side; but all shall be openness and love. I will
not call you children, for parents sometimes chide their children too
severely, nor brothers only, for brothers differ. The friendship between
me and you, I will not compare to a chain, for that rains might rust, or
the falling tree might break. We are the same as if one man's body were
divided into two parts. We are all one flesh and blood."

The sincerity of the speaker, as well as his sacred doctrine, touched
the hearts of the forest children, and they renounced their guile and
their revenge. The presents which Penn offered were received in
sincerity, and with hearty friendship they gave the belt of wampum.

"We will live," said they, "in love with William Penn and his children,
as long as the moon and the sun shall endure."

Mr. Bancroft says: "This agreement of peace and friendship was made
under the open sky, by the side of the Delaware, with the sun and river
and the forest for witnesses. It was not confirmed by an oath; it was
not ratified by signatures and seals; no record of the conference can
be found, and its terms and conditions had no abiding inscription but on
the heart. There they were written like the law of God. The simple sons
of the wilderness, returning to their wigwams, kept the history of the
covenant by strings of wampum, and, long afterward, in their cabins,
would count over the shells on a clean piece of bark and recall to their
own memory and repeat to their children or to the stranger the words of
William Penn. New England had just terminated a disastrous war of
extermination. The Dutch were scarcely ever at peace with the Algonkins.
The laws of Maryland refer to Indian hostilities and massacres, which
extended as far as Richmond. Penn came without arms; he declared his
purpose to abstain from violence; he had no message but peace, and not a
drop of Quaker blood was shed in his time by an Indian.

"Was there not progress from Melendez to Roger Williams? from Cortez and
Pizarro to William Penn? The Quakers, ignorant of the homage which their
virtues would receive from Voltaire and Raynal, men so unlike
themselves, exulted in the consciousness of their humanity. 'We have
done better,' said they truly, 'than if, with the proud Spaniards, we
had gained the mines of Potosi. We may make the ambitious heroes, whom
the world admires, blush for their shameful victories. To the poor,
dark souls around about us we teach their rights as men.'"

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