imprisonment of you may bring about great good. You know what a high spirited man he is; and that, after all his life's dangers and hard fightings for his king and country; after all his large loans of money for the glory of the British nation, you, his child, his only child, should be thus rudely thrown into prison, it cannot but rouse his indignation. At any rate, it must set him to thinking; and he may thence make such discoveries of the scandalous corruptions in the national church, as shall produce an entire change in his respect for it, and even make him honour you for quitting it." Mrs. Penn then took a tender leave of her son, not without promising to come and see him the next day, and, perhaps, to bring his father with her.

CHAPTER XVI.

On her return Mrs. Penn found the admiral had just got home and very uneasy about her, as none of the servants could tell him where she was gone. His surprise in hearing from her that she had been to the prison, was changed into the deepest horror on hearing the cause-that she had been there to see William! The effect on his spirits was such as she had predicted, that after all his hard fighting, and liberal spendings for his country, his only son and child, though innocent of crime as a lamb, should thus be thrust into prison like a common felon, and that too by an English bishop, for the slightest insult of whose sacred lawn he would have fought to the knees in blood; oh it was like the stab of a dagger. But he felt not as he once would have done. His health, which for a considerable time past, had been on the decline, had experienced such rapid decay during the last four

months' cruise that his impoverished heart could scarely furnish blood enough for his cheeks and eyes to express their resentments. Mrs. Penn did not fail

to aid his returning reason and conscience by all the arguments she honestly could. She gave him an account of the interview with their son in prison. She told him that instead of finding William dejected and unhappy, she found him an angel of innocence and serenity; cheerfully pursuing his studies, and in his looks showing a heroic spirit, nobly triumphant over all his enemies. She then related their son's vivid description of the horrible corruptions of the gospel by worldly minded bishops, substituting outward forms for the inward power of godliness; and the still more horrible corruptions of the bishops themselves as toò evident in their pride and ambition, living like princes in their palaces, while thousands of widows and orphans were pining for bread; and likewise their shutting up in prisons and robbing of their substance, thousands of the most humble and harmless souls, merely because they chose to worship God in a way of greater simplicity and purity.

The admiral showed signs of deep contrition at this, and with tears in his eyes, told his wife that he was afraid he had treated that amiable boy, his son, too harshly. He added that ever since his disputes with William, his own eyes had been, he believed, opening; and that he had for a good while past, been thinking that there was a wide difference between the precepts and example of Christ, and those of the great hierarchs who call themselves his bishops-that he began now to be satisfied that they were, most of them, a pack of worldly-minded, SELF-SEEKING hypocrites and impostors, whom he would never more go to hear preach as long as he lived. "But, my dear," added he, let us waste no more time in talking thus while our son is in prison. I long to see William; I long for an en

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