severe persecution, merely for preaching to a quiet society of Quakers in Gracechurch-street. He was apprehended, lodged in Newgate, and brought to trial at the Old Bailey, as a criminal of the worst description; and such was the treatment of the prisoner on his trial, and of the honest jury who acquitted him, that every Englishman who peruses the detail here inserted will blush for his country, and thank God that, we are delivered from the tyranny and lawless violence which then prevailed even in the courts of law. Mr. Clarkson very. truly remarks that this trial is a most interesting event in our annals, no part of which ought to be lost to posterity. We wish to quote the account of it as here given: but, though in an abridged form, it is too long for insertion in our pages. Those, who were on the bench of justice loaded the prisoner with the harshest epithets, abused the jury, locked them up for: two days because they would not return a verdict of guilty, and at last, when they persevered, sent them and the prisoner: to Newgate, fining them into the bargain:

The jury on the second day were again called in, but they returned the same verdict as before. The bench now became outrageous, and indulged in the most vulgar and brutal language, such indeed as would be almost incredible if it were not upon record. The jury were again charged, and again sent out of court: again they returned: again they delivered the same verdict: again they were threatened. William Penn having spoken against the injustice of the court in having menaced the jury, who were his judges by the great charter of England, and in having rejected their verdict, the Lord Mayor exclaimed, "Stop his mouth, jailor, bring fetters, and stake him to the ground." William Penn replied, "Do your pleasure, I matter not your fetters." The Recorder observed, "Till now I never understood the reason of the policy and prudence of the Spaniards in suffering the Inquisition among them; and certainly it will never be well with us, till something like the Spanish Inquisition be in England." Upon this the jury were ordered to withdraw to find another verdict: but they refused, saying, they had already given it, and that they could find no other. The sheriff then forced them away. Several persons were immediately sworn to keep them without any accommodation as before, and the court adjourned till seven the next morning.

On the 5th of September the jury, who had received no refreshment for two days and two nights, were again called in, and the business resumed. The court demanded a positive answer to these words, "Guilty or Not guilty?" The foreman of the jury replied "Not guilty." Every juryman was then required to repeat this answer separately. This he did to the satisfaction of almost all in court. The following address and conversation then passed.

• Recorder. "Gentlemen of the jury, I am sorry you have followed your own judgments rather than the good advice which was

X 4

given

given you. God keep my life out of your hands! But for this the court fines you forty marks a man, and imprisonment till paid." • W. Penn.-" Í demand my liberty, being freed by the jury." Mayor." No. You are in for your fines."

"W. Penn.-"Fines for what?"

Mayor. For contempt of court."

W. Penn." I ask if it be according to the fundamental laws of England, that any Englishman should be fined or amerced but by the judgment of his peers or jury, since it expressly contradicts the fourteenth and twenty-ninth chapters of the great charter of England, which says, "No freeman shall be amerced but by the oath of good and lawful men of the vicinage."

• Recorder." Take him away."

W. Penn." I can never urge the fundamental laws of England but you cry, Take him away; but it is no wonder, since the Spanish Inquisition has so great a place in the Recorder's heart. God, who is just, will judge you for all these things."

These words were no sooner uttered than William Penn and his friend, William Mead, were forced into the bale-dock, from whence they were sent to Newgate. Every one of the jury also were sent to the latter prison. The plea for this barbarous usage was, that both the prisoners and the jury refused to pay the fine of forty marks which had been put upon each of them; upon the former, because one of the mayor's officers had put their hats upon their heads by his own command; and upon the latter, because they would not bring in a verdict, contrary to their own consciences, in compliance with the wishes of the bench.

Thus ended this famous trial; a trial, by which we see the assertion proved, that the noble institution of juries is the grand palladium of our liberties; a trial, which for the good it has done to posterity ought to be engraved on tablets of the most durable marble; for it was one of those events, which in conjunction with others of a similar sort, by showing the inadequacy of punishment for religion to its supposed end, not only corrected and improved the notions of succeeding ages in this respect, but by so doing lessened the ravages of persecution, and the enmity between man and man. Nor ought posterity to be less grateful for it as a monument of the ferocity and corrupt usages of former times; for, contrasting these with the notions and customs of our own age, we behold that which we ought to contemplate, of all other things, with the greatest gratitude and delight, namely, the improvement of our social and moral being. In those times of bigotry the world seemed to be little better than a state of warfare between man and man; a state of warfare between man and his government; and this merely because the one differed from the other in those matters, of which God only was the proper and lawful judge. But now happily the case is altered. We behold indeed the fabric of the Tower yet remaining. We see Newgate with its renovated walls upon the same spot. But we know these no longer as the receptacles of innocent individuals suffering for conscience sake. We have our courts of law remaining; but we see an order, decorum, and an improvement in the administration of justice unknown at the period of this memorable trial.'

From

From this portion of these proceedings against Penn, and from the judicious reflections which Mr. Clarkson has subjoined, our readers will see reason to congratulate themselves that they are under the tolerant reign of George III., and not under the despotism of the Stuarts.

The Admiral having privately paid the fines imposed on his son and on his fellow-prisoner, William Penn was liberated: but the biographer can obtain no account of the fate of his virtuous jury. He was released, indeed, to attend the deathbed of his father: but soon afterward, for the crime of preaching, he was again committed to Newgate. Of the placid and composed state of mind of this Quaker, we cannot afford a better specimen than his reply to Sir John Robinson, who told him that he must commit him for six months to Newgate:

"And is this all? Thou well knowest a larger imprisonment has not daunted me. I accept it at the hand of the Lord, and am contented to suffer his will. Alas! you mistake your interest! This is not the way to compass your ends. I would have thee and all men know, that I scorn that religion which is not worth suffering for and able to sustain those that are afflicted for it. Thy religion persecutes and mine forgives. I desire God to forgive you all that are concerned in my commitment, and I leave you all in perfect charity, wishing your everlasting salvation."'

It is impossible for us to supply even an abstract of the whole narrative here offered, or to specify the several publications which rapidly proceeded from William Penn, whether in confinement or at large. We must refrain, also, from following him in his travels through Holland and Germany, and in his subsequent tours through England in the character of a preacher; omitting also to mention all his places of residence, from the period of his first marriage to his death. This would, indeed, be a long article, were we to exhibit William Penn even according to the outline which is sketched in the titles of the several chapters of these memoirs.

By the little which has already been related, it will be evident that persecution raged with violence against the harmless and unprotected Quakers. This spirit William Penn endeayoured to resist by several publications; and, in order to make the agents in such a business ashamed of their conduct, he specified the injustice, hardships, and cruel losses which the Friends endured in various parts of the kingdom:

• Persons were thrown into gaol, so that parents and their children were separated. Cattle were driven away. The widow's cow was not even spared. Barns full of corn were seized, which was thrashed out and sold. Household-goods were distrained, so that even a stool was not left in some cases to sit on, and the very milk, boiling on the

fire for the family thrown to the dogs in order to obtain the skillet as a prize. These enormities sometimes took place on suspicion only that persons had preached to or attended a conventicle; and to such length were they carried, that even some of those who went only to visit and sit by their sick relations, were adjudged to be a company met to pray in defiance of the law.'

Speaking of Penn's work intitled "The continued Cry of the oppressed for Justice," in which the ferocious proceedings against the Quakers are enumerated, the biographer observes, that it shews us what a man is capable of when under the dominion of bigotry and superstition; furnishing us with facts which, but for the known truth of them, we, who live in this improved age, should have thought incredible under a government calling itself Protestant, and crying out against the persecution of the Romish Church.'

In 1676, an event took place which led to the developement of Penn's political character. He then became a manager of proprietary concerns in New Jersey, divided the province into East and West, drew up a constitution for the latter, and invited settlers to it. These concerns, however, did not divert him from attending to the interests of his brethren at home. He vindicated their principles and conduct in a speech before a committee of the House of Commons; and by the sentiment's which that speech contains, Mr. Clarkson is led into the fol lowing train of reflections:

Here a wide field for observation would present itself, if I had room for stating those thoughts which occur on this subject, involving no less than the question, how far mankind, when persecuted by their respective governments for matters relating to the conscience, have gained more advantages to themselves in this respect by open resistance, than by the Quaker-principle of a quiet and peaceable submission to the penalties which the laws inflict? To solve this we might look to the nature of the human mind, and then to examples from history. In taking a survey of the former, it would be obvious, that the oppressor for religion (and indeed every other oppressor) would become irritated, and rendered still more vindictive, by opposition; while, on the other hand, his mind might be softened by the sight of heroic suffering. To resistance he would attach nothing but a common, or perhaps an ignominious character, whereas he might give something more than a common reputation, nay, even nobility, to patience and resignation under supposed injury. In punishing the man who opposed him, he would lose all pity; but his feelings might be called forth, where he saw all selfish notions done away, and the persecuted dying with satisfaction for a public good. Add to which, that he could not but think something of the cause for which men thus thought it worth their while to perish. In looking at historical example, that of the apostles would first strike us. Had they resisted the government, or stirred up the multitudes, which

attended

attended them, to do it, they had lost their dignity and their usefulness. Their resistance had been a bar to the progress of their religion, whereas their suffering is universally confessed to have promoted it. The same may be said of those martyrs, after whom followed the established church; nay, of the very persons now in question; for to the knowledge, which succeeding governments had, that it was the custom of the Quakers never to submit to the national authority in matters of conscience, and yet never to resist this authority by force, it is to be ascribed, that at this moment they enjoy so many privileges. They are allowed to solemnize their own marriages. Their affirmation is received legally as their oath. Exceptions are always made in their favour in all acts of parliament which relate to military service. And this reminds me, that if this principle could be followed up, I mean generally and conscientiously, sources of great misery might be done away. For if the great bulk of mankind were so enlightened, either by scriptural instruction or divine agency, as to feel alike on the subject of any evil, and to feel conscientiously at the same time the absolute necessity of adhering to this principle as its cure, no such evil could be perpetrated by any government. Thus, for example, if war were ever to be generally and conscientiously viewed in this light, how could it ever be carried on for ambitious or other wicked purposes, if men could be forced neither by threats, imprisonment, corporal suffering, nor the example of capital punishments, to fight? I do not mean here, if a common combination were to take place for such a purpose, that such an effect would be produced. A combination, the result of mere policy, could never have in it sufficient virtue to stand the ordeal to which it might be exposed on such an occasion. It must be a general harmony of action, arising out of a vivid sense of the evil in question, and out of a firm conviction at the same time, that this was the remedy actually required as a Christian duty, and that no other was allowed. In this point of view Christianity contains within itself the power of removing the great evils of wicked governments, without interrupting those other parts of their system which are of essential use to the good order, peace, and happiness of mankind.'

The management of the colony of West New Jersey having turned Penn's thoughts to this new world, he naturally speculated on the advantages which persecuted Friends might enjoy, under a constitution of perfect religious as well as civil liberty, when formed into a community on the shores of North America. He therefore petitioned and obtained from Charles II. a grant of land in America, in lieu of a debt due by the government to his father the Admiral. This charter is dated March 4th, 1681.

After this period, Penn is presented to us more in the character of a statesman than that of a Christian individual: but it will be seen by his memoirs that he carried the principles of the Christian into his new occupation, and, disregarding the examples of all other civil rulers, endeavoured to frame a poli