Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker | Page 4

me justly or not, I must leave to
others to decide. I should be glad to think that, in the great account, I
shall be as kindly dealt with as in the worn and faded pages which tell
brokenly of the days of our youth. I am not ashamed to say that my
eyes have filled many times as I have lingered over these records of my
friend, surely as sweet and true a gentleman as I have ever known.
Perhaps sometimes they have even overflowed at what they read. Why
are we reluctant to confess a not ignoble weakness, such as is, after all,
only the heart's confession of what is best in life? What becomes of the
tears of age?
This is but a wearisome introduction, and yet necessary, for I desire to
use freely my friend's journal, and this without perpetual mention of his
name, save as one of the actors who played, as I did, a modest part in
the tumult of the war, in which my own fortunes and his were so deeply
concerned. To tell of my own life without speaking freely of the course
of a mighty story would be quite impossible. I look back, indeed, with

honest comfort on a struggle which changed the history of three nations,
but I am sure that the war did more for me than I for it. This I saw in
others. Some who went into it unformed lads came out strong men. In
others its temptations seemed to find and foster weaknesses of
character, and to cultivate the hidden germs of evil. Of all the examples
of this influence, none has seemed to me so tragical as that of General
Arnold, because, being of reputable stock and sufficient means,
generous, in every-day life kindly, and a free-handed friend, he was
also, as men are now loath to believe, a most gallant and daring soldier,
a tender father, and an attached husband. The thought of the fall of this
man fetches back to me, as I write, the remembrance of my own lesser
temptations, and with a thankful heart I turn aside to the uneventful
story of my boyhood and its surroundings.
I was born in the great city Governor William Penn founded, in
Pennsylvania, on the banks of the Delaware, and my earliest memories
are of the broad river, the ships, the creek before our door, and of grave
gentlemen in straight-collared coats and broad-brimmed beaver hats.
I began life in a day of stern rule, and among a people who did not
concern themselves greatly as to a child's having that inheritance of
happiness with which we like to credit childhood. Who my people were
had much to do with my own character, and what those people were
and had been it is needful to say before I let my story run its natural and,
I hope, not uninteresting course.
In my father's bedroom, over the fireplace, hung a pretty picture done
in oils, by whom I know not. It is now in my library. It represents a
pleasant park, and on a rise of land a gray Jacobean house, with, at
either side, low wings curved forward, so as to embrace a courtyard
shut in by railings and gilded gates. There is also a terrace with urns
and flowers. I used to think it was the king's palace, until, one morning,
when I was still a child, Friend Pemberton came to visit my father with
William Logan and a very gay gentleman, Mr. John Penn, he who was
sometime lieutenant-governor of the province, and of whom and of his
brother Richard great hopes were conceived among Friends. I was
encouraged by Mr. Penn to speak more than was thought fitting for
children in those days, and because of his rank I escaped the reproof I
should else have met with.
He said to my father, "The boy favours thy people." Then he added,

patting my head, "When thou art a man, my lad, thou shouldst go and
see where thy people came from in Wales. I have been at Wyncote. It is
a great house, with wings in the Italian manner, and a fine fountain in
the court, and gates which were gilded when Charles II came to see the
squire, and which are not to be set open again until another king comes
thither."
Then I knew this was the picture upstairs, and much pleased I said
eagerly:
"My father has it in his bedroom, and our arms below it, all painted
most beautiful."
"Thou art a clever lad," said the young lieutenant-governor, "and I must
have described it well. Let as have a look at it, Friend Wynne."
But my mother, seeing that William Logan and Friend Pemberton were
silent and grave, and