desire, that I might testify my gratitude by a willingness to do them any friendly service that I could be capable of.

And though I questioned my ability to carry on that work to its due height and proportion, yet as that was not proposed, but an initiation only, by accidence into grammar, I consented to the proposal, as a present expedient, till a more qualified person should be found; without further treaty, or mention of terms between us, than that of mutual friendship. And to render this digression from my own. studies the less uneasy to my mind, I recollected, and often thought of that rule in Lilly,

Qui docet indoctos, licet indoctissimus esset,

Ipse brevi reliquis doctior esse queat.

He that th' unlearn'd doth teach, may quickly be

More learn'd than they, though most unlearned he,

With this consideration I undertook this province, and left it not until I married, which was not till the year 1669, near seven years from the time I came thither. In which time having the use of my friends books, as well as of mine own, I spent my leisure hours much in reading; not without some improvement to myself in my private studies; which, with the good success of my labours bestowed on the children, and the agreeableness of conversation which I found in the family, rendered my undertaking more satisfactory, and my stay there more easy to me.

But, alas! not many days, not to say weeks had I been there, ere we were almost over

whelmed with sorrow, for the unexpected loss of Edward Borough, who was justly very dear

to us all.

This not only good, but great-good man, by a long and close confinement in Newgate, through the cruel malice and malicious cruelty of Richard Brown, was taken away by hasty death, to the unutterable grief of very many, and unspeakable loss to the church of Christ in general.

The particular obligation I had to him as the immediate instrument of my convincement, and high affection for him resulting therefrom, did so deeply affect my mind, that it was some pretty time before my passion could prevail, to express itself in words; so true I found that of the Tragoedian,

Cura leves loquuntur,

Ingentes stupent.

Light griefs break forth, and easily get vent,

Great ones are thro' amazement closely pent.

At length my muse, not bearing to be any longer mute, brake forth in an acrostick, which I called "A pathetic Elegy on the Death of that dear and faithful Servant of God, Edward Borough. Who died the 14th of the 12th Month, 1662."'*

1663. Having discharged this duty to the memory of my deceased friend, I went on in my new province, instructing my little pupils in the rudiments of the Latin tongue, to the

*See No 3. of the Appendix.

mutual satisfaction of both their parents and myself. As soon as I had gotten a little money in my pocket (which as a premium without compact I received from them) I took the first opportunity to return to my friend William Penington, the money which he had so kindly furnished me with in my need, at the time of my imprisonment in Bridewell, with a due acknowledgement of my obligation to him for it. He was not at all forward to receive it, so that I was fain to press it upon him.

While thus I remained in this family, various suspicions arose in the minds of some concerning me, with respect to Mary Penington's fair daughter Guli. For she having now arriv ed to a marriageable age, and being in all respects a very desirable woman, whether regard was had to her outward person, which wanted nothing to render her completely comely, or to the endowments of her mind, which were every way extraordinary and highly obliging, or to her outward fortune, which was fair; and which with some, hath not the last, nor the least place in consideration she was openly and secretly sought, and solicited by many, and some of them almost of every rank and condition; good and bad, rich and poor, friend and foe. To whom in their respective turns (till he at length came for whom she was reserved) she carried herself with so much evenness of temper, such courteous freedom, guarded with the strictest modesty, that as it gave encouragement or ground of

hopes to none, so neither did it administer any matter of offence or just cause of complaint

to any.

But such as were thus either engaged for themselves, or desirous to make themselves advocates for others, could not, I observed, but look upon me with an eye of jealousy and fear, that I would improve the opportunities I had, by frequent and familiar conversation with her, to my own advantage in working myself into her good opinion and favour, to the ruin of their pretences.

According therefore to the several kinds and degrees of their fears of me, they suggested to her parents their ill surmises against me.

Some stuck not to question the sincerity of my intentions in coming at first among the Quakers; urging with a why may it not be so? that the desire and hopes of obtaining by that means, so fair a fortune, might be the prime and chief inducement to me to thrust myself amongst that people. But this surmise could find no place with those worthy friends of mine (her father in law, and her mother) who, besides the clear sense and sound judgment they had in themselves, knew very well upon what terms I came among them, how straight and hard the passage was to me, how contrary to all worldly interest, which lay fair another way, how much I had suffered from my father for it, and how regardless I had been of attempting, or seeking any thing of that nature, in these three or four years that I had been amongst them.

Some others measuring me by the propen. sity of their own inclinations, concluded I would steal her, run away with her, and marry her. Which they thought I might be the more easily induced to do, from the advantageous opportunities I frequently had of riding and walking abroad with her, by night as well as by day, without any other company than her maid. For so great indeed was the confidence that her mother had in me, that she thought her daughter safe if I was with her, even from the plots and designs that others had upon her. And so honourable were the thoughts she entertained concerning me, as would not suffer her to admit a suspicion that I could be capable of so much baseness, as to betray the trust she with so great freedom, reposed in me.

I was not ignorant of the various fears. which filled the jealous heads of some concerning me, neither was I so stupid, nor so divested of all humanity, as not to be sensible of the real and innate worth and virtue which adorned that excellent dame, and attracted the eyes and hearts of so many, with the greatest importunity to seek and solicit her; nor was I so devoid of natural heat, as not to feel some sparklings of desire.as well as others. But the force of truth, and sense of honour, suppressed whatever would have risen beyond the bounds of fair and virtuous friendship. For I easily foresaw that if I should have attempted any thing in a dishonourable way, by force or