William Penn, who, Mr. Lloyd used to say, it was his aim to follow, in all that he followed Christ. Benevolence was his business, and he went to it as regularly as a merchant goes to his counting-house. He finally fell a victim to his zeal, in the service of his fellow-creatures; or rather, to use one of his last expressions which had in it the sweet savour of piety and resignation, "He was taken from his Father's work to his Father's rest."
During one of those seasons when Philadelphia suffered most from the ravages of the yellow fever, Mr. Lloyd sent the young people to lodgings on the banks of the Schuylkill, while he and his wife remained in the city to administer relief to the poor sufferers, who were chained by poverty to the scene of this dreadful plague. Constant fatigue and watchfulness impaired the strength of this excellent pair. They both took the fever and died. They were mourned by their children, as such parents should be, with deep, but not complaining grief.
Robert was but sixteen at the time of his father's death. At the age of twenty-one he married Rebecca Elwyn. As Robert led his bride out of the meeting, where, with the consent and hearty approbation of their Society, they had been united, the elders said, they were as goodly a pair as their eyes ever rested on; and their younger friends observed, they were sure their love was as "fervent, mutual, and dear," as William Penn himself could have desired. Three years glided on in uninterrupted felicity. Excepting when
