ther, to blush for me." Here she burst into a flood of tears. But it was plain they were not bitter tears, for they flowed from eyes piously rolled towards heaven, and bright with the joy of hope that her dear boy would yet one day come out more than conqueror. And O power resistless of truth! this great British admiral, whom not all the thunders and lightnings of hostile navies could have daunted, was so confounded by the still small voice of sacred truth, that he turned away pale with shame and trouble, and walked the floor silent and humbled as a weaned child.

CHAPTER XII.

BUT leaving the admiral and his amiable consort under the excitement of feelings of a very opposite character, let us turn to William. On the first glance at that dear boy, though but through the eye of fancy, we can scarce refrain from crying out-O, come here young men! come here! and mark the difference, the wide, wide difference between the child of God and the slave of Satan in the persecutions they suffer for vice, or virtue's sake! The young sinner, who, for debauching his neighbour's daughter, or murdering his son in a duel, is kicked out of his father's doors, flies from home like a ravening wolf from his wintry den. And while the curses of the injured are beating upon him from behind, conscious guilt, like a deadly frost, has blasted every flower of hope in front, and left him nothing but dreariness and despair. Then seizing the accursed halter he chokes himself over some convenient gate-post, and dies, as he deserves, the death of a mad dog. Such are, ofttimes, the effects of persecution for wickedness' sake. But the persecution for righteousness' sake, O what is it like, or whereunto

shall we compare it? It is like unto a whirlwind in a garden of cinnamon, which, though it create a transient tempest, yet serves to reveal the richer glories of the place; for by shaking the beds of spices it fills the air with sweetest odours and spreads abroad a ravishment unknown before. Such was the effect of his father's persecution of young William. It excited, indeed, an agitation that alternately bleached or reddened his cheeks, and called forth his tears. But still as it was for HIM "who will be no man's debtor," he quickly found in it, that "peace which passeth all understanding!" 'Tis true his mother's eyes, following him to the door, melted him for a moment; but scarcely had he passed the gate and entered on the fair clover-covered lawns of Pennwood, and eyed the spacious skies, before his heart was revived by a flood of joys of the noblest kind. The painful state of halting between two opinions is now over, and, as he hopes, for ever. He has at last bravely seized the cross. In thought he ascends the mount of God, with his anchor of HOPE fast moored in heaven, and his eyes of FAITH, bright as the everlasting hills, on which they are placed. And while a voice within seems to whisper "well done good and faithful servant!" thou art now free-thou art now for God" thou art now living to the great end of thy creation," he felt what he had often read, but never felt before-"the joy unspeakable and full of glory."

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In this happy frame he repaired without loss of time to London, in hopes of meeting his revered friend Thomas Loe. But learning that he was not yet returned from Ireland, William inquired where he might find any of the PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS!" Such an inquiry from the son of admiral Penn, and in the meek looks too of one of that people excited much surprise, but he was presently directed to the house of one George Whitehead, an eminent minister among the quakers. As God would have it, there was

a meeting that day, at Whitehead's house, which gave great joy to William, who went in and took his seat among the friends. He had not sat long before he found himself very happy with his company. The modesty of their dress-the sweet spirit on their countenances, shining at once with reverence and affection in a noiseless but fervent devotion, filled his heart with all the delights of a most heavenly fellowship. He felt himself as he thought, among "the excellent ones of the earth," with them worshipping the best of all beings-seeking the greatest of all goods-and by means well suited to the end they aimed at, even by a simple culture of the heart in those divine loves which alone can take of the things of God and give them to the soul. Soon as meeting was over, and the younger people and the women gone out, Whitehead, with several of the friends, approached William Penn, where he still sat, to salute him. William rose and giving his hand told them his name. They appeared greatly pleased, and said they were glad to see him, for that two years ago, they had heard friend Loe speak often and much concerning him. Here William. blushed. They then asked him wether he was not very lately from Ireland? for that they had just received letters from friend Loe speaking of having seen admiral Penn's son at meeting there, and giving a very favourable report of him. Thinking this a good opening, William told him his whole exercises in Ire land with friend Loe, also his persecutions and banishment from Pennwood. Moreover he told them with a sigh, that for some time past he had been "halting between two opinions," but that now his mind was made up; that being fully convinced that to love the world is the veriest madness and misery of man, and to love God his highest wisdom and happiness, he was resolved to forsake the world and cleave to God for

ever.

As William made this confession, the countenances

of the FRIENDS were brightened with joy. And when he was done they assured him how happy they were that one so young and of such high standing in the world, should think of making an offering of himself to God. William then told them, that he was indeed thankful, and could never be sufficiently so, that God had called him while so young, to the glory of his service. And, as to his wealth and high standing in the world, he felt there too that the more he had, the more he owed to God, and the stronger his obligations to a pious life and that now he was come on purpose to cast in his lot among them.

They all smiled, and asked him if he was in good earnest. William looked surprised.-They said they had asked him this question because they were afraid he had not counted the cost.

yes, replied he, I trust I have.

They all shook their heads; when Whitehead, with great meekness, said, I fear, friend William, thee art almost too young for calculations of this sort. Thee ought to remember that we are a "little flock," and withal much despised, and that "not many rich, not many wise, not many great of this world," have sought fel lowship with us.

William said he had pondered all these things.

Well then, said Whitehead, thee has done well in so doing; but still, friend William, there is something against us much worse than all this yet.

William wanted to know what that was.

Why, friend William, said Whitehead, thee must know that our religion is the hardest in the whole world. Here, William seeming to look as if he did not entirely comprehend this, Whitehead repeated "yes, friend William, ours is the hardest religion in the world." Other religions go chiefly on NOTIONS, ours on LOVE. And thou wilt learn, by and bye, that it is easier to harangue about a thousand new fangled notions, than to mortifiy one old lust. If thou soughtest

fellowship with many other societies, thou mightest easily gain thy point by subscribing to their articles; contending for their creeds; confessing their notions, as about the trinity, and baptisms; &c. and by assenting that all ought to be burnt who differ from them in these things. But friend William, we have not so learned Jesus. If his religion stood in these things, it were easy to be a Christian. Corrupt nature has always had a strong leaning to religion of this sort. The heathens gloried in their showy temples and gaudy sacrifices. The Jews vaunted in their tythings of mint, anise and cummin. Many CHRISTIANS also make a great to do about creeds and catechisms, about sacraments and notions; because all the zeal they display on these points, though it may bring them much fame and wealth, need not cost them one dear lust or passion! But the quakers, friend William, put no confidence in these things. We feel ourselves constrained to a deeper work, even that hard lesson of Christ, "the perfect love out of a pure heart." And now since thou art come to join our society; and, as is common when persons apply for membership with us, we would ask thee a question or two, but not concerning thy NOTIONS, but concerning thy affections. Hast thou then a perfect hatred of sin, and dost thou sincerely desire to be holy? Hast thou the "faith that worketh by love ?" and does this vital principle in thy heart manifest itself in every thought and act of thy life? Is it the staid purpose of thy soul never to shed thy brother's blood in war or private strife? Wilt thou never provoke him to hate by suing him at the law? Wilt thou never indulge thyself in gaudy attire, or furniture, or equipage, to the depriving thy poor brother of the comforts of thy charity, and thyself of the pleasure of extending it to him? Wilt thou not only not put thy bottle to him, but wilt thou drive from thy house all GIN and ardent spirits that might prove a stumbling block to him? Wilt thou never thyself rob him of his liberty, and wilt thou set thy