sions. At the time alluded to he was in an exalted situation; he had great interest at Court; and he had probably notions of life and manners very different from those which we have seen him entertain in his dying hour. He had figured out to himself large prospects for his son. He could not but have had hopes of him from his education and his genius. He had seen him endued with talents sufficient to enable him to fill even the higher offices of State. How heart-breaking then must it have been, in such a situation, to see all his prospects at once broken; to see his son mixing with the lowly, the humbleminded, nay, the reputed dregs of the earth; to see him uniting with a society whose very dress and manners, compared with his own and those of the circles with which he mixed, must have been repulsive; and to see him leave the Established Church, the church of his family, and take up the opi

nions of those who were considered little better than fanatics!

William Penn, in consequence of the death of his father, came into the possession of a very handsome estate, supposed to be worth at that time not less than fifteen hundred

pounds

pounds per annum; so that he became, in point of circumstances, not only an independent but a rich man.

One of his first employments, indeed immediate one, after his father's death, was to give to the world, for the benefit of posterity, an account of his late trial. He entitled it "The People's ancient and just Liberties asserted, in the Trial of William Penn and William Mead, at the Sessions held at the Old Bailey in London, on the first, third, fourth, and fifth of September 1670, against the most arbitrary Procedure of that Court." He detailed, first, the proceedings of the Court on those days. He gave, secondly, "An Appendix, by way of Defence for the Prisoners, or what might have been offered against the Indictment and illegal Proceedings of the Court thereon, had it not violently over-ruled and stopped them." He entered, thirdly, into "A Rehearsal of the material Articles of the Great Charter of England," and "A Confirmation of the Charters and Liberties of England and of the Forest by Edward the First. He then introduced "The Curse and Sentence issued by the Bishops and Clergy against the Breaker's

of

of these Articles," the latter of which he explained both historically and argumentatively, so that they who read it might have a clearer knowledge of their own privileges and rights. He concluded, for their further information, by a Postscript, containing "A Copy of Judge Keeling's Case, as taken out of the Parliament Journal, dated the eleventh of December 1667."

Not long after the publication of this trial a circumstance took place, which brought him before the public again. A Baptist preacher at High Wycomb in Buckinghamshire, of the name of Ives, had reflected in his own meeting house in the pulpit, not only upon the Quakers in general, but upon William Penn in particular. This coming to the ears of the latter, he insisted upon it, and it was at length finally agreed, that a meeting should be held at West Wycomb between the parties concerned, where the obnoxious parts of the Quakers' doctrines should become matter of public dispute: he hin.self was to be the disputant in behalf of his own society, and Jeremy Ives on the of the Baptists. Jeremy, however, was not the but the brother of the person, person,

part

who

who had made the reflections above alluded to, the offender himself being thought unequal to the controversy.

The position to be maintained on the part of the Quakers was the universality of the divine Light. The Baptists were to speak against it. According to the laws of dispute then in force upon such occasions, it devolved upon Jeremy to speak first. He began accordingly, and went on boldly till he had expended all the arguments he had brought with him; when finding from appearances that his auditors were not as well satisfied as he expected, he stepped down suddenly from his seat, and left the place. In doing this, he indulged a hope that his example would have been generally followed. But he was sorely disappointed; for a small number only, who were immediately of his own party, withdrew, while the great bulk

of the audience remained. To these William Penn then addressed himself. In what he advanced he experienced neither interruption nor opposition. So far he may be said to have triumphed. But he triumphed in another respect; for Jeremy, when he found that his hearers continued in their places,

was

was so mortified, that he returned, and injudiciously expressed his disapprobation of their conduct; the consequence of which was, that they in their turn expressed their dislike of him. At this controversy Thomas Ellwood, one of the early Quakers, and a pupil of the great John Milton, was present, who sent an account of it to a friend in these lines, written extempore on the spot: "Prævaluit Veritas: inimici terga dedere:

Nos sumus in tuto : laus tribuenda Deo."

The literal translation of this, which I have attempted in bad poetry, is the following: "Truth has prevail'd: the foe his back has shown: Thank God! we're safe: the praise is his alone." William Penn soon after this controversy took a short journey, in the course of which it happened that he stopped at Oxford. Learning there that several of the members of his own society had been treated with great cruelty by the students on account of their religious meetings, and having reason to believe that the Vice-Chancellor himself was not blameless in that respect, he addressed to him a letter, of which I copy for its singularity the introductory sentence:

"Shall