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this my son and the ghastly wretches I but now beheld! They, the dismal forms of guilt, disease, and death; but HE, all that fancy can conceive of the lovely reverse! Health in his cheeks, heaven in his eyes, and in every feature innocence and bliss." These honours of her son were too bright and precious to escape her keen searching inspection. She caught and enjoyed them all to ecstasy. Then pressing him once more in transport to her bosom, and looking at him with great tenderness, she said, "O William, my son, my son, what a medley of sweetest pains and pleasures has my life been made to me; and all through you!"

Sweetest pains, my mother, and all through me!

"Yes, William, sweetest pains indeed, and all through you. God be praised, you never gave me the pang of a single vice. O no, your life has all been brightened over with virtues. But still, William, through some rare dispensation of heaven, even your virtues have caused me pains; but, as I said, they have been sweet pains. Your early seriousness and devotedness to God, were certainly the greatest of all virtues but then your father's violent persecutions of you for it, and especially for your joining the quakers, was cause of great pain to me, though it was, I confess, accompanied with much pleasure because of the pure principles and firm, yet amiable spirit, you displayed under it all. And now your confinement in this prison has cost me many tears, but still, blessed be God, they are comparatively sweet tears, because not shed for grief of any crime that you have committed, but rather for joy of your angel innocence and honest adherence to what you think your duty." But, my dear son, although your looks, shining with heavenly innocence and peace, do cause me to feel myself the happiest of mothers, yet I must confess, William, that my joy would be still more complete if you were not in this place."

Yes, mother, and could I obtain it on terms consistent

with duty, I also would prefer freedom to these bonds. But with my present views of things how can I ever expect it?

Why not, my son? replied Mrs. Penn, eagerly.

Why, mother, I am in this prison not for any moral law of God that I have violated; not for any harm that I have ever done to any, or even for suspicion of such thing, but merely because I will not conform with the national church. But how can I conform to that church while there is so much of antichrist in their worship?

Of antichrist, William!

Yes, mother, of antichrist: for what is antichrist, but to invent substitutes, no matter how costly or how apparently holy, in place of the simple worship which God has declared will please him? Now God every where tells us that he "IS A SPIRIT"- -a spirit of " HOLINESS AND LOVE”—that, this being his own Nature, 66 HE SEEKS FOR WORSHIPERS"- none but those who thus worship him in spirit and truth." He also every where assures us that there is nothing which his soul so abhors as all attempts, in place of these, to invent outward substitutes, such as grand temples--rich offerings-thousands of rams-tens of thousands of rivers of oil-bowings of the head like bullrushes--observings of new moons and sabbaths-tythings of mint and anise--disfiguring of faces--long prayers--frequent fastings-giving alms in the streets, &c. "WHILE THE HEART IS FAR FROM HIM," and of course the life filled up with crimes, such as "devouring widows' houses"—and not providing proper food and raiment even for "their own household." Now, my dear mother, look at our national church, my non-conformity with which has caused the bishops to throw me (uncharged with a crime) into this prison; I say look at our national church and see how awfully it has fallen into these abominations-see how, leaving the simple, inward, spiritual worship of Christ, that naturally

leads to imitate him in all moral virtues, they have substituted an outward, showy, gaudy worship, like the Heathens, which is consistent with all their old sins of pride, indulgence of self, and frauds and cruelties to others. Look at their grand churches and cathedrals which they have built for Christ! do these show any thing like his HUMILITY in life, doctrine and example, which he has left that we might follow his steps." Do these show any thing of his LOVE, who "made himself poor that we might be rich" who requires "mercy and not sacrifice"-and who said "let nothing be lost," no, not a scrap of broken meat, because there is always some poor starving Lazarus who wants it.

"And look at the ornamentings and furniture of these grand churches and cathedrals, which they say they have built for Christ; their costly carvings and paintings; their rich altar-pieces and pulpit-cloths, flaming with crimson and gold; their piles of massy plate; and, above all, their tall and towering steeples and spires, reaching to the clouds! Do these things suit the genius of his simple humble worship; or do they match with his precepts of "perfect charity," which are as angels sent to earth, with their eyes bright through tears, eagerly looking around for the poor and miserable, that they may relieve them; and not throwing away their precious means on such blinding, deceiving, and fatal vanities. For "who hath required these things at your hands, saith the Lord God. Behold the heaven of heavens cannot contain me: and will you build me houses of brick and mortar, which perish before the moth? Is not this the sacrifice that I have chosen, even to deal thy bread to the hungry? and that thou bring the poor that are cast out of thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?" And then for the worship, both by the priests and the people, which is offered unto Christ in these their grand

churches, what precedents have they for it in his gospel? When the multitude was come together to hear the words of eternal life from his lips, did he amuse them with changes of garments, surplices, and gowns, and cassocks? or did he keep the impatient crowds in suspense, wearying and fatiguing them with repetitions of long prayers, which, though excellent in themselves, and apt to be very savoury and profitable to the devout, ought not to be forced upon the multiude? And as to his worshippers, did he, whose chief delight is in the 'humble and contrite ones,' ever look to be served by giddy crowds driving up to his house in proud carriages, alas! too often bought with monies taken from their creditors; or, worse still, taken from the 'poor to whom he had appointed them his own stewards?' or did he expect that persons profaning his house with pomps and vanities of attire so opposite to the charitable spirit of his religion, would set themselves down as his disciples, because they had gone a formal round of outward devotions, while in their tempers and manners they betrayed the most deplorable ignorance of the Saviour whom they had been so pompously worshipping--living in their old scandalous neglects of those moral duties which even heathens honour, to the great disgrace of the religion of Christ, and to the filling the world with infidel philosophers, thus taught to laugh at all revelation !"

As William Penn uttered this, which he did like one who strongly felt what he was speaking, his mother, who had been eagerly imbibing every syllable, thus passionately replied:-"Oh William, my son, what a horrible picture have you given of the degeneracy of the church in these wretched days! and the more horrible because it is so true."

"Yes, mother," replied he; "and yet, because I cannot conform to such horrible corruptions of Christ's gospel; because I cannot bring my feelings to go to such churches and to partake of all that outward, noisy, showy,

unspiritual worship, my name is cast out as evil; my property is confiscated and sold; and I am here, you see, mother, locked up in prison, cut off from the common blessings of air and liberty, when all the time no man dare come forward and say I ever did him harm ; and all this under the eyes of the bishops of the church, whose tythings, and revenues, and palaces, and pomps, and pleasures are, in part, maintained out of the substance thus torn from the poor quakers; and their children beggared and ruined by such inhuman robberies.

"Well, William," replied Mrs. Penn, embracing him, and her looks shining with heavenly joys, “you have given me more of divine comfort to-day than I ever experienced in one day in all my life. Such bright lights on your duty, and such fortitude to adhere to it, in spite of all discouragements, Q what glory has it not shed over your person in my eyes; and what ceaseless gratitude to God that he has given to my dear son the honour to be such a champion and martyr for his glorious truth, which yet shall triumph."

"Yes, mother," replied William, catching up that word, "yes, Christ's truth shall yet triumph over Satan's lies and his heavenly love over hellish hate. The fruits of his righteousness shall yet fill the earth, and then all those who have honestly laboured for that great change, 'shall shine like the firmament, and as the stars for ever and ever.""

"Well, William," returned Mrs. Penn, getting up as to go away, "I came here to comfort you, but thank God for ever, you have much more comforted me. Yes, I am going home very different from what I came ; not with eyes flowing with bitter tears, but with a heart overflowing with sweetest joys. But now I must be going. I forgot to tell you that I expected your dear father yesterday. He will, I think, certainly come to-day. He is coming home sick. I long to pour of my joys into his bosom And besides, my dear son, this shameless

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