-presents, to treat me with some
kindness. Also he brought me many Good Books, in thin paper covers; the
which, although I could understand but very little of their Saving
Truths, yet caused me to shed many Tears, more Sweet than Bitter, and to
acknowledge, when taxed with it in a Soothing way, that my former Manner
of Life had been most Wicked. But I should do this good man foul
injustice, were I to let it stand that his benevolence to me was
confined to books. He and (ever remembered) Mistress Shapcott, his Meek
and Pious Partner, and his daughter, Wingrace Shapcott (a tall and
straight young woman, as Beautiful as an Angel), were continually
bringing me Comforts and Needments, both in Raiment and Food. It churns
my Old Heart now to think of that Beautiful Girl, sitting beside me in
my dank Prison Room, the tears streaming from her mild eyes, calling me
by Endearing names, and ever and anon taking my hand in hers, and
sinking on her knees to the sodden floor (with no thought of soiling her
kirtle), while with profound Fervour she prayed for the conversion of
errant Me. Sure there are Hearts of Gold among those Broadbrims and
their fair strait-laced Daughters. Many a Merchant's Money-bags I have
spared for the sake of Mr. Barzillai Shapcott (late of Aylesbury). Many
a Fair Woman have I intermitted from my Furious Will in remembrance of
the good that was shown me, in the old time, by that pale, strait-gowned
Wingrace yonder, with her meek Face and welling Eyes. Of my deep and
grievous Sins they told me enow, but they forbore to Terrify me with
Frightful Images of Unforgiving Wrath; speaking to me of Forgiveness
alway, rather than of Torment. And once, when I had gotten, through
favour of the Keeper, Mr. Dredlincourt his book on Death (and had half
frightened myself into fits by reading the Apparition of Mrs. Veal),
these good people must needs take it from me, telling me that such
strong meat was not fit for Babes, and gave me in its place a pretty
little chap-book, called "Joy for Friendly Friends." But that I am old
and battered, and black as a Guinea Negro with sins, I would go join
the Quakers now. Never mind their broad-brims, and theeing and thouing.
I tell you, man, that they have hearts as soft as toast-and-butter, and
that they do more good in a day than my Lord Bishop (with his
coach-horses, forsooth!) does in a year. And oh, the pleasure of
devalising one of these Proud Prelates, as I--that is some of my
Frien