were the Bristol Friends
at the news, and not they only, for assembled with them were some New
England Friends who had been banished from their families and from
their homes, under pain of the same death that the martyrs had
suffered.

'We were bowed down unto our God,' Dewsbury writes, 'and prayer was
made unto Him when there came a knocking at the door. It came upon my
spirit that it was the rude people, and the life of God did mightily
arise, and they had no power to come in until we were clear before
our God. Then they came in, setting the house about with muskets and
lighted matches. So after a season of this they came into the room,
where I was and Amor Stoddart with me. I looked upon them when they
came into the room, and they cried as fast as they could well speak,
"We will be civil! We will be civil!"

'I spoke these words, "See that you be so." They ran forth out of the
room and came no more into it, but ran up and down in the house with
their weapons in their hands, and the Lord God caused their hearts to
fail and they passed away, and not any harm done to any of us.'

Eleven years after this pass in almost complete silence, as far as
Amor is concerned. Occasionally we hear the bare mention of his name
among the London Friends. One short entry in Fox's Journal speaks of
him as having 'buried his wife.' Then the veil lifts again and shows
one more glimpse of him. It is the last.

In 1670, twenty-two years after that first meeting at Mansfield, when
Captain Stoddart came into the room, and said, 'Let the youth speak,'
George Fox, now a man worn with his sufferings and service, came into
another room to bid farewell to his old comrade as he lay a-dying. Fox
himself had been brought near to death not long before, but he knew
that his work was not yet wholly finished, he was not yet 'fully
clear' in his Master's sight.

'Under great sufferings, sorrows, and oppressions I lay several
weeks,' he writes in his Journal, 'whereby I was brought so low that
few thought I could live. When those about me had given me up to die,
I spoke to them to get me a coach to carry me to Gerard Roberts,
about twelve miles off, for I found it was my place to go thither. So
I went down a pair of stairs to the coach, and when I came to the
coach I was like to have fallen down, I was so weak and feeble, but I
got up into the coach, and some friends with me. When I came to
Gerard's, after I had stayed about three weeks there, it was