tire reconciliation with him; and to encourage him to persevere in his good walk, though I am afraid, poor boy, the times are so bad he will meet with much persecution." The next morning while they were at breakfast, they were all at once surprised and delighted with the fine, open, sweetly shining face of William, who had received his discharge from prison early that morning, through a friend to whom the admiral had privately sent money for the purpose. Mrs. Penn as usual, flew to embrace her son. But his father, suddenly struck with the recollection of his former harsh treatment of William, manifested a momentary embarrassment; but quickly recovering himself he rose, and with a slight suffusion on his cheeks, stepped forward reaching out an eager hand, and calling, "come, William, my dear son, welcome to your father's embraces. You saw me a little embarrassed, but no matter for

that; if I was angry with you, I meant it for your good as I thought; but, thank God, I have lived to see my error; and also to congratulate you, my dear child, that you were so early a favourite of your God." Such a speech from so great an officer as admiral Penn, ought never to be forgotten by the young, whom it should instruct that the bravest men have always been the first to acknowledge error, and to seek the heartfelt satisfaction of making friends with the injured. From a father, ever so highly honoured, this speech greatly affected William Penn, especially when he saw in the looks of that honoured father such evident symptoms of a constitutional decay and speedy dissolution. The admiral understood the meaning of the tender melancholy that so suddenly settled on William's countenance; with his frequent sighs, which served but to attach him the more to his beloved child. "I am going, my son," said he to William, “I am going; and very fast toc; and I am thankful above measure that you are with me, and that things have

worked about into such a good trim at last, as I have been so long wishing. And now my dear boy you must stay with me and see the last of me."

William Penn had his hands full at this time, many assailants having risen up rudely attacking himself as well as the religious opinions of the people he patronised. In addition to this he had just commenced his career as a preacher of the gospel, to which his heart was entirely devoted. But when he saw the low and languishing state of his father; and in his pale and emaciated looks recognized the dear author, under God, of his own existence, with all his advantages of education and high standing in life, he was so affected that he resolved to stay at home and aid his mother in the pious work of cheering his declining hours and smoothing his rapid descent to the grave. Then was seen the blessed, BLESSED power of religion to open the understanding to a sense of parental obligation, and to warm the heart with such filial gratitude, as to cause a young man cheerfully to give up every thing else and find no place so dear to him as the bedside of a sick parent. Then also was seen the wide difference between gold and love to qualify for the tender offices of nursing and waiting in the house of mourning. The coarsest hireling can bring to the sick man his food, and can administer his physic. But it belongs solely to love to perform these offices in such an endearing way as to give them their proper refreshing effect. And here it was that William Penn shone in full lustre. He was not the ESAU, the rough man whose duties coldly and reluctantly performed, only served to show ingratitude and to grieve a father's heart; but he was the fond and affectionate JACOB whose love made him all eye, all ear, all attention to anticipate his wishes and make him fly to supply them even before they were breathed. And whatever he did, whether it was to raise his father in bed, or to smooth his pillow, or to wipe the cold sweat from his

brow, or the phlegm from his lips, all was done with such alacrity and tenderness as to cause the good old admiral daily to lift the eye of gratitude to God for such a child. And indeed few parents ever had more cause to be thankful for such a child. For William Penn's ardent love and unwearied attention to his father was but a small part of his recommendations. His extraordinary talents, his studious habits, his rare acquirements, together with his gravity, his dignity of deportment, his unsullied morals and sublime principles of religion, all, all conspired to furnish this happy parent with an overwhelming flow of joy and thankfulness on his dear account. And to see such a son as this, taking all these his rare advantages and attainments, and with the sweetest humility and affection, laying them at the feet of his aged father, as if he had received all from him, and found no pleasure equal to that of returning all to him again. O how gratifying must this have been to the soul of admiral Penn, especially when he recollected that he had, twice, turned this same child out of doors. How fully now must he have been convinced that this his son "had learned, as he ought, the truth as it is in Jesus!" It appears that he became completely a convert to the same blessed faith as it is preached and exemplified in the simple childlike spirit and manners of the FRiends. Then it was that the pride, and ambition, and worldly mindedness of the bishops and clergy began to lay heavy upon his heart; and he often said in his latter moments, that he was "awfully afraid that the corrupt examples of the national church, with those of the dissolute nobility would overwhelm the country with ruin." Feeling his end approaching, and seeing the dark cloud of persecution hanging over his son's head, because of his religion, he sent a friend to the Duke of York, (afterterwards King James II. under whom he had fought that great battle against the Dutch fleet) desiring it of him as a death-bed request that he would protect his

son in case of persecution; and to ask the king (Charles the 2d) to do the same. They both returned a comfortable answer-" that they would assuredly be William's friends." The day before his death, he said, "son William, I am weary of the world! I would not live over my days again if I could command them with a wish, for the snares of life are greater than the fears of death. Three things I commend to you. First and above all, let nothing ever tempt you to wound your conscience! O be tender of your conscience! so you will have peace at home and a rich feast in a day of trouble. Secondly, whatever you design to do, lay it justly and time it seasonably; for that gives security and despatch.-Thirdly, be not troubled at losses and disappointments; for if they may be recovered, well; if not, trouble is vain. If you could not have helped it, be content, and trust in Providence, whose afflictions are for our good. And if you could have helped it, let not your trouble exceed instruction for another time!"

His dissolution which had been rapidly advancing, began now sensibly to appear upon him: he felt its cold and icy approach without the least alarm. His last words contained the highest eulogy ever pronounced on the TRUTH. "Son William," said he, looking at him with the most composed countenance, "if you and your friends keep to your plain way of preaching, and keep to your plain way of living, you will make an end of the PROUD PRIESTS to the end of the world.-Bury me by my mother-live all in loveshun all manner of evil; and I pray God to bless you all! and he will bless you all." He then bowed him in his bed and gave up the ghost.

By the death of his father, William Penn became owner of a very handsome estate, supposed to be worth at that time 15007. sterling per annum, equal to 15,000 dollars now; besides an immense sum of money due to him from the CROWN, for loans made by

his father, and which he had been kept out of for a long time, as we shall see in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XVII.

"WHO can tell what is good for man in this life?" was a question which staggered Solomon himself, with all his wisdom; and which, indeed, he proposes not with any idea of ever solving it, but rather of throwing out to us a comfortable hint that there is ONE who knows what is good for man in this life, and that we should bow with reverential joys to that adorable will which can easily convert what we think the heaviest misfortune into the greatest blessing.

To be kept out of their money, especially if a large sum, is felt by the most of men as a serious misfortune. It was so felt by admiral Penn, William's father. This patriotic officer, for the glory of the British navy, was continually making it loans out of his own private purse, and with such a sailor-like neglect of calculation, that when he came to cast up the account, he found, to his utter astonishment, that the government owed him the affrightening sum of sixteen thousand pounds sterling, equal, as money now goes, to two hundred thousand dollars! After a world of fruitless applications to the crown, the good admiral sickened and died, leaving this vast debt to his son to collect. William's applications to government were equally unavailing; but, happily, his mind was so greatened by the mighty objects of religion, that he suffered but little from this disappointment. After a lapse of many years, and his prospects of payment from the crown continuing as gloomy as ever, he proposed to the king, Charles the Second, an exchange of