He then addresses his children, and finally his elder boys, in the following admirable strain, honorable alike to his understanding and his heart.
“And, as for you, who are likely to be concerned, in the government of Pennsylvania, I do charge you, before the Lord God and his holy angels, that you be lowly, diligent and tender, fearing God, loving the people, and hating covetousness. Let justice have its impartial course, and the law free passage. Though to your loss, protect no man against it—for you are not above the law, but the law above you. Live therefore the lives, yourselves, you would have the people live; and then you have right and boldness to punish the transgressor. Keep upon the square, for God sees you: therefore do your duty, and be sure you see with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears. Entertain no lurchers; cherish no informers for gain or revenge; use no tricks; fly to no devices, to support or cover injustice but let your heart be upright before the Lord, trusting in him, above the contrivances of men, and none shall be able to hurt or supplant.”
The letter, from which I have made these few extracts, concludes—“So farewell to my thrice dearly beloved wife and children! Yours as God pleaseth, in that, which no waters can quench, no time forget, nor distance wear away.”
It is truly pleasant to get behind the curtain of form and ceremony, and look at these eminent men, in their night-gowns and slippers, and listen to them thus, while talking to their wives and their children.
No. LXIX.
It is remarkable, that such a genuine Quaker, as William Penn, should have sprung from such a belligerent stock. His father, as I have stated, was a British admiral; and his grandfather, Giles, was a captain in the navy. William Penn may, nevertheless, have derived, from this origin, and from his Dutch mother, Margaret Jasper, of Rotterdam—a certain quality, eminently characteristic of the Quaker—that resolute determination, which the coarser man of the world calls pluck, and the Quaker, constancy.
This constancy of purpose, in William Penn, seems never to have been shaken. It appeared, in his refusal to doff his brim, before his father, the Duke of York, and the King. It was manifested, when, being imprisoned in the Tower, for printing his Sandy Foundation Shaken, and hearing, that the Bishop of London had declared the offender should publicly recant, or remain there, for life; he replied, “he would weary out the malice of his enemies by his patience, and that his prison should be his grave, before he would renounce his just opinions, for he owed his conscience to no man.”
This same constancy was signally exhibited, during the disputation, between himself and George Whitehead, for the Quakers, and Thomas Vincent and others, for the Presbyterians. Vincent had a parish, in Spitalfields. Two of his parishioners went to listen, perhaps to laugh, at the Quakers. Like Goldsmith’s scoffers, who came to laugh, and remained to pray—they went in, Presbyterians, and came out, Quakers. They were converted. At this, Vincent lost his patience; and seems to have become a persecutor of the cursed Quakers; and, as Clarkson states, said all manner of “unhandsome” things of them, and their damnable doctrines. Penn and Whitehead invited Vincent to a public discussion. After much delay and evasion, Vincent consented. As every fowl is bravest on his own stercorium, Vincent selected his own Presbyterian meeting-house, as the place for the discussion; and, before the appointed hour, filled it with his own people, so completely, that the disputants themselves, Penn and Whitehead, could scarcely gain admittance. They were instantly insulted, by a charge, suddenly made, that the Quakers held “damnable doctrines.” Whitehead began a reply; Vincent interrupted him, and proposed, as the proper course, that he should put questions to the Quakers. He put the motion, and, as almost all present were of his party, it was agreed to, of course. He then put a question concerning the Godhead, which he knew the Quakers would answer in the negative. Whitehead and Penn attempted to explain. Several rose on the other side. Whitehead desired to put a question to Vincent. This the Presbyterians refused. They proceeded to laugh, hiss and stigmatize. Penn they called a Jesuit. Upon an answer from Whitehead, to a question from Vincent, uproar ensued, and Vincent “went instantly to prayer,” that the Lord would come short with heretics and blasphemers.
When he had, by this manœuvre, discharged his battery upon the Quakers, effectually securing himself from interruption—for no one would presume to interrupt a minister at prayer—he cut off all power of reply, by telling the people to go home immediately, at the same moment setting them the example.