of an • gel of Light, offered himſelf, in that Ap • arance, to be my Guide and Leader into the • erformance of Religious Exerciſes. And I, • t then knowing the Wiles of Satan, and be • eager to be doing ſome acceptable Service to 〈◊〉 ; too readily yielded my ſelf to the Con • of my Enemy, inſtead of my Friend.

He thereupon humouring the warmth, and 〈◊〉 of my Spirit, put me upon Religious Per • mances, in my own Will, in my own Time, and 〈◊〉 my own Strength; which in themſelves were • od, and would have been profitable unto me, • d acceptable unto the Lord; if they had been • ormed in His Will, in His Time, and in the • ity which He gives. But being wrought in 〈◊〉 Will of Man, and at the prompting of the • il One; no wonder that it did me Hurt, in • d of Good.

Read abundantly in the BIBLE, and • ld ſet my ſelf Tasks in Reading; injoying 〈◊〉 ſelf to Read ſo many Chapters, ſometimes date 1659 an whole Book, or long Epiſtle, at a tim • And I thought that time well ſpent, though • was not much the wiſer for what I had Rea • reading it too curſorily, and without the tr • Guide, the Holy Spirit, which alone could op • the Underſtanding, and give the true Senſe 〈◊〉 what was Read.

I Prayed often, and drew out my Prayers 〈◊〉 a great length: and appointed unto my ſelf ce • tain ſet Times to Pray at, and a certain Nu • ber of Prayers to ſay in a Day; yet knew no • mean while, what true Prayer was. Whi • ſtands not in Words (though the Words whi • are uttered in the Movings of the Holy Spirit a • very available;) but in the breathing of th • Soul to the Heavenly Father, through the Ope • ation of the Holy Spirit, who maketh Interceſſi • ſometimes in Words, and ſometimes with Sig • and Groans only, which the Lord vouchſafes 〈◊〉 hear, and Anſwer.

This Will-Worſhip (which all is, that is pe • formed in the Will of Man, and not in th • Movings of the Holy Spirit) was a great Hu • to me, and Hinderance of my Spiritual Growt • in the Way of Truth. But my Heavenly Father, who knew the Sincerity of my Soul t • Him, and the hearty Deſire I had to Serve Him • had Compaſſion on me; and in due time wa • graciouſly pleaſed to Illuminate my Underſtanding farther, and to open in me an Eye to diſcer • the Falſe Spirit, and its way of Working, fro • the True: and to reject the former, and cleav • to the latter.

date 1659 But though the Enemy had, by his Subtilty, • in'd ſuch Advantages over me; yet I went on • twithſtanding, and firmly perſiſted in my • odly Reſolution, of ceaſing from, and deny • g thoſe things, which I was now Convinced 〈◊〉 my Conſcience were Evil. And on this Ac • unt a great Trial came quickly on me. For • e General Quarter-Seſſions for the Peace com • g on, my Father (willing to excuſe himſelf • m a dirty Journey) commanded me to get 〈◊〉 betimes, and go to Oxford, and deliver in • e Recognizances he had taken; and bring him 〈◊〉 Account what Juſtices were on the Bench, • d what principal Pleas were before 'em; • hich he knew I knew how to do, having often • tended him on thoſe Services.

I (who knew how it ſtood with me better • an he did) felt a Weight come over me, as • n as he had ſpoke the Word. For I preſently • y, it would bring a very great Exerciſe upon 〈◊〉 . But having never reſiſted his Will, in any • ng that was lawful, (as this was) I attempt • not to make any Excuſe; but, ordering an • rſe to be ready for me early in the Morning, • ent to Bed, having great Struglings in my • eaſt.

For the Enemy came in upon me, like a • od, and ſet many Difficulties before me, • elling them up to the higheſt Pitch, by repre • ting them as Mountains, which I ſhould ne • be able to get over; And, alas! that Faith • ich could remove ſuch Mountains, and caſt date 1659 them into the Sea, was but very ſmall, an • weak in me.

He caſt into my Mind, not only how I ſhoul • behave my ſelf in Court, and diſpatch the B • ſineſs I was ſent about; but how I ſhould d • mean my ſelf towards my Acquaintance ( 〈◊〉 which I had many in that City) with whom • was wont to be Jolly: whereas now I coul • not put off my Hat, nor Bow, to any of the • nor give them their honorary Titles (as they a • called) nor uſe the corrupt Language of You • any one of them; but muſt keep to the pla • and true Language of Thou and Thee.

Much of this Nature revolved in my Min • thrown in by the Enemy to diſcourage, a • caſt me down. And I had none to have r • courſe to, for Counſel or Help, but the Lor • alone. To whom therefore I poured forth m • Supplications, with earneſt Cries and Breat • ings of Soul, that H E, in whom all Pow • was, would enable me to go through this gre • Exerciſe, and keep me faithful to Himſelf the • in. And after ſome time, he was pleaſed 〈◊〉 compoſe my Mind to Stilneſs, and I went 〈◊〉 reſt.

Early next Morning, I got up, and fou • my Spirit pretty calm and quiet; yet not wit • out a Fear upon me, leſt I ſhould ſlip, and • fall the Teſtimony, which I had to bear. And 〈◊〉 I rode, a frequent Cry ran through me to th • Lord, on this wiſe; O my God, Preſerve 〈◊〉 faithful, whatever befals me! Suffer me not to 〈◊〉 date 1659 drawn into Evil, how much Scorn and Contempt ſoever may be caſt upon me!

Thus was my Spirit exerciſed on the way almoſt continually. And when I was come within a Mile or two of the City, whom ſhould I meet upon the Way, coming from thence, but Edward Burrough! I rode in a Mountier-Cap (a Dreſs more uſed then, than now) and ſo did he: and becauſe the Weather was exceeding ſharp, we both had drawn our Caps down, to • helter our Faces from the Cold; and by that means neither of us knew the other, but paſſed • y without taking Notice one of the other, till • few Days after meeting again, and obſerving • ach others Dreſs, we recollected where we • ad ſo lately met. Then thought I with my • elf, O! How glad ſhould I have been of a Word 〈◊〉 Encouragement and Counſel from him, when I • as under that weighty Exerciſe of Mind! But the • ord ſaw it was not good for me: that my Re • ance might be wholly upon him; and not on Man.

When I had ſet up my Horſe, I went directly 〈◊〉 the Hall, where the Seſſions were held; • here I had been but a very little while, before • Knot of my old Acquaintances eſpying me, • me to me. One of theſe was a Scholar in his • own; another a Surgeon of that City (both • y School-Fellows, and Fellow-Boarders at • ame-School:) and the Third a Country Gentle • an, with whom I had long been very Familiar.

When they were come up to me, they all ſa • ted me, after the uſual manner, putting off date 1659 their Hats and Bowing; and ſaying, Your Humble Servant, Sir: expecting, no doubt, the like from me. But when they ſaw me ſtand ſtill, not moving my Cap, nor bowing my Knee in way of Congee to them; they were amazed, and looked firſt one upon another, then upon me, and then one upon another again, for a while, without a Word ſpeaking.

At length the Surgeon, (a brisk young Man) who ſtood neareſt to me, clapping his Hand, in a familiar way, upon my Shoulder, and ſmiling on me, ſaid, What! TOM, a Quaker! T • which I readily, and cheerfully Anſwered, Ye • A Quaker. And as the Words paſſed out of m • Mouth, I felt Joy ſpring in my Heart: for • rejoyced, that I had not been drawn out b • them, into a Compliance with them; and tha • I had Strength and Boldneſs given me, to Co • feſs my ſelf to be one of that deſpiſed People.

They ſtaid not long with me, nor ſaid an • more (that I remember) to me: but lookin • ſomewhat confuſedly one upon another, after • while took their Leave of me; going off in th • ſame ceremonious Manner, as they came on.

After they were gone, I walked a while about the Hall, and went up nearer to the Court to obſerve both what Juſtices were on th • Bench, and what Buſineſs they had before them • And I went in Fear (not of what they coul • or would have done to me, if they ſhould ha • taken notice of me, but) leſt I ſhould be ſu • prized, and drawn unwarily into that, whi • I was to keep out of.

date 1659 It was not long before the Court adjourned, to go to Dinner: And that time I took to go to the Clerk of the Peace, at his Houſe, whom I was well acquainted with. So ſoon as I came into the Room where he was, he came and met me; and ſaluted me after his manner: for he had a great Reſpect for my Father, and a kind Regard for me. And tho' he was at firſt ſomewhat ſtartled at my Carriage and Language: yet he treated me very civilly, without any Reflection, or ſhew of Lightneſs. I delivered him the Recognizances, which my Father had ſent; and having done the Buſineſs I came upon, withdrew: and went to my Inn, to refreſh my ſelf, and then to return home.

But when I was ready to take Horſe, looking out into the Street, I ſaw two or three Juſtices, ſtanding juſt in the Way where I was to ride. This brought a freſh Concern upon me. I knew, if they ſaw me, they would know me: And I concluded, if they knew me, they would ſtop me to enquire after my Father; and I doubted how I ſhould come off with them.

This Doubting brought Weakneſs on me; and that Weakneſs led to Contrivance, how I might avoid this Trial. I knew the City prety well; and remembred there was a back Way, which, though ſomewhat about, would bring me out of Town, without paſſing by • oſe Juſtices: Yet loth I was to go that Way. Wherefore I ſtaid a pretty time, in hopes they would have parted Company, or removed to • ome other Place, out of my Way. But when date 1659 I had waited till I was uneaſie, for loſing ſo much time; having entred into Reaſonings with Fleſh and Blood, the Weakneſs prevailed over me, and away I went the back Way: which brought Trouble and Grief upon my Spirit, for having ſhunned the Croſs.

But the Lord looked on me with a tender Eye; and ſeeing my Heart was right to him, and that what I had done was meerly through Weakneſs, and Fear of Falling, and that I was ſenſible of my Failing therein, and ſorry for it: he was graciouſly pleaſed to paſs it by, and ſpeak Peace to me again. So that, before I got home, as when I went in the Morning, my Heart was full of Breathing Prayer to the Lord, that he would vouchſafe to be with me, and uphold and carry me through that Days Exerciſe: So now at my Return in the Evening, my Heart was full of thankful Acknowledgments, and Praiſes unto Him, for his great Goodneſs and Favour to me, in having thus far preſerved, and kept me from falling into any thing that might have brought Diſhonour to his Holy Name, which I had now taken on me.

But notwithſtanding that it was thus with me, and that I found Peace and Acceptance with the Lord in ſome good degree, according to my Obedience to the Convictions I had received, by his Holy Spirit in me: yet was not the Vail ſo done away, or fully rent, but that there ſtill remained a Cloud upon my Underſtanding, with reſpect to my Carriage towards my Father. And that Notion, which the Enemy date 1659 had brought into my Mind, That I ought to put ſuch a Difference between him all others, as that, on the Account of Paternal Relation, I ſhould ſtill deport my ſelf towards him, both in Geſture and Language, as I had always heretofore done; did yet prevail with me. So that when I came home, I went to my Father bare headed, as I uſed to do; and gave him a particular Account of the Buſineſs he had given me in Command, in ſuch manner, that he, obſerving no alteration in my Carriage towards him, found no Cauſe to take Offence at me.

I had felt for ſometime before, an earneſt Deſire of Mind to go again to Iſaac Penington's. And I began to queſtion whether, when my Father ſhould come (as I concluded e're long he would) to underſtand I enclined to ſettle among the People called Quakers, he would permit me the Command of his Horſes, as before. Wherefore, in the Morning when I went to Oxford, I gave Direction to a Servant of his, to go that Day to a Gentleman of my Acquaintance (who I knew had a Riding Nag to put off, either by Sale, or to be kept for his Work;) and deſire him, in my Name, to ſend him to me; which he did, and I found him in the Stable, when I came home.

On this Nag I deſigned to ride next Day to Iſaac Penington's: and in order thereunto, aroſe betimes and got my ſelf ready for the Journey. But becauſe I would pay all due Reſpects to my Father, and not go without his Conſent, or Knowledge at the leaſt, I ſent one up to him date 1659 (for he was not yet ſtirring) to acquaint him, that I had a Purpoſe to go to Iſaac Peuington's; and deſired to know if he pleaſed to Command me any Service to them. He ſent me Word, He would ſpeak with me before I went; and would have me come up to him: which I did; and ſtood by his Bed-Side.

Then in a mild and gentle Tone, he ſaid, I underſtand you have a Mind to go to Mr. Penington's. I anſwered, I have ſo. Why, ſaid he, I wonder why you ſhould. You were there, you know, but a few Days ago; and unleſs you had Buſineſs with them, don't you think it will look odly? I ſaid, I I thought not. I doubt, ſaid he, You'll tire them with your Company, and make them think they ſhall be troubled with you. If, replyed I, I find any thing of that, I'll make the ſhorter Stay. But, ſaid he, can you propoſe any ſort of Buſineſs with them, more than a meer Viſit? Yes, ſaid I, I propoſe to my ſelf not only to ſee them; but to have ſome Diſcourſe with them. Why, ſaid he (in a Tone a little Harſher) I hope you don't encline to be of their Way. Truly, anſwered I, I like them, and their Way, very well; ſo far as I yet underſtand it: and I am willing to Go to them, that I may underſtand it better.

Thereupon he began to reckon up a Bead-Roll of Faults againſt the Quakers; Telling me They were a rude unmannerly People, that would not give Civil Reſpect or Honour to their Superiors; no not to Magiſtrates: That they held many dangerous Principles: That they were an immodeſt, ſhameleſs People; and that one of them ſtrip't himſelf date 1659 ſtark-naked, and went in that unſeemly manner about the Streets, at Fairs, and on Market-days in great Towns.

To all the other Charges, I anſwered only, That perhaps they might be either miſreported, or miſunderſtood, as the beſt of People had ſometimes been. But to the laſt Charge, of Going Naked, a particular Anſwer, by way of Inſtance, was juſt then brought into my Mind, and put into my Mouth, which I had not thought of before: and that was the Example of Iſaiah, who went Naked, among the People, for a long time, (Iſai. 20. 4.) Aye, ſaid my Father, but you muſt conſider, that He was a Prophet of the Lord, and had an expreſs Command from God to Go ſo. Yes, Sir, replied I, I do conſider that: but I conſider alſo, that the Jews among whom he lived, did not own him for a Prophet, nor believe that he had ſuch a Command from God. And, added I, how know we but that this Quaker may be a Prophet too, and might be commanded to do as he did, for ſome Reaſon which we underſtand not.

This put my Father to a ſtand; ſo that letting fall his Charges againſt the Quakers, he only ſaid, I would wiſh you not to go ſo ſoon; but take a little time to conſider of it: you may Viſit Mr. Penington hereafter. Nay, Sir, replied I, Pray don't hinder my going now: for I have ſo ſtrong a Deſire to go, that I do not well know how to forbear. And as I ſpake thoſe Words, I withdrew gently to the Chamber-Door; and then haſtning down Stairs, went immediately date 1659 to the Stable: where finding my Horſe ready Bridled, I forthwith mounted, and went off; leſt I ſhould receive a Countermand.

This Diſcourſe with my Father had caſt me ſomewhat back in my Journey, and it being Fifteen long Miles thither, the Ways bad, and my Nag but ſmall: it was in the Afternoon that I got thither. And underſtanding by the Servant that took my Horſe, that there was then a Meeting in the Houſe (as there was Weekly on that Day, which was the Fourth Day of the Week, though I, till then, underſtood it not) I haſtened in; and knowing the Rooms, went directly to the Little Parlour, where I found a few Friends ſitting together in Silence: and I ſate down among them, well ſatisfied, though without Words.

When the Meeting was ended, and thoſe of the Company, who were Strangers, withdrawn, I addreſſed my ſelf to Iſaac Penington and his Wife, who received me courteouſly: but not knowing what Exerciſe I had been in, and yet was under, nor having heard any thing of me, ſince I had been there before, in another Garb, were not forward at firſt to lay ſuddain Hands on me; which I obſerved, and did not diſlike. But as they came to ſee a Change in me, not in Habit only, but in Geſture, Speech and Carriage, and which was more, in Countenance alſo: (for the Exerciſe I had paſſed through, and yet was under, had imprinted a viſible Character of Gravity upon my Face;) they were exceeding kind, and tender towards me.

date 1659 There was then in the Family a Friend, whoſe Name was Anne Curtis (the Wife of Thomas Curtis of Reading) who was come upon a Viſit to them, and particularly to ſee Mary Penington's Daughter Guli: who had been ill of the Small Pox, ſince I had been there before. Betwixt Mary Penington and this Friend, I obſerved ſome private Diſcourſe, and Whiſperings; and I had an Apprehenſion that it was upon ſomething that concerned me. Wherefore I took the freedom to ask Mary Penington, If my coming thither had occaſioned any Inconvenience in the Family? She asked me, If I had had the Small Pox? I told her no. She then told me, Her Daughter had newly had them; and though ſhe was well recovered of them, ſhe had not as yet been down amongst them: but intended 〈◊〉 have come down, and ſate with them in the Par • our that Evening; yet would rather forbear, till • nother time, than Endanger me. And that that • as the matter they had been diſcourſing of. I aſſu • ed her, that I had always been, and then, • ore eſpecially, was free from any Apprehen • on of Danger in that reſpect: and therefore • treated, that her Daughter might come • own. And although they were ſomewhat • nwilling to yield to it, in regard of me; yet • y Importunity prevailed, and after Supper • e did come down, and ſit with us: and tho' • e Marks of the Diſtemper were freſh upon • er; yet they made no Impreſſion upon me; • aith keeping out Fear.

date 1659 We ſpent much of the Evening in Retiredneſs of Mind, our Spirits being weightily gathered inward: ſo that not much Diſcourſe paſſed among us; neither they to me, nor I to them, offered any Occaſion. Yet I had good Satisfaction in that Stilneſs; feeling my Spiri • drawn near to the Lord, and to them therein.

Before I went to Bed, they let me know • that there was to be a Meeting at Wiccomb nex • Day; and that ſome of the Family would g • to it. I was very glad of it: for I greatly d • ſired to go to Meetings; and this fell very ap • ly, it being in my way home. Next Mornin • Iſaac Penington himſelf went, having Anne Cu • tis with him: and I accompanied them.

At Wiccomb we met with Edward Burroug • who came from Oxford thither, that Day that • going thither, met him on the Way: and h • ving both our Mountier-Caps on, we recollecte • that we had met, and paſſed by each other 〈◊〉 the Road unknown.

This was a Monthly Meeting, conſiſting 〈◊〉 Friends chiefly, who gathered to it from ſever • Parts of the Country thereabouts: ſo that 〈◊〉 was pretty large, and was held in a fair Roo • in Jeremiah Steevens's Houſe; the Roo • where I had been at a Meeting before, in Jo • Raunce's Houſe, being too little to receive us.

A very good Meeting was this, in its ſe • and to me. Edward Burrough's Miniſtry ca • forth among us in Life and Power; and t • Aſſembly was covered therewith. I alſo, a • cording to my ſmall Capacity, had a Sha date 1659 therein. For I felt ſome of that Divine Power, working my Spirit into a great Tenderneſs; and not only Confirming me in the Courſe I had already entred, and ſtrengthning me to go on therein: but rending alſo the Vail ſomewhat further, and Clearing my Underſtanding in ſome other things, which I had not ſeen before. For the Lord was pleaſed to make his Diſcoveries to me by degrees; that the Sight of too great a Work, and too many Enemies to encounter with at once, 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 that 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 ſtaid with them: but Edward Burrough going home with Iſaac Penington. he invited me to go back with him; which I willingly conſented to. For the Love I had more particularly to Edward Burrough, through whoſe Miniſtry I had received the firſt awakning Stroke, drew me to deſire his Company; and ſo away we rode together.

But I was ſomewhat diſappointed of my Expectation: for I hoped he would have given me both Opportunity and Encouragement, to have opened my ſelf to him, and to have poured forth my Complaints, Fears, Doubts and Queſtionings into his Boſom. But he, being ſenſible that I was truly reach'd; and that the Witneſs of GOD was raiſed, and the Work of GOD date 1659 rightly begun in me: choſe to leave me to the Guidance of the good Spirit in my ſelf (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 my ſelf the Guilt of wilful Diſobedience; which I well knew would draw after it Divine Diſpleaſure and Judgment.

Hereupon the Enemy aſſaulted me afreſh; ſetting before me the Danger I ſhould run my ſelf into, of provoking my Father to uſe Severity towards me: and perhaps to the caſting date 1659 • e utterly off. But over this Temptation the • ord, whom I cried unto, ſupported me; and • ave me Faith to believe, that he would bear • e through whatever might befal me on that • ccount. Wherefore I reſolved, in the Strength • hich he ſhould give me, to be faithful to his • equirings, whatever might come on it.

Thus labouring under various Exerciſes on • e Way, I at length got home; expecting I • ould have but a rough Reception from my • ather. But when I came home, I underſtood • y Father was from home. Wherefore I ſate • own, by the Fire, in the Kitchin; keeping • y Mind retired to the Lord, with Breathings 〈◊〉 Spirit to Him, that I might be preſerved • om falling.

After ſome time I heard the Coach drive in, • hich put me into a little Fear, and a ſort of • ivering came over me. But by that time he • as alighted and come in, I had pretty well • covered my ſelf; and as ſoon as I ſaw him, I • oſe up, and advanced a Step or two towards • im, with my Head covered, ſaid, Iſaac Pen • gton and his Wife remember their Loves to • ee.

He made a Stop to hear what I ſaid, and ob • erving that I did not ſtand bare, and that I • ſed the Word [Thee] to him; He, with a • ern Countenance, and Tone that ſpake high Diſpleaſure, only ſaid, I ſhall talk with you, Sir, • nother time: and ſo haſtening from me, went • to the Parlour; and I ſaw him no more that Night.

date 1659 Though I foreſaw there was a Storm ariſi • the Apprehenſion of which was uneaſie to m • yet the Peace which I felt in my own Brea • raiſed in me a Return of Thankſgivings to t • Lord, for his gracious ſupporting Hand; whi • had thus far carried me through this Exerciſ • with humble Cries in Spirit to Him, that 〈◊〉 would vouchſafe to ſtand by me in it to t • End; and uphold me, that I might not fall.

My Spirit longed to be among Friends, a • to be at ſome Meeting with them on the Fi • Day, which now drew on; this being the Six • Day Night. Wherefore I purpoſed to go 〈◊〉 Oxford on the Morrow (which was the Seven • Day of the Week) having heard there was 〈◊〉 Meeting there. Accordingly, having order • my Horſe to be made ready betimes, I got u • in the Morning and made my ſelf ready al • Yet before I would go, (that I might be as o • ſervant to my Father, as poſſibly I could) I d • ſired my Siſter to go up to him in his Chambe • and acquaint him, that I had a Mind to g • to Oxford; and deſired to know if he pleaſed 〈◊〉 Command me any Service there. He bid h • tell me, He would not have me go, till he ha • ſpoken with me. And getting up immediately • he haſtened down to me, before he was quit • dreſſed.

As ſoon as he ſaw me ſtanding with my Ha • on, his Paſſion tranſporting him, he fell upo • me with both his Fiſts; and having by tha • Means ſomewhat vented his Anger, he plucked off my Hat, and threw it away. Then ſtepping date 1659 haſtily out to the Stable, and ſeeing my • rrowed Nag ſtand ready Saddled and Bridled, 〈◊〉 asked his Man Whence that Horſe came? who • ling him he fetch't it from Mr. — ſuch an • e's: Then ride him preſently back, ſaid my Fa • r, and tell Mr. — I deſire he will never • d my Son an Horſe again, unleſs he brings a • te from me.

The poor Fellow, who loved me well, would 〈◊〉 have made Excuſes and Delays; but my • ther was poſitive in his Command: and ſo • gent, that he would not let him ſtay ſo much 〈◊〉 to take his Breakfaſt (though he had Five • iles to ride;) nor would he himſelf ſtir from • e Stable, till he had ſeen the Man mounted, • d gone.

Then coming in, he went up into his Cham • r, to make himſelf more fully ready; think • g he had me ſafe enough, now my Horſe was • e: for I took ſo much Delight in Riding, • t I ſeldom went on Foot.

But while he was dreſſing himſelf in his • amber, I (who underſtood what had been • e) changing my Boots for Shoos, took an • er Hat; and acquainting my Siſter (who • ed me very well, and whom I could confide 〈◊〉 whither I meant to go, went out privately, • d walked away to Wiccomb, having Seven • g Miles thither: which yet ſeem'd little and • e to me; from the Deſire I had to be among • ends.

As thus I travelled all alone, under a Load 〈◊〉 Grief, from the Senſe I had of the Oppoſition, date 1659 and Hardſhip I was to expect from 〈◊〉 Father; the Enemy took Advantage to Aſſa • me again, caſting a Doubt into my Mind, W • ther I had done well, in thus coming away from 〈◊〉 Father, without his Leave or Knowledge?

I was quiet and peaceable in my Spirit, b • fore this Queſtion was darted into me; but a • ter that, Diſturbance and Trouble ſeized up • me: ſo that I was at a ſtand what to do; wh • ther to go forward or backward. Fear of offend • inclined me to go back; but Deſire of the Meet • and to be with Friends, preſſed me to go forwa •

I ſtood ſtill a while, to conſider and weig • as well as I could, the Matter. I was ſenſib • ſatisfied, that I had not left my Father with a • Intention of Undutifulneſs, or Diſreſpect to hi • but meerly in Obedience to that Drawing 〈◊〉 Spirit, which I was perſwaded was of t • LORD, to join with His People in Worſhipp • Him: and this made me eaſie.

But then the Enemy, to make me uneaſie • gain, objected, But how could that Drawing be • the LORD, which drew me to diſobey my Fath •

I conſidered thereupon the Extent of Pat • nal Power; which I found was not wholly A • bitrary and Unlimited: but had Bounds ſet u • it. So that as in Civil Matters, it was reſtra • ed to Things Lawful: ſo in Spiritual and Reli • ous Caſes, it had not a compulſory Power over C • ſcience: which ought to be Subject to the H • venly Father. And therefore though Obedie • to Parents, be enjoyned to Children; yet it 〈◊〉 with this Limitation, [IN THE LORD date 1659 • hildren, obey your Parents in the Lord: for this 〈◊〉 right, 1 Pet. 6. 1.

This turned the Scale for going forward: • d ſo on I went. And yet I was not wholly • ee from ſome Fluctuations of Mind, from the • eſettings of the Enemy. Wherefore, altho' • knew that Outward Signs did not properly be • g to the Goſpel Diſpenſation: yet for my bet • r Aſſurance, I did, in Fear and great Humi • y, beſeech the Lord, that He would be pleaſ • ſo far to condeſcend to the Weakneſs of his • rvant, as to give me a Sign, by which I • ight certainly know, whether my Way was • ght before Him, or not.

The Sign which I asked was, That if I had • e wrong, in Coming as I did, I might be Reject • or but coldly received, at the Place I was Going 〈◊〉 but if this mine Undertaking was right in his • ht, he would give me Favour with them I went 〈◊〉 ſo that they ſhould receive me with hearty Kind • s and Demonſtrations of Love. Accordingly, • en I came to John Rance's Houſe (which, be • g ſo much a Stranger to all, I choſe to go to, • auſe I underſtood the Meeting was com • nly held there;) they received me with • re than ordinary Kindneſs; eſpecially Frances • nce (John Rance's then Wife;) who was both • Grave and Motherly Woman, and had a • rty Love to Truth, and Tenderneſs towards 〈◊〉 that, in Sincerity, ſought after it. And this 〈◊〉 kind Reception, confirming me in the Be • that my Undertaking was Approved of by 〈◊〉 LORD, gave great Satisfaction and Eaſe date 1659 to my Mind; and I was thankful to the Lord therefore.

Thus it fared with me there: but at Hom • it fared otherwiſe with my Father. He ſuppoſing I had betaken my ſelf to my Chamber • when he took my Hat from me, made no Enquiry after me, till Evening came; and the • ſitting by the Fire, and conſidering that th • Weather was very cold, he ſaid to my Siſter • who ſate by him, Go up to your Brother's Chamber, and call him down: it may be he will ſit the • elſe, in a ſullen Fit, till he has caught Cold. Alas Sir, ſaid ſhe, He is not in his Chamber, nor i • the Houſe neither. At that my Father ſtartling ſaid, Why where is he then? I know not, S • ſaid ſhe. where he is: but I know that, when 〈◊〉 ſaw you had ſent away his Horſe, he put on Shoo • and went out on Foot; and I have not ſeen hi • ſince. And indeed, Sir, added ſhe, I don't wo • der at his going away; conſidering how you uſe • him. This put my Father into a great Frigh • doubting I was gone quite away: and ſo grea • a Paſſion of Grief ſeized on him, that he fo • bore not to Weep, and to cry out aloud (ſo tha • the Family heard him) Oh! my Son! I ſhall never ſee him more! For he is of ſo bold and refolut • a Spirit, that he will run himſelf into Danger, an • ſo may be thrown into ſome Goal or other, wher • he may lie and die, before I can hear of hi • Then bidding her light him up to his Chamber, he went immediately to Bed; where h • lay Reſtleſs and Groaning, and often bemoaning himſelf and me, for the greateſt Part o • the Night.

date 1659 Next Morning my Siſter ſent a Man (whom, • or his Love to me, ſhew knew ſhe could • ruſt) to give me this Account: and though • y him ſhe ſent me alſo freſh Linnen for my • ſe, in caſe I ſhould go farther, or ſtay out • nger; yet ſhe deſired me to come home as • on as I could.

This Account was very uneaſie to me. I was • uch grieved that I had occaſioned ſo much • rief to my Father. And I would have re • rned that Evening, after the Meeting; but • e Friends would not permit it: for the Meet • g would in likelihood end late, the Days be • g ſhort; and the Way was long, and dirty. • nd beſides, John Rance told me, that he had • mething on his Mind to ſpeak to my Father; • d that, if I would ſtay till the next Day he • ould go down with me: hoping perhaps, that • ile my Father was under this Sorrow for 〈◊〉 , he might work ſome good upon him. • ereupon, concluding to ſtay till the Morrow, • iſmiſs't the Man with the things he brought; • ding him tell my Siſter, I intended (God • ling) to return home to Morrow: and • rging him not to let any Body elſe know, • t he had ſeen me, or where he had been.

Next Morning John Rance and I ſet out; and • en we were come to the End of the Town, 〈◊〉 agreed, that he ſhould go before, and knock 〈◊〉 the great Gate; and I would come a little • er, and go in by the back Way. He did ſo; 〈◊〉 when a Servant came to open the Gate, he • ing if the Juſtice were at home, ſhe told date 1659 him, Yes: and deſiring him to come in, an • ſit down in the Hall; went and acquainted h • Maſter, that there was one who deſired to ſpea • with him. He, ſuppoſing it was one that ca • for Juſtice, went readily into the Hall to hi • But he was not a little ſurpized, when he fou • it was a Quaker. Yet not knowing on wh • account he came, he ſtaid to hear his Buſine • But when he found it was about me, he 〈◊〉 ſomewhat ſharply on him.

In this time I was come, by the back w • into the Kitchin; and hearing my Fathe • Voice ſo loud, I began to doubt things wroug • not well: but I was ſoon aſſured of that. B • my Father having quickly enough of a Quak • Company, left John Rance in the Hall, a • came into the Kitchin; where he was m • ſurprized to find me.

The Sight of my Hat upon my Head m • him preſently forget, that I was that Son 〈◊〉 his, whom he had ſo lately lamented as 〈◊〉 and his Paſſion of Grief turning into An • he could not contain himſelf: but running 〈◊〉 on me, with both his Hands, firſt viole • ſnatch't off my Hat, and threw it away. T • giving me ſome Buffets on my Head, he 〈◊〉 Sirrah, Get you up to your Chamber.

I forthwith went; he following me at 〈◊〉 Heels, and now and then giving me a Whi • on the Ear: which (the way to my Cham • lying through the Hall, where John Rance 〈◊〉 he, poor Man, might ſee, and be ſorry for 〈◊〉 I doubt not but he was) but could not help 〈◊〉

date 1659 This was ſure an unaccountable thing, That • y Father ſhould, but a Day before, expreſs 〈◊〉 high a Sorrow for me, as fearing he ſhould • ever ſee me any more: and yet now, ſo ſoon 〈◊〉 he did ſee me, ſhould fly upon me with ſuch • iolence, and that only becauſe I did not put • f my Hat; which he knew I did not keep on, 〈◊〉 Diſreſpect to him, but upon a Religious Prin • le. But as this Hat-Honour (as it was ac • unted) was grown to be a great Idol; in thoſe • es more eſpecially: ſo the Lord was pleaſed 〈◊〉 engage his Servants in a ſteady Teſtimony • ainſt it; what ſuffering ſoever was brought • on them for it. And though ſome, who have • en called in the Lord's Vineyard at latter • urs, and ſince the Heat of that Day hath been • uch over; may be apt to account this Teſtimo • a ſmall thing to ſuffer ſo much upon, as ſome • ve done, not only to Beating, but to Fines, • d long and hard Impriſonments; yet they who, 〈◊〉 thoſe Times, were faithfully Exerciſed in and • der it, durſt not deſpiſe the Day of ſmall things; 〈◊〉 knowing that he who ſhould do ſo, would • t be thought worthy to be concerned in • her Teſtimonies.

I had now loſt one of my Hats, and I had • t one more. That therefore I put on; but 〈◊〉 not keep it long: for the next time my Fa • er ſaw it on my Head, he tore it violently • m me; and laid it up, with the other, I • ew not where. Wherefore I put on my • untier-Cap, which was all I had left to wear 〈◊〉 my Head; and it was but a very little while date 1659 that I had that to wear: for as ſoon as my Father came where I was, I loſt that alſo. And now I was forced to go bear-Headed, wher • ever I had Occaſion to go, within Doors an • without.

This was in the Eleventh Month (called Jan • ary) and the Weather ſharp; ſo that I, wh • had been bred up more tenderly, took ſo grea • a Cold in my Head, that my Face and Hea • were much ſwelled: and my Gums had o • them Boyls ſo ſore, that I could neither Che • Meat, nor, without Difficulty, ſwallow Liquid • It held long, and I underwent much Pain, wit • out much Pity, except from my poor Siſte • who did what ſhe could to give me Eaſe: a • at length, by frequent Applications of Figs, a • ſtoned Raiſins, toaſted, and laid to the Boy • as hot as I could bear them, they ripened 〈◊〉 for Lancing; and ſoon after ſunk, then I h • Eaſe.

Now was I laid up, as a kind of Priſon • for the reſt of this Winter; having no mea • to go forth among Friends: nor they Liber • to come to me. Wherefore I ſpent the Ti • much in my Chamber, in Waiting on t • LORD, and in Reading; moſtly in the Bib •

But whenever I had occaſion to ſpeak to 〈◊〉 Father, though I had no Hat now to offe • him; yet my Language did as much: fo • durſt not ſay [YOU] to him; but THOU, 〈◊〉 THEE, as the Occaſion required, and th • would he be ſure to fall on me with his Fi

date 1659 At one of theſe times, I remember, when • e had beaten me in that Manner, he command • me (as he commonly did at ſuch times) to • o to my Chamber; which I did, and he fol • wed me to the Bottom of the Stairs. Being • me thither, he gave me a Parting-Blow; and 〈◊〉 a very angry Tone, ſaid, Sirrah, If ever I • ar you ſay Thou or Thee to me again, I'll ſtrike • ur Teeth down your Throat. I was greatly • ieved to hear him ſay ſo. And feeling a Word • e in my Heart unto him; I turned again, • d calmly ſaid unto him. Would it not be • t, if God ſhould ſerve thee ſo: when thou • eſt Thou or Thee to Him? Though his Hand • as up, I ſaw it ſink, and his Countenance 〈◊〉 , and he turned away, and left me ſtanding • ere. But I notwithſtanding went up into • y Chamber, and Cryed unto the Lord, ear • ſtly beſeeching Him, that he would be pleaſ • to open my Father's Eyes, that he might ſee • hom he fought againſt, and for what: and • at He would turn his Heart.

After this I had a pretty time of Reſt and • iet from theſe Diſturbances: my Father not • ing any thing to me, nor giving me Occa • n to ſay any thing to him. But I was ſtill • der a kind of Confinement; unleſs I would • ve run about the Country bare-headed, like • Mad-Man: which I did not ſee it was my • ace to do. For I found that, although to be • road, and at Liberty among my Friends, • ould have been more pleaſant to me: yet • ome was at preſent my proper Place; a 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 date 1659 School, in which I was to learn with Patience to Bear the Croſs: and I willingly ſubmitted to it.

But after ſome time, a freſh Storm, more fierce and ſharp than any before, aroſe, and fell upon me: the Occaſion whereof was this My Father, having been (in his younger Years more eſpecially while he lived in London) • conſtant Hearer of thoſe who are called Puritan-Preachers, had ſtored up a pretty ſtock o • Scripture-Knowledge, did ſometimes (not conſtantly, nor very often) cauſe his Family t • come together, on a Firſt Day in the Evening • and expound a Chapter to them, and Pray • His Family now, as well as his Eſtate, wa • leſſen'd; for my Mother was dead, my Brother gone, and my elder Siſter at London: an • having put off his Husbandry, he had put 〈◊〉 with it moſt of his Servants; ſo that he ha • now but one Man, and one Maid-Servant. • ſo fell out, that on a Firſt Day Night, he bi • my Siſter (who ſate with him in the Parlou • Call in the Servants to Prayer.

Whether this was done as a Trial upon m • or no, I know not; but a Trial it proved 〈◊〉 me: For they (loving me very well, and di • liking my Father's Carriage to me) made 〈◊〉 haſte to go in; but ſtaid a ſecond Summon • This ſo offended him, that when at length the • did go in, he, inſtead of Going to Prayer, E • amined them, Why they came not in when th • were firſt Called: and the Anſwer they gave hi • being ſuch as rather heightned, than abate • date 1659 • s Diſpleaſure; he, with an angry Tone, ſaid, • ll in that Fellow (meaning me, who was left • one in the Kitchin) for he is the Cauſe of all • is, They, as they were backward to go in emſelves; ſo were not forward to call me in, aring the Effect of my Father's Diſpleaſure • ould fall upon me: as it ſoon did: for I, • earing what was ſaid, and not ſtaying for the • all, went in of my ſelf. And as ſoon as I • as come in, my Father diſcharged his Diſ • eaſure on me, in very ſharp and bitter Ex • eſſions: which drew from me (in the Grief • f my Heart, to ſee him ſo tranſported with • aſſion) theſe few Words; They that can Pray • ith ſuch a Spirit, let 'em: for my part I cannot. With that my Father flew upon me with both • is Fiſts; and not thinking that ſufficient, ſtep't • aſtily to the Place where his Cane ſtood: and • atching that up, laid me on (I thought) with • ll his Strength. And, I being bare-headed, I • hought his Blows muſt needs have broken my • cull, had I not laid mine Arm over my Head, • o defend it.

His Man, ſeeing this, and not able to con • ain himſelf, ſtep't in between us; and laying • old on the Cane, by Strength of Hand held • t ſo faſt, that though he attempted not to take • t away, yet he with-held my Father from ſtriking with it: which did but enrage him the more. I diſliked this in the Man; and bid him • et go the Cane, and be gone: which he immediately did, and turning to be gone, had a date 1659 Blow on the Shoulders for his Pains; which ye • did not much hurt him.

But now my Siſter, fearing leſt my Fathe • ſhould fall upon me again; beſought him 〈◊〉 forbear: adding, Indeed, Sir, if you ſtrike hi • any more, I will throw open the Caſement, and C • Murther; for I am afraid you will kill my Brothe • This ſtop't his Hand; and after ſome Threa • ning Speeches, he commanded me to Get to m • Chamber: which I did; as I always did whe • ever he bid me.

Thither, ſoon after, my Siſter followed m • to ſee my Arm, and dreſs it: for it was, indee • very much bruiſed and ſwelled, between th • Wriſt and the Elbow; and in ſome places th • Skin was broken, and beaten off. But thoug • it was very ſore; and I felt for ſome time mu • Pain in it: yet I had Peace and Quietneſs i • my Mind; being more grieved for my Fathe • than for my ſelf, who I knew had hurt himſel • more than me.

This was (ſo far as I remember) the la • time, that ever my Father called his Family t • Prayer. And this was alſo the laſt time, tha • he ever fell, ſo ſeverely at leaſt, upon me.

Soon after this my Elder Siſter (who, in al • the time of theſe Exerciſes of mine, had bee • at London) returned home; much troubled t • find me a Quaker, a Name of Reproach an • great Contempt then: and ſhe, being at London, h • d received, I ſuppoſe, the worſt Character of them. Yet, though ſhe diſliked th • date 1659 People; her affectionate Regard to me, made her rather Pity, than Deſpiſe me: and the more, when ſhe underſtood what hard Uſage I had met with.

The reſt of this Winter I ſpent in a loneſome ſolitary Life; having none to Converſe with, none to unboſom my ſelf unto, none to ask Counſel of, none to ſeek Relief from, but the LORD alone; who yet was more than All. And yet the Company and Society of Faithful and Judicious Friends, would (I thought) have been very welcome, as well as helpful to me in my Spiritual Travel: in which I thought I made but a ſlow Progreſs; my Soul breathing after further Attainments; The Sence of which drew from me the following Lines:

date 1660 At length it pleaſed the Lord to move Iſaac Penington and his Wife to make a Viſit to my Father, and ſee how it fared with me: And very welcome they were to me; whatever they were to him: to whom I doubt not but they would have been more welcome, had it not been for me.

They tarried with us all Night; and much Diſcourſe they had with my Father, both about date 1660 the Principle of TRUTH in general, and m • in particular: which I was not privy to. Bu • one thing, I remember, I afterwards heard of • which was this.

When my Father and we were at thei • Houſe, ſome Months before, Mary Penington • in ſome Diſcourſe between them, had told hi • how hardly her Husband's Father (Alderma • Penington) had dealt with him about his Hat • which my Father (little then thinking that i • would, and ſo ſoon too, be his own Caſe) di • very much Cenſure the Alderman for: wondring that ſo wiſe a Man as he was, ſhoul • take Notice of ſuch a trivial Thing, as the Putting off, or keeping on a Hat; and he ſpare • not to blame him liberally for it.

This gave her a Handle, to take hold of him by. And having had an ancient Acquaintance with him; and he having always had an high Opinion of, and Reſpect for her: ſhe, who was a Woman of great Wiſdom, of ready Speech, and of a well-reſolved Spirit, did preſ • ſo cloſe upon him, with this Home-Argument • that he was utterly to ſeek, and at a loſs how to defend himſelf.

After Dinner next Day, when they were ready to take Coach to return home; ſhe deſired my Father that, ſince my Company was ſo little acceptable to him, he would give me leave to Go, and ſpend ſome time with them • where I ſhould be ſure to be welcome.

He was very unwilling I ſhould go; and made many Objections againſt it: all which date 1660 ſhe Anſwered, and removed ſo clearly, that not finding what Excuſe further to alledge; he, at length left it to me; and I ſoon turned the Scale for Going.

We were come to the Coach-ſide before this was concluded on, and I was ready to ſtep in; when one of my Siſters privately put my Father in Mind, that I had never a Hat on. That ſomewhat ſtartled him: for he did not think it fit I ſhould go from home (and that ſo far, and to ſtay abroad) without a Hat. Wherefore he whi • p • red to her, to fetch me a Hat, and he entertained them with ſome Diſcourſe in the mean time. But as ſoon as he ſaw the Hat coming, he would not ſtay till it came, leſt I ſhould put it on before him; but breaking off his Diſcourſe abruptly, took his leave of them, and haſtened in, before the Hat was brought to me.

I had not one Penny of Money about me; nor any, indeed, elſewhere. For my Father, ſo ſoon as he ſaw that I would be a Quaker, took from me both what Money I had, and every thing elſe of Value, or that would have made Money, as ſome Plate Buttons, Rings, &c. pretending that he would keep them for me, till I came to my ſelf again, leſt I, in the mean time ſhould deſtroy them.

But as I had no Money; ſo, being among my Friends, I had no need of any, nor ever honed after it: though once upon a particular Occaſion I had like to have wanted it. The Caſe was thus.

date 1660 I had been at Reading, and ſet out from thence on the Firſt Day of the Week, in the Morning: intending to reach (as, in point of Time, I well might) to Iſaac Penington's; where the Meeting was to be that Day: but when I came to Maidenhead (a thorough-fair Town on the Way) I was ſtop't by the Watch for Riding on that Day.

The Watchman, laying hold on the Bridle, told me, I muſt go with him to the Conſtable • and accordingly I, making no Reſiſtance, ſuffered him to lead my Horſe to the Conſtable's Door. When we were come there, the Conſtable told me, I muſt go before the Warden (who was the Chief Officer of that Town) and bid the Watchman bring me on, himſelf walking before.

Being come to the Warden's Door, the Conſtable knock't, and deſired to ſpeak with Mr. Warden. He thereupon quickly coming to the Door, the Conſtable ſaid, Sir, I have brought a Man here to you, whom the Watch took riding through the Town. The Warden was a budge old Man; and I looked ſomewhat big too: having a good Gelding under me, and a good Riding Coat on my Back; both which my Friend Iſaac Penington had kindly accommodated me with for that Journey.

The Warden therefore taking me to be (as the Saying is) Somebody; put off his Hat, and made a low Congee to me: but when he ſaw that I ſate ſtill, and neither bowed to him, nor moved my Hat; he gave a ſtart, and ſaid date 1660 • o the Conſtable, You ſaid you had brought a Man, • ut he don't behave himſelf like a Man.

I ſate ſtill upon my Horſe, and ſaid not a Word; but kept my Mind retired to the Lord: waiting to ſee what this would come to.

The Warden then began to Examine me, Asking me Whence I came? and Whither I was • oing? I told him I came from Reading, and was going to Chalfont. He asked me Why I did Travel on that Day? I told him, I did not know • hat it would give any Offence barely to Ride, • r Walk on that Day; ſo long as I did not Car • y or Drive any Carriage, or Horſes laden with Burthens. Why, ſaid he, if your Buſineſs was ur • ent, did you not take a Paſs from the Mayor of Reading? Becauſe, replied I, I did not know, • or think I ſhould have needed one. Well, ſaid • e, I will not talk with you now, becauſe it is time • o Go to Church; but I will Examine you further • non: And turning to the Conſtable, Have him, • aid he, to an Inn, and bring him before me after Dinner.

The Naming of an Inn put me in Mind, that • uch publick Houſes were places of Expence; • nd I knew I had no Money to defray it. Wherefore I ſaid to the Warden, Before thou • endeſt me to an Inn, which may occaſion ſome Expence; I think it needful to acquaint thee, that I have no Money.

At that the Warden ſtartled again; and turning quick upon me, ſaid, How! No Money! How can that be? You don't look like a Man that has no Money. However I look, ſaid I, I tell date 1660 thee the Truth, that I have no Money: and • tell it to forewarn thee, that thou mayſt no • bring any Charge upon the Town. I wonder • ſaid he, what Art you have got, that you can Travel without Money: you can do more, I aſſure you • than I can.

I making no Anſwer, he went on, and ſaid • Well, well! but if you have no Money, you have • good Horſe under you; and we can Diſtrain hi • for the Charge. But, ſaid I, the Horſe is no • mine. No! ſaid he, • ut you have a good Coa • on your Back: and that, I hope, is your own: No • ſaid I, but it is not: for I borrowed both th • Horſe and the Coat.

With that the Warden, holding up hi • Hands, and ſmiling, ſaid, Bleſs me! I neve • met with ſuch a Man as you are before! What • were you ſet out by the Pariſh? Then turning to the Conſtable, he ſaid, Have him to the Grayhound, and bid the People be civil to him. Accordingly to the Grayhound I was led; my Horſe ſet up, and I put into a large Room • and ſome Account, I ſuppoſe, given of me to the People of the Houſe.

This was new Work to me; and what the Iſſue of it would be, I could not foreſee: but being left there alone, I ſate down, and retired in Spirit to the Lord (in whom alone my Strength and Safety was) and beg'd ſupport of Him; even that he would be pleaſed to give me Wiſdom, and Words to Anſwer the Warden, when I ſhould come to be Examined again before him.

date 1660 After ſome time, having Pen, Ink and Paper about me, I ſet my ſelf to write what I thought might be proper, if Occaſion ſerved, to give the Warden. And while I was writing, the Maſter of the Houſe being come home from his Worſhip, ſent the Tapſter to me, to invite me to dine with him. I bid him tell his Maſter, that I had not any Money to pay for my Dinner. He ſent the Man again to tell me, I ſhould be welcome to dine with him, though I had no Money. I deſired him to tell his Maſter, that I was very ſenſible of his Civility and Kindneſs, in ſo courteouſly inviting me to his Table; but I had not freedom to eat of his Meat, unleſs I could have paid for it. So he went on with his Dinner, and I with my Writing.

But before I had finiſhed what was on my Mind to write, the Conſtable came again; bringing with him his Fellow-Conſtable. This was a brisk, genteel young Man, a Shopkeeper in the Town, whoſe Name was Cherry. They ſaluted me Civilly, and told me they were come to have me before the Warden. This put an End to my Writing; which I put into my Pocket, and went along with them.

Being come to the Warden's, He asked me again the ſame Queſtions he had asked me before: To which I gave him the like Anſwers. Then he told me the Penalty I had incurred: which, he ſaid, was either to pay ſo much Money; or lye ſo many Hours in the Stocks: and asked me which I would chuſe. I reply'd, I ſhall not chuſe either. And ſaid I, I have told date 1660 thee already that I have no Money: though i • I had, I could not ſo far Acknowledge my ſel • an Offender, as to pay any. But as to lying i • the Stocks, I am in thy Power, to do unto me • what it ſhall pleaſe the Lord to ſuffer thee.

When he heard that, he pauſed awhile; and then told me, He conſidered that I was but a Young Man, and might not, perhaps, underſtand the danger I had brought my ſelf into: and therefore he would not uſe the Severity of the Law upon me; but in hopes that I would be wiſer hereafter, he would paſs by this Offence, and diſcharge me.

Then putting on a Countenance of the greateſt Gravity, he ſaid to me; But, young Man, I would have you know, That you have not only broken the Law of the Land! but the Law of God alſo: and therefore you ought to ask Him Forgiveneſs; for you have highly offended Him. That, ſaid I, I would moſt willingly do; if I were ſenſible that, in this Caſe, I had offended Him, by breaking any Law of His. Why, ſaid he, do you queſtion that? Yes, truly, ſaid I: for I do not know that any Law of God doth forbid me to Ride on this Day.

No! ſaid he, that's ſtrange! Where, I wonder, were you Bred? You can read: Can't you? Yes, ſaid I, that I can. Don't you read then, ſaid he, the Commandment; Remember the Sabbath Day, to keep it holy. Six Days ſhalt thou Labour, and do all thy Work: but the Seventh Day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God; in it thou ſhalt not do any Work. Yes, replyed I, I have both read it often, and remember it very date 1660 well. But that Command was given to the Jews, not to Chriſtians; and this is not that Day: for that was the Seventh Day; but this 〈◊〉 the Firſt. How! ſaid he, Do you know the Days of the Week no better? you had need then • e better taught.

Here the younger Conſtable (whoſe Name was Cherry) interpoſing, ſaid, Mr. Warden, the Gentleman is in the right as to that: for this is the firſt Day of the Week; and not the Seventh.

This the old Warden took in dudgeon; and • oking ſeverely on the Conſtable, ſaid, What! 〈◊〉 you take upon you to teach me! I'll have you • now, I will not be taught by you. As you pleaſe • r that, Sir, ſaid the Conſtable; but I am ſure • u are miſtaken in this Point: for Saturday, I • ow, is the Seventh Day; and you know Yeſterday • as Saturday.

This made the Warden hot and teſty, and • ut him almoſt out of all Patience: ſo that I • ar'd it would have come to a downright Quar • el betwixt them: for both were confident, and • either would yield. And ſo earneſtly were • ey engaged in the Conteſt, that there was no • oom for me to put in a Word between them.

At length the Old Man, having talk't him • lf out of Wind, ſtood ſtill a while, as it were 〈◊〉

〈◊〉 take Breath; and then bethinking himſelf of • e, he turn'd to me, and ſaid, You are diſcharg • , and may take your Liberty to go about your Occa • ns. But, ſaid I, I deſire my Horſe may be • iſcharged too, elſe I know not how to go. • y, Ay, ſaid he; you ſhall have your Horſe: and date 1660 turning to the other Conſtable, (who had no • offended him) he ſaid, Go, ſee that his Horſe b • delivered to him.

Away thereupon went I, with that Conſtable; leaving the Old Warden, and the Young Conſtable to compoſe their Difference, as they could. Being come to the Inn, the Conſtable called for my Horſe to be brought out. Which done, I immediately Mounted, and began to ſet forward. But the Hoſtler, not knowing the Condition of my Pocket, ſaid modeſtly 〈◊〉 me, Sir, Don't you forget to pay for your Horſe • ſtanding? No truly, ſaid I, I don't forget it • but I have no Money to pay it with: and ſo • told the Warden before. Well, hold you yo • Tongue, ſaid the Conſtable to the Hoſtler; I • ſee you paid. Then opening the Gate, they l • me out, the Conſtable wiſhing me a good Jou • ney: and through the Town I rode, withou • further Moleſtation; though it was as muc • Sabbath (I thought) when I went out, as i • was when I came in.

A ſecret Joy aroſe in me, as I rode on th • Way; for that I had been preſerved from D • ing, or Saying any thing, which might gi • the Adverſaries of TRUTH Advantage again • it, or the Friends of it: and Praiſes ſprang i • my thankful Heart to the Lord, my Preſerve •

It added alſo not a little to my Joy, that • felt the Lord near unto me, by His Witneſs i • my Heart, to Check and Warn me; and m • Spirit was ſo far ſubjected to Him, as readily 〈◊〉 date 1660 take Warning, and ſtop at His Check: An Inſtance of both that very Morning I had.

For as I rode between Reading and Mainden • ead, I ſaw lying in my way the Scabbard of an • anger; which, having loſt its Hook, had ſlipt off, I ſuppoſe, and drop't from the Side of the Wearer: and it had in it a pair of Knives, whoſe Hafts being inlaid with Silver, ſeemed • o be of ſome Value. I alighted, and took it • p; and clapping it between my Thigh and • he Saddle, rode on a little way: but I quickly • ound it too heavy for me; and the Reprover 〈◊〉 me ſoon began to Check. The Word aroſe 〈◊〉 me, What haſt thou to do with that? Doth it • elong to thee? I felt I had done amiſs in Taking 〈◊〉 : wherefore I turned back to the Place where 〈◊〉 lay; and laid it down where I found it. And when afterwards I was ſtop't, and ſeized on at Maidenhead; I ſaw there was a Providence in • ot bringing it with me: which, if it ſhould • ave been found (as it needs muſt) under my • oat, when I came to be Unhorſed, might • ave raiſed ſome evil Suſpicion, or ſiniſter • houghts concerning me.

The Stop I met with at Maidenhead, had • ent me ſo much time, that when I came to • aac Penington's, the Meeting there was half • er: Which gave them Occaſion, after Meet • g, to enquire of me, If any thing had befal • n me on the Way, which had cauſed me 〈◊〉 come ſo late. Whereupon I related to them • hat Exerciſe I had met with, and how the • ord had helped me through it: Which when date 1660 they had heard, they Rejoyced with me, and for my ſake.

Great was the Love, and manifold the Kindneſſes, which I received from theſe my worthy Friends (Iſaac and Mary Penington) while I abode in their Family. They were indeed as affectionate Parents, and tender Nurſes to me, in this time of my Religious Childhood. For beſides their weighty and ſeaſonable Counſels and Exemplary Converſations; they furniſhe • me with Means to go to the other Meetings o • Friends in that Country, when the Meeting was not in their own Houſe. And indeed, th • time I ſtaid with them was ſo well ſpent, tha • it not only yielded great Satisfaction to m • Mind: but turned, in good Meaſure to my ſp • ritual Advantage in the TRUTH.

But that I might not, on the one hand, bea • too hard upon my Friends; nor on the othe • hand, forget the Houſe of Thraldom: after • had ſtaid with them ſome Six or Seven Week • (from the Time called Eaſter, to the Tim • called Whitſuntide) I took my leave of the • , to depart home; intending to walk to Wiccom • in one Day, and from thence home in another •

That Day that I came Home I did not ſee my Father, nor until Noon the next Day; when I went into the Parlour, when he was, to take my uſual Place at Dinner.

As ſoon as I came in, I obſerved, by my Father's Countenance, that my Hat was ſtill an Offence to him: but when I was ſitten down, and before I had eaten any thing, he made me date 1660 • nderſtand it more fully, by ſaying to me (but 〈◊〉 a milder Tone, than he had formerly uſed 〈◊〉 ſpeak to me in) If you cannot content your ſelf 〈◊〉 come to Dinner without your Hive on your • ead (ſo he called my Hat) pray Riſe, and go • ke your Dinner ſomewhere elſe.

Upon thoſe Words I aroſe from the Table, • d leaving the Room, went into the Kitchin; • here I ſtaid till the Servants went to Dinner, • d then ſate down very contentedly with • em. Yet I ſuppoſe my Father might intend • at I ſhould have gone into ſome other Room, • d there have eaten by my ſelf. But I choſe • ther to Eat with the Servants; and did ſo, • om thenceforward, ſo long as He and I lived • gether. And from this time he rather choſe, 〈◊〉 I thought, to avoid ſeeing me; than to re • w the Quarrel about my Hat.

My Siſters, mean while obſerving my Wa • eſs in Words and Behaviour, and being ſa • fied, I ſuppoſe, that I acted upon a Principle 〈◊〉 Religion and Conſcience, carried themſelves • ry kindly to me; and did what they could to • itigate my Father's Diſpleaſure againſt me. 〈◊〉 that I now enjoyed much more quiet at • ome; and took more Liberty to go Abroad • mongſt my Friends, than I had done (or could 〈◊〉 ) before. And having informed my ſelf, • here any Meetings of Friends were holden, • ithin a reaſonable Diſtance from me, I reſort • d to them.

At firſt I went to a Town called Haddenham 〈◊〉 Buckinghamſhire, Five Miles from my Father's; 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 date 1660 where, at the Houſe of one Belſon, • few (who were called Quakers) did meet ſom • times on a Firſt Day of the Week: but I foun • little Satisfaction there. Afterwards, upon fu • ther Enquiry, I underſtood there was a ſettle • Meeting at a little Village called Meadle (abo • Four long Miles from me) in the Houſe of o • John White (which is continued there ſtill 〈◊〉 and to that thenceforward I conſtantly wen • while I abode in that Country, and was ab • Many a ſore Days Travel have I had thith • and back again; being commonly, in the Wi • ter time (how fair ſoever the Weather was • ver head) wet up to the Ancles at leaſt: y • through the Goodneſs of the Lord to me, • was preſerved in Health.

A little Meeting alſo there was, on t • Fourth Day of the Week, at a Town call • Bledlow (two Miles from me) in the Houſe 〈◊〉 one Thomas Saunders, who Profeſſed the Trut • But his Wife, whoſe Name was Damaris, 〈◊〉 Poſſeſs it (ſhe being a Woman of great Since • ty, and lively Senſe:) and to that Meeting a • I uſually went.

But though I took this Liberty for the S • vice of GOD, that I might Worſhip Him • the Aſſemblies of his People; yet did I not 〈◊〉 it upon other Occaſions: but ſpent my Ti • on other Days, for the moſt part in my Cha • ber; in Retiredneſs of Mind, waiting on 〈◊〉 LORD. And the LORD was graciouſly ple • ed to viſit me, by his quickening Spirit a • Life; ſo that I came to feel the Operation of 〈◊〉 date 1660 Power in my Heart, working out that which was contrary to his Will, and giving me, in meaſure, Dominion over it.

And as my Spirit was kept in a due Subjecti • n to this Divine Power, I grew into a nearer Ac • uaintance with the LORD; and the LORD • ouchſafed to ſpeak unto me, in the Inward of • y Soul, and to open my Underſtanding in his • ear, to receive Counſel from Him: ſo that I • ot only, at ſometimes, heard his Voice, but • ould diſtinguiſh his Voice from the Voice of • he Enemy.

As thus I daily waited on the LORD, a weighty and unuſual Exerciſe came upon me; which bowed my Spirit very low before the LORD. I had ſeen, in the Light of the Lord, • he horrible Guilt of thoſe deceitful Prieſts, • f divers Sorts and Denominations, who made • Trade of PREACHING; and for filthy Lucre • ake held the People always Learning: yet ſo • aught them, as that, by their Teaching and Miniſtry, they were never able to come to the Knowledge (much leſs to the Acknowledgment) • f the Truth: For as they themſelves hated the Light, becauſe their own Deeds were Evil: ſo • y Reviling, Reproaching, and Blaſpheming the TRUE LIGHT, (wherewith every Man that • ometh into the World is Enlightned, John 1. 9.) • hey begat in the People a Diſ-eſteem of the Light; and laboured (as much as in them lay) • o keep their Hearers in the Darkneſs, that they might not be turned to the Light in themſelves, • eſt by the Light they ſhould diſcover the Wickedneſs date 1660 of theſe their Deceitful Teachers; and turn from them.

Againſt this Practice of theſe falſe Teachers, the Zeal of the LORD had flamed in my Breaſt ſor ſome time: And now the Burthen of the Word of the LORD againſt them fell heavy upon me, with Command to proclaim His Controverſie againſt them.

Fain would I have been excuſed from this Service, which I judged too heavy for me • Wherefore I beſought the Lord to take this Weight from off me (who was, in every reſpect, but young;) and lay it upon ſome other of his Servants (of whom he had many) who were much more able and fit for it. But the Lord would not be intreated: but continued the Burden upon me, with greater weight • requiring Obedience from me, and promiſing to aſſiſt me therein. Whereupon I aroſe from my Bed, and in the Fear and Dread of the Lord, committed to Writing what He, in the Motion of his Divine Spirit, dictated to me to write. When I had done it, though the Sharpneſs of the Meſſage therein delivered, was hard to my Nature to be the Publiſher of: yet I found Acceptance with the Lord, in my Obedience to his Will, and his Peace filled my Heart. As ſoon as I could, I communicated to my Friends what I had written: and it was Printed in the Year 1660. in one Sheet of Paper, under the Title of An Alarm to the PRIESTS; or, A Meſſage from Heaven, to forewarn them, &c.

date 1660 Some time after the Publiſhing of this Paper, • aving Occaſion to go to London, I went to viſit George Fox the younger, who (with another • riend) was then a Priſoner in a Meſſenger's • ands. I had never ſeen him, nor he me be • re; yet this Paper lying on the Table before • im, he (pointing to it) asked me, If I was • e Perſon that writ it? I told him, I was. It's • uch (ſaid the other Friend) that they bear it. 〈◊〉 is (replied he) their Portion: and they muſt • ear it.

While I was then in London, I went to a • tle Meeting of Friends, which was then held 〈◊〉 the Houſe of one Humphry Bache a Gold • mith, at the Sign of the Snail in Tower-ſtreet. 〈◊〉 was then a very troubleſome Time, not from • e Government, but from the Rabble of Boys • d rude People, who upon the Turn of the • imes (at the Return of the KING) took Li • erty to be very abuſive.

When the Meeting ended, a pretty Number 〈◊〉 theſe unruly Folk were got together at the • oor, ready to receive the Friends as they came • th, not only with evil Words, but with • ows; which I ſaw they beſtowed freely on • me of them that were gone out before me, • d expected I ſhould have my Share of, when • came amongſt them. But quite contrary to • y Expectation, when I came out, they ſaid • e to another, Let him alone; Don't meddle • th him: he is no Quaker I'll warrant you.

This ſtruck me, and was worſe to me, than 〈◊〉 they had laid their Fiſts on me, as they did date 1660 on others. I was troubled to think what th • Matter was, or what theſe Rude People ſaw i • me, that made them not take me for a Quake • And upon a cloſe Examination of my ſelf, wit • reſpect to my Habit and Deportment, I coul • not find any thing to place it on; but that • had then on my Head a large Mountier-Cap 〈◊〉 Black Velvet, the Skirt of which being turne • up in Folds, looked (it ſeems) ſomewhat abo • the then Common Garb of a Quaker: and th • put me out of Conceit with my Cap.

I came, at this time, to London from Iſa • Penington's, and thither I went again, in 〈◊〉 way Home: and while I ſtaid there, among other Friends who came thither, Thomas Loe 〈◊〉 Oxford was one. A faithful and diligent • bourer he was, in the Work of the Lord; a • an excellent Miniſterial Gift he had. And • in my Zeal for Truth, being very deſirous t • my Neighbours might have the Opporunity 〈◊〉 hearing the Goſpel, the glad Tidings of Salv • tion, livingly and powerfully preached amo • them; entred into Communication with h • about it: offering to procure ſome convenie • Place, in the Town where I lived, for a Me • ing to be held, and to invite my Neighbo • to it; if he could give me any Ground to • pect his Company at it. He told me he 〈◊〉 not at his own Command, but at the Lord's; 〈◊〉 he knew not how he might diſpoſe of him: 〈◊〉 wiſh'd me, if I found, when I was come home, t • the thing continued with Weight upon my Mi • and that I could get a fit Place for a Meeting 〈◊〉 date 1660 would advertize him of it by a few Lines, directed to him in Oxford (whither he was then going) and he might then let me know how his Freedom ſtood in that Matter.

When therefore I was come home, and had treated with a Neighbour for a Place to have a Meeting in, I wrote to my Friend Thomas Loe, to acquaint him, that I had procured a Place for a Meeting, and would invite Company to it; if he would fix the Time, and give • e ſome Ground to hope, that he would be • t it.

This Letter I ſent by a Neighbour to Thame, • o be given to a Dyer of Oxford, who conſtant • y kept Thame-Market; with whom I was pretty well acquainted, having ſometimes formerly uſed him, not only in his way of Trade, • ut to carry Letters between my Brother and • e, when he was a Student in that Univerſity: • r which he was always paid; and had been • o careful in the Delivery, that our Letters had • lways gone ſafe, until now. But this time Providence ſo ordering, or at leaſt for my Tryal, permitting it) this Letter of mine, in • tead of being delivered according to its Dire • tion, was ſeized, and carried (as I was told) • o the Lord Faulkland, who was then called Lord-Lieutenant of that County.

The Occaſion of this Stopping of Letters at • hat time, was that mad Prank, of thoſe in • atuated Fifth-Monarchy-Men, who from their Meeting-Houſe in Coleman-Street, London, break • ng forth in Arms, (under the Command of date 1660 their Chieftain Venner) made an Inſurrection in the City; on Pretence of ſetting up th • Kingdom of Jeſus; who (it is ſaid) they expected would come down from Heaven, to be thei • Leader. So little underſtood they the Natur • of his Kingdom; though he himſelf had declared it was not of this World.

The KING, a little before his Arrival in England, had, by his Declaration from Breda • given Aſſurance of Liberty to Tender Conſcience • and that no Man ſhould be diſquieted, or called in Queſtion for Differences of Opinion in Matters of Religion, who do not diſturb the Peace o • the Kingdom: Upon this Aſſurance Diſſenters o • all ſorts relied, and held themſelves ſecur • But now, by this Frantick Action of a few ho • brain'd Men, the King was, by ſome, holde • Diſcharged from this his ROYAL WORD an • PROMISE, in his foregoing Declaration publickly given. And hereupon Letters were intercepted and broken open; for Diſcovery o • ſuſpected Plots, and Deſigns againſt the Government: and not only Diſſenters Meetings, o • all ſorts, without Diſtinction, were diſturbed • but very many were Impriſoned, in moſt Parts throughout the Nation; and great Search the • was, in all Countries, for ſuſpected Perſons who, if not found at Meetings, were fetch'd in from their own Houſes.

The Lord Lieutenant (ſo called) of Oxfordſhire had on this Occaſion taken Thomas Loe, and many other of our Friends, at a Meeting; and ſen • them Priſoners to Oxford-Caſtle, juſt before my date 1660 Letter was brought to his Hand, wherein I • ad invited Thomas Loe to a Meeting: and he, • utting the worſt Conſtruction upon it, as if I a poor Simple Lad) had intended a Seditious Meeting, in order to raiſe Rebellion, ordered • wo of the Deputy Lieutenants, who lived near •… to me, to ſend a Party of Horſe to fetch • e in.

Accordingly, while I (wholly ignorant of • hat had paſſed at Oxford) was in daily Ex •… ctation of an agreeable Anſwer to my Letter; •… me a Party of Horſe one Morning to my Fa •… er's Gate, and asked for me.

It ſo fell out, that my Father was at that •… e from home (I think in London) whereup •… he that Commanded the Party alighted, and •… me in. My eldeſt Siſter, hearing the Noiſe 〈◊〉 Soldiers, came haſtily up into my Chamber, •… d told me there were Soldiers below, who •… quired for me. I forthwith went down to •… em; and found the Commander was a Bar •… of Thame, and one who had always been 〈◊〉 Barber till I was a Quaker. His Name was •… ately: a bold, brisk Fellow.

I asked him, what his Buſineſs was with me? 〈◊〉 told me, I muſt go with him. I demand •… to ſee his Warrant: He laid his Hand on his •… ord, and ſaid, That was his Warrant. I told 〈◊〉 , Though that was not a legal Warrant; 〈◊〉 I would not diſpute it: but was ready to •… r Injuries. He told me, He could not help 〈◊〉 he was commanded to bring me forthwith be •… the Deputy Lieutenants: and therefore deſired date 1660 me to order an Horſe to be got ready, becauſe he was in haſte. I let him know, I had no Horſe of my own; and would no • meddle with any of my Father's Horſes, in hi • Abſence eſpecially: and that therefore, if h • would have me with him, he muſt carry me a • he could.

He thereupon taking my Siſter aſide, told he • he found I was reſolute; and his Orders were pe • emptory: wherefore he deſired that ſhe woul • give Order for an Horſe to be made ready fo • me; for otherwiſe he ſhould be forced to mou •… me behind a Trooper, which would be ver • unſuitable for me, and which he was very u • willing to do. She thereupon ordered an Hor •… to be got ready, upon which, when I had take • Leave of my Siſters, I mounted, and went of • not knowing whither he intended to carry me.

He had Orders, it ſeems, to take ſome • thers alſo, in a Neighbouring Village; who •… Names he had, but their Houſes he did n •… know. Wherefore, as we rode, he asked m •… If I knew ſuch and ſuch Men (whom he na •… ed) and where they lived: and when he unde • ſtood that I knew them, he deſired me to ſhe •… him their Houſes. No, ſaid I, I ſcorn to 〈◊〉 an Informer againſt my Neighbours, to bri •… them into Trouble. He thereupon, riding 〈◊〉 and fro, found, by Enquiry, moſt of their Ho • ſes: but, as it happened, found none of the • at Home; at which I was glad.

date 1660 At length he brought me to the Houſe of •… e called Eſquire Clark of Weſton by Thame; •… ho being afterwards Knighted, was called •… r John Clark: a jolly Man, too much addict •… to Drinking in ſoberer Times; but was now •… own more Licenſious that way, as the Times •… d now more favour Debauchery. He and I •… d known one another for ſome Years; though •… t very intimately: having met ſometimes at •… e Lord Wenman's Table.

This Clark was one of the Deputy-Lieute •… nts, whom I was to be brought before. And 〈◊〉 had gotten another thither, to joyn with him 〈◊〉 tendering me the Oaths; whom I knew only 〈◊〉 Name and Character: he was called Eſquire •… owls of Grays by Henly; and reputed a Man 〈◊〉 better Morals, than the other.

I was brought into the Hall, and kept there. •… d as Quakers were not ſo common then, as •… ey now are (and indeed even yet, the more 〈◊〉 the pity, they are not common in that Part 〈◊〉 the Country:) I was made a Spectacle, and •… zing-ſtock to the Family; and by divers I •… s diverſly ſet upon. Some ſpake to me cour •… ouſly, with Appearance of Compaſſion; O •… ers ruggedly, with evident Tokens of Wrath •… d Scorn. But though I gave them the Hear •… g of what they ſaid (which I could not well •… id) yet I ſaid little to them: but, keeping •… y Mind as well retired as I could, I breathed 〈◊〉 the Lord for Help and Strength from him, 〈◊〉 bear me up, and carry me through this Try •… that I might not ſink under it, or be prevailed date 1660 on by any Means, fair or foul, to d • any thing that might diſhonour, or diſpleaſe my GOD.

At length came forth the Juſtices themſelve • (for ſo they were, as well as Lieutenants) an • after they had ſaluted me, they diſcourſed wit • me pretty familiarly: and though Clark woul • ſometimes be a little jocular and waggiſ • (which was ſomewhat natural to him) ye • Knowls treated me very civilly; not ſeeming 〈◊〉 take any Offence at my not ſtanding bare b • fore him. And when a young Prieſt (who, 〈◊〉 I underſtood, was Chaplain in the Famil •… took upon him pragmatically to reprove me 〈◊〉 ſtanding with my Hat on before the Mag • ſtrates; and ſnatch'd my Cap from of 〈◊〉 Head: Knowls in a pleaſant Manner correct •… him, telling him he miſtook himſelf, in taki •… a Cap for a Hat (for mine was a Mountier-Ca •… and bid him give it me again; which 〈◊〉 (though unwillingly) doing, I forthwith p •… it on my Head again, and thenceforward no •… meddled with me about it.

Then they began to Examine me, putti •… divers Queſtions to me, relating to the preſ •… Diſturbances in the Nation; occaſioned by t •… late fooliſh Inſurrection, of thoſe frantick Fif •… Monarchy-Men. To all which I readily A • ſwered, according to the Simplicity of 〈◊〉 Heart, and Innocency of my Hands: for I h •… neither done, nor thought any Evil agai •… the Government.

date 1660 But they endeavoured to affright me, with •… reats of Danger; telling me (with Innuen •… s) that for all my Pretence of Innocency, •… ere was high Matter againſt me, which, if would ſtand out, 〈◊〉 would be brought forth, and •… at under my own Hand. I knew not what •… ey meant by this: but I knew my Innocency, •… d kept to it.

At length, when they ſaw I regarded not •… eir Threats in general, they asked me, If I •… ew one Thomas Loe, and had written of late 〈◊〉 him. I then remembred my Letter, which 〈◊〉 then I had not thought of, and thereupon •… nkly told them, That I did both know Tho •… s Loe, and had lately written to him: but •… at as I knew I had written no Hurt: ſo I did •… t fear any Danger from that Letter. They •… ook their Heads, and ſaid, It was dangerous to •… rite Letters to appoint Meetings in ſuch trouble •… e Times.

They added, That by appointing a Meeting, and •… eavouring to gather a Concourſe of People toge •… r, in ſuch a Juncture eſpecially as this was, I had •… dered my ſelf a dangerous Perſon. And there •… e they could do no leſs, than Tender me the Oaths 〈◊〉 Allegience and Supremacy: which therefore •… y required me to take.

I told them, If I could take any Oath at all, • would take the Oath of Allegiance: for I owed •… legiance to the KING. But I durſt not •… ke any Oath, becauſe my Lord and Maſter •… SUS CHRIST, had commanded me not 〈◊〉 Swear at all: and if I brake his Command, date 1660 I ſhould thereby both diſhonour and diſple •… him.

Hereupon they undertook to reaſon with m •… and uſed many Words to perſwade me, Th •… that Command of Chriſt related only to common a •… prophane Swearing, not to Swearing before a Ma •… ſtrate. I heard them, and ſaw the Weakn •… of their Arguings; but did not return the •… any Anſwer: for I found my preſent Buſin •… was not to diſpute, but to ſuffer; and that 〈◊〉 was not ſafe for me (in this my weak and Ch •… diſh State eſpecially) to enter into Reaſoni •… with ſharp, quick, witty and learned Me •… leſt I might thereby hurt both the Cauſe 〈◊〉 Truth (which I was to bear Witneſs to) a •… my ſelf: Therefore I choſe rather to be a Fo •… and let them triumph over me; than by 〈◊〉 Weakneſs give them Advantage to triumph •… ver the Truth. And my Spirit being cloſe •… exerciſed, in a deep travel towards the Lord, • earneſtly begged of him, that he would 〈◊〉 pleaſed to keep me faithful to the Teſtimo •… he had committed to me; and not ſuffer me •… be taken in any of the Snares, which the E •… my laid for me. And, bleſſed be his h •… Name, He heard my Cries, and preſerved 〈◊〉 out of them.

When the Juſtices ſaw they could not bo •… me to their Wills, they told me they muſt ſe •… me to Priſon. I told them, I was contented 〈◊〉 ſuffer whatſoever the Lord ſhould ſuffer the •… to inflict upon me. Whereupon they wit • drew into the Parlour, to conſult together wh •… date 1660 • o do with me: leaving me mean while to be gazed on in the Hall.

After a pretty long Stay, they came forth to me again, with great ſhew of Kindneſs; telling me, They were very unwilling to ſend me to Goal; • ut would be as favourable to me, as poſſibly they • ould: and that, if I would take the Oaths, they would paſs by all the other Matter, which they had • gainſt me. I told them, I knew they could not • ſtly have any thing againſt me: for I had • either done, nor intended any thing, againſt • he Government, or againſt them. And as to • he Oaths, I aſſured them, that my refuſing • hem was meerly Matter of Conſcience to me: • nd that I durſt not take any Oath whatſoever, 〈◊〉 it were to ſave my Life.

When they heard this, they left me again; • nd went and ſigned a Mittimus to ſend me to • riſon at Oxford, and charged one of the Troo • ers that brought me thither (who was one of •… e newly raiſed Militia-Troop) to convey me •… fe to Oxford. But before we departed, they •… lled the Trooper aſide, and gave him private • ſtructions, what he ſhould do with me; • hich I knew nothing of till I came thither; •… t expected I ſhould go directly to the Caſtle.

It was almoſt dark when we took Horſe; •… d we had about Nine or Ten Miles to ride, •… e Weather thick and cold (for it was about • e beginning of the Twelfth Month) and I had 〈◊〉 Boots; being ſnatch'd away from home on • ſuddain: which made me not care to ride •… ry faſt. And my Guard, who was a Tradeſman date 1660 in Thame, having Confidence in me, that I would not give him the ſlip, jogged on, without heeding how I followed him.

When I was gone about a Mile on the Way, I overtook my Father's Man; who (without my Knowledge) had followed me, at a diſtance, to Weſton; and waited there, abroad in the Stables, till he underſtood, by ſome of the Servants, that I was to go to Oxford; and then ran before, reſolving not to leave me, till he ſaw what they would do with me.

I would have had him return home; but he deſired me not to ſend him back: but let him run on, till I came to Oxford. I conſidered that it was a Token of the Fellows affectionate Kindneſs to me; and that poſſibly I might ſend my Horſe home by him: and thereupon, ſtopping my Horſe, I bid him, if he would go on, Get up behind me. He modeſtly refuſed, telling me, He could run, as faſt as I rid. But when I had told him, If he would not ride, he ſhould not go forward; he, rather than leave me, leap'd up behind me, and on we went.

But he was not willing I ſhould have gone at all. He had a great Cudgel in his Hand, and a ſtrong Arm to uſe it; and being a ſtout Fellow, he had a great Mind to Fight the Trooper, and Reſcue me. Wherefore he deſired me to turn my Horſe, and and ride off. And if the Trooper offered to purſue, leave him to deal with him.

date 1660 I check'd him ſharply for that, and charged him to be quiet, and not think hardly of the poor Trooper; who could do no other, nor leſs than he did: and who, though he had an ill Journey, in going with me, carried himſelf civilly to me. I told him alſo, that I had no need to fly; for I had done nothing that would bring Guilt, or Fear upon me: neither did I go with an ill Will: and this quieted the Man. So on we went; but were ſo far caſt behind the Trooper, that we had loſt both Sight and Hearing of him; and I was fain to mend my Pace, to get up to him again.

We came pretty late into Oxford, on the Seventh Day of the Week, which was the Market Day; and contrary to my Expectation (which was to have been carried to the Caſtle) my Trooper ſtop't in the High-Street; and calling at a Shop, asked for the Maſter of the Houſe: who coming to the Door, he delivered to him the Mittimus, and with it a Letter from the Deputy-Lieutenants (or one of them;) which when he had read, he asked where the Priſoner was. Whereupon the Soldier, pointing to me, he deſired me to alight and come in: which when I did, he received me civilly.

The Trooper, being diſcharged of his Priſoner, marched back: and my Father's Man, ſeeing me ſettled in better Quarters than he expected, mounted my Horſe, and went off with him.

I did not preſently underſtand the Quality of my Keeper: but I found him a genteel, date 1660 courteous Man, by Trade a Linnen-Draper: and (as I afterwards underſtood) he was the City-Marſhall, had a Command in the County Troop, and was a Perſon of good Repute in the Place; his Name was — Galloway.

Whether I was committed to him, out of Regard to my Father; that I might not be thruſt into a Common Goal: or out of a Politick Deſign, to keep me from the Converſation of my Friends, in hopes that I might be draw • to abandon this Profeſſion, which I had but lately taken up; I do not know. But this I know, that (though I wanted no civil Treatment, nor kind Accommodations, where I was) yet, after once I underſtood, that many Frien •… were Priſoners in the Caſtle, and amongſt the reſt, Thomas Loe: I had much rather have been among them there, with all the Inconveniencies they underwent; than where I was, with the beſt Entertainment. But this was my preſent Lot: and therefore with this I endeavoured to be content.

It was quickly known in the City, that a Quaker was brought in Priſoner, and committed to the Marſhall. Whereupon (the Men-Friends being generally Priſoners already in the Caſtle) ſome of the Women-Friends came to enquire after me and to viſit me; as Silas Norton's Wife, and Thomas Loe's Wife (who were Siſters) and another Woman-Friend, who lived in the ſame Street where I was; whoſe Huſband was not a Quaker, but kindly affected towards them: a Baker by Trade, and his Name (as I remember) Ryland.

date 1660 By ſome of theſe an Account was ſoon given 〈◊〉 the Friends, who were Priſoners in the Caſtle, of my being taken up, and brought Priſoner to the Marſhall's. Whereupon it •… eaſed the Lord, to move on the Heart of my • ear Friend Thomas Loe, to ſalute me with a • ery tender and affectionate Letter, in the fol • owing Terms. My Beloved FRIEND,

IN the Truth, and Love of the Lord Jeſus, by which Life and Salvation is revealed in the • aints, is my dear Love unto thee, and in much • enderneſs do I Salute thee. And dear Heart, a • ime of Tryal God hath permitted to come upon us, 〈◊〉 try our Faith and Love to Him: and this will • ork for the good of them, that through Patience •… dure to the End. And I believe GOD will be •… orified through our Sufferings, and His Name will 〈◊〉 exalted in the Patience, and Long-ſuffering of •… s Choſen. When I heard that thou waſt called •… to this Tryal, with the Servants of the Moſt High, 〈◊〉 give thy Teſtimony to the Truth of what we have •… lieved; it came into my Heart to write unto thee, • nd to greet thee with the Embraces of the Power • f an Endleſs Life: where our Faith ſtands, and •… nity is felt with the Saints for ever. Well, my • ear Friend, let us live in the pure Counſel of the Lord, and dwell in his Strength; which gives us Power, and Sufficiency to endure all things, for his Name's ſake: and then our Crown and Reward will date 1660 be with the Lord for ever; and the Bleſſings 〈◊〉 his Heavenly Kingdom will be our Portion. O •… dear Heart, let us give up all freely into the W •… of God; that God may be glorified by us, and 〈◊〉 comforted together in the Lord Jeſus: which 〈◊〉 the Deſire of my Soul, who am

Greatly was my Spirit refreſhed, and 〈◊〉 Heart gladded, at the Reading of this Conſ • lating Letter from my Friend: and my So •… bleſſed the Lord for his Love, and tender Goo • neſs to me, in moving his Servant to wri •… thus unto me.

But I had Cauſe ſoon after to double, a •… redouble my thankful Acknowledgment to t •… Lord my God; who put it into the Heart 〈◊〉 my dear Friend Iſaac Penington alſo, to vi •… me with ſome encouraging Lines, from Alesbu •… Goal, where he was then a Priſoner; and fro •… whence (having heard that I was carried P •… ſoner to Oxford) he thus ſaluted me. date 1660 Dear THOMAS,

GREAT hath been the Lord's Goodneſs to thee, in Calling thee out of that Path of Vanity and Death, wherein thou waſt running towards Deſtruction: to give thee a living Name, and an Inheritance of Life among his People: which certainly will be the End of thy Faith in Him, and Obedience to Him. And let it not be a light thing in thine Eyes, that He now accounteth thee worthy to ſuffer among his choice Lambs, that He might make thy Crown weightier, and thy Inheritance • he fuller. O that that Eye and Heart may be • ept open in thee, which knoweth the Value of theſe • hings! And that thou mayſt be kept cloſe to the Feeling of the Life, that thou mayſt be freſh in thy Spirit in the midſt of thy Sufferings, and mayſt reap • he Benefit of them; finding that pared off thereby, which hindereth the Bubblings of the Everlaſting Springs, and maketh unfit for the breaking forth, • nd Enjoyment of the pure Power! This is the • rief Salutation of my dear Love to thee, which • eſireth thy Strength, and Settlement in the Power; nd the utter weakning of thee as to ſelf. My dear Love is to thee, with dear Thomas Goodyare, • nd the reſt of Impriſoned Friends. I remain

date 1661 Though theſe Epiſtolary Viſits in the Lov • oſ God, were very Comfortable, and Confirming to me; and my Heart was thankful to th • Lord for them: yet I honed after perſonal Converſation, with Friends; and it was hard, • thought, that there ſhould be ſo many faithfu • Servants of God ſo near me: yet I ſhould no • be permitted to come at them, to enjoy thei • Company, and reap both the Pleaſure and Benefit of their ſweet Society.

For although my Marſhall-Keeper was ve •… kind to me, and allowed me the Liberty of h •… Houſe; yet he was not willing I ſhould b • ſeen abroad: the rather, perhaps, becauſe h • underſtood I had been pretty well known i • that City. Yet once the Friendly Baker g •… him to let me ſtep over to his Houſe; and onc • (and but once) I prevailed with him, to let m • viſit my Friends in the Caſtle; but it was wit • theſe Conditions, That I ſhould not go fort • till it was dark; That I would muffle my ſe • up in my Cloak; and that I would not ſta • out late. All which I punctually obſerved.

When I came thither, though there we •… many Friends Priſoners, I ſcarce knew one 〈◊〉 them by Face, except Thomas Loe; whom • had once ſeen at Iſaac Penington's: Nor did a •… of them know me; though they had generall • heard, that ſuch a Young Man as I was Co • vinced of the Truth, and come among Friend •…

Our Salutation to each other was very Grav • and Solemn; nor did we entertain one anothe • with much Talk, or with common Diſcourſe •… date 1661 • ut moſt of the little Time I had with them was ſpent in a ſilent Retiredneſs of Spirit, waiting upon the Lord. Yet, before we part • d, we imparted one to another ſome of the Exerciſes we had gone through: and they •… eming willing to underſtand the Ground, and Manner of my Commitment, I gave them a • rief Account thereof; letting Thomas Loe • ore particularly know, that I had directed a • etter to him, which, having fallen into the • and of the Lord Lieutenant, was (ſo far as 〈◊〉 could learn) the immediate Cauſe of my be •… g taken up.

Having ſtaid with them as long as my li • itted time would permit (which I thought • as but very ſhort;) that I might keep Touch • ith my Keeper, and come home in due time, • took leave of my Friends there, and with • utual Embraces parting, returned to my (in •… me ſenſe more eaſie, but in others leſs eaſie) • riſon; where, after this, I ſtaid not long be •… re I was brought back to my Father's Houſe.

For after my Father was come home (who, 〈◊〉 I obſerved before, was from home when I • as taken) he applied himſelf to thoſe Juſtices •… at had committed me; and (not having diſ •… liged them when he was in Office) eaſily •… tained to have me ſent home: which between •… m and them was thus contrived.

There was about this time a general Muſter, • nd Training of the Militia-Forces at Oxford: whither, on that Occaſion, came the Lord- • ieutenant, and the Deputy-Lieutenants of the date 1661 County; of which Number, they who Committed me were two.

When they had been a while together, and the Marſhall with them; he ſtept ſuddainly in, and in haſte told me, I muſt get ready quickly to go out of Town; and that a Soldier would come by and by to go with me. This ſaid, he haſtned to them again; not giving me any Intimation how I was to go, or whither.

I needed not much time to get ready in, but I was uneaſie in thinking what the Friend • of the Town would think of this my ſuddai • and private Removal: and I feared, leſt a •… Report ſhould be raiſed, that I had purchaſe • my Liberty by an Unfaithful Complian •… Wherefore I was in care how to ſpeak wi •… ſome Friend about it; and that friendly Bake • whoſe Wife was a Friend, living on the oth •… ſide of the Street, at a little Diſtance: I we •… out at a back Door, intending to ſtep over t •… Way to their Houſe; and return immediatel •…

It ſo fell out, that ſome of the Lieutenan •… (of whom Eſq Clark, who Committed me, w •… one) were ſtanding in a Balcony at a gre •… Inn or Tavern, juſt over th Place where I w •… to go by: and he, ſpying me, called out to t •… Soldiers (who ſtood thick below in the Stree •… to ſtop me. They, being generally Gent •… mens Servants, and many of them knowin • me, did civilly forbear to lay hold on me, b •… calling modeſtly after me, ſaid, Stay, Sir, ſta •… pray come back. I heard, but was not willin • to hear; therefore rather mended my Pa •… date 1661 •… at I might have got within the Door. But 〈◊〉 calling earneſtly after me, and charging •… em to ſtop me; ſome of them were fain to 〈◊〉 , and laying hold on me, before I could o •… the Door, brought me back to my Place •… ain.

Being thus diſappointed, I took a Pen and •… k, and wrote a few Lines; which I ſealed 〈◊〉 , and gave to the Apprentice in the Shop •… ho had carried himſelf handſomely to me) •… d deſired him to deliver it to that Friend •… ho was their Neighbour) which he promiſed 〈◊〉 do.

By that time I had done this, came the Sol •… er, that was appointed to conduct me out of •… wn. I knew the Man; for he lived within • Mile of me, being, through Poverty reduced 〈◊〉 keep an Ale-Houſe: but he had lived in bet •… Faſhion, having kept an Inn at Thame; •… d by that means knew how to behave him •… f civilly, and did ſo to me.

He told me, he was ordered to wait on me 〈◊〉 Whately; and to tarry there at ſuch an Inn, 〈◊〉 Eſq Clark came thither: who would then •… ke me home with him, in his Coach. Ac •… rdingly to Whately we walked (which is from •… ford ſome four or five Miles) and long we •… d not been there, before Clark, and a great •… mpany of rude Men came in.

He alighted, and ſtay'd a while to eat and •… ink (though he came but from Oxford,) and •… vited me to eat with him; but I (though I •… d need enough) refuſed it; for indeed their date 1661 Converſation was a Burthen to my Life; an • made me often think of, and pity good Lot.

He ſeem'd, at that time, to be in a ſort 〈◊〉 mix't Temper, between Pleaſantneſs and Sou • neſs. He would ſometimes Joke (which wa • natural to him) and caſt out a jeſting Flurt a • me: but he would rail maliciouſly againſt th • Quakers. If (ſaid he to me) the King wou •… authorize me to do it, I would not leave a Quak •… alive in England, except you. I would make 〈◊〉 more, added he, to ſet my Piſtol to their Ears, a •… ſhoot them through the Head, than I would to 〈◊〉 a Dog. I told him, I was ſorry he had ſo 〈◊〉 an Opinion of the Quakers: but I was glad 〈◊〉 had no Cauſe for it; and I hoped he would 〈◊〉 of a better Mind.

I had in my Hand a little Walking-Sti •… with a Head on it; which he commended, a •… took out of my Hand to look on it: but I ſa •… his Invention was, to ſearch it, whether it h •… a Tuck in it; for he tryed to have drawn t •… Head; but when he found it was faſt, he 〈◊〉 turned it to me.

He told me I ſhould ride with him to his Ho •… in his Coach; which was nothing pleaſant 〈◊〉 me: for I had rather have gone on Foot ( 〈◊〉 bad as the Ways were) that I might have bee • out of his Company. Wherefore I took no n • tice of any Kindneſs in the Offer: but onl • Anſwered, I was at his Diſpoſal; not min • own.

But when we were ready to go, the Marſha • came to me, and told me, If I pleaſed I ſhou •… date 1661 • ide his Horſe; and he would go in the Coach with Mr. Clark. I was glad of the Offer, and only •… ld him, he ſhould take out his Piſtols then; •… r I would not ride with them. He took •… em out, and laid them in the Coach by him: •… d away we went.

It was a very fine Beaſt that I was ſet on; • y much the beſt in the Company. But tho' • e was very tall, yet the Ways being very foul, • found it needful, as ſoon as I was out of • own, to alight, and take up the Stirrups. • ean while, they driving hard on, I was ſo •… r behind, that being at length miſſed by the • ompany, a Soldier was ſent back to look •… er me.

As ſoon as I had fitted my Stirrups, and was • emounted, I gave the Rein to my Mare; • hich being Couragious and Nimble (and im •… tient of Delay) made great Speed to recover •… e Company. And in a Narrow Paſſage, the •… ldier (who was my Barber, that had fetch'd • e from home) and I met upon ſo brisk a • allop; that we had enough to do, on either •… de, to take up our Horſes, and avoid a Bruſh. When we were come to Weſton, where Eſq •… ark lived; he took the Marſhall, and ſome •… hers with him into the Parlour: but I was •… ft in the Hall, to be expoſed a ſecond time, •… r the Family to gaze on.

At length himſelf came out to me, leading 〈◊〉 his Hand a beloved Daughter of his; a • oung Woman of about Eighteen Years of • ge: who wanted nothing to have made her date 1661 Comely, but Gravity. An airy Piece ſhe was • and very merry ſhe made her ſelf at m •… When ſhe had throughly viewed me, He, pu • ting her a little forward towards me, ſaid, Her • Tom, will you Kiſs her? I was grieved and aſhamed at this frothy Lightneſs; and I ſuppoſ •… he perceived it: whereupon he drew neare • as if he would have whiſpered; and the • ſaid, Will you lie with her? At which I, wi •… a diſdainful Look, turning away; he ſaid, • think it would be better for you, than to be a Qu • ker: and ſo little Conſideration, and Rega •… to Modeſty had ſhe, that ſhe added, I thi •… ſo too.

This was all by Candle light. And wh •… they had made themſelves as much Sport wi •… me as they would, the Marſhall took his lea •… of them: and mounting me on a Horſe 〈◊〉 Clark's, had me Home to my Father's th •… Night.

Next Morning, before the Marſhall we •… away, my Father and he conſulted togeth •… how to intangle me. I felt there were Snar •… laid, but I did not know in what manner, or 〈◊〉 what End; till the Marſhall was ready to g •… And then, coming where I was, to take 〈◊〉 leave of me, he deſired me to take notice, Th •… although he had brought me home to my Fathe •… Houſe again; yet I was not diſcharged from 〈◊〉 Impriſonment, but was his Priſoner still: and t •… he had committed me to the Care of my Father, 〈◊〉 ſee me forth-coming, whenever I ſhould be cal •… for. And therefore he expected I ſhould in all thi •… date 1661 • ſerve my Father's Orders: and not go at any time •… m the Houſe, without his Leave.

Now I plainly ſaw the Snare, and to what •… d it was laid. And I asked him if this De •… e was not contrived, to keep me from going 〈◊〉 Meetings. He ſaid, I muſt not go to Meetings. • ereupon I deſired him to take Notice, That • would not own my ſelf a Priſoner to any Man, •… ile I coninued here. That if he had Power •… etain me Priſoner, he might take me back •… in with him, if he would, and I ſhould not •… ſe to go with him. But I bid him aſſure •… ſelf, that while I was at home, I would •… e my Liberty, both to go to Meetings, and •… iſit Friends. He ſmiled, and ſaid, If I would •… eſolute, he could not help it; and ſo took his •… e of me.

By this I perceived that the Plot was of my •… er's laying, to have brought me under ſuch 〈◊〉 Engagement, as ſhould have ty'd me from •… g to Meetings: and thereupon I expected, •… ould have a new Exerciſe from my Father.

〈◊〉 was the conſtant manner of my Father, to 〈◊〉 all the Keys of the Out-doors of his Houſe •… ich were Four, and thoſe link't upon a •… in) brought up into his Chamber every •… ht, and fetch'd out from thence in the •… ning: ſo that none could come in, or go 〈◊〉 in the Night, without his Knowledge.

• knowing this, ſuſpected, that if I got not 〈◊〉 before my Father came down, I ſhould be •… ed from going out at all that Day. Where •… (the Paſſage from my Chamber, lying by 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 date 1661 his Chamber-Door;) I went down ſoftly, without my Shoos, and as ſoon as the Maid had opened the Door, I went out (though too early) and walk'd towards the Meeting at Meadle, four long Miles off.

I expected to have been talked with about it, when I came home: but heard nothing of it; my Father reſolving to watch me better next time.

This I was aware of; and therefore on the next Firſt Day I got up early, went down ſoftly, and hid my ſelf in a Back-Room, before the Maid was ſtirring.

When ſhe was up, ſhe went into my Father's Chamber for the Keys: but he bid her leave them till he was up, and he would bring them down himſelf; which he did, and tarried in the Kitchin, through which he expected I would go.

The manner was, That when the commo • Doors were opened, the Keys were hung upo • a Pin in the Hall. While therefore my Fathe • ſtaid in the Kitchin, expecting my Coming; • ſtepping gently out of the Room where I wa • reached the Keys, and opening another Doo • (not often uſed:) ſlipped out, and ſo got away

I thought I had gone off undiſcovered. Bu • whether my Father ſaw me through a Window, or by what other means he knew of my going, I know not: but I had gone but a littl • Way, before I ſaw him coming after me.

The Sight of him put me to a ſtand in my Mind, whether I ſhould go on, or ſtop. Ha •… date 1661 been in any other Caſe than that of Going to • Meeting, I could not i • any wiſe have gone a •… ep further. But I conſidered, that the intent 〈◊〉 my Fathers endeavouring to ſtop me, was to •… der me from obeying the Call of my heaven •… Father; and to ſtop me from going to wor •… ip him, in the Aſſembly of his People: upon •… s I found it my Duty to go on; and obſerv •… g, that my Father gained Ground upon me, •… mewhat mended my Pace.

This he obſerving, mended his Pace alſo; 〈◊〉 at length Ran. Whereupon I ran alſo; 〈◊〉 a fair Courſe we had, through a large Mea •… w of his, which lay behind his Houſe and 〈◊〉 of ſight of the Town. He was not, I ſup •… e, then above Fifty Years of Age; and be •… light of Body, and nimble of Foot, he held 〈◊〉 to it for a while. But afterwards ſlacking 〈◊〉 Pace to take Breath, and obſerving that I 〈◊〉 gotten Ground of him; he turned back, 〈◊〉 went home: and (as I afterwards under •… d) telling my Siſters how I had ſerved him, 〈◊〉 ſaid, Nay, if he will take ſo much Pains to Go, 〈◊〉 him Go, if he will. And from that time for •… rd he never attempted to ſtop me; but left 〈◊〉 to my liberty, to Go when and whither I •… uld: Yet kept me at the uſual Diſtance, a •… ing the Sight of me, as much as he could; •… ot able to bear the Sight of my Hat on, nor •… ing to contend with me again about it.

Nor was it long after this, before I was left, 〈◊〉 only to my ſelf; but in a manner by my 〈◊〉 For the Time appointed for the Coronation date 1661 of the KING (which was the 23d of 〈◊〉 2d Month, called April) drawing on; my •… ther, taking my two Siſters with him, went 〈◊〉 to London ſometime before: that they might 〈◊〉 there in readineſs, and put themſelves in •… Condition to ſee that ſo great a Solemni •… leaving no body in the Houſe, but my ſelf a •… a couple of Servants. And though this was •… tended only for a Viſit on that Occaſion: ye •… proved the Breaking of the Family: for he •… ſtowed both his Daughters there in Marria •… and took Lodgings for himſelf; ſo that aft •… wards they never returned to ſettle at Cr •…

Being now at Liberty, I walked over to •… bury, with ſome other Friends, to viſit my 〈◊〉 Friend Iſaac Penington; who was ſtill a Priſ •… there. With him I found dear John Whit •… and between Sixty and Seventy more; be •… well-nigh all the Men-Friends, that were 〈◊〉 in the County of Bucks: many of them 〈◊〉 taken out of their Houſes by Armed Men, 〈◊〉 ſent to Priſon (as I had been) for refuſing 〈◊〉 Swear. Moſt of theſe were thruſt into a •… Room, behind the Goal, which had ancie •… been a Malt-houſe; but was now ſo deca •… that it was ſcarce fit for a Dog-houſe. A •… open it lay, that the Priſoners might have g •… out at pleaſure. But theſe were purpoſely 〈◊〉 there, in confidence that they would not 〈◊〉 out: that there might be Room in the P •… for others, of other Profeſſions and Na •… whom the Goaler did not truſt there.

date 1661 While this Impriſonment laſted (which was 〈◊〉 ſome Months) I went afterwards thither •… etimes, to viſit my ſuffering Brethren; and •… auſe it was a pretty long way (ſome eight •… ine long Miles) too far to be walked forward 〈◊〉 backward in one Day; I ſometimes ſtaid •… ay or two there, and lay in the Malt-houſe •… ong my Friends, with whom I delighted •… e.

After this Impriſonment was over, I went •… etimes to Iſaac Penington's Houſe at Chal •… , to viſit that Family, and the Friends there •… uts. There was then a Meeting, for the •… ſt part, twice a Week in his Houſe; but one •… ſt Day in four, there was a more General •… eting (which was thence called the Monthly •… eting) to which reſorted moſt of the Friends •… ther adjacent Meetings: and to that I uſu •… went; and ſometimes made ſome ſtay •… re.

Here I came acquainted with a Friend of •… don, whoſe Name was Richard Greenaway, 〈◊〉 Trade a Taylor; a very honeſt Man, and one •… o had received a Gift for the Miniſtry.

He, having been formerly in other Profeſ •… s of Religion, had then been acquainted •… th one John Ovy of Watlington in Oxfordſhire 〈◊〉 Man of ſome Note among the Profeſſors •… ere:) and underſtanding, upon Enquiry, •… t I knew him; he had ſome Diſcourſe with 〈◊〉 about him. The Reſult whereof was, that 〈◊〉 having an Intention then, ſhortly to viſit •… e Meetings of Friends in this County, and date 1661 the adjoyning Parts of Oxfordſhire and Berkſh • invited me to meet him (upon notice giv • and to bear him Company in that Journ • and in the way bring him to John Ovy's Ho • with whom I was well acquainted; wh • I did.

We were kindly received, the Man and 〈◊〉 Wife being very glad to ſee both their 〈◊〉 Friend Richard Greenaway, and me alſo; w • they had been very well acquainted with • merly, but had never ſeen me ſince I w • Quaker.

Here we tarried that Night, and in the • vening had a little Meeting there, with 〈◊〉 few of John Ovy's People; amongſt who • G. declared the TRUTH: which they a • tively heard, and did not oppoſe, which at 〈◊〉 time of Day, we reckoned was pretty w • For many were apt to Cavil.

This Viſit gave John Ovy an Opportunity t • • quire of me after Iſaac Penington; whoſe Wri • (thoſe which he had written before he 〈◊〉 among Friends) he had Read, and had a 〈◊〉 Eſteem of: and he expreſs'd a Deſire to ſee 〈◊〉 that he might have ſome Diſcourſe with 〈◊〉 if he knew how. Whereupon I told him, 〈◊〉 if he would take the Pains to go to his Ho • I would bear him Company thither, intro • him, and Engage he ſhould have a 〈◊〉 Reception.

This pleas'd him much; and he embra • the Offer, I undertook to give him Noti • a ſuitable time: Which (after I had gone 〈◊〉 date 1661 • tle Journey with my Friend Richard Greena • y, and was retured) I did; making Choice 〈◊〉 the Monthly Meeting to go to.

We met, by Appointment at Stoken-Church, • ith our Staves in our Hands, like a couple of • lgrims, intending to walk on Foot: and ha • g taken ſome Refreſhment and Reſt at Wic • mb, went on cheerfully in the Afternoon, En • rtaining each other with Grave and Religi • s Diſcourſe, (which made the Walk the ea • r) and ſo reached thither in good time, on • e Seventh Day of the Week.

I gave my Friends an Account who this Per • n was, whom I had brought to viſit them, • d the Ground of his Viſit. He had been a • ofeſſor of Religion, from his Childhood to • s old Age (for he was now both Gray-headed, • d Elderly:) and was a Teacher at this time • nd had long been ſo) amongſt a People (whe • er Independants or Baptiſts, I do not well re • ember.) And ſo well thought of he was, for • s Zeal and Honeſty, that in thoſe late Pro • ſing Times, he was thruſt into the Commiſſion 〈◊〉 the Peace, and thereby lifted up upon the • ench; which neither became him, nor he it. • r he wanted indeed moſt of the Qualifica • ons, requiſite for a Juſtice of the Peace; an • tate to defray the Charge of the Office, and 〈◊〉 bear him up, in a Courſe of Living above • ontempt; A competent Knowledge in the • aws; and a Preſence of Mind, or Body, or • oth, to keep Offenders in ſome Awe; in all • hich he was deficient. For he was but a Fellmonger date 1661 by Trade, accuſtomed to ride upon 〈◊〉 Pack of Skins; and had very little Eſtate: • little Knowledge in the Law; and of but • mean Preſence, and Appearance to look 〈◊〉 But as my Father, I ſuppoſe, was the mea • of getting him put into the Commiſſion: ſo 〈◊〉 I know, did what he could to countenance hi • in it, and help him through it at every tur • till that turn came (at the King's Retur • which turned them both out together.

My Friends received me in affectionate Ki • neſs, and my Companion with courteous Ci • lity. The Evening was ſpent in common ( 〈◊〉 grave) Converſation: for it was not a prop • Seaſon for Private Diſcourſe; both as we we • ſomewhat weary with our Walk, and the • were other Companies of Friends come into 〈◊〉 Family, to be at the Meeting next Day.

But in the Morning I took John Ovy into • private Walk, in a pleaſant Grove near t • Houſe; whither Iſaac Penington came to 〈◊〉 and there, in Diſcourſe, both Anſwered all h • Queſtions, Objections and Doubts; and ope • ed to him the Principles of TRUTH, to 〈◊〉 both Admiration and preſent Satisfactio • Which done, we went in, to take ſome Refreſhment, before the Meeting began.

Of thoſe Friends who were come over Nigh • in order to be at the Meeting, there was Iſaac • Brother, William Penington, a Merchant London; and 〈◊〉 with him a Friend (whoſe Nam • I have forgotten) a Grocer of Colcheſter in Eſſex • and there was alſo our Friend George Whitehead date 1661 whom I had not (that I remember) ſeen • efore.

The Nation had been in a Ferment, ever • ce that mad Action of the Frantick Fifth- • onarchy-Men; and was not yet ſettled: but •… orms, like Thunder-Showers, flew here and •… ere by Coaſt; ſo that we could not promiſe •… r ſelves any Safety, or Quiet in our Meet •… gs. And though they had eſcaped Diſturb •… ce for ſome little time before: yet ſo it fell •… t, that a Party of Horſe were appointed to •… me, and break up the Meeting that Day; •… ough we knew nothing of it, till we heard, •… d ſaw them.

The Meeting was ſcarce fully gathered when •… ey came. But we that were in the Family, •… d many others were ſettled in it, in great •… ace and Stilneſs; when on a ſuddain, the •… ancing of the Horſes gave Notice that •… ght'ning was at hand.

We all ſate ſtill in our Places, except my •… mpanion, John Ovy, who ſate next to me. •… t he being of a Profeſſion that approved Pe •… 's Advice to his Lord, To ſave himſelf, ſoon •… k the Alarm: and with the Nimbleneſs of • Stripling, Cutting a Caper over the Form •… at ſtood before him, ran quickly out at a pri •… te Door (which he had before obſerved) •… hich led through the Parlour into the Gardens, •… d from thence into an Orchard: where he •… d himſelf, in a Place ſo Obſcure, and withal 〈◊〉 convenient for his Intelligence by Obſervation date 1661 of what paſſed; that no one of the Famil • could ſcarce have found a likelier.

By that time he was got into his Burrow • came the Soldiers in; being a Party of th •… County Troop, commanded by Matthew Ar •… dale of Wiccomb. He behaved himſelf civill •… and ſaid, He was commanded to break up t •… Meeting, and carry the Men before a Juſtice of t •… Peace: but he ſaid He would not take all; an • thereupon began to pick and chuſe, chiefly a • his Eye guided him, for I ſuppoſe he knew very few.

He took Iſaac Penington, and his Brothe •… George Whitehead, and the Friend of Colcheſte •… and me, with Three or Four more of t •… Country, who belonged to that Meeting.

He was not fond of the Work, and th •… made him take no more. But he muſt ta •… ſome (he ſaid) and bid us provide to go wi •… him before Sir William Boyer of Denham, w •… was a Juſtice of the Peace. Iſaac Penington being but weakly, rode: but the reſt of us wa •… ed thither, it being about four Miles.

When we came there, the Juſtice carrie • himſelf civilly to us all; courteouſly to Iſa •… Penington, as being a Gentleman of his Neighbourhood: and there was nothing charged againſt us, but that we were met together without Word or Deed. Yet this being contrary t • a late Proclamation (given forth upon the riſin • of the Fifth-Monarchy-Men) whereby all Diſſe • ter's Meetings were forbidden, the Juſtice coul • do no leſs than take Notice of us.

date 1661 Wherefore he Examined all of us (whom he did not perſonally know) asking our Names, and the places of our Reſpective Habitations. But when he had them, and conſidered from what diſtant Parts of the Nation we came; he was amazed. For G. Whitehead was of Weſtmorland in the North of England; The Grocer was of Eſſex; I was of Oxfordſhire; and W. Penington was of London.

Hereupon he told us, That our Caſe look't Ill, and he was ſorry for it: for how (ſaid he) can it be imagined that ſo many could jump altogether at one Time and Place, from ſuch remote Quarters and Parts of the Kingdom; if it was not by Combination and Appointment.

He was Anſwered, That we were ſo far from coming thither by Agreement, or Appointment; that none of us knew of the others Coming, and for the moſt of us, we had never ſeen one another before: and that therefore he might impute it to Chance, or, if he pleaſed, to Providence.

He urged upon us, That an Inſurrection had been lately made by Armed Men, who pretended to be more Religious than others; that that Inſurrect • on had been Plotted and Contrived in their Meeting-Houſe, where they Aſſembled under Colour of Worſhipping GOD; that in their Meeting-Houſe they hid their Arms, and Armed themſelves; and out of their Meeting-Houſe iſſued forth in Arms, and killed many: ſo that the Government could not be ſafe, unleſs ſuch Meetings were ſuppreſt.

date 1661 We reply'd, We hoped he would diſtinguiſh, and make a Difference between the Guilty and the Innocent; and between thoſe who were Principled for Fighting, and thoſe who were Principled againſt it: which we were, and had been always known to be ſo. That our Meetings were publick, our Doors ſtanding open to all Comers, of all Ages, Sexes and Perſwaſions; Men, Women and Children, and thoſe that were not of our Religion, as well as thoſe that were: and that it was next to Madneſs, for People to Plot in ſuch Meetings.

He told us, We muſt find Sureties for our good Behaviour, and to Anſwer our Contempt of the King's Proclamation, at the next General Quarter-Seſſions: or elſe he muſt Commit us.

We told him, that knowing our Innocency, and that we had not miſ-behaved our ſelves, nor did meet in Contempt of the King's Authority; but purely in obedience to the LORD's Requirings, to Worſhip Him, which we held our ſelves in Duty bound to do; we could not conſent to be bound, for that would imply Guilt, which we were free from.

Then, ſaid he, I muſt commit you: And ordered his Clerk to make a Mittimus. And divers Mittimuſſes were made, but none of them would hold: for ſtill, when they came to be read, we found ſuch Flaws in them, as made him through them aſide, and write more.

He had his Eye often upon me: for I was a young Man, and had at that time a Black Suit on. At length he bid me follow him, and date 1661 went into a private Room, and ſhut the Door upon me.

I knew not what he meant by this: but I cryed in Spirit to the Lord, that He would be pleaſed to be a Mouth and Wiſdom to me, and keep me from being Entangled in any Snare.

He asked me many Queſtions, concerning my Birth, my Education, my Acquaintance in Oxfordſhire; particularly what Men of Note I knew there. To all which I gave him brief, but plain and true Anſwers; naming ſeveral Families, of the beſt Rank, in that Part of the Country where I dwelt.

He asked me, How long I had been of this Way, and how I came to be of it: Which when I had given him ſome Account of; he began to perſwade me to leave it, and return to the right Way (the Church, as he called it.) I deſired him to ſpare his Pains in that reſpect, and forbear any Diſcourſe of that kind: for that I was fully ſatisfied, the Way I was in was the right Way; and hoped the Lord would ſo preſerve me in it, that nothing ſhould be able to draw, or drive me out of it. He ſeemed not pleaſed with that; and thereupon went out to the reſt of the Company; and I followed him; glad in my Heart, that I had eſcaped ſo well, and Praiſing God for my Deliverance.

When he had taken his Seat again, at the upper End of a fair Hall, he told us, he was not willing to take the utmoſt Rigour of the Law againſt us; but would be as favourable date 1661 to us as he could. And therefore he would diſcharge, he ſaid, Mr. Penington himſelf, becauſ • he was but at Home in his own Houſe. An • he would diſcharge Mr. Penington of London • becauſe he come but as a Relation, to viſit hi • Brother. And he would diſcharge the Groce • of Colcheſter, becauſe he came to bear Mr. Penington of London Company; and to be acquainted with Mr. Iſaac Penington, whom he ha • never ſeen before. And as for thoſe others o • us, who were of this Country, he would diſcharge them, for the preſent at leaſt, becauſe they being his Neighbours, he could ſend for them when he would. But as for you, ſaid he to George Whitehead and me, I can ſee no Buſineſs you had there; and therefore I intend to hold you to it: either to Give Bayl, or Go to Jayl.

We told him we could not give Bayl, Then, ſaid he, You muſt go to Jayl; and thereupon he began to write our Mittimus: which puzzled him again. For he had diſcharged ſo many, that he was at a Loſs what to lay, as the Ground of our Commitment; whoſe Caſe differed nothing in Reality, from theirs whom he had diſcharged.

At length, having made divers Draughts (which ſtill G. W. ſhewed him the Defects of) he ſeemed to be weary of us; and riſing up ſaid unto us, I conſider that it is grown late in the Day, ſo that the Officer cannot carry you to Alesbury to Night; and I ſuppoſe you will be willing to go back with Mr. Penington: therefore if you will promiſe to be forth-coming at his Houſe date 1661 to Morrow Morning, I will diſmiſs you for the preſent; and you ſhall hear from me again to morrow.

We told him, we did intend, if he did not otherwiſe diſpoſe of us, to ſpend that Night with our Friend Iſaac Penington; and would (if the LORD gave us leave) be there in the Morning, ready to Anſwer his Requirings. Whereupon he diſmiſt us all, willing (as we thought) to be rid of us: for he ſeemed not to be of an ill Temper, nor deſirous to put us to Trouble, if he could help it.

Back then we went to Iſaac Penington's. But when we were come thither, O the Work we had with poor John Ovy! He was ſo dejected in Mind, ſo Covered with Shame and Confuſion of Face; for his Cowardlineſs, that we had enough to do to pacifie him towards himſelf.

The Place he had found out to Shelter himſelf in, was ſo commodiouſly contrived, that undiſcovered he could diſcern when the Soldiers went off with us, and underſtand when the Buſſle was over, and the Coaſt clear. Whereupon he adventured to peep out of his Hole; and in a while drew near, by degrees, to the Houſe again: and finding all things quiet and ſtill, he adventured to ſtep within the Doors, and found the Friends, who were left behind, peaceably fettled in the Meeting again.

The Sight of this ſmote him; and made him ſit down among them. And after the Meeting was ended, and the Friends departed to their ſeveral Homes; addreſſing himſelf to date 1661 Mary Penington (as the Miſtreſs of the Houſe) he could not enough magnifie the Bravery and Courage of the Friends: nor ſufficiently debaſe himſelf. He told her how long he had been a Profeſſor, what Pains he had taken, what Hazards he had run, in his Youthful Days, to get to Meetings; how, when the Ways were forelaid, and Paſſages ſtop't, he Swam through Rivers to reach a Meeting: And now, ſai •… he, that I am grown Old in the Profeſſion of Religion, and have long been an Inſtructor and Encourager of others; that I ſhould thus ſhamefully fall ſhort my ſelf; is matter of Shame and Sorrow to me.

Thus he bewailed himſelf to her. And when we came back, he renewed his Complaints of himſelf to us; with high Aggravations of his own Cowardice. Which gave Occaſion to ſome of the Friends, tenderly to repreſent to him the Difference between Profeſſion and Poſſeſſion, Form and Power.

He was glad, he ſaid, on our Behalfs, that we came off ſo well, and eſcaped Impriſonment.

But when he underſtood that G. Whitehead and I were liable to an After-Reckoning next Morning; he was troubled: and wiſh't the Morning was come, and gone; that we might be gone with it.

We ſpent the Evening in grave Converſation, and in Religious Diſcourſes; attributing the Deliverance me hitherto had to the LORD. And the next Morning when we were up, and had Eaten, we tarried ſome time to ſee what date 1661 • he Juſtice would do further with us; and to • iſcharge our Engagement to him: the reſt of • he Friends, who were before fully diſcharg • d, tarrying alſo with us, to ſee the Event.

And when we had ſtaid ſo long, that on all •… ands it was concluded we might ſafely go; • . W. and I left a few Words in Writing (to • e ſent to the Juſtice, if he ſent after us) im • orting that we had tarried till ſuch an Hour; • nd not hearing from him, did now hold our •… lves free to depart: yet ſo, as that, if he • ould have Occaſion to ſend for us again, upon • otice thereof, we would Return.

This done, we took our leave of the Family, •… d one of another; they who were for Lon •… taking Horſe; and I and my Companion, •… ting forth on Foot for Oxfordſhire, went to •… ccomb; where we made a ſhort Stay, to •… t and refreſh our ſelves, and from thence •… ched our Reſpective Homes that Night.

After I had ſpent ſome time at Home; •… ere, as I had no Reſtraint, ſo (my Siſters be •… g gone) I had now no Society: I walked up 〈◊〉 Chalfont again; and ſpent a few Days with 〈◊〉 Friends there.

As ſoon as I came in, I was told, that my •… ther had been there that Day to ſee J. P. •… d his Wife: but they being abroad at a • eeting, he returned to his Inn in the Town, •… ere he intended to Lodge that Night. After •… pper, M. P. told me ſhe had a Mind to go •… d ſee him at his Inn (the Woman of the •… uſe being a Friend of ours:) and I went date 1661 with her. He ſeem'd ſomewhat ſurprized to ſee me there, becauſe he thought I had been at home at his Houſe: but he took no notice of my Hat; at leaſt ſhewed no Offence at it • for (as I afterwards underſtood) he had no • an Intention to ſell his Eſtate, and thought h • ſhould need my Concurrence therein; whic • made him now hold it neceſſary to admit m • again into ſome Degree of Favour. After w • had tarried ſome little time with him; 〈◊〉 riſing up to be gone, he waited on her hom •… and having ſpent about an Hour with us 〈◊〉 the Family, I waited on him back to his 〈◊〉 On the way, he invited me to Come up •… London, to ſee my Siſters; the younger 〈◊〉 whom was then newly Married: and direc •… me where to find 'em; and alſo gave 〈◊〉 Money to defray my Charges. According •… I went; yet ſtaid not long there: but retu •… ed to my Friend J. P's, where I made a lit •… Stay; and from thence went back to Crowell.

When I was ready to ſet forth, my Frie •… Iſaac Penington, was ſo kind to ſend a Serva •… with a Brace of Geldings, to Carry me as 〈◊〉 as I thought fit to ride, and to bring the Ho •… back. I, intending to go no farther t •… Day than to Wiccomb, rode no farther than Beconsfield Towns-End; having then but F •… Miles to walk. But here a new Exerciſe •… fel me; the manner of which was thus.

Before I had walked to the middle of 〈◊〉 Town, I was ſtop't, and taken up by 〈◊〉 Watch. I asked the Watchman, What A • thority date 1661 he had to ſtop me, travelling peaceably on the High-Way. He told me he would ſhew me his Authority; and in order thereunto, had me into an Houſe hard-by, where dwelt a Scrivener, whoſe Name was Pepys. To him he gave the Order which he had received from the Conſtables; which directed him to take up all Rogues, Vagabonds and ſturdy Beggars. I asked him, For which of theſe he ſtopped me: but he could not Anſwer me.

I thereupon informed him, what a Rogue in Law is, viz. One, who for ſome notorious Offence has burnt on the Shoulder: and I told them, they might ſearch me, if they pleaſed, and ſee if I was ſo branded. A Vagabond, I told them, was One that had no Dwelling Houſe, nor certain Place of Abode; but I had, and was going to 〈◊〉 : and I told them where it was. And for a Beggar; I bid them bring any one that could •… y, I had begged or asked Relief.

This ſtop't the Fellow's Mouth; yet he would not let me go: but (being both weak • eaded, and ſtrong-willed) he left me there • ith the Scrivener, and went out to ſeek the • onſtable; and having found him, brought • im thither. He was a young Man, by • Trade Tanner; ſomewhat better Mannered than •… is Wardſman: but not of much better Judg • ent.

He took me with him to his Houſe. And • aving ſettled me there, went out; to take Ad • ice (as I ſuppoſed) what to do with me: • aving no Body in the Houſe, to Guard me, date 1661 but his Wife; who had a young Child in her Arms.

She enquired of me, upon what Account I was taken up; and ſeeming to have ſome Pity for me, endeavoured to perſwade me not to ſtay; but to go my way: offering to ſhew me a back way from their Houſe, which would bring me into the Road again beyond the Town; ſo that none of the Town ſhould ſe • me, or know what was become of me. But • told her, I could not do ſo.