ECCLESIASTICAL
HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

The Church of the Restoration.

BY

JOHN STOUGHTON, D.D.

IN TWO VOLUMES—VOL. II.

London:
HODDER AND STOUGHTON,
27, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
MDCCCLXX.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

We resume the thread of our History, and return to notice the progress of the anti-Popish excitement.

1678.

Perhaps, in the history of the civilized world, there never occurred a period when the passions of men were more deeply moved, than in the autumn of the year 1678, when England was startled from side to side by the following extraordinary story. The Jesuits had formed a project for the conversion of Great Britain to the Roman Catholic faith; and £10,000 had been procured to assist in carrying out their plans. With this project was blended a conspiracy to assassinate the King, who was to be poisoned by the Queen’s physician; failing which, he was to be shot with bullets; and, if that did not succeed, he was to be stabbed with a large knife. With a feeble attempt at wit it was said, if he would not become R.C., a Roman Catholic, he should be no longer C.R., Charles Rex. Twenty thousand Catholics in London were to rise within twenty-four hours, and cut the throats of the Protestant inhabitants; eight thousand were to take up arms in Scotland; and, of course, in Ireland the professors of the ancient religion, possessed of enormous influence, meant to have it all their own way. The Crown was to be offered to the Duke of York, upon certain conditions; and if James refused, then, it was elegantly said, “to pot he must go also.” Amongst other means certain Jesuits were instructed to “carry themselves like Nonconformist ministers, and to preach to the disaffected Scots, the necessity of taking up the sword for the defence of liberty of conscience.” Seditious preachers and catechists were to be sent out, and directed when and what to preach in private and public conventicles, and field meetings. The Society in London intended to knock on the head Dr. Stillingfleet and Matthew Pool, for writing against them; and Croft, Bishop of Hereford, was doomed to death as an apostate. A second conflagration in the City of London formed an element in this scheme of wholesale destruction; and, in anticipation of the success of the design, the Pope had prepared a list of the priests to succeed the Bishops and other dignitaries, who were to be so speedily swept away. The author of this intelligence was the notorious Titus Oates, who professed to have picked it up at St. Omer’s, at Valladolid, at Burgos, and at a tavern in the Strand, where, owing to his pretended conversion and zeal in the Catholic service, the Jesuits had entrusted him with their deepest secrets.

The first communication of the story staggered everybody. The King did not know what to make of it. Danby, though inclined to use anything he could for party purposes, hardly credited this amazing revelation. Yet, incredible as it may appear, no means seem to have been used at the outset to sift the matter to the bottom.[1] Therefore the tale came to be looked at as credible, and, when Oates, on Michaelmas Eve, came before the Council, and began his unprecedented story, he found ready listeners. The items which he specified, with names and dates minutely mentioned, certainly wore a plausible appearance; and, presently, two circumstances occurred, which, at the time, obtained for his reports all but universal credence.

POPISH PLOT.

The first of these circumstances was the sudden death of a magistrate, Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, to whom Oates had made some of his statements before divulging the whole to the Council. This magistrate was found dead in a ditch near Primrose Hill, with a sword plunged in his body, and marks of strangulation on his neck. A cry instantly rose, and ran through London and the country, that Sir Edmondbury, who was famed for his Protestant zeal, had been murdered by the Papists on account of his receiving Oates’ deposition. The plot, it was argued, must be real, or such a deed would not have been committed by the Roman Catholics. What could the object of the murder be, but to take revenge on the exposers of the conspiracy? The next circumstance which aided the prevalent belief is found in the discovery of certain letters, in the handwriting of one Coleman, addressed to Père la Chaise—the famous Jesuit, who has given his name to the Cemetery at Paris—in which letters, unmistakable allusions occur to designs for overthrowing Protestantism in this country; and Coleman’s plans were at once identified with the plot related by Titus Oates.[2]

1678.

POPISH PLOT.

Believed by Parliament, not only by the Country party, but by the Court party as well, believed also by the Ministers of State, and by the dignitaries of the Church, the plot came to be regarded by almost everybody as an unquestionable fact. The higher circles would not tolerate any doubt of Oates’ veracity; even Burnet, with all his Protestantism, inasmuch as he hesitated to accept Oates’ evidence, raised against himself “a great clamour:” and the Earl of Shaftesbury, who threw himself with all his energy and eloquence into the prosecution, declared “that all those who undermined the credit of the witnesses were to be looked on as public enemies.”[3] In the lower circles a conviction of the truthfulness of the accuser, and of the guilt of the accused, prevailed to the last degree; and the narrative related to the Council and the House of Commons, circulated amongst eager and credulous groups, in thousands of chimney corners during those autumn evenings. The King and the Duke of York seemed not to believe what other people admitted. Yet the former felt obliged to act as if he did. The reader who remembers the agitation attending the Popish aggression more than twenty years ago, must not take even that as a measure of the feeling awakened in 1678: perhaps nothing we have ever seen could be a parallel to what our fathers experienced at that time. Even the heavens were imagined to sympathize in the abounding alarm: a fog, after Godfrey’s death, gave to the day on which it occurred the name of Black Sunday; and a respectable Nonconformist speaks of it growing so dark, all on a sudden, about eleven in the forenoon, that ministers could not read their notes in their pulpits without the help of candles,—no uncommon occurrence, one would think, in the month of November. Not a house, he informs us, could be found unfurnished with arms, nor did anybody go to bed without apprehensions of something tragical which might happen before the next morning.[4] People gave the martyred magistrate—for so they considered Godfrey—a public funeral, after having for two days publicly exhibited his wounded remains in his own house. An immense crowd followed him to the grave, the corpse being preceded by seventy-two clergymen in their robes; and, on its arrival at the church of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, the Incumbent, Dr. Lloyd, afterwards Bishop of St. Asaph, delivered a sermon in honour of the slain confessor. A Protestant festival had long been kept on the 17th of November, Queen Elizabeth’s birthday; and this year an effigy of the Pope with the Devil whispering in his ear—and models of Godfrey’s dead body, and of Romish Bishops and priests in mitres and copes—were carried through the streets, to inflame to the highest pitch the prevalent indignation against the Church of Rome. Daniel Defoe was then a mere boy, and looked with wonder upon what passed before him; and, in after years, told how old City blunderbusses were burnished anew; how hats and feathers, and shoulder belts, and other military gear, came into fashion again; how the City train-bands appeared rampant, and how soldiers disturbed meeting-houses, even murdering people, under pretence that they would not stand at their command.[5] Justice, or injustice, showed itself swift in apprehending Roman Catholics. Two thousand suspected persons are said to have been imprisoned, the houses of Roman Catholics were searched for arms, and it is computed that as many as 30,000 recusants were driven to a distance of ten miles from Whitehall. Within little more than two months of the first whisper of the conspiracy, Stayley, a banker, accused of sharing in it, died on the gallows at Tyburn, and Coleman perished on the scaffold about a week afterwards.[6] Three more victims followed the next month, all of them to the last declaring their innocence. Oates at the same time went about dressed in gown and cassock, wearing a large hat with a silk band and rose, and attended by guards to secure him from Popish violence. Lodgings at Whitehall were assigned for his use; he received a pension of £1,200 per annum, and was welcomed at the houses of the rich and great.[7] A large number of pamphlets containing accounts of the plot issued from the press, whilst pulpits rung with impassioned declamation against Popery and rebellion.

1678.

Amongst papers belonging to the Secretary of State at that period are memoranda of strange rumours—one that the progress in rebuilding St. Paul’s Cathedral was suspended, from fear lest it should become a Popish Church. There is also a note, that the Prince of Orange should be written to, or that some communication should be made to him, through the Ambassador at his Court, or through Sir W. Temple, to prevent the publication in Holland of a remonstrance, and of a hellish libel, “destructive to the Royal authority, and the fundamental laws of the nation.” The same Collection includes a letter to the Bishop of London from some zealous Protestant, proposing an attack on the City of Rome, “on that side where the Vatican Palace stands, and bringing away the library.”[8]

POPISH PLOT.

Reviewing the whole of this history, I may remark, that Titus Oates was an utterly worthless character, and that his statements are not entitled to the smallest belief. He had been an Anabaptist under Cromwell, had become an orthodox clergyman at the Restoration, had professed himself a Catholic on the Continent, had been admitted to Jesuit colleges, and had then abjured Popery on his return to England. All this while he conducted himself in so abominable a manner as repeatedly to incur expulsion from the positions in which he was placed. His tale was as absurd and incredible as his conduct was infamous; yet, notwithstanding this circumstance, it is by no means surprising that at the time, the story with its most improbable details should be believed—for Englishmen were filled with alarm at the Romanism of the Royal family, at the manifest signs of revived activity in this island by the Jesuits, at the obvious alliance between spiritual and political despotism, and at the then suspected, and to us, well-known intrigues which were being carried on to overthrow the Protestantism of this country,—and they were therefore prepared to be the dupes of Protestant credulity. An excitement of many years’ accumulation now existed, and rumours and lies of all sorts were as sparks sprinkled over heaps of gunpowder. As we criticize the evidence of the plot, it will not stand for a single second. Yet, however we may at first smile or sneer at the matter, on second thoughts, we shall see that people only did what, probably, we should have done under the influence of strong Protestant convictions, sharpened by terrible memories, and goaded by equally terrible apprehensions. It would be monstrous enough for us now to behave as did our ancestors, but we must judge of their character in that emergency by the standard of their own age, and according to the conditions of their own circumstances.

1678.

Godfrey’s death is one of those mysteries permitted by Providence to baffle our investigation, and to remain inscrutable secrets to the end of time, stimulating a belief in the revelations and judgments of eternity. Whichever hypothesis be adopted—that of murder or that of suicide—grave exceptions to it may be taken. The supposition of his having destroyed himself may be shown to be ridiculous, and also no sufficient motive for a Papist to murder him can be assigned: the argument, that the drops of melted wax found on the clothes of the dead man must have been dropped by Papists, because they are so notorious for using wax candles, is ridiculous enough; yet, as in the case of the plot, so in the case of the death brought into connection with it, we do not wonder at the prevalent idea. All the circumstances and antecedents of the time, the whole spirit of the age, together with the tendencies of human nature, the readiness of men under a pressing excitement to rush to conclusions, to interpret suspicious incidents as demonstrations of guilt, must be taken into account as we reflect upon the common opinion found at that period. Believing Oates’ tale, and knowing both the Protestant zeal of Godfrey, and the consequences to the Catholics of the explosion of the plot, zealots of the day consistently attributed the crime of murder to the same persons to whom they attributed the crime of treason.[9]

POPISH PLOT.

After all, there was a plot, not indeed to murder the King, but to restore Popery. Coleman’s letters render this a fact beyond all question, when we find him declaring “We have here a mighty work upon our hands, no less than the conversion of three kingdoms, and by that perhaps the subduing of a pestilent heresy, which has domineered over great part of this northern world a long time. There never was such hopes of success since the death of Queen Mary, as now in our days.”[10] The designs and intrigues brought to light in this correspondence harmonize with the purpose and spirit of the treaty between Charles and Louis; and, therefore, we cannot wonder at the reluctance of Charles and his brother to enter upon an inquiry into the business, since however false might be the charge of contemplated regicide, they knew too much, not to be aware that awkward facts respecting French, Papal, and Jesuit schemes could be brought into broad daylight, by searching to the bottom of this business. And it is not unlikely that Oates might have heard at St. Omer’s, and at other places, things uttered by some disciples of Ignatius Loyola, indicating dark designs upon English religion and upon English liberty, which he exaggerated immensely, and dressed up in the most frightful colours for purposes of his own.

1678.

Leaving this plot with its mysteries, falsehoods, and alarms, and turning once more to the proceedings of Parliament, we find that the sixteenth session opened on the 21st of October, just at the crisis when the storm raised by Oates had reached its height. The King’s speech touched lightly on the subject. Lord Chancellor Finch noticed it with guarded phraseology, but the House of Commons at once resolved upon an address for removing Popish recusants from the Metropolis, and having appointed a Committee to inquire into Godfrey’s murder, they also agreed with the Lords to request His Majesty to proclaim a national fast.

In 1673 an Act had been passed excluding Roman Catholics from all places of profit and trust; now a Bill was introduced to exclude them from Parliament and from the Councils of the Sovereign.[11] By help of the existing panic, the Bill made its way with ease; and what is remarkable, in this measure the obligation to receive the sacrament is not mentioned—an omission doubtless intended for the benefit of Dissenters, whose sympathy and assistance were just then valued by persons who had been accustomed before to treat them with violence—but a strong declaration to the effect that Romish worship is idolatrous was imposed, together with the Oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy. When this Bill reached the House of Lords, Gunning, Bishop of Ely, objected to the description and treatment of Romish worship as idolatrous; yet his arguments on this point being met by Barlow, Bishop of Lincoln, Gunning—although he said he could not himself adopt the new declaration—after it became law, followed the example of his brethren.[12]

PARLIAMENT.

The Lords looked with little favour upon a Bill which, by disqualifying Papists from sitting in Parliament, would deprive some of their own order of hereditary rights; notwithstanding goaded by the Commons, and encouraged by the King, they at last without opposition passed the measure, providing in it an exception on behalf of the Duke of York. This exception displeased the Commons, who, above all things, desired to remove a Roman Catholic prince from the government of the country; and, therefore, when the Bill returned to them with its amendments, it had to meet the most strenuous opposition from the Country party. High words were followed not only, as in the Long Parliament, by storms of outcries and by menaces of violence, but by actual blows; and after a singularly angry debate, the proviso passed only by a majority of two, and the Royal assent was given to the whole Bill with very great reluctance.[13]

CHAPTER II.

PROTESTANT OPPOSITION.

The fall of the Earl of Danby is to be attributed to an artful contrivance by the French Court; which, from revenge against him for his real enmity, accomplished his ruin, by pretending that he was a friend. By means of Montague—who laid before the House of Commons despatches, written to him by the Minister, most unwillingly, but at the King’s command—Louis XIV. established against Danby, charges of intrigues with France for obtaining money, quite sufficient to extinguish for ever all the credit which he had ever had with his own countrymen. His plea of unwillingness to enter into his master’s policy with regard to France, although true, proved inadequate to save him from impeachment by the Commons, who acted upon the constitutional principle—that the King’s Ministers are responsible for what they perform in the King’s name. Danby, though made a victim of revenge, and in truth, suffering “not on account of his delinquency, but on account of his merits,” had put himself in such a false position, that Parliament could do no otherwise than demand his removal from office. How far the extreme step of impeachment can be justified is another question; and, at all events, the charge of his being Popishly affected is truly absurd. The accusation of his concealing the Popish plot, of suppressing the evidence, and of discountenancing the witnesses, could not be made even plausible, for though he had been sceptical at first respecting the story told by Oates, as any sensible man might well be, he had afterwards fully committed himself to the proceedings against the accused Papists; yet perhaps there is some truth in an amusing passage written by one who cherished strong prejudices against him:—“The Earl of Danby thought he could serve himself of this plot of Oates, and accordingly endeavoured at it; but it is plain that he had no command of the engine, and instead of his sharing the popularity of nursing it, he found himself so intrigued that it was like a wolf by the ears: he could neither hold it nor let it go, and for certain it bit him at last, just as when a barbarous mastiff attacks a man, he cries ‘poor cur,’ and is pulled down at last.”[14]

The resolution of the Commons on the 19th of December, 1678, to impeach the Lord Treasurer, was followed by a prorogation on the 30th, and a dissolution on the 24th of January, 1679; this Parliament having then sat for the long space of eighteen years.

1679.

The King immediately summoned a new Parliament, to meet at the end of forty days; and again, as in 1661, a general election took place under circumstances of immense excitement. Protestants believed the cause of the Reformation to be in imminent danger from the Popish tendencies of the King, from the avowed Romanism of the Duke of York, from the intrigues of France, and from the want of principle in public men. Therefore, multitudes rushed to the poll with the idea, that only by voting for unmistakable and zealous Protestants, could they save England from being dragged back to the condition in which she was found before the Reformation. Thousands of horsemen rode into cities and county towns to record their names in favour of the Established Church. People had to sleep in market-places, to lie like sheep around market crosses.[15] Candidates were chaired at midnight with the bray of trumpets and a blaze of torches; but with all this Protestant enthusiasm, elections could not be carried without bribery, treating, and corruption. Horses were demanded in proportion to the number of electors; there occurred an enormous consumption of beer, bread, and cakes at Norwich; and as for the Knight of the Shire of Surrey, “they ate and drank him out near to £2,000, by a most abominable custom.”[16] Popular candidates pledged to oppose the Court against Popery succeeded almost everywhere.

Scarcely had the shouts which hailed these returns died away, when a remarkable interview took place between certain dignitaries of the Church and the Popish heir to the throne.

As the Duke of York’s religious opinions had increasingly attracted the attention and excited the alarm of the nation at large, the rulers of the Church shared in the anxiety, and were very desirous, if possible, to see him reclaimed from the Roman communion. The origin of a project, with the view of accomplishing this purpose, is ascribed to the new Archbishop of Canterbury.

PROTESTANT OPPOSITION.

Upon the death of Sheldon, William Sancroft, at the time Prolocutor to the Lower House of Convocation, was elevated to the primacy, for reasons differently stated by different persons. Probably, in this case, the reason is to be found in his unambitious spirit and in his amiable disposition, as suggested by Dryden:

“Zadoc the priest, whom, shunning power and place,

His lowly mind advanced to David’s grace.”

If it was supposed that he would become the pliant tool of the Monarch; events at the Revolution contradicted the idea, and the circumstances now to be described show that the Archbishop, after his exaltation, determined to act as a zealous Protestant. He, with his aged brother, Morley, of Winchester, and not without the consent of the King, obtained an audience from His Royal Highness, and delivered to him an address on the subject of reconversion. Sancroft spoke of the Church of England as most afflicted, a lily amongst thorns, bearing on her body the marks of the Lord Jesus—the scars of old, and the impressions of new wounds. But the greatest amongst the multitude of her sorrows was, the speaker said, that the Duke should forsake her fellowship, after the education which he had received, and after the solemn charge which his dying father gave his elder brother, touching the duty of everlasting fidelity to the Established Church. The Duke was described by the Primate as the bright morning and evening star, which arose and set with the sun, but he had withdrawn his light; and now the two Bishops, who had undertaken to plead with him in the cause of Protestantism, assured His Royal Highness of their intercessions on his behalf, and asked whether, with his noble and generous heart, he would throw back these prayers? They inquired, if those to whom he had surrendered himself, had not renounced reason and common sense, and really taught him to put out his own eyes, that they might lead him whither they would? His case did not seem hopeful to his Protestant advisers, yet they declared that they had too good an opinion of his understanding, to believe that he would sell himself at so cheap a rate. Nothing of such moment as religion was to be huddled up in a dark and implicit manner. It was his duty to “prove all things, and hold fast that which is good.” The prelates offered their assistance, referred to plain texts and obvious facts “in a hundred books,” and then concluded their address with this syllogism: “That Church which teacheth and practiseth the doctrines destructive of salvation is to be relinquished. But the Church of Rome teacheth and practiseth doctrines destructive of salvation. Therefore the Church of Rome is to be relinquished.”[17]

1679.

This speech, in which compliments and reproofs oddly struggle with each other, and which ends with a logical formula, perfectly impotent under the circumstances, bears upon it traces of Sancroft’s ornate but feeble style of thought and expression. It produced no effect; and the Royal auditor, after saying that it would be presumptuous, in an illiterate man like himself, to enter into controversial disputes with persons of learning, politely dismissed the Bishops, pleading that the pressure of business prevented further discussion.[18] The strain of remark on the one side, the mode of reply on the other, and the interchange of courtesies between the two parties, present a striking contrast to the conversations between John Knox and the Duke’s great-grandmother. The Archbishop of Canterbury appears much more amiable than the Scotch Presbyterian Reformer; and James is much more prudent than Mary Queen of Scots: but how tame and lifeless appears all the smooth eloquence of the Primate, compared with the burning words of the Elijah-like Presbyterian; and how unimpressible is the saturnine Prince, compared with the modern Jezebel, who wept and stormed at Holyrood.

SANCROFT.

No doubt can exist of Sancroft’s sincere opposition to Popery. Wilkins, in his Concilia, gives, in addition to Royal proclamations on that subject, a letter written by the Primate to the Bishop of London, dated April 9, 1681, in which he requires that the three canons against Popish recusants, agreed upon in the Synod of London in 1605, namely, the 65th, the 66th, and the 114th, should be put in use, considering, he says, in language then so current on that topic, “how acceptable a service it will be to Almighty God, to assist His Majesty’s pious purpose herein; and, on the other side, how severe a punishment, the last canon of the three appoints, to those who shall neglect their duty herein.”[19] It is remarkable, that after the death of Sheldon, we find in Wilkins, no more documents enforcing the execution of the laws against Nonconformists; an omission which indicates the very different disposition of the new occupant of the see, from that which had been manifested by his predecessor.

1678–80.

In the affairs of his own Church, Sancroft endeavoured to effect some useful reforms and improvements. Considerable laxity prevailed in the admission of candidates to holy orders, testimonials to character being often signed as a mere form, without sufficient knowledge of the persons in whose favour they were given. To check this injurious practice, Sancroft, in the month of August, 1678,[20] sent directions to his suffragans, that thenceforth such recommendations should be more carefully prepared, should contain fuller particulars, and should be more cautiously used. The poverty of vicarages, and other small ecclesiastical benefices, still continued: the augmentation of them was an old remedy, the failure of schemes for the purpose an old disappointment. Even the Act in relation to this matter in 1676, had been carried into only partial execution; and, therefore, many of the difficulties, so long complained of by the clergy, still remained. Consequently, Sancroft, in the year 1680, sent an appeal to the Bishops of his province, urging strongly the application of the Act; and requiring every Bishop, Dean, and Archdeacon to send particulars of all the augmentations made by them or their predecessors.[21] What he recommended to others he practised himself, for he liberally improved many of the livings in his gift. The chronic disease of the Church forced itself on the Archbishop’s attention: many unsuitable persons being appointed to benefices, and private advantage taking precedence of public welfare, among the motives deciding the administration of patronage. As a cure to some extent, Charles issued a warrant, constituting the Archbishop, the Bishop of London, and four laymen proper and competent judges of men deserving to be preferred, and forbidding the Secretary of State to apply to the Royal fountain of favour, for the bestowment of ecclesiastical preferments, without first communicating with this council of reference.[22] What share Sancroft had in the origin or the execution of the plan we do not know; but the object was one which, from what we learn of his character, would commend itself to his judgment. The practice of simony continued, and an Archdeacon of Lincoln, convicted of that offence in the ecclesiastical court, petitioned the King for pardon;—upon the petition being referred to Sancroft, he replied that the crime of which the man had been convicted, was “a pestilence that walketh in darkness,” and that if he were saved from punishment, the markets of Simon Magus would be more frequented than ever.[23]

TEMPLE.

After the impeachment and imprisonment of the Earl of Danby, in spite of Royal endeavours to screen him, His Majesty being then left without an adviser, sent for Sir William Temple, and appointed him Secretary of State, in the room of Coventry. This ingenious politician proposed, that there should be a Council, consisting of thirty members, fifteen of them to be Officers of State, chosen by the King; the other fifteen, popular leaders of the two Houses. The idea was, to blend the Government and the Opposition together, or, rather, to prevent the existence of any opposition at all.[24] The Council of statesmen formed on this model included, on the one hand, Essex, Sunderland, and Halifax—men attached to Court interests, in favour with the King, and suspected by the people; and on the other hand, the Earl of Shaftesbury, a leading spirit of the old Cabal, now an extreme opponent of the Court policy, and Lord William Russell, an eminently zealous Protestant, and popular Member of the House of Commons. The last two names are interwoven from the beginning, with the popular plan for setting aside the Duke of York—the first three Ministers being entirely opposed to it, and advocating the legitimate succession, with certain safeguards for the protection of Protestantism. This division of opinion in the Council reflected and magnified itself in the divisions of Parliament.

1679.

Parliament met in March. The King and such Ministers as agreed with him, proposed terms of compromise in reference to the succession. The Chancellor, in April, stated that His Majesty was willing to distinguish a Popish from a Protestant successor; and so to limit the authority of the latter in reference to the Church, that all benefices in the gift of the Crown should be conferred in such a manner as to ensure the appointment of pious and learned Protestants.[25] Other restrictions of a political kind were proposed, which, as Charles said, would “pare the nails” of a Popish King.

The Exclusion Bill was carried by the Commons in the month of May, but the effect was neutralized by a sudden prorogation of Parliament before the month had expired.[26] Parliament being dissolved by proclamation on the 12th of July, a new one was called for the following October.

DANGERFIELD’S PLOT.

The fourth Parliament of Charles II. met in October, 1679, and, after repeated prorogation, assembled for the despatch of business in October, 1680. Another informer just at that time rose to notoriety, whose name deserves to be coupled with that of Oates. Dangerfield is represented as a handsome young man, whom profligacy and debt brought within the walls of Newgate, where he was visited by a Roman Catholic woman named Cellier, one “who had a great share of wit, and was abandoned to lewdness.”[27] The man professed to become a convert to her religion, and, through the influence of his new friend with persons at Court, obtained an introduction to the Duke of York, into whose ears he poured tales of treason. This time a plot was attributed to the Presbyterians, who, according to Dangerfield, were raising forces to overthrow the Government. James gave the man twenty guineas; Charles ordered an additional reward of forty. The adventurer, finding his trade so gainful, determined to push his object further. He lodged an information at the Custom House against Colonel Mansel, a Presbyterian, whom he charged with being the quarter-master of the army of revolt; but the revenue officers, on searching his house, found not what they expected, but only a bundle of papers behind the bed. The papers were plainly treasonable; not less plainly did they bear signs of forgery. The accused traced home the infamous trick to the unprincipled informer. Dangerfield, once more committed to Newgate, not for debt, but for something worse, now changed his story, and declared that, at the instigation of Cellier and Lady Powis, who had become mixed up in the affair, he had engaged in a sham plot, as a cover for a real one. Though no Presbyterian conspiracy existed, there was, he affirmed, a Popish one, and a proof of the former being a fiction might be obtained from a bundle of papers secreted in a meal tub. The meal was searched, the papers were found; they demonstrated the artifice, and the trumpery contrivance has gained a place in history under the title of the “Meal Tub Plot.” Powis and Cellier were now, in their turn, imprisoned. The grand jury ignored the bill against the former, and the latter obtained an acquittal at the Old Bailey. Dangerfield received a pardon; yet, though all three at the time escaped the penalties of the law, Dangerfield subsequently received a cruel whipping for the crime of perjury.[28] This miserable creature has been represented either as a tool employed by the Catholics to retaliate upon the friends of Titus Oates, or as a tool employed by the friends of Titus Oates to decoy Catholics into an attempt at injuring the Presbyterians. The former is the Protestant, the latter the Catholic hypothesis. Neither of them seems satisfactory; the latter is almost incredible. At all events, every reader must see that tissues of lies were woven in those days as unaccountably and as plentifully as spiders’ webs in autumn nights.

1680.

Whilst these plots were common talk, and indignation against Romanism was fomented in a thousand ways, the Corporation of Bristol made the following presentment:—

EXCLUSION BILL.

We lament that “at this time more heats and animosities should be fomented among us, than hath been since His Majesty’s most happy restoration, which gives us just cause to suspect, however such men cover themselves under the umbrage of zeal and religion, that they are influenced by Jesuitical principles. For the Jesuits have not a fairer prospect of bringing us under the tyranny of Rome, than by continuing and carrying on of differences among ourselves. Divide et impera is their maxim. From this evil spirit and principle this city hath been represented as ill inclined to His Majesty’s person and Government, our worthy mayor, a person of unquestionable loyalty to the King, and of exemplary zeal for the Church, [being] traduced as fanatically disposed, and all those true sons of the Church of England who have any moderation towards Dissenting Protestants, to be more dangerous to the Church than the Papists themselves, when we cannot but think that a hearty union among all Protestants is now more than ever necessary to preserve us from our open and avowed enemy.”[29]

Union amongst Protestants at such a time seemed to be dictated by reason and policy, but Churchmen who looked with neighbourly kindness upon Nonconformists were apt to be suspected of laxity of principle and a want of zeal; and the very paper from which I have given an extract is endorsed as a “seditious presentment.”

1680.

In the month of October, the Exclusion Bill reappeared and passed, all the argument and eloquence of the members from day to day, through long sittings, being devoted to this question. Interwoven with the debate from beginning to end, like dark threads in shot silk, are references to the recent Popish plot and its attendant circumstances. Whilst treated as a legal and political question,[30] its ecclesiastical bearings were most prominent and most vital, in the estimation of zealous Protestants both within and outside the walls of Parliament.[31] The central point in this controversy, whatever might be its political relations, and however it might be mixed up with party interests, was of a religious nature. Had the Church not been united with the State, had all Christian congregations been left to their own resources, and been exempt from Government control, the case would have been very different, though even then religious considerations would have certainly become mixed up with the question; but, as it was, with such an interlacing between things political and things ecclesiastical, with the King as supreme temporal Ruler of the Church, and Defender of the Faith, to have a Roman Catholic placed in that position justly appeared to Protestants not merely as inexpedient, but as totally unreasonable and absurd. The ecclesiastical argument formed the stronghold of the exclusion policy, and its opponents could by no sophistry overturn it. Still they had much to say. They praised the Duke as a man of ability, who had fulfilled important naval duties, and deserved well of his country. The attempt to set such a man aside, a man with so much decision of purpose, and with so many friends, they contended, would incur the risk of plunging Great Britain into another civil war. And beyond all personal and national reasons against his exclusion, they took the high ground—so dear to the Stuart race—of the Divine right of kings, and denounced the attempt to deprive the heir apparent of his crown as nothing short of robbery and wickedness.[32]

EXCLUSION BILL.

The Bill carried in the House of Commons met an adverse fate in the House of Lords. Shaftesbury did his utmost for its support, and the Country party amongst the peers gallantly rallied around him, but after a telling speech from the Earl of Halifax, the measure was defeated by 63 against 30. The division took place at the then late hour of eleven o’clock at night, the King being present, and the whole being described as “one of the greatest days ever known in the House of Lords.”[33] In the large majority against the second reading, appeared no less than fourteen Bishops, who, for the course they adopted, were charged with tearing “out the bowels of their Mother the Church.” They upheld the doctrine of Divine right, in opposition to the Protestant zeal of the day, which looked in a different direction, and they thought that limitations, such as the King and the Court party were willing to impose upon the legitimate successor to the crown, would suffice to preserve the Reformed Church in its integrity and its supremacy.

CHAPTER III.

To prevent breaking the continuity of the narrative, an incident has been passed over requiring some notice.

Upon the 2nd of May, 1680, Dr. Stillingfleet preached a sermon before the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of the City of London, and the Judges and Sergeants-at-law. The subject of discourse being “The Mischief of Separation,” he treated his audience with an invective against Dissenters as schismatics, who had rent the Church in twain; and he represented them as reduced to this dilemma—“that though the really conscientious Nonconformist is justified in not worshipping after the prescribed forms of the Church of England, or rather would be criminal if he did so, yet he is not less criminal in setting up a separate assembly.”[34] Victims so impaled were in a wretched condition, and no one can wonder that they made an effort to extricate themselves. They did so with success, and if not always with perfect good temper, nobody can severely blame them for that. Owen wrote with “great gravity and seriousness.” Baxter was very “particular, warm, and close.” Alsop briskly turned upon the preacher “his own words and phrases.”[35] Stillingfleet’s Irenicum, published in 1659, had shown that no form of Church government could be jure divino, a position of which his opponents now took advantage, whilst they failed not to ply the argumentum ad hominem. “A person of quality” sent to John Howe the printed sermon, enclosing with it severe remarks. Howe, with calm impartiality, such as nettles a partisan of either extreme more than any stinging attacks can do, immediately expressed his intention “of defending the cause of the Nonconformists against the Dean, and then of adding something in defence of the Dean against his correspondent.”[36] The reply which he produced is one of the most beautiful specimens of controversy in existence. Stillingfleet was subdued when he read it, and confessed that Howe discoursed “more like a gentleman than a Divine, without any mixture of rancour, or any sharp reflections, and sometimes with a great degree of kindness towards him, for which, and his prayers for him, he heartily thanked him.”[37]

TILLOTSON.

The year proved unfortunate for the consistency of Divines of the Liberal school, for Tillotson also committed himself. Preaching a sermon at Court he maintained the monstrous position “that no man is obliged to preach against the religion of his country, though a false one, unless he has the power of working miracles.” “It is a pity your Majesty slept,” observed a Courtier at the close of the service, “for we have had the rarest piece of Hobbism that ever you heard in your life.” “Odsfish!” rejoined Charles, “he shall print it then.” Howe once more came forward with reproof and expostulation. He regretted that the Dean should have pleaded “the Popish cause against the Fathers of the Reformation;” and as the Nonconformist was riding with his friend to see Lady Falconbridge at Sutton Court, he so touched the heart of the Church dignitary, that the latter bursting into tears, confessed that it “was the unhappiest thing which had for a long time happened to him;” and pleaded in excuse of his great error, the haste with which he had prepared his discourse, and the alarm produced in his mind by the spread of Popery.[38]

1680.

COMPREHENSION.

Perhaps these circumstances had some influence in producing another useless attempt at comprehension at the close of the year 1680, inasmuch as we shall find Howe in consultation with the two Divines just mentioned touching the subject. Howe met Bishop Lloyd at Tillotson’s house.[39] The Bishop asked what would satisfy the Nonconformists, if an attempt should be made to adjust the differences between them and the Church. Howe observed “as all had not the same latitude, he could only answer for himself.” What concessions, he was further asked, would, in his opinion, satisfy the scruples of the greater number—for, added Lloyd, “I would have the terms so large as to comprehend the most of them.” Howe declared that he thought “a very considerable obstacle would be removed, if the law were so framed as to enable ministers to attempt parochial reformation.” “For that reason,” said the Bishop, “I am for abolishing the lay Chancellors as being the great hindrance to such reformation.”[40] The next evening Howe and Bates, with Tillotson, met at the Deanery of St. Paul’s, where Stillingfleet had provided a handsome entertainment for his visitors. Lloyd, though expected, did not join the party, being prevented by a division in the House of Lords, upon the Exclusion Bill. Whatever the bearing of these circumstances might be upon what followed, there appeared in Parliament three days afterwards (November 18) a scheme of comprehension.

The second reading of the Bill, embodying the scheme, occasioned a debate, which went over well-worn topics, and presents no points of interest.

The measure emanated from the Episcopalian party in the House of Commons; but the Presbyterian members, to the amazement of every one, did not promote it. They knew it could not be carried in the House of Lords; and the clergy, as Kennet confesses, were “no further in earnest than as they apprehended the knife of the Papists” to be near their throats.[41]

The Bill dropped—what else could be expected, there being on one side no earnestness in making the offer, and on the other no disposition to accept it?[42]

1680–81.

With the Bill founded on the principle of comprehension another was brought forward, based on the principle of toleration. It proposed to exempt Protestant Dissenters “from the penalties of certain laws.”[43] The measure made way through the House of Commons, and it forced itself through the House of Lords;[44] but because distasteful to the King on account of its limiting toleration to Protestant Nonconformists, it was put aside by some contemptible trick, when other Bills were presented for the Royal assent.[45]

On the day of the prorogation, the Commons by a formal resolution pronounced the prosecution of Protestant Dissenters to be a grievance to the subject, a detriment to the Protestant interest, an encouragement to Popery, and a danger to the kingdom’s peace.[46] However strange it is to find such a resolution in the Journals, after a Bill had been carried through the two Houses to the same effect a few days before, the fact may be explained by the circumstance that the Commons had become aware of the foul play practised on these cherished measures. It seems incredible, but such was the factious spirit existing, that the Court and High Church party—who were prepared to vindicate, or to wink at all kinds of excesses in the despotism of the Crown—positively objected to the resolution, as an unconstitutional method of invalidating Acts of Parliament.[47]

OXFORD PARLIAMENT.

Charles II. dissolved his fourth Parliament on the 18th of January, 1681, and summoned a fifth to meet at Oxford on the 21st of March.[48] This fifth Parliament opened amidst great excitement. The members for London, who had sat before, received the thanks of the citizens for searching into the Popish plot, and for supporting the Comprehension, the Toleration, and the Exclusion Bills. They rode to the City on the banks of the Isis, attended by a large body of horsemen, with ribbons stuck in their hats, displaying the watchwords, “No Popery—No Slavery.” Other members received similar addresses, and proceeded to the scholastic halls,—for the occasion transferred into senate-houses,—stirred by the conviction that a great political and ecclesiastical crisis had arisen. Met by the King with gracious but hollow sayings of the accustomed stamp, Parliament did not pass over the recent breach of decency committed in reference to the Toleration Bill, and reflections not more sharp than just were uttered by Liberal members. It was said, that those who charged the Country party with being Republicans were Revolutionists themselves, like thieves in a crowd, crying “Gentlemen, have a care of your pockets;”[49] that if Bills could be so thrown away the Commons vainly spent their time in passing them, and that what had been done inflicted a heavy blow on the English Constitution. The Commons requested a conference with the Lords, and took up the subject with spirit, declaring, as recorded in the Lords’ Journals, an intention to search out the accomplices in the piece of impudent knavery, which had just been practised on their own House.[50] Another Bill of Exclusion made its appearance, and another debate on Popery arose; but a dissolution within one week put an end to all Parliamentary inquiry, and extinguished all Parliamentary discussion.

1681.

Amidst much false alarm, and much popular folly, there existed a reasonable antipathy to the superstition and intolerance of Rome; the return of Papal ascendancy being, at that moment, no unreasonable object of fear; for with it would have inevitably arrived a new reign of civil and spiritual despotism. Protestantism on the one side, and Popery on the other, stood face to face in irreconcilable conflict; and during the storm which raged from one end of the Island to the other, there came into play two famous party watchwords, which, though in our time they have become nearly superseded, are not yet wholly swept out of existence. It is curious to notice that “Whig” and “Tory”—names then and since appropriated to political uses—had a religious origin: Whig being the title coined to fit the Presbyterian Covenanters of Scotland, suspected of anti-Monarchical principles; and “Tory” being meant to designate the Roman Catholic Irishmen, who seized the property of English settlers, and whose religion was considered most favourable to despotism.

EXCLUSION BILL.

Whilst, in these days of enlightenment and of perfectly altered circumstances, we can see how, without sacrificing universal religious liberty, we can protect ourselves against the danger of Papal ascendancy and despotism, should that danger again threaten us, it is proper to take into account the whole case respecting the conduct of our ancestors in the last two Stuart reigns, and to remember that they dreaded such broad toleration, because they apprehended it would lead to the supremacy of Romanism; and they could not see how it was possible, in this case, to concede liberty without opening a gate for the entrance of injustice. There was wisdom in the end they kept in view, though there was error in the method they employed for its attainment.

1681.

It is ridiculous to look upon the Earl of Shaftesbury as the Æolus who let loose the anti-Papal winds. He doubtless availed himself of the public favour to accomplish ends of his own, and the elevation of the Duke of Monmouth to the honour of legitimacy and heirship was with him a favourite idea, equally absurd and mischievous; but the desire, prevalent for a time, of cutting off the entail of the crown from the King’s brother, was no creation of a single person, but the offspring of public sentiment, and the outgrowth of years on years. Indignation against Popery, and the support of an Exclusion Bill, intimately connected as cause and effect, were two distinct things: but although the former continued in unabated force, the latter dwindled away, and the nation came to acquiesce, so far as the succession to the throne was concerned, in the policy of the Court. The reasons are easily assigned. Popular falsehoods respecting the Popish plots exploded in disgrace, and honest folks saw they had been deceived by knaves. From dislike to Rome, her doctrines, her polity, and her worship, some diseased secretions, which had gathered over feeling, came to be rubbed off. Romanists had been found less desperate plotters than had been dreamed. Limitations upon the descent of the crown appeared more efficacious than they had done before. The probability of another Civil War, if James were excluded, alarmed many; personal sympathy with a Sovereign required to perform so unnatural an act as that of disinheriting a brother, prevailed with more; and perhaps, considering the Royal ages, the uncertainty of the contemplated emergency influenced most. In this last respect, a manifest difference exists between the policy of an Exclusion Bill founded on a contingency which might never occur, and the policy of a Revolution based upon the despotic proceedings of an actual King. That these reasons proved effective is plain; whether they were valid and wise is another point. The sequel showed a Revolution to be inevitable. To have anticipated the event of 1688 might have saved England some trouble and much suffering; but England has always been slow to depart from constitutional principles, and has always loved to stand as long as possible “in the old ways.” The conflict which opened in 1643 had been put off until it could be put off no longer: and the men of the second half of the seventeenth century were, as it regarded an unwillingness to come to extremities, just like their fathers of the first. What really followed the departure from the scheme of Exclusion justified some of the worst fears of its supporters. The Duke was restored to his former position, and carried things with a high hand.[51]

KING’S DECLARATION.

After the dissolution of Parliament at Oxford, the King, by the advice of Halifax, published a Declaration, explaining the reasons which induced him to take that critical step. He charged the Commons with arbitrary orders; with bringing forward accusations on mere suspicion; with unconstitutional votes, especially in support of resolutions condemning the persecution of Dissenters, according to law; with obstinacy in the matter of the Exclusion Bill; with a design of changing the government of the realm; and with a determination to set and keep at variance the two Houses of Legislature.[52] In short, he managed, as his father had done, only with more dexterity, to cover and defend his own unconstitutional purposes, by throwing all blame on the Houses of Parliament.

Immediately afterwards, Archbishop Sancroft received a Royal command to require the public reading of the Declaration in all and every the churches and chapels within the province of Canterbury, at the time of Divine service, upon some Lord’s Day, with all convenient speed. If we may here believe Burnet, Sancroft, at a meeting of Council, moved that this order should be given; remembering the habits of the Historian of his Own Times, I can scarcely trust his statement, without confirmation from some other quarter. Yet, if Sancroft did not suggest, he certainly did not resist the publication of this document—as he did the publication of another at a later period; and, because he received the order for its publication, and the publication followed accordingly, he must bear the responsibility of having sanctioned a procedure, which really made the Church an approving herald to the nation, of the King’s despotic policy.[53]

1681.

High Churchmen took the opportunity of presenting to the Throne the most obsequious and abject addresses. Our princes, said they, derive not their title from the people, but from God; to Him alone they are accountable: and it belongs not to subjects either to create or to censure, but only to honour and obey their Sovereign. They besought His Majesty to accept the tender of their hearts and hands, their lives and fortunes. These dearest sacrifices they abjectly laid down at Royal feet.[54] It was about the same time that Morley, Bishop of Winchester, declared:—“If ever it might be said of any—it may now most emphatically be said of us: Happy are the people that are in such a case.” We have “a Government pretending to no power at all above the King, nor to no power under the King neither, but from him, and by him, and for him—a Government enjoining active obedience to all lawful commands of lawful authority; and passive obedience when we cannot obey actively, forbidding and condemning all taking up of arms, offensive or defensive, by subjects of any quality.”[55]

The King’s Declaration was compared by a writer of later date, reflecting upon it, to the olive branch brought by the dove into the ark,—an indication of peace, of the abatement of popular excitement, and of the stability of laws and religion, like the dove which had found ubi pedem figeret. Warming with his subject, he calls the Declaration “that great vision of the Lex terræ” long wrapped in mists, but now revealed; and likens the addresses called forth to the seamen’s shout on approaching land, after a stormy voyage.[56] Some of the Tory party went mad with joy at the triumph of despotism.

LOYAL ADDRESSES.

There were not wanting utterances of a very different order. A well-known publication, entitled, The Conformist’s Plea for the Nonconformists, in four parts, by a Beneficed Minister, and a regular Son of the Church of England, bears the date of 1681, and at the time made much stir. The author dwells upon the sufferings of his Dissenting brethren—their hard case, their equitable proposals, their ministerial qualifications, their peaceable behaviour, their orthodoxy as tested by the doctrinal articles of the Church—and the injury inflicted on that Church by their exclusion. “Some reverend sons of the Church,” he remarked, with a good deal of common sense, “in love to peace, and fear of enemies, have earnestly called and exhorted the Dissenting ejected brethren, to come and unite, to come into the present Constitution, as safest, as strongest, as best, &c. But if they could not come in at the narrow door eighteen years ago, and the door as narrow still as it was then, and there be the same cross-bars laid across, as were then to keep them out, to what purpose is the exhortation? Is there a great storm a coming? they think that Christ is the same ship, and they are as safe as any other. They may clearly plead, they could have conformed at first upon better worldly terms than now; they might have saved what they have lost, and got their share with others; to come now to conform, when all places are full, and not enow for numerous expectants, and when there is nothing for them without tedious waiting; and if their judgments and consciences could not enter then, how can they now?”[57]

1681.

Wit is not wanting, when he asks:—“But how did these Master-Builders proceed in the Government of their New Reformed Church? It seemed to be built no larger than to contain one family, the genuine sons of such fathers; there was but one narrow door of admission to it, a strong lock upon it, and the sole power of the keys was in trusty hands, and the sword in the hand of a friend, there was no outward apartment in it to entertain strangers, or belonging to it; but some got a false key to the door, as many call it, a key of a larger sense; and when some got in, more crowded in; and so the Latitudinarian in charity, came in with the Latitudinarian in discipline, to the no little grief of some who do not like their company. The fathers keep above stairs, and now and then come down among us, and send their officers to visit us, and have their watch renewed every year to tell tales of us; and they that are without doors, cry, If there be any love in our Governors to Christ, and His divided flock, that we would but widen the door, and reform but ill customs; but we say, we cannot help ourselves or them, for the law will have it so.”[58]

CHAPTER IV.

For the credit of humanity, it should be repeated that occasional lulls occurred in the storm of persecution during this infamous reign. Intolerant laws sank into desuetude, and merciful, or rather righteous magistrates, neglected, or tempered their execution. Considerable ingenuity sometimes appears in their methods of evasion. A Justice of the Peace would ask certain informers whether they could swear that, in a certain case, there was “a pretended, colourable, religious exercise, in other manner than according to the liturgy and practice of the Church of England,” and would caution them to consider that, if they swore in the affirmative, they must know exactly what the liturgy and the Church really were. He would also demand whether the informers were present all the time during which the service lasted, for if they were not, how could they be sure the Common Prayer was not used? An instance is not wanting in which such an ingenious Justice dismissed both parties, and sent the case to counsel for opinion, who decided that he had done quite right.[59]

1677–80.

During the year 1677, and for two or three years afterwards, Nonconformists suffered less troubles than they had done before, owing in part to the death of Archbishop Sheldon, in part to the prevalent fear of Popery, and in part to the change of Ministry in 1679, and the ascendancy of Shaftesbury in His Majesty’s Councils.[60]

About the year 1680 the Duke of Buckingham, like Shaftesbury, exceedingly ambitious of popularity, and apt to bid high for the prize by professing great liberality of opinion, made overtures to the Nonconformists to become their advocate. It being signified to John Howe, that this nobleman wished to see him, the Divine took an opportunity of calling at the sumptuous residence of the dissolute peer, and, after some conversation, His Grace hinted that “the Nonconformists were too numerous and powerful to be any longer neglected; that they deserved regard, and that, if they had a friend near the throne, who possessed influence with the Court generally, to give them advice in critical emergencies, and to convey their requests to the Royal ear, they would find it much to their advantage.” There could be no mistake as to the meaning of all this; yet, at the moment of offering himself as the political adviser of the Nonconformists, Buckingham was pursuing that course of flagrant vice which has brought everlasting infamy upon his name. Howe replied, with great simplicity, “that the Nonconformists, being an avowedly religious people, it highly concerned them, should they fix on any one for the purpose mentioned, to choose some one who would not be ashamed of them, and of whom they might have no reason to be ashamed; and that, to find a person in whom there was a concurrence of those two qualifications, was exceedingly difficult.”[61] This answer ended the business.

RENEWED PERSECUTIONS.

But whatever might be the temporary relief then tacitly granted, or the patronage and protection then virtually offered to Dissenters, a manifest change occurred in their circumstances after the Oxford dissolution of 1681. The causes of this change require attention.

Sir William Temple’s Utopian scheme had broken down. However plausible on paper, it had proved a failure in practice. Shaftesbury and Russell could not work with Temple and Halifax; and in the spring of 1681 the three former had disappeared from the Board, so also had Salisbury, Essex, and Sunderland,—the management of affairs being chiefly in the hands of Halifax, of Lord Radnor, of Hyde, created Lord Rochester, and of the Secretaries of State, Jenkins and Conway.

1681.

Halifax is described as a man of great wit, which he often employed upon the subject of religion. “He confessed he could not swallow down everything that Divines imposed on the world; he was a Christian in submission, he believed as much as he could, and he hoped that God would not lay it to his charge if he could not digest iron as an ostrich did, nor take into his belief things that must burst him.” Accustomed to run on in conversation after this fashion, he excited a suspicion of his being an atheist, a charge which he utterly denied; betraying at the same time, in the midst of sickness, some kind and degree of spiritual feeling, whilst at other tunes he would profess a philosophical contempt of the world, and call the titles of rank rattles to please children.[62] The colouring of his mind was better than the drawing. He admired justice and liberty in theory,—he gave them up for places and titles in practice.[63] With little or no principle of any kind, he answered Dryden’s description—

“Jotham of piercing wit and frequent thought,

Endued by nature, and by learning taught

To move assemblies; but who only tried

The worse awhile, then chose the better side.”

The last line is scarcely true, but he well merited the name of Trimmer,[64] his constancy being confined to his warfare with the Church of Rome. Radnor, if we are to believe Burnet, was morose and cynical, learned but intractable, just in the administration of affairs, yet vicious under the appearance of virtue.[65] The gossip of the Court called him “an old snarling, troublesome, peevish fellow;” and even Clarendon speaks of him as of “a sour and surly nature, a great opiniâtre, and one who must be overcome before he would believe that he could be so.”[66] Of the Earl of Rochester, it is remarked by Roger North, “His infirmities were passion, in which he would swear like a cutter, and the indulging himself in wine. But his party was that of the Church of England, of whom he had the honour, for many years, to be accounted the head.”[67] But North, it must be remembered, was a man of violent prejudices, and his judgment of contemporaries must be estimated accordingly.

MEN IN POWER.

Lord Conway was a mere official, devoted rather to pleasure than business; and Sir Leoline Jenkins was an assiduous Secretary and a good lawyer. According to Burnet’s report, he was “set on every punctilio of the Church of England to superstition, and was a great asserter of the Divine right of monarchy, and was for carrying the prerogative high.”[68] Nonconformists could not expect any mercy or much justice from men like these.

A fiery zeal for Protestantism continued in the month of September, 1681, when an address was presented to the Lord Mayor of London from 20,000 apprentices, touching the “devilish plots carried on by the Papists.”[69] But before that time, the excitement which had been produced by Oates’ informations, and which had promoted the progress of Exclusion measures, began to subside, and a reaction in many quarters set in against the supporters of both.[70]

1681.

Burnet speaks of “a great heat raised against the clergy” in 1679: of Nonconformists behaving very indecently, and of the press, in which they had a great hand, becoming licentious against the Court and the clergy; but he does not specify what publications are meant. The only remarkable one mentioned by Calamy as appearing that year, is “A short and true account of the several advances the Church of England hath made towards Rome—or a model of the grounds upon which the Papists for these hundred years have built their hopes and expectations, that England would e’er long return to Popery, by Dr. Du Moulin, sometime History Professor of Oxford.”[71] Upon reading this book, it strikes me, that the sting is stronger in the title-page, than in the contents; it makes out a case as to Romanist tendencies against Laud and his party, rather than against contemporary Churchmen. At all events, alarm existed at the time—although a book like Du Moulin’s will not account for it—lest a new revolution should break out resembling that which occurred at the beginning of the Long Parliament. “The Bishops and clergy, apprehending that a rebellion, and with it the pulling the Church to pieces, was designed, set themselves, on the other hand, to write against the late times, and to draw a parallel between the present times and them; which was not decently enough managed by those who undertook the argument, and who were believed to be set on and paid by the Court.” Burnet’s statement is very loose, for without mentioning any book on the subject, by any Bishop,—although he might have cited what Morley, Bishop of Winchester, wrote soon afterwards,—he alludes to the writings of a layman, Roger L’Estrange, who richly deserves his severest condemnation. That man did more than any one to turn the tide of indignation into a new channel. People “seemed now to lay down all fears and apprehensions of Popery, and nothing was so common in their mouths, as the year ’41, in which the late Wars begun” (they did not begin till ’42,) “and which seemed now to be near the being acted over again. Both city and country were full of many indecencies that broke out on this occasion.”[72] Revolutionary designs were charged upon the Whig party generally; and Nonconformists unjustly came in for a large share of suspicion.

STEPHEN COLLEDGE.

1681.

The first-fruit of this reaction appears in the discovery of a pretended new plot against the life of the King, arranged to be executed during his stay in the City of Oxford. The person made the scape-goat of the offence was Stephen Colledge, who had acquired some notice as a violent Protestant, and who had mixed himself up with Oates and the other witnesses against the convicted Papists. Colledge being indicted at the Old Bailey, had no true Bill found against him. Political opinions then influenced Jurymen to an extent which shocks us now that everything is done to banish prejudice from our Courts of Justice; and therefore the Ministers of the Crown, who managed this prosecution, after being baffled by the Whigs, who formed the panel in London, determined to carry the case down to Oxford, where they could empanel a number of Tories.[73] A true bill being found at last, Chief Justice North tried the prisoner; and, on that occasion, behaved in such an infamous manner, that it was thought probable, if he had lived to see another Parliament, he might have been impeached.[74] Nothing which any lawyer would now consider treasonable, could be proved against Colledge; yet he was convicted, condemned, and executed. The fate of this man excited a great degree of interest at the time, he being considered a rebel by one party, and a martyr by another. Letters written to the Secretary of State after Colledge’s death indicate the eager desire of the former to establish his guilt;[75] and, if we may credit other letters, Nonconformists showed much sympathy with the sufferer. One writer thought it very credible, that the Presbyterians at Lewes did, against the execution of Colledge, keep a very strict fast; and it was supposed they of Chichester did the like, but the circumstance wanted confirmation. Another correspondent the same month reported that the general discourse in that Cathedral City turned upon the man’s innocence, and described how much he had been wronged, and how his blood would cry for vengeance against the rogues who took away his life.[76] It is a strange circumstance, but it illustrates the irrational feeling of the moment, that some people, who were hounding this poor fellow on to the gallows, called him a Papist, and some called him an Anabaptist. At Colledge’s execution the Sheriff evinced much anxiety to know whether he belonged to the Presbyterians, to the Independents, or to the Church of England. Colledge—after having previously declared that he never had been a Papist—replied, that before the Restoration, he was a Presbyterian; that since then he had conformed to the Episcopal Church, until he saw so much persecution of Dissenters; and that, afterwards, he had attended Presbyterian meetings “and others very seldom.” Yet he had not forsaken the Establishment altogether; for, only three weeks before his apprehension, he had attended the ministry of Dr. Tillotson. He wished for union, and lamented that some of the Church of England preached that the Presbyterians were worse than the Papists, although he was certain they were not men of vicious lives.

STEPHEN COLLEDGE.

1681.

It is plain, from his own words, that at the time of his being charged with treason, Colledge was identified with Nonconformity; and, in a letter written by some one (not known) to the Bishop of London, July 11, 1681, it is stated, that just then Nonconformists were building several meeting-houses; and that, after the acquittal of Colledge by the Grand Jury in London, these people grew increasingly impudent. Before his execution, there came to him in Oxford gaol—“a fanatic, desiring to pray with him, but being not permitted, unless he would use the Liturgy of the Church of England, he refused.”[77] We learn that the poor man received “the Blessed Sacrament” from Dr. Hall, to whom he made confession.[78] That confession, or a large portion of it, is preserved; and, in substance, it corresponds with his speech at the gallows. He acknowledged in his confession, that he might, on some occasions, have “uttered words of indecency, not becoming his duty concerning the King or his Council;” and, if so, he begged their pardon, and in his speech he admitted that he had arms in his possession; but, said he, “they were for our own defence in case the Papists should make any attempt upon us by way of massacre.” Both in his confession and speech, he stoutly denied, that he had entered into any plot; nor did any sufficient evidence of such a thing come out on his trial. From the confession, it further appeared, that on the Sunday before his execution, the messenger who brought word respecting the day on which he was to die, assured him he might even then save his life, if he would only confess who was the cause of his coming to Oxford. He persisted in maintaining, that his coming was entirely of his own accord, and without any treasonable intention whatever.[79]

REACTION.

At Colledge’s trial, Dugdale and Turbeville, formerly co-witnesses of Titus Oates, appeared against him, whilst Oates himself took Colledge’s part, and vilified his old associates. The wretched combination against the Roman Catholics now broke up: the conspirators were quarrelling, the house divided against itself could not stand, the Nonconformist, who in his Protestant zeal had mixed himself up with discreditable people, now appeared as the victim, his own eagerness to sweep away religionists whom he disliked, had stimulated his enemies to imitation; and, as we conclude this singular history, it is impossible to forget the words of Divine wisdom—“With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”

The same reaction which destroyed the Protestant Joiner, struck down another person who declared himself the Protestant Earl.[80] Shaftesbury, after the dissolution of the Royal Parliament, being accused of entering into a conspiracy against the King, found himself within the gloomy walls of London Tower. His spirits and wit did not forsake him; and when accosted by one of the Popish lords, whom he had been instrumental in sending there not long before, he replied, “that he had been lately indisposed with an ague, and was come to take some Jesuit’s powder.” Everything which ingenuity, prompted by malice, could suggest was done to injure in public estimation the late popular nobleman, and to prejudice his trial. The clergy inveighed against him as “the Apostle of Schism;” and the Catholics called him “the Man of Sin.” By the Tories he was styled “Mephistopheles,” and “the Fiend;” and by Dryden he was satirized in his Absalom and Ahitophel. The Bill at the Old Bailey having been ignored, the popular favourite prosecuted his accusers; and would, if he could, have raised an insurrection against the Government. Finding that enterprise impossible, he escaped to Holland, and died there in February, 1683, enjoying the hospitality of the Republic, which he had threatened to overthrow. “Carthago,” was their generous and graceful retort—“non adhuc deleta, Comitem de Shaftesbury in gremio suo recipere vult.”[81]

1681.

RENEWED PERSECUTION.

The reaction went on, and began to sweep like a storm over the Dissenting Churches. The State Papers, after having for some years failed to supply illustrations of the condition of Nonconformity, again present a pile of informations and letters, proving the renewed activity of spies, and opening a fresh loop-hole through which we can discover the warfare going on against “the fanatics.” It is but just to the Government, to say, that as far as can be discovered from these records, this persecuting activity originated with individuals of the Tory and High Church party, who were continually writing to Sir Leoline Jenkins, informing him of political disaffection and of religious discontent. Loyal addresses streamed in from counties and towns, communications arrived respecting plots and disaffection, and complaints were also made of the non-execution of laws against Nonconformists.[82] All the way through, the object was to represent Nonconformists as disloyal, as traitors to their Prince, and as wishing to bring back the days of the Republic. So numerous, it is said, were these disaffected fanatics, that they swarmed everywhere,—none were safe from their influence. A question arose, whether even some of the King’s messengers were not “Meeters at Conventicles,” or, at least, persons who kept correspondence with such as went there.[83] Yet, amidst this chaos of informations, not the slightest hint appears of anything like proof of the existence of a Nonconformist plot; and, indeed, for the most part, the narratives furnished are of the idlest description, some of them written by very illiterate persons.

1681.

Mixed up with complaints about the Nonconformists are discreditable allusions to Churchmen, who, for their moderation and liberality, were suspected of being no better than schismatics. Rumours reached Northampton that Dr. Conant had been made Prebendary of Worcester, much to the wonder “of those who knew what, lately as well as formerly, his actions had been;” but these rumours were contradicted, “much to the satisfaction of all who had any kindness to the King or Church.”[84]

Waspish informers, buzzing about the ears of men of office, would under any circumstances have been annoying. Liberally-minded men—or rather men respecting the rights of conscience—whilst keeping their eyes open to detect dangers threatening the State, would have crushed, or at least have brushed away the troublesome insects; but the persons now in power were of a different character. Their known temper as high Churchmen and as high Tories encouraged the tribe to renew that infamous occupation, which happily had been gone now for some few years; and when these reports reached the Secretary, he not only graciously received them, but with his colleagues proceeded to take active measures against the suspected parties.

RENEWED PERSECUTION.

The names of the accused, the nature of the accusation, and allusions to the harvest of gain incident upon their conviction, are sufficient to prove how idle, and how much worse than idle, were the charges of disaffection. The State Papers supply proofs of the interference of Government to remove obstacles out of the way of magistrates and officers, who found it difficult to clothe their acts with a semblance of legality.[85] Public documents exhibit the further activity of the Court in the same direction at the close of this year. His Majesty in Council ordered the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of London, and also the magistrates of Middlesex, to use their utmost endeavours for the suppression of Conventicles. The last-mentioned body, in the following January (1682), having previously ordered a return of the ministers and hearers in Dissenting assemblies, now desired that the Bishop of London would direct his officers to employ the utmost diligence for the excommunication of persons who deserved such penalty, and to publish the fact of their excommunication, so that no one of them might be “admitted for a witness, or returned upon juries, or capable of suing for any debt.”[86]

1681.

A striking instance of the treatment of Nonconformists is supplied in the history of Nathaniel Vincent, brother of Thomas Vincent, whose ministerial labours have been already noticed. This ejected clergyman came to London soon after the great fire, and preached amidst the ruins to large multitudes. Occupying a Conventicle in Southwark, he was dragged out of the pulpit by the hair of his head, and, at a subsequent period, he suffered imprisonment in the Marshalsea, and the Gatehouse, where he was denied the use of pen, ink, and paper.[87] In an information, dated the 18th of December, the writer, after mentioning other places, describes a visit he paid to Vincent’s place of worship, when that minister hearing of the informer’s approach, slipped away, and left his congregation singing David’s psalms. The more the Justices talked, and the more they exhorted the people to disperse, the louder the people continued to sing. Churchwardens, overseers, and constables, all refused to give the names of the Conventiclers, pretending they did not know who they were. A friend of Vincent’s, writing the next day, speaks of him as a man of equal standing in the University with most of the Conformists in Southwark, holding doctrines accordant with the Articles, constantly praying for the King, and accustomed on Christmas Day to make a collection for the poor of the parish of St. Olaves.[88] And in a further information we discover a curious scrap of intelligence respecting his place of worship:—“Almost every seat that adjoins to the sides of the Conventicle has a door, like the sally port of a fire ship, to make escape by, and in each door is a small peep-hole, like to taverns’ and alehouses’ doors, to ken the people before they let them in.” The author of the document proceeds to relate how the Marshalls dispersed these congregations, how officers were appointed to visit other meeting-houses, and how an old woman hoped they would “rot in hell” for having disturbed her.[89]

NATHANIEL VINCENT.

1682.

We learn from another source that a Justice once entered the meeting during one of Vincent’s sermons, and commanded him in the King’s name to come down, to which the minister replied he was there by command of the King of kings, and had resolved to proceed with the service.[90] The enforcement upon him of a fine of £20 proving impracticable, an indictment followed, under the Act of the 35th of Elizabeth. Upon the Sunday preceding the day of his trial, he preached to his flock from the words, “Only let your conversation be as it becometh the gospel of Christ: that whether I come and see you, or else be absent, I may hear of your affairs, that ye stand fast in one spirit, with one mind striving together for the faith of the gospel.” “There was a numerous auditory, insomuch that the people were ready to tread one upon another, and some hundreds went away that could not come near to hear him.” “In these sermons,” as further stated in the records of Vincent’s Church, “he earnestly pressed us to hold fast our profession, and to be steadfast in the cause of Christ. The 4th of January, before Mr. Vincent went to his trial, there was a solemn day of fasting and prayer kept at his own meeting-place, to seek the Lord on his behalf. On the 8th, there was a whole night spent in prayer. On the 9th he went to Dorking, and had his trial on the 10th, when he was not suffered to speak in his own defence, but was found guilty of the indictment, and was committed prisoner to the Marshalsea, in Southwark, for three months, and then, if he would not conform according to that statute, he was to adjure the realm or suffer death.” The Church, deprived of their pastor, was much harassed by their enemies; and we are informed, that on “the 10th day of this month, being Saturday, one Justice Balsh, a silk throwster by trade, and a very bitter enemy to the Lord’s people living in Spitalfields, having sent word to the other Justices of the Peace, his brethren that lived in those parts, that he would meet them very early the next morning, to disturb the Whigs at their meeting-places (for so they called Dissenters at that time), about eight of the clock at night, died suddenly in his chair, and never spake a word.” “The 11th, we met in Aldersgate-street at a cloth-worker’s, where Mr. Biggin, the minister, had but just begun prayer, but we were disturbed by the train-bands.” “April 1st, we met at Mr. Russell’s, in Ironmonger-lane, where Mr. Lambert administered to us the ordinance of the Lord’s Supper, and we sung a psalm with a low voice.”[91] This touching circumstance calls to mind two parallels—one in the history of the Huguenots, when they crept into their place of worship muffled up, and sang in suppressed tones one of Marot’s psalms; and the other in the history of the persecuted Christians of Madagascar, who when they secretly assembled for Divine service, were wont to sing in whispers.

PERSECUTION.

In November, informers broke into the house of Dr. Annesley, and distrained his goods for “several latent convictions;”[92] and, a month afterwards the same people entered his meeting-house and broke the seats in pieces; after which disturbance, worship was for a time suspended.[93] Others were treated in a similar manner.[94] The Bishop of London received orders from Court to require a return of all parishioners who did not attend church and receive the sacrament, several of whom were cited to appear in the spiritual court, but “the Bishop, and divers of his most conspicuous clergy, in the matter of persecution, carried themselves with great discretion and candour.”[95] A warrant, however, came out for the apprehension of Dr. Bates; and a little later, constables were posted at the doors of the “most known meeting-places in the City, so that there were few sermons in them, at least at the usual hours.”[96]

1682.

In December fifty warrants for distresses in Hackney were signed; one for the sum of £500, the others of different amounts, making up altogether £1,400. Soon afterwards, 200 documents of the same kind were served upon certain inhabitants of the town of Uxbridge and its neighbourhood on account of their attending the proscribed Conventicles.[97] At the same time, it is recorded that “on the Lord’s Day the Dissenters were in some places in the City kept out, but in most they met, though they varied hours; few were actually disturbed, but the difficulties upon them were great.”[98]

Whilst the London informers utterly failed to supply a shadow of proof that the Nonconformists were engaged in any treasonable designs, other informers in distant parts of the country strove, with a like want of evidence, to attach to their Dissenting neighbours the most infamous suspicions. A clergyman at Kirk Newton had been assaulted by burglars, who broke open his stable and stole two mares. Immediately a letter was despatched to the Duke of Newcastle, signed by three persons—who said, “We must conclude these men to be some fanatics or sent by them;” the Vicar being “a zealous man for the Church of England and a loyal person,” the circumstance calls for “some speedy course to suppress such insolences.”[99]

PERSECUTION.

About Midsummer there came another batch of papers for the Secretary’s examination, supplying the names of ministers in the Borough of Southwark, their respective meeting-houses and the number of their hearers.[100] The illness from which the King just then was suffering, it is said, produced a great excitement amongst Dissenters, and a few days after the arrival of the last of these despatches at the Secretary’s office, the Lord Mayor of London issued a proclamation, in which he alluded to tumults occasioned by putting the law into execution against Conventicles.[101]

CHAPTER V.

DUKE OF MONMOUTH.

Readers of English history will remember the important political part played in the last years of Charles’ reign, by his illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth. When public feeling ran so high against the Duke of York, and so many Protestants were zealous for the Exclusion Bill, some amongst the latter favoured certain pretensions to the crown which had been put forward on behalf of his nephew. The pretensions were founded upon the alleged existence of a black box containing a contract of marriage between the King and the Duke’s mother, Lucy Walters, which black box made no small stir throughout the country in the year 1680.[102] Two years afterwards, when the Popish plot had ceased to alarm the public, and when the Duke of York’s prospects had begun to brighten, Monmouth endeavoured to revive his popularity, and to reinforce his claims by a progress in the North of England, during which journey he assumed a degree of state proper only to an heir apparent. Attended by a hundred horsemen,—fifty of whom rode before and fifty behind—he occupied a space in the midst of the cavalcade, mounted on a noble charger, and bowing with royal condescension to the crowds, who rent the air with shouts, “A Monmouth, a Monmouth, and no York!” Bells fired from the church steeples, and musketry roared from gates and ramparts, as the gay procession entered town after town. He might be found at fairs and races, rousing the men and wooing the women, and in town halls dining with the burgesses; always affecting royal etiquette, and actually going so far as to touch for the King’s evil. His movements closely watched, were duly reported to the Secretary of State by persons ill-affected towards the bold aspirant, including Shakerley, Governor of Chester Castle, who industriously wrote, day after day, minute descriptions of all Monmouth did in that old city,—a city in which, it may be recollected, Nonconformists had been found to be very numerous some years before.[103]

1682.

According to reports, the whole company of horsemen who rode with the Duke into Chester did not exceed 150, most of them being noted Dissenters. They came shouting, with a company of rabble on foot, whom they had induced to join them by providing drink. The bells rang, except at the Cathedral and St. Peter’s; and there were some bonfires. The Duke went first to the Mayor’s house, where he lodged; and, after a short stay there, he repaired to an inn, where he and his companions sat down at the ordinary, the chaplain being Dr. Fogg, one of the prebendaries. The Duke proceeded to the Cathedral, where he heard a sermon not very pleasant to him or to his associates. The same writer complains of the rabble making a riot, breaking into the Church of St. Peter’s, forcing open the steeple door, and ringing the bells, amongst the rest the fire bell. “Another company,” he adds, “at a bonfire, made by a great Presbyterian, broke the glass windows of an honest Churchman opposite.” Two or three days later, after accustomed healths, such as “Confusion to Popery, and to those that would not be enemies to the Duke of York,” Monmouth’s party expressed great displeasure at a sermon preached before His Grace, in the choir of the Cathedral; and, in general, uttered loud exclamations against the clergy. Having, it is said, spit their venom that way, without one syllable of opposition, they fell to magnifying the last Parliament, and to commending their votes.[104]

At such times as I am describing, people exist who are possessed by an inordinate love of writing, and of publishing what they write, and whose pens resemble the sting of wasps, and of other still more ignoble insects. Pamphleteers of this kind wrote against Dissenters, some whose malignity was greater than their wit, some whose wit kept pace with their malignity. Sir Roger L’Estrange, perhaps, may be reckoned as the most gifted, the most formidable, the most unscrupulous, and the most fierce of this tribe of tormentors. He had narrowly escaped being executed as a spy during the Civil Wars,—he had been shut up in Newgate for several years; and now the memory of his sufferings made him perfectly savage in his attacks upon those whom he identified with his former enemies. He perpetually rang changes upon the miseries of the year ’41, which he accused the popular party of having determined to revive. In his Foxes and Firebrands, and in his Citt and Bumkin, he vilified and lampooned all men of liberal opinions, whether those opinions happened to be ecclesiastical or political. Nonconformists were fools and rebels, and their toleration was inconsistent with order and peace. By abuse of one kind, he sought to force them into the Church, and then, when they had entered, he by another kind of abuse endeavoured to drive them out. Outside they were traitors, inside they were trimmers, so that it was impossible such people as L’Estrange could ever be pleased, let the conduct of Nonconformists be what it might. His career as a party writer, which began after the Restoration, attained its highest point at the period we have reached; and as a reward for his services to the cause of despotism, he obtained from his Royal master the honour of knighthood, an honour more than counterbalanced by the almost universal execration of posterity.[105]

ROYAL DESPOTISM.

Charles, in playing the despot, went on from bad to worse. Municipal corporations, whose freedom is always of primary importance to the interests of this country, were then still more intimately connected with our national liberties than at present—for not only was the administration of justice in cities and boroughs lodged in their hands, not only were juries in Middlesex returned by the City Sheriffs, but the right of election for members of Parliament rested, in a number of cases, not with the citizens and burgesses generally, but with those who were mayors, aldermen, and common councilmen. In many large places, especially London, the Corporation opposed the Court; and therefore no representatives subservient to the Crown could be expected to come from such a quarter. The King, relying upon legal advisers, who preferred cunning to equity, determined to try whether he could not deprive his subjects of their municipal rights by the process of quo warranto.[106] The attempt, made in the Metropolis first, so far succeeded, that the Court of King’s Bench gave judgment against the Corporation; and,—although it allowed the Corporation to retain its privileges, under certain restrictions,—from that time the capital of the kingdom remained powerless in the hands of the sovereign.

1683.

LORD W. RUSSELL.

Constitutional methods of expressing public opinion being suspended, there were men whom desperation drove to think of the patriot’s last resort. They talked of war. Shaftesbury, whose erratic ability and eloquence sometimes helped the cause of liberty, had disappeared from the stage of public affairs, and had, as we have seen, gone over to Holland, where he died. But his restless brain, employed in concocting schemes of insurrection, which at the time came to nothing, had left behind, amongst many Englishmen with whom he had been associated, seeds of discontent, ready to grow into acts of violence. The seeds did grow, and the harvest proved “a heap in the day of grief, and of desperate sorrow.” The Rye House Plot is well known. With any design of assassinating the King, Sidney and Russell—who came within the complications of a plan for forcibly resisting the despotism of Government—had nothing to do. Nothing could be more idle than to talk, as some did, of certain ministers—Owen, Mead, and Griffiths—being engaged in revolutionary designs. The King, when Mead had been summoned, ordered him to be discharged; but Sidney and Russell, it cannot be contradicted, were present at conversations turning upon the subject of an appeal to arms in the cause of freedom. These illustrious men were, as all readers of English history know, tried,[107] condemned, and executed; and as the story of Russell’s last moments belongs to the religious annals of our country, it claims some space on these pages.[108]

1683.

LORD W. RUSSELL.

In prison he devoted most of his time to meditation, receiving his death-warrant with calmness, and anticipating his departure with hope. Six or seven times, upon the last morning of his life (July 21), he engaged in prayer; and, on parting from Lord Cavendish, urged upon that nobleman the importance of personal piety: then, winding up his watch, he remarked—that he had done with time, and was going to eternity. As the mourning coach, which conveyed him to the place of execution, turned the corner by Little Queen Street, he remarked, “I have often turned to the other hand with great comfort (alluding to the proximity of Southampton Square, where he resided), but now I turn to this with greater.” As he saw some persons weeping, and others manifesting disrespect, he appreciated the commiseration of the former, and evinced no resentment at the conduct of the latter. He sang “within himself,” scarcely articulating words, observing, he hoped soon to sing better; and, as he looked upon the dense throng around him, he expressed the hope of soon beholding nobler multitudes. As he entered Lincoln’s Inn Fields, observing it rained, he said to his friends in the coach, “this may do you hurt that are bare-headed;” and as he caught sight of the familiar place he exclaimed, in allusion to his early days, “this has been to me a place of sinning, and God now makes it the place of my punishment.” Having expressed wonder at the crowds assembled, he placed in the Sheriff’s hand a long paper, and declared at the same time, that he had never intended to plot against the King’s life or reign. After praying that God would preserve His Majesty and the Protestant religion, he expressed an earnest wish that all Protestants would love one another, and not by mutual animosities open a way for the re-entrance of Popery. In the paper just mentioned, he avowed his attachment to the Church of England, and expressed a desire that Conformists would be less severe, and that Dissenters would be less scrupulous. He said he had always been ready to venture his life for his country and his religion; and he avowed his sincerity and earnestness in supporting the Bill of Exclusion, as the best means of defending the Crown and the Church: he forgave his enemies, although he thought killing by forms and subtilties of law to be “the worst sort of murder.” When he had knelt down, Tillotson, who with Burnet stood by him on the scaffold, offered intercession on his behalf. The sufferer then unfastened his dress, took off his outer garment, bared his neck, and laid it on the block, without change of countenance. The executioner, to ensure his aim, touched him with the axe, but he did not shrink; and after two strokes Russell’s soul went where vindictive passions could not follow him.[109]

It has been justly remarked that when his memory ceases to be an object of veneration “it requires no spirit of prophecy to foretell that English liberty will be fast approaching to its final consummation;” and we may add, that no less a Christian than a patriot, he has left behind a name as dear to English Christians as it is to English patriots.

We have seen the spirit which prevailed two years before—we have proofs of its continuance in connection with the last days of Lord William Russell. That nobleman tenaciously held the principle, that in some cases it was lawful to resist Government by force. But Churchmen, who, at the Revolution, in practice approved, if they did not in theory uphold the doctrine, condemned it at this early period not only as impolitic, but as irreligious. Tillotson wrote to Russell just before his execution a letter, in which he said that Christianity plainly discountenanced the resistance of authority, that in the same law which establishes our religion, it is declared to be unlawful, under any pretence whatsoever, to take up arms; and that his Lordship’s opinion was contrary to the doctrine of all Protestant Churches. He also pronounced the same opinion to be an offence of a heinous nature, calling “for a very particular and deep repentance.”[110]

1683.

Tillotson, in this letter, committed himself to the doctrine of passive obedience; and its publication, without any subsequent denial or recantation, places him before the world as upholding one main-prop of the Stuart despotism. Burnet also, by his conduct at the time, lent his influence to the same side; for, with characteristic haste, and with that inaccuracy, into which haste so often betrayed him, he rushed from Russell’s cell at Newgate, saying, that he had converted his noble friend, who declared his satisfaction in that point to which Tillotson’s letter relates. Such conduct indicated sympathy at the time with the opinions in the letter now mentioned; and, therefore, it involves Burnet in the same responsibility with Tillotson. Russell, however, soon undeceived both his advisers, insisting that the notion which he had of the laws, and of the English Government, differed from that of the two Divines. He died a martyr to the faith, which placed the Crown of England on the head of the Prince of Orange, whose claims Tillotson and Burnet afterwards vindicated, and whose conduct they ever delighted to eulogize.

When Churchmen, of moderation and liberality, acted in this way, what could be expected from Churchmen of a different order? The University of Oxford having collected from the writings of Puritans, from Independents, and from political philosophers, sentences which plainly, or by implication, justified under certain circumstances resistance to Government, decreed by a vote of Convocation, such propositions to be false, seditious, and impious,—and most of them also heretical and blasphemous, infamous to the Christian religion, and destructive of all good government in Church and State. The books containing such opinions were forbidden to be read, and ordered to be burnt.[111]

CONTROVERSY.

At this juncture it happened that Nonconformists were silent, as respected political and ecclesiastical controversy, except that John Howe published a beautiful sermon on the question, “What may most hopefully be attempted to allay animosities among Protestants, that our divisions may not be our ruin?” Owen had been overtaken by his last illness, and Baxter had become tired of disputation. Many of his brethren were suffering from persecution; and those who were not, could have controverted the political doctrines of the Church only by incurring the risk of losing their property, their liberty, or their life. The Government did everything it could to prevent the expression of liberal opinions. The quiet habits of most Dissenters, the cultivation of calm endurance, especially by Quakers, and by others in a less conspicuous manner, served to promote this remarkable silence—a silence which, compared with the subsequent Revolution, resembles the smoothness of the torrent on the edge of the abyss. Nor should it be forgotten that men who comprehended the dangers of the hour felt, notwithstanding, immense perplexity as to what they ought to say or do; since Charles II. pertinaciously professed the greatest moderation, and declared a love for Parliaments and for the liberties of his country,—thus by cunning and artifice, showing as great a proficiency in king-craft as ever his father had done.

1683.

A little more than one month after Lord William Russell’s execution, Dr. John Owen, whose illness we just now mentioned, entered his rest. He closed his days in the little village of Ealing, where he possessed an estate. In his seclusion he wrote The Glory of Christ. Transported by his theme he poured forth reflections like “a sea of glass mingled with fire,” and in conversation with his friends devoutly expressed his hopes and desires. “I am going,” he said, “to Him, whom my soul has loved; or rather who has loved me with an everlasting love, which is the whole ground of all my consolation. I am leaving the ship of the Church in a storm, but while the Great Pilot is in it the loss of a poor under-rower will be inconsiderable. Live and pray, and hope and wait patiently, and do not despond: the promise stands invincible that He will never leave us nor forsake us.” The first sheet of his last book had passed through the press, under the superintendence of Mr. Payne, an eminent Dissenting minister at Saffron Walden; and as he informed Owen of the circumstance the latter exclaimed “I am glad to hear it; but, O! brother Payne, the long-wished-for day is come at last, in which I shall see that glory in another manner than I have ever done, or was capable of doing in this world.”[112] As the dying man inherited a strong constitution, he had much to endure when the last struggle came, and the attendants upon his dying bed were deeply affected, both by the intensity of his pains and the brightness of his peace. In silence, with uplifted eyes and hands, this eminent man left the world; and—which is a remarkable coincidence—he did so on St. Bartholomew’s Day.

PERSECUTION.

Throughout the last three or four years of the reign of Charles II. the persecutions carried on against the Nonconformists increased in violence; and the cause is to be found, not only in the religious character of the victims, but in the political course which they felt it their duty to pursue. Indeed the latter in some cases mainly excited the party in power. Nonconformists generally had supported members of the Opposition, at the last three elections. They were known to be advocates of constitutional liberty against the despotic designs of men in high places. “Which alone,” observed John Howe—and his testimony is most trustworthy—“and not our mere dissent from the Church of England in matters of religion, wherein Charles II. was sufficiently known to be a Prince of great indifferency, drew upon us, soon after the dissolution of the last of those Parliaments, that dreadful storm of persecution that destroyed not a small number of lives in gaols, and ruined multitudes of families.”[113]

The Presbyterians, who had often received promises of comprehension, were persecuted in common with the rest of the Nonconformists. If ever a man lived in the world inoffensively, as well as usefully, it was Oliver Heywood; yet he did not escape imprisonment. His case exposes the wicked intolerance of the rulers far beyond that of some others, where partial ignorance of the circumstances might leave room for the idea, that a measure of imprudence provoked opposition. No provocation, we are sure, could have been given to the authorities of the country by this eminently amiable and holy person.

1684.

The case of Thomas Rosewell, a Presbyterian minister, in Rotherhithe, differs from that of Heywood; but his treatment was not less unjust. Charged with uttering treason in his discourses, the jury, after an address from Judge Jeffreys, who presided at the trial, brought him in guilty. When the prisoner moved for an arrest of judgment, the King, being informed of the circumstances, felt so convinced of the infamous character of the witnesses, and of the loyalty of Rosewell, that he pardoned him at once.[114]

PERSECUTION.

From the evidence elicited during Rosewell’s trial we are enabled to form a distinct picture of one of the Nonconformist places of worship in those days, and of several interesting circumstances connected with the services. The place in which he preached was situated in Salisbury Street, Rotherhithe, near the preacher’s dwelling, and consisted of a tenement or tenements, so altered as to adapt the building for accommodating a large number of people. “The rooms were but of a low height.” “There was a low parlour, and a little room up six steps;” and where the preacher stood “was a large room and a garret.” He stood “in the door-case of that room, that the sound might go up and down.” The chamber was hung with sad-coloured paper, and a sad-coloured bed was in the room. Upon the left hand of the speaker “was a chest of sweet wood, and a little cabinet upon it; and a glass over that; and upon the right hand, on the side of the chimney, was a closet.” Three or four hundred people commonly attended—some “people of quality;” and a “store of watermen and seamen” from Deptford, Rotherhithe, and thereabouts. There were shutters in the windows, and the sun came in, and Rosewell was afraid lest the people that went by should hear him. Upon the occasion in question, at first there was not light enough let into the apartment, and he desired that one part of the shutters should be opened; then he requested that half might be shut again, for fear he should be overheard. The congregation met at seven in the morning, and did not break up until a little after two in the afternoon,—a pause taking place in the middle, when the preacher went in to dinner, and “left us there,” says the witness; “and abundance in the congregation ate sweetmeats, or biscuits, or such things.” A man, who was a brazier, acted as door-keeper, and was angry at a woman’s “coming with pattens, for they made an impression on the ground, and gave notice to others that there was company there.” She found out the place only “by dogging of people as they went along;” and by inquiries made of certain persons “set commonly at a place called Cherry Garden Stairs.”[115]

1684.

PERSECUTION.

Thomas Delaune, a Baptist schoolmaster, and a person of considerable learning, appears as an eminent sufferer in those dark days. He published A Plea for the Nonconformists, in answer to a sermon entitled A Scrupulous Conscience, published by Dr. Benjamin Calamy, Rector of St. Lawrence Jewry. Delaune simply endeavoured to prove that certain observances in the Episcopal establishment more resembled what is found in the Popish Communion than what is found in primitive antiquity. The publication being treated as a criminal offence, the author was committed to Newgate in November, 1683, and indicted for “a false, seditious, and scandalous libel concerning the Lord the King and the Book of Common Prayer.” The Jury, imbued with the spirit of the age, found him guilty, after which the Judge sentenced him to pay a fine of one hundred marks, to be kept a close prisoner until he paid the money, and to find security for good behaviour during twelve months afterwards. Delaune remained in confinement fifteen months, at the end of which time nature broke down under hardship and suffering. The poor man died, and it is shocking to add, his wife and two small children also expired during the same period within the walls of Newgate.[116] In the same prison Francis Bampfield, a Baptist minister, and an Oxford man, who had suffered repeatedly for his Nonconformity, perished in the month of February, 1684.[117] Of all sects, perhaps, the Quakers suffered most. Their meetings were disturbed by drums and fiddles; women were insulted, their hoods and scarfs torn, and little boys were beaten or whipped with a cat-o’-nine-tails. Seven hundred Friends were reported as being imprisoned in the year 1683.

CHAPTER VI.

At the time when English gaols were filled with Nonconformists, and English citizens were driven into exile, the English Sovereign offered an asylum to Protestant refugees from France; thus, at the same moment, persecuting his own conscientious subjects, and befriending those like-minded, who suffered from the tyranny of Louis XIV.

FRENCH PROTESTANTS.

After the Edict of Nantes, in 1591, had formally guaranteed to the Huguenots liberty of worship, vexatious interferences with their religious rights goaded them to resistance, and revived those political and military combinations which had proved so mischievous to the French Reformation. But, before the middle of the seventeenth century, the French Protestants became a purely religious community. The Count d’Harcourt bore witness to their loyalty in the well-known words, “the Crown tottered on the King’s head, but you have fixed it there:” and Cardinal Mazarin testified to their good conduct, when he said, “I have no cause to complain of the little flock,—if they browse on bad herbage, at least they do not stray away.”[118] The latter illustrious statesman, although a religious enemy, was a political protector of his Protestant countrymen; and, soon after his death in 1661, they became fully aware of the loss which they had sustained. His Royal master determined to govern alone, at the very moment when he became more than ever the slave of the Church; and, gathering up the reins entirely within his own hands, he sought to atone for his immoralities by the extirpation of heretical opinions. The conversion of the French King was a change from courtly gallantries to religious persecution,—from sensuality to intolerance,—from vice to crime. It is impossible to say, in how many districts he interdicted the exercise of the Reformed religion; how many places of worship he razed; how many schools he suppressed; how many Protestant endowments he confiscated for Roman Catholic purposes. Ordinances, declarations, decrees, and other acts of Council swiftly followed one after another, striking the heretics with blow upon blow.[119]

In 1681, Louis began his atrocious system of dragonnading, which consisted in billeting ten or twelve military brigands in a Protestant family, with authority to do anything short of murder, for the conversion of its members to Popery. Curés shouted to these new apostles, “Courage, gentlemen, it is the will of the King.”[120] Horsemen fastened crosses to the ends of their musquetoons, and compelled people to kiss them. They whipped their victims, they smote them on the face, they dragged them about by the hair of their heads, and drove them to church as they might drive so many cattle.

1681.

In the middle of the seventeenth century, French exiles had established themselves in different parts of England. A French Church had been founded at Winchelsea in 1560, at Canterbury in 1561, at Norwich in 1564, with others at Southampton, Glastonbury, and Rye. A Church at Sandtoft, Lincolnshire, dated from 1634; in the Savoy, from 1641; in Dover, from 1646; in Marylebone, 1656; not to mention others.[121] The Dragonnades, in 1681, sent at once a new and unprecedented wave of emigration across the Channel.

FRENCH PROTESTANTS.

Charles II., who did not blush to receive a pension from Louis XIV. for betraying the interests of his country, now came forward in favour of the fugitives—from good nature, or through advice, or in order to please the English Protestants, perhaps from all three motives combined. By an edict, signed at Hampton Court, on the 28th of July, 1681, he declared that he felt obliged by his honour and his conscience, to succour the people who were fleeing into exile. He therefore accorded them letters of naturalization, with all the privileges necessary for the exercise of such trades as would not injure the interests of his kingdom. He engaged that he would ask the next Parliament to naturalize all who should seek refuge in this island, and in the meantime he exempted them from all imposts to which his other subjects were not liable. He authorized them to send their children to the public schools and Universities. He ordered all his officers, both civil and military, to receive them wherever they landed, to give them passports gratuitously, and to furnish such relief as might be necessary for them to travel to their destination. He also instructed the Commissioners of the Treasury, and of the Customs, to let the strangers pass free, with their furniture, their merchandize, and their instruments of trade; and, further, he encouraged charitable persons to assist those who were in want. He also commissioned the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London to receive their requests and present them to him. To this edict there succeeded, before long, an order in Council which granted naturalization to eleven hundred and fifty-four fugitives;[122] and boat after boat arrived freighted with these sufferers. Such sympathy with the persecuted, however just, appears very inconsistent. About a hundred years earlier, the Jesuits had turned the tables on the intolerant Lutherans and Calvinists of the empire, by saying that Catholic sovereigns had as much right to deny religious liberty as Protestant ones;[123] and Louis could have taken sufficient ground for retorting upon Charles after the same fashion. Reports were circulated to the discredit of the refugees—and were met, on the other hand, by friendly certificates from Incumbents and Churchwardens, testifying of them as “sober, harmless, innocent people, such as served God constantly and uniformly, according to the usage and custom of the Church of England.”[124] In 1682, Charles issued briefs to the clergy to make collections for the new comers; and, in this beneficent work, Tillotson, Dean of Canterbury, took part. Beveridge, then a Prebendary in Canterbury Cathedral, from some mistaken scruple—or from coolness towards a foreign Church—objected to reading the brief, as contrary to the rubric. This circumstance brought out Tillotson’s well-known reply, “Doctor, Doctor, charity is above rubrics.”[125]

1682.

The persecutions of these French Protestants, their arrival on our shores, and the kindness with which they were received, are not mentioned here simply because they are incidents of a religious character locally connected with our own country, but for another and more forcible reason. These persecutions had become a staple of conversation in many an English home; and many an English heart had palpitated with deep sympathy, as stories of violence and suffering had fallen on the ear. Each fresh gust of intolerance, as it broke on France, had stirred the feelings of English Puritans, scarcely less than the feelings of French Protestants living on this side Dover Straits. And the revival of oppression, after the death of Mazarin, could not fail to inspire indignation in the breasts of multitudes within our shores when the anti-Popery agitation burst out afresh. The sight of the fugitives, their tales of horrid barbarity, of patient endurance, and of romantic adventure, would reinvigorate the Protestantism of our fathers, and largely contribute to that fixed resolve, which defied the contrivances of Charles and James, and ended in what has been ever since esteemed the Glorious Revolution.[126]

THE CABINET.

It was natural for foreign Protestants to look to England for help in more ways than one. The Archbishop of Canterbury received a letter from Dr. Covel, chaplain at the Hague to the Princess of Orange, urging the formation of a public League in defence of European Protestantism. Sancroft did not possess the courage and heroism to promote such a measure, had it been wise; but he did possess the sagacity and prudence to see that the object desired was not wise; and, in addition to those qualities, he displayed, in the answer to his correspondent, a large measure of Protestant sympathy and devout feeling.[127]

The prospects of Protestantism became darker and darker. The Act for excluding Papists from office was for a while cunningly evaded by Charles, who placed the whole business of the Admiralty in the hands of his brother, the Duke of York, he himself signing all official papers in that department:—at last, this shadowy pretence he cast aside, and boldly invited James to a seat at the Council-table—a step which even one of his Tory supporters acknowledged “became the subject of much talk, and was deemed to be a breach of one of the most solemn and most explicit Acts of Parliament.”[128] Two other persons, at the same time Members of the Council, ought to be noticed. One was Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys, too infamous a character to require anything more than the mention of his name; and Lord Keeper Guilford, who, whilst hating Jeffreys with a bitter hatred, in some respects resembled him. The part which these men took at this time in relation to Papists and Protestant Nonconformists, and the manner of their conducting ecclesiastical business, are illustrated by the following incident.

1684.

It was the fashion to hold Cabinet meetings on Sunday nights. One Sunday morning, the Duke of York asked Guilford to assist him in a business which would that evening be brought before His Majesty. Guilford thought that certain Courtiers just then looked at him with remarkable gravity, as if something important was about to come on the carpet; but he did not discover its nature until after the meeting had commenced. Jeffreys had returned fresh from a Northern tour, and had brought with him reports of large numbers of Papists convicted of being recusants, and, after placing on the table rolls containing their names, he rose from his chair, and proceeded to say:—

CABINET MEETING.

“I have a business to lay before your Majesty, which I took notice of in the North, and which will deserve your Majesty’s royal commiseration. It is the case of numberless numbers of your good subjects, that are imprisoned for recusancy. I have the list of them here, to justify what I say. They are so many that the great gaols cannot hold them without their lying one upon another.” Then, to use the language of Roger North, “he let fly his tropes and figures about rotting and stinking in prisons;” and concluded his speech with a motion that His Majesty be requested to discharge “these poor men,” and restore them to “liberty and air.”[129] Such a motion from such a man will be at once understood. It could have been made only to please his Royal master, and that master’s brother. If selfishness influenced Jeffreys in making the proposal, selfishness influenced Guilford in opposing it; for, on the one hand, any such pardon as that now proposed, must pass the Great Seal of which he was keeper; and by affixing this to such an unpopular instrument, he might bring himself into trouble with his friends. On the other hand, by refusal he might incur a forfeiture of office, and have to give place to his most odious enemy. After the Lord Keeper had sat silent awhile, expecting some of the Lords in the Protestant interest, as Halifax and Rochester, to speak,—he rose and addressed the King, entreating that the Chief Justice might declare, whether all the persons named in these rolls were actually in prison or not. His Lordship replied that he did not imagine any one could suspect that to be his meaning, but that they were under sentence of commitment, and were liable to be taken up by any peevish Sheriff or Magistrate. North then proceeded to attack all Sectaries. They were a turbulent people, he said, and always stirring up sedition; and, if they did so when they were obnoxious to the laws, what would they not do, if His Majesty gave them a discharge at once? Was it not better that his enemies should live under some disadvantages, and be obnoxious to His Majesty’s pleasure, who might, if they were turbulent and troublesome, inflict the penalties of the law upon them? As to the Roman Catholics, if there were any persons to whom the King would extend the favour of a pardon, let it be particular and express. After all, the disadvantage they were under, was but the payment of some fees to officers, which was compensated for by their enjoying exemption from serving in chargeable offices.[130]

1684.

Guilford thought that in this way he outwitted his adversary, and accounted his manœuvre the most memorable act which he had ever performed. The report shows, that from personal inclination, or from a wish to gratify the King, and the Duke of York, he evinced especial hatred to Protestant Nonconformists in general, when he recommended mercy to some Popish recusants in particular; and, whatever might be his motive on the occasion, the speech which he delivered, and his entire relation of this Cabinet secret, discloses to us very plainly the characters of the men who then guided public affairs, and the contemptible feelings which influenced their conduct.

One Nonconformist sufferer at that time demands a passing notice. William Jenkyn, of St. John’s, Cambridge, ejected from the Vicarage of Christ’s Church, London, where he had been exceedingly popular, was, on September the 2nd, 1684, seized by a soldier,—he being at the very time engaged in prayer with his friends. Refusing to take the Oxford Oath, he was committed to prison; and to a petition for release founded on a medical certificate that his health would be endangered by confinement, no answer could be obtained but this,—“Jenkyn shall be a prisoner as long as he lives.” As his end drew near, he said to those around him, “Why weep ye for me? Christ lives; He is my friend, a friend born for adversity, a friend that never dies.” “May it please your Majesty,” remarked a nobleman, when he heard of his death, “Jenkyn has got his liberty.” “Aye,” rejoined Charles, “who gave it him?” “A greater than your Majesty, the King of Kings.” The Confessor was followed to Bunhill Fields, by a procession of a hundred and fifty coaches. Even gay Courtiers looked sad, and the reckless King seemed concerned. “L’Estrange,” in his Observator, “alone set up a howl of savage exultation, laughed at the weak compassion of the Trimmers, proclaimed that the blasphemous old impostor had met with a most righteous punishment, and vowed to wage war not only to the death, but after death, with all the mock saints and martyrs.”[131]

CHARLES’ COURT.

Nor should it be forgotten, that whilst Nonconformists were suffering all kinds of hardships, the King and his Court were indulging in unbridled licentiousness, so that the contrast drawn by the poet of the mysteries of Providence then appeared in our own country as vividly as it ever did in any part of the world:—

“The good man’s share

In life was gall and bitterness of soul;

......While luxury

In palaces lay straining her low thought,

To form unreal wants, and heaven-born truths

And moderation fair, wore the red marks

Of superstition’s scourge.”

Imagination, as we read the history of the later Stuarts, ever and anon places before us side by side the confessor’s dungeon and the voluptuary’s chamber. The scenes which the Count de Grammont depicts, the characters which he draws, and the intrigues which he unravels; the entire want of moral principle, the absence of common shame, the bare-aced profligacy, the devices to excite and gratify the lowest passions, which he, who had lived at Court and shared in its pleasures, so graphically and yet so complacently portrays, make us blush for our race. The reaction from the simple manners and severe virtues of the Commonwealth was tremendous. Courage, or rather an irritable sense of honour, leading the gallant to wreak revenge upon any who offended him, came to be the chief virtue of Cavalier Courtiers. Vices and crimes were treated as petty foibles: beauty, liveliness, and wit alone were counted meritorious; and “the manners of Chesterfield united with the morals of Rochefoucault.” The Count’s book is indeed a reflection of the age—elegant in style, but licentious in character—a veil of embroidered gauze cast over a putrescent corpse.

1685.

In the midst of this depravity death suddenly appeared. Art has portrayed two scenes at Whitehall which point a moral never to be forgotten. The one represents the Sunday night when Evelyn saw inexpressible profaneness, gambling, and dissoluteness—the King sitting and toying with his concubines, the French boy singing love songs, and the Courtiers playing basset with a bank of 2,000 guineas piled up on the table. The other exhibits what was witnessed a few days afterwards in the anterooms of the chamber where the Royal Sybarite awaited the summons of the Almighty; noblemen and ladies, with heartless etiquette, performing their Court attendance; prelates at a distance, hoping for an opportunity to administer to him the last offices of that Church, which had called the dying man its Defender, whilst, as he is in the act of renouncing communion with it, a delicate hand is seen extended from behind a timorously opened door, to receive a glass of water to assist in swallowing the wafer, laid upon the Royal tongue by a disguised priest. These pictures[132] illustrate the mutability of earthly grandeur, and the righteous retribution of God upon a life spent in sin. Charles II. died on the 6th of February, 1685,—within three weeks of William Jenkyn.

DEATH OF CHARLES.

Very confused and contradictory accounts are given of the circumstances connected with this event; but there is enough of what is perfectly credible, to show that Charles died in a state of reconciliation with the Church of Rome. The Duke of York, his brother, who watched him to the last moment, states that two Protestant Bishops read by his bedside the service of the Visitation of the Sick, and that one of them, Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, after receiving from the sick man a faint acknowledgment of sorrow for his sins, pronounced absolution, and offered him the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, which was declined. But the Duke makes no mention of the pathetic strain in which that prelate addressed the King, or of the faithful exhortation addressed by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The Duke further relates that he arranged for the clandestine introduction to the chamber, of a Benedictine Monk, who had aided Charles’ escape after the battle of Worcester; that when the room had been cleared of all, except the Earl of Bath and Lord Feversham, the priest, brought up into a private closet by a back pair of stairs, was taken to the bedside; and that, after confession, he administered the last rites of the Popish Communion—that the expiring man uttered pious ejaculations, lifting up his hands and crying, “Mercy, sweet Jesus, mercy,” till the priest gave him extreme unction—that as the host was presented, he raised himself up, and said “Let me meet my Heavenly Lord in a better posture than lying on my bed.” But the Duke says not a word of Charles’ blessing his natural children, and the rest of the persons present; nor of any one begging the Royal benediction, calling the King the father of them all.

1685.

Yet these circumstances are related by others, as well as the utterance of the words, “Do not let poor Nelly starve;” and Charles’ reply to the Queen’s message asking forgiveness. “She ask my pardon, poor woman?—I ask hers with all my heart.” James, in his Memoirs, is evidently intent upon one thing, to show that Charles died a sincere Papist, which we can well believe from what we know of his previous history.[133]

CHAPTER VII.

1685.

James II. met his Privy Councillors within an hour after his brother’s death, on the 6th of February; and, upon taking his seat at the head of the Council-table, he delivered an extempore speech, which was afterwards written down from memory by Finch, the Solicitor-General. According to his report, the King declared “I shall make it my endeavour to preserve this Government both in Church and State, as it is now by law established. I know the principles of the Church of England are for monarchy, and the members of it have showed themselves good and loyal subjects; therefore I shall always take care to defend and support it.”[134] In explanation of this promise, coupled with so dubious a compliment to the English Church, James afterwards, in his own Memoirs, states that Finch worded “the speech as strong as he could,” and, in the hurry, it was allowed to pass “without reflection;” that he might have more clearly expressed himself had he used the words “he never would endeavour to alter the established religion,” instead of the words “he would endeavour to preserve it;” and that he said he would support and defend the professors of it, not the religion itself. He further remarks, that no one could expect he would “make a conscience of supporting what, in his conscience, he thought erroneous;”—that all he meant, or could be expected, or was understood to say, was, simply that he would not molest the members of the Protestant Church.[135] Read in the light of such sophistry, the speech,—certainly at the time taken to mean one thing, though the concealed intention of the King was to do quite another,—shows that James must have possessed even a larger share than his elder brother, of the inherent duplicity of the Stuart race. Yet, unlike his brother, he evinced unmistakeable frankness in the profession of religion; for on leaving the Council he immediately proceeded with the Queen to the little Roman Catholic Chapel in St. James’, leaving the door open during Divine service, that any one might see him at worship there.[136] On Holy Thursday, accompanied by his guards and gentlemen pensioners, he received the sacrament; and on Easter Sunday he publicly appeared at mass—the Knights of the Garter, in their collars, attending him, both as he went, and as he returned. The Duke of Norfolk, who carried the Sword of State, however, stopped at the chapel door, upon which His Majesty immediately observed to him, “My Lord, your father would have gone further.” His Grace promptly replied, “Your Majesty’s father would not have gone so far.” James not only commanded an account to be published of Charles’ conforming in his last moments to the Church of Rome, but he himself published two papers professedly written by his brother, in favour of its doctrines. These he showed to Sancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury, who said, “That he did not think the late King had been so learned in controversy, but that the arguments in the papers were easy to refute.” James desired him to confute them if he could. Sancroft satisfied himself with politely answering, “It ill became him to enter into a controversy with his Sovereign.”[137]

JAMES II.

Plenty of gossip was circulated by lip and pen respecting the conduct of His Majesty and his sympathizing friends at this important juncture;—of which gossip a specimen is furnished in a letter, dated February 24, 1685, which, after being taken out of the post-bag, instead of reaching the person addressed, found its destination among the Secretary of State’s papers—to be transferred in the nineteenth century to the Record Office:—

“It can be no news to acquaint you of His Majesty declaring himself a Papist and going daily to public mass. Neither can I choose but commend the prudence and honesty of several great and worthy lords, who have already assured His Majesty, that they have been a long time past Papists in their hearts, and prayed His Majesty’s leave to declare themselves Papists, that they might be in a capacity to serve His Majesty at the holy altar. But His Majesty, it seems, very prudently commanded them to contain themselves till after the sitting of Parliament, and commended their holy zeal, and gave them many thanks, with great assurances of his favour, &c. We are also very well assured, from very good hands, that they are already under great apprehensions, in that God Almighty appears so early against them; since one of the first magnitude, Beauford [the Duke of Beaufort], has very lately, with great consternation of soul, declared themselves all undone by His Majesty’s too forward, and ungovernable zeal, in so soon and so openly declaring himself: for, said he, had His Majesty been pleased but to have dissembled himself till a Parliament had been called, we had been sure to have got through, whereas now I tremble to think of the dreadful blow an heretical Parliament may give us.”

1685.

In accordance with his unequivocal profession of Romanism, James complained to the Protestant Bishops of the declamations against Popery in the pulpits of the Church; and at his coronation, on the 23rd of April,[138] he declined to receive the sacrament, or to take any part in the responses, although his Catholic Queen did so devoutly. The King’s Romanism being demonstrated from the beginning of his reign, there appears exquisite naïveté or satirical shrewdness, in the address presented by the Quakers to him on his accession: “We are told that thou are not of the persuasion of the Church of England, no more than we; therefore we hope thou wilt grant us the same liberty which thou allowest thyself; which doing, we wish thee all manner of happiness.”

JAMES II.

The Ministry of the late King were not dismissed by his successor, but alterations were made in the allotment of offices. Rochester was appointed Lord Treasurer and Prime Minister. Halifax had to give up the Privy Seal, and become President of the Council. Ormond was removed from Dublin, where he had been Viceroy, to Whitehall, where he was to act as Lord Steward; and Godolphin exchanged his post at the Treasury for Chamberlainship to the Queen. Sunderland continued Secretary of State; and Guilford retained the Great Seal; but Jeffreys—Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, and now made a Peer of Parliament,—with a seat in the Cabinet, superseded, in political power, the Lord Keeper. The men who chiefly influenced the councils of the Sovereign, were Rochester, Sunderland, and Godolphin, and, in some respects, the infamous Jeffreys.

The Tories welcomed the accession of James with immense enthusiasm; they presented addresses of extravagant loyalty, and in the elections for the new Parliament, exerted themselves with a zeal which provoked the remark of one of their own party. Elections “were thought to be very indirectly carried on in most places. God grant a better issue of it than some expect.” “The truth is, there were many of the new members whose elections and returns were universally censured.”[139] When Parliament assembled, the King repeated, exactly, his reported declaration respecting the Established Church; thus confirming the false impression which his words were sure to produce, and this, too, notwithstanding the acknowledgment which he records respecting it in his Memoirs. “The Lords and Commons,” says the Bishop of Norwich, “hummed joyfully, and loudly, at those parts of the speech which concerned our religion, and the established Government.”[140] The House of Commons, resolving itself into a Grand Committee of Religion, determined to “stand by His Majesty” in the defence of the Reformed faith, and to beg him to “publish a proclamation, putting the laws in execution against all Dissenters whatsoever from the Church of England.”[141]

1685.

Perhaps the object of these resolutions was to embarrass the Government, to disturb the alliance between the King and the High Church party, and to decoy the Tories into an act, by which they would commit themselves, and run the risk of breaking with the Court. Certainly the resolutions tended to lay open to persecution, directly and distinctly, not only Protestant Nonconformists,—whom the Government and the Court, as well as the High Church party, were anxious to repress,—but also Roman Catholics, whom the High Church party wished to crush, the Court stood prepared to favour, and the Government were ready to tolerate, for the sake of pleasing their Royal Master. It has been suggested, that a reluctance in the majority of the House to trouble Protestant Dissenters just then, produced a reaction respecting the resolutions, but there is no foundation for this idea; whereas, it is perfectly plain, that the King and the Queen were exceedingly annoyed by the proceedings in the Commons’ House, and ordered the Court members to oppose them.[142] To crush Protestant Nonconformists was a thing which, taken by itself, James would have been very glad to do, but to persecute the members of his own Church, was a thing from which he very naturally recoiled. Obsequiousness to the Crown, in this case, triumphed over zeal against Popery; and the House underwent the mortification of eating its own words, and revoking the resolutions which had been passed in Committee, by declaring it would rest satisfied with His Majesty’s repeated declaration, to support the religion of the Church of England, as by law established.[143]

BAXTER’S TRIAL.

The disposition of the Government towards Protestant Dissenters appears in the trial of Richard Baxter. Three weeks after the King’s accession, this distinguished minister was committed to the King’s Bench, for a Paraphrase on the New Testament, which he published. On the 18th of May, being then unwell, he moved for an allowance of further time, in order to prepare his defence; but in reply to this very reasonable application, Jeffreys, the Chief Justice, who by his behaviour on the Bench whilst trying the venerable prisoner, has secured for himself everlasting infamy, savagely growled out, “I will not give him a minute’s time more, to save his life.” “Yonder stands Oates in the pillory, and he says he suffers for the truth, and so says Baxter; but if Baxter did but stand on the other side of the pillory with him, I would say, two of the greatest rogues and rascals in the kingdom stood there.”[144] Twelve days afterwards, Baxter appeared at the bar in Guildhall, with his friends Sir Henry Ashurst, Dr. Bates, Dr. Sharp, and Dr. Moore[145] attending by his side; when Jeffreys indulged in that coarse, vulgar, and well-known rhetoric, a single specimen of which is sufficient for our purpose. “What ailed the old blockhead, the unthankful villain, that he would not conform? Was he wiser or better than other men? He hath been ever since, the spring of the faction. I am sure he hath poisoned the world with his linsey-woolsey doctrine. Hang him! this one old fellow hath cast more reproach upon the constitution and discipline of our Church, than will be wiped off this hundred years; but I’ll handle him for it; for, by God, he deserves to be whipped through the City.”

1685.

An eye-witness states, that during this abuse, he himself could but smile sometimes,—notwithstanding his own tears, and those of others,—when he saw the Judge imitate “our modern pulpit drollery,” and drive “on furiously, like Hannibal over the Alps, with fire and vinegar, pouring all the contempt and scorn upon Baxter, as if he had been a link-boy or knave.”[146] After the Judge had secured a verdict from the Jury, the prisoner wrote a letter to the Bishop of London, to intercede in his behalf. Whether the latter complied with this request, we do not know; but there is reason to believe that Jeffreys wished to see the Puritan whipped at the cart-tail, and that the prevention of the punishment is to be attributed to the interference of his brother Justices, who might well think it mad and brutal to treat after such a fashion a man of the highest reputation, and one who had declined a mitre. But the aged Divine did not escape being fined five hundred marks, and condemned to imprisonment until he paid the sum. As he declined to do it, he remained in the King’s Bench until the 24th of November, 1686, when he obtained release by warrant, upon giving sureties for his good behaviour.

REBELLION.

Scarcely had James ascended the throne, when one rebellion broke out in Scotland, followed by the trial and execution of the Earl of Argyle; and another broke out in the West of England, followed by the trial and execution of the Duke of Monmouth. The latter aspiring to the Crown, issued an absurd manifesto, took the title of King, and entered in Royal state the Town of Bridgewater. This conduct could not be endured, and, consequently, an Army marched against the Pretender, and defeated him at Sedgemoor.

Mew, the warlike prelate of Winchester, who had fought both for Charles I. and Charles II., employed his coach-horses in dragging the King’s artillery to the field. Fell, Bishop of Oxford, assisted in organizing a body of volunteers for the King’s service; whilst, at the same time, Ken, whose loyalty is beyond suspicion, affected by the sight of mutilated bodies left to rot by the roadside, remonstrated against the cruelty of the officers; and, with an exemplary benevolence, visited and relieved, at Wells and other places, those who had been taken prisoners. The Church of England had made loud protestations of loyalty to King James; but the Protestant Nonconformists, whose constitutional loyalty in general cannot be impeached, were compromised, in the estimation of some, by the part which a few of them took in Monmouth’s rebellion. This unfavourable opinion received encouragement from sympathy with Dissenters, expressed for selfish purposes, by the unfortunate Duke himself, whose career could bring nothing but discredit on his friends; probably, these circumstances sharpened the severity of the persecution which marked the earlier part of James’ reign.

1685.

Two Nonconformists suffered death from an innocent connection with some incidents in the rebellion.

Mrs. (sometimes called Lady) Alicia Lisle stood at the bar in the City of Winchester, before Judge Jeffreys, charged with having concealed, after the battle of Sedgemoor, a Presbyterian minister named Hicks, and another man named Nelson. With Nelson there is reason to believe she had no acquaintance; but, respecting Hicks, she confessed that as there were warrants out, to apprehend all Nonconformist clergymen, she certainly wished to save him from apprehension. It was an office of Christian kindness, which this good woman fulfilled for one in sorrow, who professed with her a common faith; yet this perfectly innocent, and, as she imagined, laudable deed, being construed into an act of treason, the Jury, though they expressed their dissatisfaction with the evidence, were bullied by the Judge into a verdict of guilty. Jeffreys declared the evidence to be as plain as possible, and that upon it he would have convicted his own mother. The aged matron, weighed down under a load of more than seventy years, suffered from fits, and could hear but imperfectly; yet, throughout her trial, she evinced a singular calmness and serenity, and, save when overcome by drowsiness, exhibited altogether a dignified deportment truly astonishing. Her behaviour on the scaffold comported with her bearing in court; and, in the course of a speech which she delivered to the Sheriff, she freely forgave her enemies, and expressed a desire to possess her soul in patience. Jeffreys had condemned her to be burnt, but the King commuted her sentence, and this unfortunate lady perished at the block.

ELIZABETH GAUNT.

1685.

The other sufferer was Elizabeth Gaunt, a person in humble circumstances, and a member of a Baptist Church. The charge against her resembled that brought against Mrs. Lisle—namely, the harbouring of a person supposed to have been concerned in the Rye House conspiracy. This man had professed himself to be a Nonconformist,—certainly he proved himself a worthless villain, by becoming King’s evidence against the woman who, to save his life, had jeopardized her own. It did not appear that she knew that he had any share in the plot, or that his name had been mentioned in any proclamation; want of evidence, however, little affected the issue of a trial in those days, and this poor person, without being permitted to call witnesses in her defence, received a verdict of guilty, and the sentence of death. The miserable favour which had been shown to the sufferer of higher rank reached not so humble an individual; she had to die at the stake. Gathering round her the materials of torture, that she might the sooner expire, she remarked, that charity as well as faith was a part of her religion; that her crime, at worst, was the feeding an enemy; so she hoped she should find her reward in Him, for whose sake she did this service, how unworthy soever the person might be who had made such an ill return for it. She rejoiced that God had honoured her to be the first who suffered by fire in this reign, and that her suffering would prove a martyrdom for that religion which was all love.[147] “Thus,” to use the words of Sir James Mackintosh, “was this poor and uninstructed woman supported under a death of cruel torture, by the lofty consciousness of suffering for righteousness, and by that steadfast faith in the final triumph of justice, which can never visit the last moments of the oppressor.”[148] There have been many martyrs for faith, but these women were martyrs for charity, and their meek heroism in the hour of death seems worthy of the cause for which they suffered. Such examples illustrate that power of endurance, with which the Almighty has inspired the heart of woman. Strong in the midst of apparent feebleness, she bears up under trials sufficient to crush minds of the hardest texture; thus resembling those delicate flowers which grow in Alpine regions—

“Leaning their cheeks against the thick-ribbed ice,

And looking up with brilliant eyes to Him

Who bids them bloom, unblanched, amid the waste

Of desolation.”

PERSECUTION RENEWED.

The persecution of Dissenters, commenced before the breaking out of Monmouth’s rebellion, continued to rage, with additional vehemence, after the rebellion had been extinguished. The trade of the informer revived. The spiritual courts overflowed with causes. Ministers were seized, their houses searched, their rooms and closets broken open, and ransacked. The shopkeeper was taken from his business, the farmer from his homestead, husbands were separated from their wives, and parents from their children. The rich were mulcted in heavy fines, or bribes were wrung from them by informers—a present of wine or a few gold pieces being often sacrificed to these harpies, for the sake of escaping imprisonment. The loss of liberty is always an object of terror, but in those days it appeared with horrible aggravations—for dungeons were covered with filth of the most loathsome description; gaolers and turnkeys exercised despotic power, and extorted exorbitant fees; prisoners of all kinds were crowded together to suffocation; fever and pestilence were engendered and nourished; and numbers perished before their trial. It may seem incredible, but it is nevertheless a fact, that Ellwood the Quaker, and the friend of Milton, when immured in Newgate for his religion, saw the quarters of those who had been executed for treason placed close to the prisoners’ cells, and their heads tossed about like foot-balls.[149] The fear of punishment under such circumstances induced Nonconformists, in their worship, to return to those methods of secrecy and concealment which have been already described. Some proved faithless to their profession, and sought refuge from intolerant cruelty, in the bosom of the Establishment: on the other hand, there were not wanting Episcopalians, who seeing humanity outraged, professedly in support of the Church to which they belonged, left it in disgust, and cast in their lot with the sufferers for conscience’ sake.

1685.

PERSECUTION RENEWED.

The storm continued for two years; and as it terminated the series under the Stuarts, it seems to have been the worst—in this respect resembling the persecution under the Emperor Diocletian. The Quakers stated, in their petition to King James, that there had been of late above one thousand five hundred Friends in prison, of whom one thousand three hundred and eighty-three remained unreleased. Three hundred and fifty had died in gaol, since the year 1660; nearly one hundred of them since the year 1680. William Penn reckoned that altogether, more than five thousand perished for the sake of religion;[150] and Jeremy White is said to have collected a list of sixty thousand, who had suffered in some way or other for conscientious opinions. Making a large abatement from such rumours, there must have been an enormous extent of imprisonment, exile, extortion, oppression, and misery inflicted during those two reigns to account for such a rumour having been listened to for a moment.[151] Sulpicius Severus, speaking of the persecution under Diocletian, remarked, that Christians never achieved a more glorious victory than when they could not be subdued by years of slaughter. And, in the same spirit, Neal observes, that Nonconformists did not decrease, amidst all the engines of intolerance which were worked against them; their continuance and increase being attributed to their firmness of character, their practical and awakening ministry, their severe morality, their domestic religion, their able and learned ministers, the disgust excited by the conduct of their adversaries, and the reaction produced by carrying Tory principles to an unbearable extreme. In statements of this kind an author’s eye is wont to rest mainly on fines, imprisonments, and violent assaults. But there were other persecutions which Nonconformists had to endure. Much is made, by our High Church brethren, of the persecution which lingers amidst legal toleration. They point to attacks in the newspapers, to slander privately circulated, to innuendo and defamation, to irritation and annoyance in subtle forms; but no social persecution complained of in the present day, can be compared with what Nonconformists, in addition to fines, imprisonments, and brutal treatment, had to endure, when such a Christian gentleman and scholar as John Howe scarcely dared to walk the streets. In the library of Canterbury Cathedral is a large volume of MS. plays, recitations, and performances, in the reign of Charles II., wherein Roman Catholics and Nonconformists of all kinds are lampooned and abused with a vast deal more of coarseness than wit. Such things impressively indicate what the state of social feelings must have been at the time towards all who were not included within the pale of the Establishment.

CHAPTER VIII.

COURT INTRIGUES.

Important changes occurred in the Cabinet towards the close of 1685. Halifax, President of the Council—but no favourite with the King on account of his opposition to Roman Catholicism, the repeal of the Test Act, and the Royal foreign policy—was dismissed in the month of October. In December he was succeeded by Sunderland, who, from having conformed to Roman Catholic ceremonies at the commencement of the reign, and from having encouraged his Master in anti-Protestant proceedings, had succeeded in securing and retaining his good opinion. There existed a violent Popish party at Court, consisting of the Earl of Castelmaine, husband to one of Charles’ mistresses,[152] of Henry Jermyn, created Lord Dover by James II., of the Earl of Tyrconnel, and of another Irishman, named White. These persons promoted measures as rash as they were violent, and in so doing acted in concert with a few Jesuits who dwelt in England, at the head of whom was Father Petre. The Order at that time had come into collision with the Pontiff, Innocent XI. They were now in a state of alliance with the French King, who resisted Ultramontane pretensions, rather than in a state of obedience to the occupant of St. Peter’s Chair. Then, as it has happened at other times, parties in a Church which boasts of unity, were engaged in carrying on the most opposite intrigues: the Jesuits counselling the English King to set the liberties and wishes of his subjects at defiance, and to play the despot out-and-out; while the Roman Court advised him to preserve caution, and to keep within the lines of the British Constitution. Sunderland united with the Jesuits, and the other extreme Roman Catholic politicians, in encouraging the Monarch to follow those ways which ultimately led to his downfall. The Minister, to strengthen his own position, embraced the King’s religion. He had before conformed to Catholic rites, but now he professed himself a decided convert, giving to James the credit of having effected the change. After the elevation of Sunderland came the dismissal of Rochester, who had long been a Trimmer, as well as an adviser of moderation. To recover the good opinion of the King and Queen he professed to be open to conviction, courted Popish advocates, and listened to controversies between Divines of the opposite Church—but, at last, this cunning intriguer thought it the safest plan not to go over to Rome.[153]

1686.

James, encouraged in his extreme folly, rushed headlong to utter ruin. It was not because he had become a Roman Catholic, it was not simply because he sought to promote the interests of the Church which he had espoused; it was because, in seeking to accomplish that end, he violated the Constitution of his country. His despotism, not his religion, was the immediate cause of his losing a throne. He violated the law—that most sacred palladium in the eyes of an Englishman.

Having commenced the practice of granting dispensations to certain individuals before the reign of persecution came to an end, he was sometimes found pursuing a course which placed him and some chiefs of the Church in apparently contradictory positions, whilst, notwithstanding, they were, for awhile, promoting the same end.

“You may see,” says a contemporary Diarist, “somewhat remarkable in this last week’s account—the Hierarchy so severely prosecuting the Dissenters, and the Crown’s granting dispensations to them under seal. Cross winds sometimes raise waves that break the force of one another, and the ship is thereby preserved—sometimes they presage a tempest that destroys it, when those winds centre in a dangerous quarter. The Hierarchists have not appeared in the prosecution of one Papist this Assizes, nor Sessions, upon the strictest inquiries that can be made; but they say the only way to prevent Popery is to prosecute the penal laws against the Protestant Dissenters, and, which is somewhat mysterious, the best way to prevent Popery is not to prosecute Papists.”[154]

Calamy refers to the Royal exercise of a dispensing power, and to the sending out of injunctions by the Bishops for the presentment of all such as did not receive the Lord’s Supper at Easter.[155]

JAMES’ POLICY.

In the Journal just quoted, an entry occurs a little earlier, showing the indignity with which the Monarch treated some of his suppliants, and the fruitlessness, occasionally, of their humble applications. The Anabaptists presented an address for “His Majesty’s gracious pardon,” when “they were kept long on their knees, while His Majesty showed the petition to several about him, at which they were very merry;” and the Quakers, who had petitioned for liberty, received “only a verbal order for impunity,” and were, nevertheless, still “disturbed and punished.”[156]

Such were the floating stories of treatment experienced by the persecuted sects; and, if I may be permitted further to use the MS. from which our knowledge of these impressions is derived, I will extract the following passage which vividly reflects the perplexity some Dissenters felt at this time, in consequence of endeavours made to obtain their consent to measures of toleration, including Papists as well as themselves.

“The great inquiry now is, whether persons will not only use, but thankfully accept of and vigorously endeavour after universal liberty, by taking off the penal laws, and incapacitating laws against Papists; if the Dissenters do not comply, they will incur the displeasure of the Court, and the Court will destroy them. And, on the other hand, the Church also, if these laws continue in being, or at least the Church and the Court, will unite, and thereby utterly destroy them. And if they do comply, they will first verify the imputation, the Church lays upon them, as if they favoured Popery; and say, ‘they themselves are the only pillars of the Protestant religion, you see the Dissenters betray and give it up.’ Secondly, they may probably be dragooned by the Court, when they have helped to take the laws off from the Papists, and thereby weaken the Protestant interest. Thirdly, and lastly, in time to come, the Church may call them to an account, and be severe upon them for their compliance.”[157]

James’ policy of granting indulgence reached its culminating point in the famous Declaration, published on the 4th of April, 1687.

1687.

The document presented signs of righteous toleration, and viewed superficially it exhibits a favourable contrast with the policy then pursued in France. France and England seemed bent upon adopting contrary lines of policy. When Elizabeth had supported ecclesiastical despotism, Henry IV., by the Edict of Nantes, had proclaimed himself a friend of religious liberty: now, as Louis XIV. drove from the French shores his Protestant subjects, by striving to dragoon them out of their religion, James II. talked to the English people graciously touching freedom of conscience.

But what was the real design of it all? Fully to answer this question we must carefully look at the line of policy which he previously pursued towards Popery, towards the Church of England, and towards Protestant Dissent. And here it should be premised, that the crushing of Monmouth’s rebellion in England, and of Argyle’s rebellion in Scotland, had swept away for a time all opposition to James’ title and authority,—had consolidated his power, and had encouraged him to attempt the experiment of ruling the nation as an absolute monarch: and let it also be remembered, that his despotic designs were intimately connected with his ecclesiastical polity.

His object with regard to Popery seems to have been, by a succession of bold attempts, to give it not only toleration, but an establishment in this country,—at least, an establishment upon terms of equality with the Protestant Church.[158]

JAMES’ POLICY.

The Judges, in the case of Sir Edward Hales, having decided in favour of the King’s dispensing power; and having also given it as their opinion, that the laws of England were the King’s laws, that it was an inseparable branch of his prerogative to dispense with penal statutes, and that of the reasons for doing so in particular cases he was sole Judge;—James immediately proceeded by Letters Patent, dated May the 3rd, 1686, to authorize Edward Sclater to retain his benefice, after he had, on the previous Palm Sunday, confessed his conversion to Romanism by attending Mass. He also allowed Obadiah Walker, a clergyman who had long secretly leaned to Popery, and now openly avowed his conversion, to retain his position and emoluments as Master of University College, Cambridge. By a still bolder stroke, the King dashed down the barriers which guarded admission to the Establishment, and conferred the Deanery of Christ Church upon John Massey,—a Roman Catholic priest, possessing neither learning nor ability,—who instantly decked an altar in the usual way for the celebration of Mass.

The two sees of Chester and Oxford fell vacant in 1686. James appointed to the one Thomas Cartwright, Dean of Ripon, a worthless sycophant, who might be expected to do anything to please his master; and to the other, Samuel Parker, already well known to the reader for his violent Tory and High Church publications.[159] “I wished,” says the King to the Papal Nuncio, Adda, “to appoint an avowed Catholic, but the time is not come. Parker is well inclined to us, he is one of us in feeling, and, by degrees, he will bring round his clergy.”[160]

1686.

Whilst James secured for his purpose tools of this description he did whatever he could to silence the voice of controversy against the Church of his affections. He caused the Lord Treasurer to reprove Sherlock, and to stop his pension for preaching against Popery;[161] and he wrote to Compton, the Bishop of London, commanding him to suspend the Rector of St. Giles, Dr. Sharp, who had engaged in a pulpit contest with a Roman Catholic priest. This last interference involved consequences more mischievous than itself. It had long been in the mind of the Sovereign to revive the Court of High Commission, as an efficient agent for the control of the clergy. To any one else, the Act of Charles II., confirming the abolition of that Court by the Long Parliament, would have been an insurmountable barrier, yet despising such reasons as would have guided other men, James gradually brought himself to the determination of re-establishing that odious tribunal. The lawyers told him that what he proposed would be found to be unconstitutional. His Ministers shrunk from committing themselves to so perilous an act, but Sharp’s affair fixed his decision. Compton, son of the Royalist Earl of Northampton, himself once an officer of the Guards, had with something of a soldier’s gallantry and dash, opposed the Government, from his seat in the House of Lords; and when receiving the King’s command for the suspension of Sharp, he had declined to take that step without a trial of the denounced clergyman, and had also, by mere private influence, arranged for his submitting to a period of silence. This conduct on the part of the prelate provoked the King to end his hesitation, and to revive the very Court, which had been a chief cause of his father’s ruin. The New Commission conferred an indefinite spiritual jurisdiction, in this case the more dangerous from its being indefinite.[162]

JAMES’ POLICY.

1686.

It was to cover England and Wales; it was to be for the reform of all abuses, contrary to the ecclesiastical laws of the realm. It gave authority to summon before it such ecclesiastical persons of every degree as should offend in any of the particulars mentioned, and punish them accordingly, by depriving them of their preferment, and by inflicting ecclesiastical censures and penalties. It brought within its scope suspected persons to be proceeded against, “as the nature and quality of the offence, or suspicion in that behalf” should require. It prescribed summary excommunication and deprivation for all persons, who should be obstinate or disobedient; and it brought within the control of the Commissioners, the Universities, Cathedrals, Collegiate Churches, Colleges, and all ecclesiastical Corporations whatever, with the power of obtaining and examining all kinds of documents touching those foundations. This formidable instrument was addressed to seven Commissioners, four laymen, and three Bishops. Jeffreys, now Lord Chancellor, was President, and with him were associated the Lord Treasurer, the Lord President, and the Chief Justice of the King’s Bench. The three Bishops named were Sancroft, of Canterbury; Crew, of Durham; and Sprat, of Rochester. The Primate at once saw the illegality of the measure, yet had not firmness enough to do more than excuse himself, on the ground of ill-health, from attending the Board. This engine, contrived for the widest action, was precipitately brought into play, to meet the particular emergency of Compton’s case. The Commissioners summoned him before them upon the charge, that he had not suspended the obnoxious Rector according to Royal command. First, Compton objected to the tribunal itself as illegal, an objection which the Commissioners instantly overruled. Instead of persevering in that objection, and thus commencing at once a constitutional struggle, which was both imminent and necessary, the Bishop quietly gave way, and proceeded to plead that he had, in fact, complied with His Majesty’s injunctions. To have suspended Sharp formally, he contended would have been illegal; to prevent Sharp from preaching, he represented as the only thing possible under the circumstances. This line of defence reflects no honour upon the defendant, it simply sheltered him from personal injury, without raising any question of principle. It virtually surrendered the liberties of the Church, and appears altogether unworthy of the occasion. Nor did it avail for the protection of the accused. The Commissioners pronounced him guilty, and for his “disobedience and contempt” suspended him from his Episcopal office, permitting him, however, to retain his revenues and his residence. The Bishop of Peterborough, with the Bishops of Durham and Rochester, were directed to execute the sentence.

As at St. James’, so at Whitehall, the King provided a Roman Catholic Chapel.[163] He encouraged the fitting up of a similar place of worship at the residence of an Englishman in London, who acted as Envoy for the Elector Palatine. The Benedictines established themselves at St. James’, the Franciscans in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the Jesuits at the Savoy, and the Carmelites in the City; and Roman Catholics are accused of having seized some of the parish churches in Lancashire.[164]

JAMES’ POLICY.

The religious orders of Rome, arrayed in their distinguishing costumes, now appeared in the streets of the Metropolis,—a sight which must have shocked the old Puritans—but in such exhibitions the King greatly rejoiced, prematurely exulting “that his capital had the appearance of a Catholic city.”[165]

If the facts adduced be not sufficient to indicate the King’s intentions, any remaining doubts must be dispelled by turning to his private correspondence. The letters of the last two years of his reign serve the same purpose as the letters of Charles I. in the year 1646. They fully reveal his private designs, whatever, on certain occasions, he might publicly declare. They repeatedly refer to the “establishment” of the Catholic religion—which means, in the judgment of one of the calmest of critics, that he “meditated no less than to transfer to his own religion the privileges of an Established Church.”[166] What is now so manifest from this correspondence, Halifax, Nottingham, and Danby, perceived at the time, and though they differed from each other on many points they agreed on this.

1686.

Sunderland thoroughly engaged himself on behalf of the interests of Popery, and communicated, without reserve, the Royal intentions to Barillon, the French representative at the Court of St. James’. “This minister,” wrote Barillon to Louis XIV., “said to me, I do not know if they see things in France as they are here, but I defy those who see them near, not to know, that the King, my master, has nothing so much at heart as to establish the Catholic religion; that he cannot, even according to good sense and right reason, have any other end; that without it he will never be in safety, and always exposed to the indiscreet zeal of those who will heat the people against the Catholic religion as long as it is not fully established.”[167] Another fact at the time is significant. The oath administered to Privy Councillors included the words, “I shall to my utmost defend all jurisdictions, pre-eminencies, and authorities, granted to His Majesty, and annexed to his Crown by Act of Parliament, or otherwise, against all foreign Princes, Persons, Prelates, States, or Potentates.” But this part of the oath, it is stated, was by the Royal order expunged from the Council-book.[168] In addition to all these circumstances, James availed himself of the religious sympathies of the Irish people, to establish a Roman Catholic hierarchy amongst them, assigning to the Primate a revenue of £2,000 a year, and he authorized the clergy to wear in public the habits belonging to their order.[169]

JAMES’ POLICY.

It must be confessed that the King met with much in the preaching of the Protestant clergy to encourage his fondest hopes. A Chaplain to the Bishop of Ely maintained the immaculate holiness of the Virgin, and the necessity for seeking her intercession. Also, a Popish priest, in a sermon at Court, proclaimed himself as an ambassador sent from heaven to admonish the King to extirpate heresy, and to plant in the kingdom the true grace of God.[170]

Encouragement of another kind presented itself. Conversions to Popery became numerous. The Earl of Peterborough and the Earl of Salisbury both embraced the faith patronized by royalty; the first described as a worn-out Courtier, the second as a worn-out sensualist. Sir Ellis Leighton, brother of the good Archbishop of that name, recanted the Protestantism of his youth; and Sir Christopher Milton, a Judge, brother of John Milton, the poet, if he did not do the same thing, at any rate scrupled to communicate with the Church of England, in consequence of Popish leanings. The lady of Sir Thomas Grosvenor, “the Elizabeth Ebury, who brought the Westminster estates into his family,” and the Lady Theophila, wife of Robert Nelson, both joined the Papal communion; and Samuel Pepys, tells us in his Diary, that he did not press his wife to attend the parish church, lest she should “declare herself a Catholic.” Dryden, the poet, a man who perhaps cared little about religion, Wycherley, the licentious dramatist, Haines, an utterly worthless adventurer, and Tindal, who afterwards wrote against Christianity, also seceded from the Church of the Reformation to the Church of the Council of Trent.[171]

1687.

The fact being proved that James intended to re-establish Popery, and received encouragement to do so, little need be said respecting his purpose in reference to the Protestant Episcopal Church. It follows that he must have designed, through placing a rival and ambitious power by its side, to overthrow its supremacy, if not to destroy its existence. Such policy was alike ungrateful and treacherous. It was ungrateful—for if the Presbyterians placed Charles II. upon the throne, the Episcopalians secured the succession to James II.; and amongst the most effective supporters of his arbitrary authority were those Anglicans who had preached passive obedience and non-resistance. And it was treacherous—for repeatedly he had declared, that he would make it his endeavour to defend and support the Church of England.

JAMES’ POLICY.

Perhaps the actual discouragement which the prelates and clergy received at the hands of him who had sworn to support them, and the imminent perils which stared them in the face, roused the rather inanimate Archbishop of Canterbury to attempt some little reform in the Establishment. He, with the concurrence of the Bishops of his province, issued Articles for some better regulations in the mode of admitting candidates to the cure of souls, since many abuses and uncanonical practices had lately crept in.[172] The Articles, however, did not amount to anything remarkable, and what might be their practical effect does not appear. If preventing the introduction of Roman Catholic priests into the Church, or discouraging in it all Romanizing tendencies, came within the designs of the Primate and his brethren, no signs of it can be traced in the Articles themselves; but there were other ways in which Anglican zeal against Popery at that time made itself visible. Forbidden to preach against Popery, the clergy employed their pens. Amongst four hundred and fifty-seven controversial pamphlets which issued from the press—including those written on both sides—may be mentioned Wake’s and Dodwell’s answers to Bossuet; Clagett and Williams’ replies to Gother, author of The Papist Represented and Misrepresented; Stillingfleet’s attack upon Godden’s Dialogues; and Sherlock’s answer to Sabran, the Jesuit. Atterbury, Smalridge, Tenison, and Tillotson, also took part in the controversy. A noble set of writings, Calamy remarks, was now published by Church Divines against the errors of Rome; and he endeavours to explain the causes of that comparative silence which the Dissenters maintained upon a subject in which they were so deeply interested. It is pleaded by him, that they had written largely on the subject before, their own people were not much in danger, if they did not write, they preached upon Popery, they were satisfied to see the work well done by others, and some who wished to publish had little chance of being read, public attention being engrossed by distinguished Churchmen.[173] Some of these excuses carry a measure of force; Nonconformists had not been deficient in exposing the fallacies of Romanism, and the pulpit was now employed when the press was inactive, but other parts of the defence are more ingenious than valid; and it must be confessed, that clear and distinct argumentative attacks upon the common foe of Protestantism from the Dissenting point of view, coupled with the assertion of civil liberty on behalf of all religionists, so far as the doctrine was then understood, would have been more worthy of the Nonconformist cause at that critical juncture.

1687.

The policy of James respecting the Protestant Establishment, thus nobly resisted by some of its members, together with his policy towards Romanism, will help the reader to understand his designs upon Protestant Nonconformity. He could not but be aware of its deadly opposition to his own religion; its evangelical creed, its popular discipline, and its simple worship, must have inspired his deepest dislike; and, whatever professions of charity and forbearance he might offer at times, the same feelings which created his enmity to a Protestant Establishment, must necessarily have created in him also enmity to Protestant Dissent.

His threefold policy thus throws light upon the Declaration of Indulgence published in 1687. That Declaration could not proceed from sound views of religious freedom, or from a generous desire to relieve Protestant sufferers, it must have been designed immediately to help, and ultimately to establish, Roman Catholicism in England. According to the terms of the Declaration, the King wished that all his subjects had been members of the Catholic Church, but such not being the case, he respected the rights of conscience, promising to protect those of his subjects who belonged to the Church of England; he also resolved to suspend the laws for the punishment of Nonconformity, and therefore granted liberty of worship to all who did not encourage political disaffection. The Oaths of Supremacy and Allegiance, and the Tests and Declarations, mentioned in the 25th and 30th of his brother’s reign, were to be no longer enforced; and ample pardon was extended to all Nonconformist recusants, for all acts contrary to the penal laws respecting religion.

DECLARATION OF INDULGENCE.

That James simply wished to promote his own religion, and did not care for what is meant by religious freedom, is clear from the French ambassador’s account of the liberty which the King conceded to the people of Scotland; for the diplomatist, writing to his master, states that the measure, debated for several days, created much difficulty, and that he would by no means allow to Scotch Protestants the extensive right of worship which he granted to Scotch Roman Catholics.[174] The same writer, a little earlier, told the French Sovereign that His Britannic Majesty heard with pleasure a recital of the wonderful progress with which God had blessed the efforts of the former for the conversion of the Huguenots, there being no example of a similar thing happening at any time, or in any country, with so much promptitude.[175] It is absurd to represent a man who thus approved of conversion by violence as a friend to religious liberty. It should also be remembered that there was no little duplicity involved in the conduct of the English Monarch at this time, for just after the above communication had been privately made to the Court at Versailles, he issued letters patent to the Bishops, authorizing a collection on behalf of the exiles.

How was the Declaration received?

1687.