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.

The Catholics expressed their satisfaction with it; and whilst they gladly availed themselves of the professed benefit, they felt pleasure in seeing liberty extended to all sects without exception, by a prince of their own communion.[176] Politicians, who understood and cared for the liberties of their country, however glad they might be to see different forms of religion tolerated, could not help being alarmed by so daring an exercise of the Royal prerogative, which if conceded, would imperil the Constitution, break down the safeguards of law, and place the destinies of the nation for evil, as well as for good, in the hands of a despotic sovereign. Members of the Church of England, in this hour of its need, said kind things of the Nonconformists, whom they had persecuted before, and spoke of legal securities for freedom of worship; yet they viewed with the utmost alarm this exercise of absolute power, and saw in it only a confirmation of their worst fears, that, under a pretence of general liberty, the Monarch sought to destroy the ascendancy of Protestantism. The selfishness, which blended with their fears, and the compunctions which mingled with their alarm, did not diminish the reasonableness of their apprehension.

DECLARATION OF INDULGENCE.

Some Bishops, however, distinguished themselves by a line of conduct different from that pursued by their brethren. Durham, Rochester, Peterborough, Oxford, and Chester, being invited to meet the Lord Chancellor and the Earl of Sunderland, the latter told them how acceptable to His Majesty would be an address of thanks. Three of them at once signed such an address. Rochester hesitated, but complied; Peterborough decidedly refused. Chester reported that the four who signed altered their first paper, which gave thanks for the Declaration as a whole, into a second, which acknowledged only the King’s promise to protect the Church; and it is further reported that when the Bishop of Durham presented the document to the King, His Majesty said, “I expected this sooner from you of the Church of England, and also now, that it would have come much fuller than what it is. Can you find nothing to give thanks for, but that one clause which relates to yourselves? Have you no sense of that kindness others have received thereby? Methinks you might have given thanks, at least, for that ease and relief your Protestant brethren have received by it.”[177]

Those who prepared such cautious addresses found it difficult to obtain signatures, even when requested to sign, by diocesans favourable to the proceeding. The subject seems to have been most carefully canvassed by the superior as well as by the inferior clergy; for I find in the library of the Cambridge University a long paper, containing the reasons of the Bishops for and against subscription to an Oxford address. Amongst the reasons for subscription, as offered by the Chancellor, are these—that it might continue the King’s favour, whereas the omission might irritate the Treasury to call upon the £500 bonds of first-fruits at full worth; and that it would testify unity with and submission to the Bishops who required the address, and who, perhaps, expected it upon the canonical obedience of the clergy, there being nothing in the document præter licitum et honestum. On the other side, amongst other things, it is alleged that it would be superfluous to thank His Majesty for continuing legal rights; and it is remarked, respecting the Declaration, and the aspect of it upon the Established Episcopal Church, “As to the free exercise of our religion, it necessarily holds us among the various sects, under the Toleration, who for that favour in suspending the laws have led the way to such addresses, depending for protection upon no legal statutes, but entirely upon the sovereign pleasure and indulgence which at pleasure is revocable.”[178]

1687.

The manner in which Nonconformists received the measure requires to be more fully explained.

One class, not so fanatical as to refuse the liberty offered, objected notwithstanding, and that strongly, to the dispensing power; and, after much deliberation, they declined to present to the King any acknowledgment. This class included Richard Baxter and John Howe: Baxter refusing to join in offering thanks; Howe, wavering at first, but at last becoming so decided respecting the matter, as to move and carry a resolution against going to Court upon the occasion.

DECLARATION OF INDULGENCE.

Another class remains, including Vincent Alsop and Stephen Lobb; the former being drawn into “some high flights” of loyal flattery in return for a Royal pardon granted to his son; the latter showing himself contemptibly obsequious in his approaches to the King, and receiving in consequence the appellation of the “Jacobite Independent.” Of the favourable addresses then presented, one from the Anabaptists in and about the City of London came first:[179] One from the Presbyterians in the same neighbourhood came next. This, whilst giving thanks for the Indulgence, expressed a hope that the two Houses of Parliament would concur in the measure.[180] The Quakers said the Declaration did the less surprise them, because it was what some of them had known to be the principle of the King long before he came to the throne.[181] In some of these compositions very eulogistic terms appear. The loyal subjects of the Congregational persuasion in Ipswich, and other towns of Suffolk, displayed a curiously rhetorical style. “The shields of the earth,” said they, “belong unto God, He hath made you a covering cherub to us, under whose refreshing shadow we promise ourselves rest.”[182] The Dissenters of Malden in Essex spoke of the great service God designed to accomplish by His Majesty, “the blossoming whereof is now made visible in your celebrated wisdom, in hapning (sic) upon the most melodious harp to charm all evil spirits, that many other princes had no skill to use.”[183] Some Dissenters, in and about the City of London, exceeded their brethren in extravagance. “Your Majesty,” they declared, “hath distinguished and set the bounds of your own dominion from that of heaven itself. You have given to God and man their due, and yet preserved your own right.”[184] Who were the persons engaged in drawing up these adulatory compositions, by what kind of people, and by how many they were signed, we have no method of ascertaining; but it is more than probable, that Court agents employed the most insinuating arts to secure their production. Addresses to the King were for a twelvemonth all the fashion. They were presented by all sorts of people, who vied with each other in most absurd expressions of loyalty. The Company of Cooks were pre-eminent in their laudations, and praised the Indulgence as resembling the Almighty’s manna, which suited every man’s palate; and they declared “that men’s different gustos might as well be forced, as their different apprehensions about religion.”[185] In some cases the compliments of the subject were matched by the complaisance of the Sovereign; and in answer to a Presbyterian address he professed he had no other design than toleration, and “hoped to see the day when the people should have a Magna Charta for liberty of conscience, as well as for the protection of their property.”

1687.

The Yarmouth Congregational Church Book bears witness to the effect produced by the Declaration just afterwards:—“It was ordered by the Church, that the Meeting-house should be made clean, and shutters be made for the upper windows, which was accordingly done by many of our maid-servants.” This curious minute affords an example of busy scenes of religious zeal, such, probably, as occurred in many towns and villages. The humble conventicle was repaired, the interior was cleansed and fitted up for a public assembly, and many a heart beat with joy at signs which promised they should once more “sit under their vine and fig-tree, none daring to make them afraid.”

About the same time Evelyn remarks:—“There was a wonderful concourse of people at the Dissenters’ meeting-house in this parish, and the parish church (Deptford) left exceeding thin. What this will end in, God Almighty only knows; but it looks like confusion, which I pray God avert.”[186]

DECLARATION OF INDULGENCE.

The Dissenters generally, whilst they accepted James’ Indulgence, saw through his designs. Not only did they oppose the King’s claim to dispense with laws, but many of them also, through fear of Popery, resisted the repeal of the Test Act; choosing rather to suffer exclusion from civil offices than open a door for the admission of Papists. Some indeed, who advocated occasional conformity (that is communicating at times with Episcopalians in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper), suffered no personal inconvenience from the Test Act, and therefore advocated its continuance. Among them was Sir John Shorter, the Presbyterian Lord Mayor of London, in the year 1687; he preferred occasional attendance at Church during his mayoralty, to an acceptance of the suspected benefits offered by the Indulgence. Considering such cases, one cannot help seeing, that if such persons confined conformity to their year of office, they laid themselves open to the charge of sacrificing their principles for personal ends.

1687.

The King, at this period, regarded the famous Quaker, William Penn, as his particular friend and supporter. The Admiral, his father, had been a favourite with James when Duke of York; that favour he transferred after the Admiral’s death, to the pious son. The Royal regard—added to the Quaker’s wealth and rank, his personal character, social qualities, and active habits—made him one of the most important and influential men of his day, and the early gathering of suitors at the door of his mansion at Kensington, resembled the resort of clients to some popular Roman patrician. Penn has been charged with involving himself in dishonourable transactions with the maids of honour for the purchase of a Royal pardon for girls at Taunton, who presented a banner to Monmouth; and also with attempting to bribe the Fellows of Magdalen College, Oxford, to submit to the King in certain illegal proceedings which we shall hereafter describe. But it appears in a very high degree probable, that the Penn, who acted as a pardon-broker for the Taunton young ladies was not Penn the Quaker: and the charge against the latter, in reference to the business at Magdalen College, is not established, even after the cleverest special pleading employed for the purpose.[187] But Penn certainly did all he could to support James in his policy of Indulgence, and to persuade Nonconformists to accept its benefits. As an Englishman this excellent person could not have had a clear understanding of the constitutional question involved in the measure; as a Nonconformist he showed a want of wisdom in countenancing the dispensing power; and he is to be reckoned as one of that class whose humanity, whose benevolence, and whose desire to secure present liberty under critical circumstances, are wont to interfere with their perception of fundamental principles and of ultimate results. Nor can any one, even with the greatest admiration of his eminent virtues, and of his conscientious adherence to his religion in the midst of persecution, regard him as free from infirmities. It may be fairly suspected that, with his courteous manners, he blended, in spite of his Quaker usages, a measure of obsequiousness to Royalty, that gratified by Royal attention, this Courtier Friend felt disposed to go further than other conscientious men could do in promoting Royal designs, and that a little spice of personal vanity was sprinkled over the better qualities of this very estimable person.

WILLIAM KIFFIN.

1687.

Upon a different character from Penn, James wasted his acts in vain. William Kiffin has been mentioned already as the victim of a scandalous forgery. This and other attempts upon his safety he overcame. Indeed, he was charged with designs upon the life of Charles II., a charge too absurd to be prosecuted, yet it exposed him to some degree of temporary inconvenience. Although not himself accused of complicity in the Rye House Plot, or in the Monmouth Rebellion, his family suffered from both—a son-in-law being tried for his connection with the first, and two grandsons, handsome youths, pious, and of great promise, being executed for their share in the second. Kiffin still continued a preacher of the Gospel in the Baptist denomination, as well as a prosperous merchant in the City of London, and it is curious to notice how this twofold character is indicated in his portrait: a Puritan skull-cap covers his head, whilst long curly locks flow from under it, and a richly embroidered lace collar covers his breast, with a loose cloak gracefully wrapped round his shoulders. His wealth and position in the City, together with his influence amongst Nonconformists, rendered him a person worthy of being conciliated. Upon his coming to Court, in obedience to the Royal command, the King told him that his name had been put down as an alderman in the new Charter. “Sire,” he replied, “I am a very old man, and have withdrawn myself from all kind of business for some years past, and am incapable of doing any service in such an affair, to your Majesty or the City—besides, Sire,” he continued, the tears running down his cheeks, “the death of my grandsons gave a wound to my heart, which is still bleeding, and never will close, but in the grave.” “Mr. Kiffin,” returned James, “I shall find a balsam for that sore.” The marble-hearted[188] monarch had no conception of such deep sorrow as filled Kiffin’s breast; and Kiffin showed himself proof against all attempts upon his political and ecclesiastical integrity. He felt obliged nominally to accept the aldermanship; but, after holding it for a few months, without meddling much in civic affairs, he obtained a discharge from his troublesome office.[189]

CHAPTER IX.

1687.

The audacious zeal of James in the support of Popery reached its climax in the summer of 1687. Monsignor Ferdinando D’Adda, described by a Jesuit as a mere boy, a fine showy fop, to make love to the ladies,[190] after having for some time privately acted as Papal Nuncio, had, in the spring of this year, been publicly consecrated at Whitehall, titular Archbishop of Amasia. He had immediately afterwards been received in his archiepiscopal vestments by the Sovereign of England, who, in the presence of the Court, prostrated himself before the Italian prelate to receive his benediction. The prelate being thus prepared by his new dignity, the King determined that he should be publicly received as an ambassador from His Holiness; and he caused arrangements to be accordingly made for his reception in that capacity at Windsor Castle, on the 3rd of July. At the Whitehall reception of the Archbishop, the Spanish Ambassador had warned James against being priest-ridden, when the latter asked, “Is it not the usage in Spain that Kings consult their Confessors?” “Yes, Sire,” replied the Minister, “and hence it is that our affairs go so badly.” In prospect of the Windsor ceremonial, the Duke of Somerset received orders to be in attendance to introduce the dignitary. He begged to be excused, lest compliance should be construed into a breach of law. “Do you not know,” said James, “that I am above the law?” “Your Majesty may be,” rejoined the Duke, “but I am not.” This nobleman being dismissed for his frankness, people remarked in gossip, that a Duke of Somerset “had put out the Pope, and now the Pope had put out the Duke.” “It would have been more remarkable,” said Sir John Bramston, “if the Duke had brought him in.”[191]

PROMOTION OF ROMANISTS.

These little incidents would have sufficed, under the circumstances, to make prudent men pause, but they produced no effect upon the imprudent King. When the day arrived, the Nuncio started from his lodgings in Windsor, clothed in purple, with a gold crucifix hanging at his breast, seated in a coach, accompanied by the Duke of Grafton and Sir Charles Cotterel. He was preceded by Knight Marshal’s men on horseback, and by twelve footmen—“their coats being all of a dark grey coloured cloth, with white and purple lace.” Altogether the train consisted of thirty-six carriages, with six horses each, two of the carriages being filled with priests—but some were sent empty, to increase the pomp of the procession; and amongst such equipages were those of the Bishops of Durham and Chester. The party alighted in the outer court, and went upstairs into St. George’s Hall, where the King and Queen, seated upon two chairs under a canopy, received the Papal emissary with great reverence. The effect upon the English people may be conjectured. Great multitudes had been attracted by a show, such as had not been witnessed until now, since the Accession of Elizabeth. Windsor overflowed, and for want of room in inns and houses, people of quality had to sit in their coaches almost all the day.[192] But they were shocked by the spectacle; and the indignation of the inhabitants of the little town upon the public celebration of mass in Wolsey’s Chapel rose to such a height, that they riotously assailed the building, and left it in a state of miserable dilapidation. The feeling thus expressed extended over the country; Protestant anger almost everywhere arose, and James himself, when too late, saw the extreme folly of his conduct. It might be supposed that the Pontiff and the Papal Court would be delighted to hear of the Nuncio’s pageant, yet this was not the case. At Rome the proceedings met with condemnation. They accorded with the daring policy of the Jesuits, who were masters at Court, but not with the more cautious measures of the Papacy, at that time in collision with the order which had proved such a prop to the Papal chair.

Innocent XI. refused to gratify James in a matter which he had much at heart. James wished to procure a mitre for a Jesuit, named Petre, but as the elevation of the dignitary to the Episcopate was contrary to the rules of the Order, James sought for him a red hat. But neither mitre nor hat could be obtained. The circumstance mortified the Monarch, and it certainly appeared as a very ungrateful return for all his devotion to the interests of Rome; but he resolved to give Petre a seat at the Privy Council table, for which, indeed, he had designed the mitre or the hat to serve as a preparation. He meant to pave the way to the civil distinction of his Roman Catholic favourites, by first obtaining for them ecclesiastical honours; and when the nation heard that a Jesuit had been made a Privy Councillor, the wrath excited by the public recognition of Archbishop D’Adda increased tenfold.

1687.

Parliament had shown nothing like independence in reference to either ecclesiastical or political affairs, and had resembled a French Bed of Justice, convened to register Royal decrees; yet James dissolved it on the 4th of July, the very day succeeding the Nuncio’s reception. The despotic King now took affairs entirely into his own hands, and speedily rushed headlong to destruction. Two events completed the catastrophe—his attack upon the liberties of Cambridge and Oxford, and his second Declaration of Indulgence. These events at the same instant accomplished his own fall, and saved the Protestantism of England.

The law expressly provided, that none should be admitted to a Degree in either University who did not take the Oath of Supremacy and the Oath of Obedience. James had sent a mandate to Cambridge for Alban Francis, a Benedictine monk, to be created Master of Arts, although the monk was prevented by his religion from taking these oaths. Upon his refusing to be sworn, the University authorities refused to obey the mandate; consequently the High Commission summoned the two Chancellors and the Senate to appear before them at Westminster, upon the 21st of April. Dr. John Peachell, who then held the Vice-Chancellorship, with eight representatives of the Senate, including Isaac Newton, Fellow of Trinity, and Professor of Mathematics, answered the summons: and on meeting the Board, were treated by Jeffreys, who presided over the Commissioners, with an amount of insolence scarcely less than that which he had exhibited at the trial of Richard Baxter. He soundly rated Dr. Peachell; and when another more courageous person attempted to speak, he cried out, “That young gentleman expects to be Vice-Chancellor—when you are, Sir, you may speak, but till then it will become you to forbear.” Peachell had to suffer the loss of his office, and his emoluments, and the members of the Senate had to endure the vulgar insults of the minion who dismissed them, exclaiming, “I shall say to you what the Scripture says, and rather because most of you are Divines: ‘Go your way and sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto you.’”[193]

PROMOTION OF ROMANISTS.

1687.

The proceedings at Oxford are still more remarkable. A vacancy occurred in the highest office in Magdalen College. Notwithstanding the vested power of the Fellows to choose a President, Royal letters of nomination had been sometimes sent; and, as in deference to Royalty, such letters of nomination had been accepted and obeyed, precedents could be pleaded in this instance for the interference of the King. He recommended Anthony Farmer, a man who laboured under the threefold disqualification, of not being a moral character, of not being a Protestant Churchman, and of neither being, nor ever having been, a Fellow either of Magdalen or New College. The last circumstance, on statutory grounds alone, sufficed to exclude this nominee. The Fellows, of course, objected to him, and requested His Majesty to recommend another person. The election had been fixed for the 13th of April. The day arrived, without a further nomination from the Crown. At an adjourned meeting on the 15th, no notice having been taken of their request, the Fellows proceeded to make their election, and their choice fell on Dr. John Hough, a person of high reputation, whose firmness throughout the following troubles, have won for him a lasting renown. In June the Fellows were summoned to appear before the Commission, at Whitehall, to answer for what they had done. Jeffreys, the King’s evil star—whose conduct, both on the Bench and at the Council Board, must be pronounced one of the greatest curses, and whose appointment to the custody of the Great Seal must be held as one of the greatest crimes of this inglorious reign—badgered the deputation sent from Oxford to represent the College, as he had before badgered the deputation sent from Cambridge. “Who is this man?” he asked, as Dr. Fairfax raised a question touching the validity of the Commission. “Pray, what commission have you to be so impudent in Court? This man ought to be kept in a dark room. Why do you suffer him without a guardian? Why did not you bring him to me to beg him? Pray, let the officers seize him.” Hough’s election was declared void, and Fairfax was suspended from his Fellowship;[194] but the nomination of such a man as Farmer was too outrageous to be pursued any further, even by the impudent despotism which had already defied law and order to an intolerable extent.

PROMOTION OF ROMANISTS.

In August, James nominated to the Presidency of Magdalen, Parker, Bishop of Oxford, with whose character the reader is already acquainted. His unpopularity with Protestants had now been increased by the publication not only of his reasons for abrogating the test introduced to exclude Papists, but by his excusing the doctrines of Transubstantiation, and his vindicating the Romanists from the charge of idolatry. To nominate Parker offended the University for two reasons. No vacancy, in fact, existed, since Hough could claim office by virtue of his College election; besides, the Bishop had never been a Fellow of either of the Colleges specified in the Statutes. In September the King himself visited Oxford, determined to subdue the refractory body. The interview has been often described; the following account, substantially the same as that given in the State Trials[195] is preserved in MS. in the Record Office.

“The Lord Sunderland sent orders to the Fellows of Magdalen College to attend the King on Sunday last, at eleven o’clock, or at three in the afternoon.

“They waited accordingly. Dr. Pudsey, Speaker.

“K.—‘What’s your name? Are you Dr. Pudsey?’

“Dr. P.—‘Yes, may it please your Majesty.’

“K.—‘Did you receive my letter?’

“Dr. P.—‘Yes, Sir, we did.’

“K.—‘Then you have not dealt with me like gentlemen: you have done very uncivilly by me, and undutifully.’

1687.

“Then they all kneeled down, and Dr. Pudsey offered a petition, containing the reasons of their proceedings, which His Majesty refused to receive, and said, ‘You have been a stubborn and turbulent College. I have known you to be so this twenty-six years. You have affronted me in this. Is this your Church of England loyalty? One would wonder to find so many Church of England men in such a business. Go back, and show yourselves good members of the Church of England. Get ye gone; know I am your King, and I command you to be gone. Go and admit the Bishop of Oxon, Head-Principal—(what do you call it) of your College.’

“One standing by said ‘President.’

“K.—‘I mean President of the College. Let him know that refuses it. Look to’t. They shall find the weight of their Sovereign’s displeasure.’

“The Fellows went away, and being gone out were recalled.

“K.—‘I hear you have admitted a Fellow of your College since ye received my inhibition. Is this true? Have you not admitted Mr. Holden, Fellow?’

“Dr. P.—‘I think he was admitted Fellow, but we conceive—.’ The Dr. hesitating, another said, ‘May it please Your Majesty, there was no new election or admission since Your Majesty’s inhibition, but only the consummation of a former election. We always elect to one year’s probation, then the person elected is received or rejected for ever.’

“K.—‘The consummation of a former election! It was downright disobedience, and is a fresh aggravation. Get you gone home, and immediately repair to your Chapel, and elect the Bishop of Oxon, or else you must expect to feel the heavy hand of an angry King.’

“The Fellows offered their petition again, on their knees.

“K.—‘Get ye gone, I will receive nothing from you till you have obeyed me, and elected the Bishop of Oxford.’

“Upon which they went directly to their Chapel, and Dr. Pudsey proposing whether they would obey the King and elect the Bishop, they answered every one in his order; they were always willing to obey His Majesty in all things that lay in their power, as any of the rest of His Majesty’s subjects, but the electing of the Bishop of Oxford being directly contrary to their Statutes, and to the positive oath they had taken, they could not apprehend it in their power to obey him in this matter. Only Mr. Dobson, who had publicly prayed for Dr. Hough, the undoubted President, answered doubtingly, he was ready to obey in every thing he could. And Mr. Charrochi, a Papist, that he was for obeying in that.”[196]

PROMOTION OF ROMANISTS.

1687.

James found this a much more troublesome business than he had expected; and in October he thought it necessary to send to Oxford a Special Commission to endeavour to reduce Magdalen College to obedience. Forty years before this, when the Parliamentary army had taken possession of the University, Puritan Commissioners had visited the City to eject from office the loyal Episcopalians; and now, Commissioners of a far different character, and escorted by troops of cavalry, appeared in the same place, to eject men of the same stamp as had been ejected in 1647. Traditions of the past must have risen before Hough and his companions; and as they compared their own treatment by the King, with the treatment of Dr. Oliver by the Parliament, they must have felt the aggravated cruelty and injustice which they had to endure in the present instance; for, before it was a warfare of one Church against another Church—now opposition came not only from a Monarch sworn by law to support the Establishment, but from a prelate who was bound by his most religious vows to do the same; Cartwright, Bishop of Chester, being one of the Commissioners on the occasion. Conscientious Churchmen suffered persecution from the powers they had long honoured even to excess: they could, in this instance, as in so many others at the same period, complain both of treachery and ingratitude, if there be any obligations arising from oaths on the one side, or any obligations arising from loyalty on the other. What the King’s Commissioners did, and how the President and Fellows of Magdalen behaved, are well represented by the chisel of Roubiliac upon the famous sarcophagus to the memory of Hough, in Worcester Cathedral, and are succinctly described in the well-known words which form the inscription upon that work of art. “Having adjourned till the afternoon, the President came again into the Court, and having desired to speak a few words, they all took off their hats, and gave him leave; whereupon he said, ‘My Lords, you were pleased this morning to deprive me of my place of President of this College; I do hereby protest against all your proceedings, and against all that you have done, or hereafter shall do, in prejudice of me and my right, as illegal, unjust, and null; and, therefore, I appeal to my Sovereign Lord the King, in his Courts of Justice.’”[197]

The sequel of the affair, briefly told, was this. Hough was deposed, and deprived; and Parker was installed by proxy, only two members of the College, however, taking part in the ceremony. The humblest officers resented the insult put upon the noble foundation—porter, butler, and blacksmith, all refused to execute the commands they received to disturb the President elected by the Fellows, and to acknowledge the President nominated by the Crown. The ejection of the Fellows who supported Hough speedily followed. All were deprived of their income. But men of the same, or of other Colleges would not accept the vacant fellowships; the excitement raised at Oxford spread over the country, and subscriptions poured in from various quarters, for the support of the deposed Collegians. Parker died in the midst of the struggle; and then, to make bad worse, James designated a Roman Catholic Bishop, Bonaventura Giffard, as head of this Protestant institution. Twelve Romanists became Fellows—whilst Protestants, applying for fellowship, met with rejection. These proceedings agitated the whole country. Churchmen considered it as an attack upon the Establishment, Nonconformists as an attack upon Protestantism, politicians as an attack on chartered liberty, and people, who did not care for religion or politics, as an attack on the rights of property.[198]

NEW DECLARATION.

The King renewed the Declaration of Indulgence in April, 1688; and on the 4th of May issued an order that it should be read in all churches, and that the Bishops should see the order obeyed. He intended to test the obedience of the clergy; and he placed them in the dilemma of exposing themselves to his displeasure, or of degrading themselves by compliance with his arbitrary command. Crew of Durham, Barlow of Lincoln, Cartwright of Chester, Wood of Lichfield and Coventry, Walters of St. David’s, and Sprat of Rochester, presented addresses of thanks to the Sovereign for his promise to maintain the Church as by law established. The Chester clergy issued an address, maintaining that they were bound by “statute law, the rubric of their liberty,” to publish what the King or the Bishop required; and Herbert Croft, who still presided over the see of Hereford, read the Declaration, justifying his conduct, and recommending it as an example by the Scripture words, “Submit yourselves to every ordinance of man for the Lord’s sake, whether it be to the king as supreme, or unto governors as unto them that are sent by him.”[199]

1688.

A meeting of the clergy was held in London, including Tillotson, Stillingfleet, Patrick, Sherlock, and other well-known men. They canvassed arguments for and against compliance, the latter being reinforced by an assurance conveyed to the meeting, in a note from some Nonconformists, who said that “instead of being alienated from the Church they would be drawn closer to her, by her making a stand for religion and liberty.”[200] Fowler, another distinguished clergyman, declared that whatever the majority might decide he was determined not to read the Declaration.[201] His speech encouraged the waverers, and an unanimous resolution of refusal resulted from the discussion. A paper to that effect rapidly received signatures from eighty-five London Incumbents. This meeting was held on the 23rd of May.

A more important meeting still had been held on the 18th of the same month, at Lambeth Palace. Then also Tillotson, Stillingfleet, Patrick, and Sherlock were present, together with Grove, Rector of St. Mary’s Undershaft, and Tenison, Vicar of St. Martin’s. But the most important personages taking part on that occasion were Compton, Bishop of London, then under suspension; Sancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury, also under the King’s displeasure; and the six Bishops, who, with Sancroft, make the seven so illustrious in English History. The six included Turner, Bishop of Ely; Lake, Bishop of Chichester;[202] White, Bishop of Peterborough; Trelawny, Bishop of Bristol; Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells; and Lloyd, Bishop of St. Asaph. The last two alone require particular notice.

BISHOP KEN.

1688.

Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, the openness of whose countenance corresponded with the simplicity of his character,[203] is the best known of all the seven. A Wykehamist, and an Oxonian, he took orders in the Church just after the Restoration, and became Fellow of Winchester College, and Chaplain to the Bishop. In his former capacity he refused to admit to his lodgings Nell Gwynn, the mistress of Charles II., when she accompanied her lover on a visit to the romantic old city; and it is to the honour of the erring King, that, instead of showing resentment for this high-principled act, he rewarded with a mitre the virtues of the pure-hearted clergyman.[204] People suspected that, in consequence of a journey he made to the City of Rome, Ken had become tinged with Popery; but though ascetic in his habits, a High Churchman in principle, and decidedly “Catholic” in feeling, his protest from the pulpit against the errors of Rome, and his resistance of the policy of James, is sufficient to clear him from any suspicion of that kind: James did not personally dislike him, and listened to what he had to say on behalf of sufferers in the Monmouth Rebellion. His popularity appears to have been very great. Evelyn speaks of the crowd to hear him at St. Martin’s, as “not to be expressed, nor the wonderful eloquence of this admirable preacher;” and again at Whitehall, the same Diarist speaks of the Holy Communion after the Morning Service being interrupted by “the rude breaking in of multitudes, zealous to hear the second sermon to be preached by the Bishop of Bath and Wells.”[205] On that occasion Ken applied the story of the persecution of the Church of Judah, by the Babylonians, to the peculiar position of the Church of England; and he so powerfully urged the congregation to cling to the reformed faith, that they could scarcely refrain from an audible response. Sent for by James, and reproved for his boldness, Ken quietly replied “that if His Majesty had not neglected his own duty of being present, his enemies had missed the opportunity of accusing him.” But the Bishop’s wide fame rests mainly on his Morning, Evening, and Midnight Hymns, respecting which, it has been truly said, had he endowed three hospitals, he might have been less a benefactor to posterity.[206] Nor should we overlook the interest which he took in the young, his manual of prayer for Wykeham’s scholars, his establishment of parish schools, and his zeal for catechizing.[207]

BISHOP LLOYD.

William Lloyd, Bishop of St. Asaph, took a leading part in the proceedings of the seven. He had been ordained by Bishop Brownrigg, in the time of the Commonwealth, and had been made Dean of Ripon at the Restoration. In 1676 he had obtained the vicarage of St. Martin’s, Westminster; and amidst the excitement of the Popish plots had distinguished himself by his Protestant zeal. He had preached Godfrey’s funeral sermon, and had been indefatigable in his endeavours to elicit evidence in support of the accusations by Titus Oates.[208] Decidedly a party man, although sincere and honest, he showed himself apt practically to adopt the principle, that the end sanctifies the means, and to betray feelings of a kind which, though sometimes attributed exclusively to Papists, are rather the bad qualities of human nature.[209] He combined, with his Protestant activities, a fondness for prophetical studies, dwelling much upon the predicted downfall of Babylon, and bringing to bear upon his Biblical and other researches a considerable amount of learning, not always under the control of a sober judgment. Promoted in the year 1680 to the see of St. Asaph, he endeavoured to reduce the Dissenters to conformity by means of argument and friendly influence; and where he failed to convince he won respect.[210]

Such were the Bishops engaged in the Lambeth Conference, and it ended in the drawing up of a petition to the King, in which the petitioners professed that their objection to publish the Declaration did not arise from disloyalty to the King, nor from any want of due tenderness to Dissenters, in relation to whom they were willing to come to such a temper as should be thought fit, when the subject should be considered, and settled in Parliament and Convocation; but such a dispensing power as he now exercised had been by Parliament pronounced illegal.[211]

1688.

THE SEVEN BISHOPS.

Of the disposition of the petitioners to obey the commands of the King, so far as their conscience allowed, there can be no doubt; for some at least of the Bishops had maintained, or countenanced, the doctrine of passive obedience and non-resistance. Nor did they consider themselves as now acting inconsistently with that doctrine,—inasmuch as they distinguished between active and passive obedience, and refused only an active compliance with authority, which they had never held to be binding in cases where conscience interposed to the contrary. They would not do what the King commanded, but they would, as Confessors, patiently accept the consequences, should all constitutional and legal defence of themselves prove in vain. They would countenance no forcible resistance, they would not sanction taking up arms against His Majesty, and they would oppose the accession to the throne of any other claimants, however supported by the nation, so long as the anointed prince continued to live; and hence the attitude which they assumed as nonjurors. Respecting their conduct on this occasion, I must, without a grain of sympathy in their opinions, say, that they did not act so inconsistently as is supposed. But if justice requires this to be said, it requires also something more. As it regards Sancroft his conduct must be pronounced inconsistent. For although he now refused to read the Royal Declaration it appears that in the Prayer Book of Cosin,—amongst MS. suggestions, where it is said that nothing is to be read in church, but by direction of the Ordinary,—Sancroft had added the significant words “or the King’s order:”[212] and, moreover, he had recommended, or approved, at a recent period, the publishing of Royal declarations by the clergy in service-time.[213] As it regards the seven Bishops generally, in their relation to Dissenters, they now declared that they did not resist the Royal demand from any want of tenderness to them,—a plea which would have been valid had they all shown a tolerant and charitable spirit, but they had not done so. It is notorious that persecution had continued nearly up to the time of the first Declaration; and this, too, with the connivance or encouragement of some of the Bishops. The Bishop of St. Asaph, indeed, had distinguished himself by his moderation, Ken had not manifested a persecuting temper, but Sancroft, though appearing to advantage in comparison with Sheldon, cannot be defended from a charge of intolerance, for a letter exists, in which, after alluding to Conventicles at Bury and Ipswich, he expresses His Majesty’s pleasure, that effectual care should be taken for the suppression of unlawful assemblies.[214]

1688.

The altered and improved tone of Sancroft on the subject of Nonconformity just after the trial of the seven will be noticed in its proper place;[215] but certainly the language which the seven now employed looked too much as if introduced to serve a purpose. Their expressed objection to the Royal proceedings as unconstitutional, and as fraught with perilous consequences to the liberties of the country, and their implied maintenance of the authority of Parliament as the conservator of national freedom deserve, however, an Englishman’s gratitude; although here again, it is provoking to remember, that the current teaching of the High Church school, to which some of the prelates belonged, had been such as to exalt the power of Kings far above the power of Parliaments. The ostensible ground of defence, that the Declaration and the order were unconstitutional, gave the Bishops the appearance of being confessors in the cause of civil liberty, but this is a view of their character entirely contradicted by their previous career. The real ground of their conduct, no doubt, is to be discovered in their alarm at the King’s patronage of Roman Catholicism, in their persuasion that the Indulgence, which they were commanded to publish, had been contrived for that end, and in their conviction, that by active compliance with the Royal mandate at this crisis, they would be betraying the Church of England, and degrading their own character.

THE SEVEN BISHOPS.

The seven Bishops just described or mentioned, signed the petition. On the evening of the day on which they performed that momentous act, six of them crossed the water, to seek an interview with the King,—the Archbishop not accompanying them, because he had been forbidden access to Court. The prelates were admitted after ten o’clock to the Royal bedchamber, and then into the King’s closet,[216] where the Bishop of St. Asaph, dropping on his knees, presented the petition. The King exclaimed, “This is my Lord of Canterbury’s own hand.” “Yes, Sir,” said the Bishops, “it is his own hand.” “What,” cried His Majesty, in a furious tone, “the Church of England against my dispensing power? The Church of England! They that always preached it.” The prelates told him they never preached any such thing, but only obedience and suffering when they could not obey.[217] “This,” added James, as he folded up the paper, “is a great surprise to me; here are strange words—I did not expect this from you. This is a standard of rebellion.” The Bishops rejoined—“That they had adventured their lives for His Majesty, and would lose the last drop of their blood rather than lift up a finger against him.” The King repeated, “I tell you this is a standard of rebellion; I never saw such an address.” The Bishop of Bristol burst into an exclamation, “Rebellion, Sir! I beseech your Majesty, do not say so hard a thing of us. For God’s sake do not believe we are, or can be guilty of a rebellion. It is impossible that I, or any of my family should be so. Your Majesty cannot but remember that you sent me down into Cornwall to quell Monmouth’s rebellion, and I am as ready to do what I can to quell another, if there were occasion.” The Bishop of Chichester backed his Episcopal brother by saying, “Sir, we have quelled one rebellion, and will not raise another;” and the rest, after professing their loyalty, continued their objections. James, insisting upon the rebellious tendency of the document demanded that he should be obeyed, and have the Declaration published; but, he said, if he altered his mind he would let them know.[218] The conversation ended, and they retired. Now the Archbishop had written the petition himself, that he might prevent its being published, but in some way a copy of it got abroad, and being fast multiplied, the paper the very same evening in which it reached the hands of His Majesty reached also the hands of hundreds, and perhaps thousands of the people. Afterwards it received the signatures of the Bishops of London, Norwich, Gloucester, Salisbury, Winchester, and Exeter, who were not present at the earlier meetings.

1688.

The Declaration was read at Whitehall “by one of the choir, who used to read the chapters.”[219] It was read in Westminster Abbey; but there arose so great a noise, that nobody could hear it, and at the end of the publication none remained present, except the prebends, the choristers, and the Westminster scholars. The number of instances in which it was published in London is reckoned by Burnet and Kennet at seven, and by Clarendon at four.[220] In dioceses, where the Bishops ordered the clergy to comply, the command met with only limited obedience; within the diocese of Norwich, not more than three or four parishes, out of about twelve hundred, heard a single word of the document; and a story is told of an incumbent, who informed his people, that he had been enjoined to read, but they were not compelled to hear, and, therefore, he suggested that they should retire, whilst he repeated the proclamation within empty walls.

THE SEVEN BISHOPS.

The following singular letter by Barlow, the Bishop of Lincoln, indicates at once the difficulty felt by his clergy, and his own lukewarmness in the matter. Addressing a correspondent, he says:—

“Sir,—I received yours, and all that I have time to say (the messenger which brought it making so little stay here) is only this. By His Majesty’s command, I was required to send that Declaration to all churches in my diocese, in obedience whereto I sent them. Now the same authority which requires me to send them, requires you to read them. But whether you should, or should not read them, is a question of that difficulty, in the circumstances we now are, that you can’t expect that I should so hastily answer it, especially in writing. The two last Sundays, the clergy in London were to read it, but, as I am informed, they generally refused. For myself I shall neither persuade nor dissuade you, but leave it to your prudence and conscience, whether you will, or will not read it; only this I shall advise, that, after serious consideration, you find that you cannot read it, but reluctante vel dubitante conscientiâ, in that case, to read it will be your sin, and you to blame for doing it. I shall only add, that God Almighty would be so graciously pleased to bless and direct you so, that you may do nothing in this case, which may be justly displeasing to God, or the King, is the prayer of your loving friend, and brother,

Thos. Lincoln.”[221]

1688.

After a short delay, the King resolved to prosecute the Bishops for a misdemeanour. Having received a summons to appear before the Privy Council, they spent the interval in conference, being greatly cheered by expressions of sympathy from many friends of the highest distinction. After an audience with the King on the 8th of June, the Lord Chancellor announced the Royal pleasure to proceed against the accused according to law; and so soon as the warrants for commitment had been issued, the intelligence spread through London like wildfire,—people flocking in multitudes to see these venerable persons led out of court under the custody of a guard. Popular love of liberty, and zeal for religion, blazed up at once, and the spectators, including soldiers, fell down on their knees, to implore Episcopal benedictions. With these benedictions the Bishops united exhortations, that the people would fear God, and honour the King, and keep the peace; and no sooner had the prisoners entered within the precincts of the Tower, than they repaired to the chapel, to return thanks for that which the Almighty had counted them worthy to endure.[222] The next day numbers flocked to offer them service, and to express their thanks for such heroic behaviour, and amongst other visitors came ten Nonconformist ministers—a circumstance which so offended the King, that he summoned four of them to his presence, when they respectfully answered, that they could not help adhering to the Right Reverend prisoners, as men who were constant to the Protestant faith. Even the soldiers who kept guard expressed sympathy, in their own rude way, toasting the Bishops with brimming cups; and when rebuked for this by their captain, they said, they were doing it at that instant, and would continue to do so, until the Bishops were set free.[223]

THE SEVEN BISHOPS.

The Nonconformists had reason to expect that they would be required to read the Declaration in their meeting-houses; but one of their number, Mr. Morice, used all the means in his power to prevent the issue of such an order, and in this he succeeded. The Nonconformists, however, were pressed to get up congratulatory addresses: which they declined to do, for reasons which they stated in the following awkward terms:—

“None,” said they, “will offer it of condition, or quality, and so we shall be greatly diminished and lessened, by offering it, by persons of a little figure or that are not known to be ours.

“Our enemies and friends will greatly dislike it and heinously censure us for it.

“We shall become suspected, and so lose our interest in our great friends, both as to their private and public capacity.

“The inconsideration of those that occasion the debate of an address is the only reason that can be suggested for it, as a deference to the King.

“The report, or common talk of it, will be to our great advantage if we do it not, and will greatly strengthen our influence both upon enemies and friends, and in truth our influence is now full as great upon our enemies, as it used to be upon our friends.

1688.

“Lastly, we are absolutely [and indeed so they seem to be] for liberty by a law, but we are utterly against letting Papists into the Government, and of this the King has often had and should have a clear understanding and be fully possessed with it, that he may not have any colour afterwards to say we deceived.”[224]

Some few towns and corporations presented addresses of thanks to the King for the Declaration, and amongst them one from the “Old Dissenting officers and soldiers of the County of Lincoln;”[225] but the most numerous, as well as the most respectable of the Nonconformists, objected to such a course, and Baxter publicly in his pulpit extolled the Bishops. “The whole Church,” says the Papal Nuncio in his correspondence, “espouses the cause of the Bishops. There is no reasonable expectation of a division among the Anglicans, and our hopes from the Nonconformists are vanished.”[226]

THE SEVEN BISHOPS.

On the 15th of June, Sancroft and his brethren were brought from the Tower to the Court of King’s Bench; as their barge floated along the Thames, they were greeted with applauses and with prayers, and on their reaching Westminster, noblemen and gentlemen accompanied them into Court. Of the immense concourse of people who received them on the bank of the river and followed them to the bar, the greater part fell upon their knees, wishing them happiness and asking their blessing; and as the Archbishop laid his hands on the heads of those that were nearest, telling them to be firm in their faith, the people cried out that all should kneel, and tears were seen to flow from the eyes of many.[227] Westminster Hall has raised its huge form many a time, like an old rock out of the bosom of the sea, as crowds of excited people have gathered under its shadow: on this occasion the ocean of heads was more immense than ever, whilst surges of indignant and sympathetic feeling rose and rolled and broke every moment. All London seemed to be on the spot, and the spirit of the nation seemed to be there concentrated. Upon the prelates being desired to plead, the Archbishop was permitted to read a short paper, claiming sufficient time for preparing an answer; but the plea was rejected as a device for delay. The accused pleaded “Not guilty,” in the usual form, and the trial was fixed for that day fortnight. When the prisoners were admitted to bail on their own recognizance, the people took the circumstance as a triumph, and set no bounds to their boisterous joy. Huzzas rent the air, the Abbey bells rung, and people thronged the way the Bishops went, lighting bonfires, maltreating Roman Catholics, and execrating the other prelates who yielded to the Royal will.

On the 29th of June the trial took place in Westminster Hall. One of the most worthless men that ever sat on the bench, Lord Chief Justice Wright, the protégé of the infamous Jeffreys, presided, and with him were associated three puisne Judges—Holloway, Powell, and Allybone, a Roman Catholic. Strangely enough, Sawyer and Finch, two lawyers who had been State prosecutors under Charles II., and had conducted the proceedings against Lord William Russell, now appeared on the side of the prosecuted; whilst Williams, a Whig, now Solicitor-General, with Powys, the Attorney-General, conducted the prosecution. This confusion of parties led to attacks and recriminations which afforded such amusement to bystanders and so provoked their raillery, that the Court with difficulty suppressed demonstrations of censure or applause. Numerous noblemen sat by the Judges, scrutinizing their acts, and the Chief Justice looked, we are told, as “if all the peers present had halters in their pockets.”

1688.

The information having been read, the first thing was to prove the handwriting of the Bishops, a point not to be established without considerable difficulty. The Counsel for the defence raised the question,—Had the paper been signed in the County of Middlesex, where the venue had been laid? This could not be proved, inasmuch as Sancroft, during the whole business, had remained in his Palace at Lambeth. The case, so far, legally broke down, when the Crown lawyers changed their ground, contending, that the libel, if not written, had been published in Middlesex, by the delivery of it into the King’s hands,—a circumstance proved by the testimony of Sunderland, Lord President of the Council. It now remained for the advocates of the Bishops to defend the document. This they proceeded to do, by representing that, whereas their right reverend clients stood accused of having published a “false, malicious, and seditious libel” against the King, nothing could be further from deserving such epithets than the paper which they had presented, it being couched in the most respectful terms, and presented in the most private manner. It merely asked relief from compliance with a demand which distressed their consciences. Every subject had the right of petition, and Bishops ought not to be deprived of this common privilege, they being principally charged with the care and execution of laws concerning the Church’s welfare; but the main stress of the defence rested on the illegality of dispensing with penal laws.[228]

THE SEVEN BISHOPS.

The managers of the prosecution urged, that the King was entitled to the prerogative which he claimed; that what took place in the years 1662 and 1672 did not amount to any authoritative decision on the subject, but merely expressed the opinion of Parliament, to which His Majesty, under the circumstances, gave way, without a permanent surrender of his regal power. The libel of the Bishops was malicious and full of sedition, casting the greatest reflection on the Government. The tendency of their conduct was to inflame the public mind, and, though they had the right of petition, it could be no excuse for publishing a reproachful and scandalous attack upon the King’s Majesty. The Chief Justice, in summing up, pronounced the petition to be libellous; Justice Allybone took the same view; but the other two, Holloway and Powell, dissented from such a judgment,—an act of independence which cost them their seats on the Bench as soon as the term was over.[229] Evening had come, when the exhausted Jury retired to consider their verdict. They remained closeted all night without fire or candle, but basins of water and towels were furnished for their use. At about three o’clock in the morning, so it is reported, they were overheard in vehement debate with one another; and, at six, they sent word they had come to a conclusion, upon which, the prisoners being brought into Court, the foreman pronounced the verdict—“Not Guilty.” The effect was electric, the joy of the multitude burst out in a triumphant shout; “one would have thought,” said the Earl of Clarendon, who was present, “the Hall had cracked.” Now, as before, the people on their knees made a lane from the King’s Bench to beg a blessing as the Bishops passed; the crowd shook hands with the Jurymen, crying, “God bless you, and prosper your families, you have saved us all to-day;” noblemen flung money out of their coach windows for the mob to drink the health of the King, the Bishops, and the Jury; churches were crowded with people to pour forth their gratitude to God, for the delivery of His servants; and the prelates themselves, immediately after their acquittal, went to Whitehall Chapel, and thence proceeded to their respective homes, followed by the acclamations of delighted multitudes. An illumination succeeded in the evening, seven candles,—the middle one longer than the others, representing the Primate,—gleamed in thousands of windows; bells rang, bonfires blazed, rockets and squibs burst in all directions, the populace burnt an effigy of the Pope dressed in pontificals, as he appears in his chair at St. Peter’s, and Protestant demonstrations of various kinds continued all that night, until the church bells on Sunday morning called the people to worship and to rest. The joy of London repeated itself in the provinces, and vainly did the authorities forbid the outburst of gladness which rolled from shore to shore.

1688.

James was at Hounslow, reviewing the troops, when, on hearing a great noise, he asked what was the matter: “Nothing but the soldiers shouting for the acquittal of the Bishops.” “Call you that nothing,” he might well ask, and then insanely added, “but so much the worse for them.” It certainly proved so much the worse for him.

The popularity of the seven Bishops in 1688, appears in striking contrast with the unpopularity of the thirteen Bishops in 1642. There had been a number of circumstances, operating from the period of the Restoration, which contributed to the favourable impression now produced. The reaction against the rigours of Puritan rule, and the reverence, as well as the resentments kindled by clerical sufferings, the effect of the abolition of the Star Chamber and of the High Commission Court, the cessation of that troublesome zeal for ritualism, which had so harassed the country in the days of Laud, and the firm hold which the Episcopal Church had taken on the majority of the nation—these circumstances, and others, probably prepared for that gush of enthusiasm which greeted the Bishops on the day of their trial.

THE SEVEN BISHOPS.

Also, a change had come over the clergy. In 1677, they supported absolutism; then their opposition was chiefly directed against Protestant Nonconformity, and their resistance of the encroachments of Popery seemed lukewarm: but, before 1688, they opened their eyes to the intolerance of Romanism, and to the dark omens of its establishment in England. Alarmed at the impending evil, they warmly engaged in controversy, and many of them, seeing that the united strength of all Protestants had become needful to meet the emergency, proceeded to alter their conduct towards their long-despised Dissenting brethren. Convinced at last of the mischiefs connected with arbitrary rule, whatever subtle theories some might have respecting passive obedience and non-resistance, they now opposed, under the pressure of circumstances, the despotic policy of the Crown. Some saw the folly of their former course in exalting the Royal prerogative, with the idea of thereby defending the Church; now they discovered the unconstitutional power which they had conceded to the Sovereign to be an instrument capable of inflicting mischief on themselves. The ghost which they had raised, they now sought to lay; the monster which they had created or nourished, they now strove to crush. Ten years had produced a change in the clergy; and the change in the clergy had made them popular with the nation.

1689.

One great cause of the popularity of the Bishops may be found in the men themselves, in their unmistakeable honesty of purpose, in their zeal for Constitutional Government, in their professions of liberality towards other Protestant denominations, and certainly not a little, in their social virtues and their Christian piety. Their advocacy of the Reformed faith carried all its disciples along with them, their readiness to suffer for the Established religion inspired with affection the bosom of Churchmen, and their overtures of reconciliation touched the hearts of Nonconformists. The release of the Bishops proved a proud day for the Church of England, and the man must be of a cynical temper and of narrow sympathies, who cannot enter warmly into the triumphs of that occasion. Notwithstanding, historical justice requires, and the utmost generosity does not forbid us to remember the treatment which Nonconformists for twenty-seven years had endured at the hands of the English priesthood, through their steady refusal the whole of that time, to grant or to encourage either comprehension or liberty. Nor can we forget the prevalence of thorough irreligion, of frivolous scepticism, of downright immorality, and of disgusting vice, which blackened the last two Stuart reigns, and which the Church did so little to overcome or to diminish. Her laxity and time-serving, her want of missionary earnestness and love, her neglect of faithful and pointed preaching, and of pastoral diligence, her indifference to the education and well-being of the lower classes, at the time of which we treat, are in conspicuous contrast to her activity in these respects at the present day. There are few of her most devoted sons who would think of vindicating her from the reproaches now expressed, however they may value her formularies, rejoice in her Constitution, and join in celebrating the ovation of her seven Bishops.

CHAPTER X.

Up to this point, we have been engaged in watching the course of affairs within the bounds of the Establishment, and in pointing out its relations to Nonconformity; it remains for us to examine the growth of Nonconformity itself, in the principal varieties of its manifestation.

Presbyterianism underwent a change. The ejected ministers, who had adopted that system, continued to cleave to the idea of an Established Church, and it was long before they gave up all hopes of some comprehensive scheme, which, whilst retaining a modified Episcopacy, should provide for the removal of their own well-known scruples. They manifested an indisposition to enter upon any proceedings which could be termed denominational; yet, preaching the Gospel appeared to them an employment which they ought on no account to relinquish, for they felt that they had received a Divine commission, and that it would be at their peril to draw back from its fulfilment. The personal satisfaction also which they experienced in the discharge of their vocation, and the eagerness of people to listen to their voices, deepened the consciousness of a necessity laid upon them. But, at first, they only preached in their own houses, in the hall of a friend’s mansion, in some sequestered forest nook, or in the retirement of a mountain dell. Like the seventy disciples, like the brethren scattered abroad upon the persecution of Stephen, like the witnesses of the Middle Ages, like Wycliffe’s friars, like the early Methodists, they simply attempted to kindle and keep alight the flame of spiritual piety. Two years after the Act of Uniformity had been passed, although some ministers then “were vehement for an entire separation” from the Establishment, others, including Baxter, Bates, and Heywood, advocated attendance at the parish church—in this respect acting in the same manner as John Wesley did, at least for some time after the institution of Methodism. Yet coming events cast their shadows before them. At the end of 1666, Oliver Heywood baptized a child at Halifax, a significant incident; and, in 1672, the same patriarch of the “old Dissent” “kept a solemn day at Bramhope,” when old Mr. Holdsworth “administered the Supper.”[230] By degrees, and almost unconsciously, the worthy Heywood—and he may be taken as the specimen of a class—made advances towards a determined position outside the enclosure fenced in by law. Celebrating the Lord’s Supper, besides administering Baptism, could not be consistently repeated many times, without involving other acts, inevitably preparing for the institution of distinctive and separate Churches. Admission to the Lord’s table rendered some religious oversight of the communicants necessary, and practically, what amounted to a distinct Christian society, would begin to exist before such an existence became clearly recognized even by those engaged in its creation. When, in the year 1672, the Declaration of Indulgence afforded liberty of action, cautious and hesitating men, who had felt their way, availed themselves of the Royal concession to pursue, practically, the legitimate consequences of their prior proceedings. A minister gathered together such godly neighbours as sympathized in his views; and such persons, owning him as their rightful pastor, entered into covenant—as it was called—“to believe and practise what truths and duties,” he should make manifest to them, “to be the mind of God.”[231] According to the Presbyterian theory, the minister in the order of nature, and generally in the order of time, takes precedence of the Church; he does not spring from the Church, but the Church has its root and beginning in him; nor does the origin of his ministerial power rest in the people, his vocation is bestowed upon him directly from above; and this idea of the origin and relation of the Christian ministry we may see worked out in the history of English Presbyterianism.

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

To build upon the platforms of the Westminster Assembly and the Long Parliament, had become impossible. It was a hopeless thing to think of forming classes, of meeting in synods, and of exercising parish discipline, such as had been the ideal of twenty or thirty years before—of instituting schools of virtue and religion in towns and villages, where the pastor should have the rod of the magistrate to enforce the belief of truth, and the practice of goodness. Perhaps, choice without necessity, through what had been taught by experience after the Restoration, would have led some Presbyterian pastors to abandon certain portions of their earlier cherished schemes of parochial order and discipline.

No deacons, having authority together with the minister, existed in Presbyterian Churches, and the control of affairs rested chiefly, if not entirely, with one presiding person, except where there might be a plurality of pastors. The question of individual admission to fellowship was decided by the wisdom and the care of the presbyter or bishop, not by the deliberation or vote of the Church; and the decision and administration of discipline would naturally fall into the same hands as those which had opened the door of entrance to the enjoyment of ecclesiastical privileges. One of the last things which the Presbyterians accomplished, in reference to their separate and permanent existence as a religious body, appears, indeed, one of the first things essential to that existence. The ordination of others to succeed in the ministry must be reckoned a primary measure, requisite for the existence of Nonconformist Churches; yet it seems not to have been until the year 1672, that any Presbyterian orders were conferred after the Restoration. The first solemn act of this description, with which I am acquainted, was performed in Manchester, at a house in Deans’-gate, by five presbyters; and it is worthy of notice that those so ordained were not novitiates, but persons who had been engaged for several years in preaching the Gospel.[232] Subsequently, several instances of ordination occur, but the ceremony continued, up to the time of the Revolution, to be observed in private. As in the days of the Commonwealth, so still, a careful examination of the candidates preceded the service: Latin themes, and theological debates in the same language were required, and after a confession of faith had been made by the young minister, there followed the imposition of hands, and a solemn ordination-prayer, the right hand of fellowship being afterwards given to him in token of his admission to the ministerial brotherhood.[233]

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

The form of Church government, approved at Westminster, 1645, had declared that “it is agreeable to the Word of God, and very expedient, that such as are to be ordained ministers, be designed to some particular Church, or other ministerial charge;”[234] but from this rule the Presbyterians deviated after the Restoration, perhaps not so much from any change in judgment, as from a change in circumstances—scattered flocks and unsettled times rendering a general provision for perpetuating the ministry alone convenient or practicable.

In these ways innovations arose upon the old Presbyterian system, but a more important change occurred in the gradual leavening of the whole body with a more tolerant spirit. Presbyterians had persecuted “the sects,” or had connived at their persecution, but now, often having to share with them in the endurance of sorrow, they came to regard them with brotherly kindness and charity. The principle of religious liberty had once filled them with alarm, their own freedom for a long while could not satisfy their wishes, but they now came to see, that their return to the Establishment being precluded by insurmountable barriers, they must make common cause with those who were in a like position with themselves, and the liberty which they had learned to value, they must also learn to concede. The discipline of circumstances has played no small part in the education of mankind. Great principles have, indeed, on rare occasions, flashed on minds of the highest order with a kind of inspiration; but, in the cases of most men, the knowledge of truths lying below the surface, has but slowly arisen, and gradually dawned. Now and then some momentous doctrine has been struck out as by fire—resembling the fusile process, when a bronze statue is cast, and at once it comes from the mould complete—but commonly the acquisition of important principles may be compared to the hewing of marble, and the carving of oak, by a patient, laborious, and oft-repeated application of the chisel.

The history of Congregationalism after the Restoration is a history of development. Between Presbyterianism and an Establishment there are strong affinities; but there are insuperable difficulties connected with the maintenance of Congregational order in a parish, and the only real kind of Congregational Church, formed by any incumbent under the Commonwealth, had to be practically severed from the legal position which he held as a parochial clergyman. When, therefore, upon the fall of Cromwell’s Broad Church, the bark of Congregationalism was cut completely adrift from its State moorings, it was, so far as intervals of peace would allow, left to make its way, under God’s blessing, by the efforts of the rowers whom it carried on board.

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

Independents and Baptists are included under the general denomination of Congregationalists. Independents retired into obscurity for a while after the Restoration. The doors of buildings where they had been wont to assemble were nailed up; the pastors were driven out; flocks were scattered; the administration of ordinances could not take place; and meetings could not be held, as the still existing records of communities, which had been prosperous under the Commonwealth, bear ample witness. There is reason to believe that the Independents had diminished in number. The Court influence in their favour, which they enjoyed so long as the Protector, Oliver, lived, would die when he died; and those who had joined their company, so long as the sun shone on their side of the street, and who had walked with them in silver slippers, would forsake their old companions, and go another way when the path was overshadowed, and the silver slippers were changed for spiked sandals. The political antecedents of the Independents as a party, their allegiance to Oliver Cromwell, the sympathy of many of them in Republican ideas, and their supposed complicity in the execution of Charles I., combined to make them exceedingly unpopular with the Royalists, whilst their democratic notions of Church government appeared most offensive to Episcopalians; consequently, to maintain a position under so much odium, and to withstand the steady fire of persecution, required a degree of faith, and a measure of decision, not very common in this world, where the love of ease and the sacrifice of principle too frequently set the fashion.

The principles of Congregationalism, however, proved their vitality, and although assemblies of Church-members were unfrequent, or were altogether discontinued for a while, the identity of Churches was preserved, and whenever an opportunity presented itself, the scattered ones gladly re-united in the pleasant fellowship after which they yearned.

Congregational principles had received a definite expression in the Savoy Declaration. The Independents had petitioned Oliver Cromwell for permission to hold a synod, which he had reluctantly conceded. After his death, they assembled on the 29th of September, and having conferred together, reached certain theological and ecclesiastical conclusions, which they published to the world.[235] To their confession, which is substantially the same as the Westminster Confession of Faith, they added a clear outline of ecclesiastical order; and, whereas the covenants or mutual agreements into which Congregationalists had entered at the formation of their Churches, in the time of the Civil Wars, generally contained some references to further light breaking in upon them from God’s Word, we discover, in the Savoy Declaration, no language whatever of that kind, and it seems to be assumed in the document that Congregationalism, as to the knowledge of its principles, had by that period attained to something like completeness.

The following were fundamental propositions.

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

A particular Church consists of officers and members: the Lord Christ having given to His called ones—united in Church order—liberty and power to choose persons fitted by the Holy Ghost to be over them in the Lord. The officers appointed by Christ to be chosen, and set apart by the Church, are pastors, teachers, elders, and deacons. The way appointed by Christ for the calling of any person unto the office of pastor, teacher, or elder, in a Church, is that he be chosen thereunto by the common suffrage of the Church itself, and solemnly set apart by fasting and prayer, with the imposition of hands of the eldership of that Church, if there be any before constituted therein; and of a deacon, that he be chosen by the like suffrage, and set apart by prayer, and the like imposition of hands; and those who are so chosen, though not set apart after that manner, are rightly constituted ministers of Jesus. The work of preaching is not so peculiarly confined to pastors and teachers, but that others also, gifted and fitted by the Holy Ghost, and approved by the people, may publicly, ordinarily, and constantly perform it. Ordination alone, without election or consent of the Church, doth not constitute any person a Church officer. A Church furnished with officers, according to the mind of Christ, hath full power to administer all His ordinances; and where there is want of any one or more officers, those that are in the Church may administer all the ordinances proper to those officers whom they do not possess; but where there are no teaching-officers at all, none may administer the seals, nor can the Church authorize any so to do. Whereas the Lord Jesus Christ hath appointed and instituted, as a means of edification, that those who walk not according to the rules and laws appointed by Him be censured in His name and authority: every Church hath power in itself to exercise and execute all those censures appointed by Him. The censures appointed by Christ are admonition and excommunication; and whereas some offences may be known only to some, those to whom they are so known must first admonish the offender in private; in public offences, and in case of non-amendment upon private admonition, the offence being related to the Church, the offender is to be duly admonished, in the name of Christ, by the whole Church through the elders, and if this censure prevail not for his repentance, then he is to be cast out by excommunication, with the consent of the members.

These particulars respecting a Declaration of Faith but little known, indicate the opinions entertained by the Independents, not only at the time of the Restoration, but, with some modification, afterwards; and here it may be added that if, in the theory of Presbyterianism, the minister, as to the order of existence, precedes the Church, in the theory of Congregationalism, the Church, in that same order, precedes the minister; and in this significant fact may be found a key to some important differences between the two systems.

Besides those rules, which had reference to the internal order of the Churches, there were these three, relative to their dimensions, their co-operation, and the catholicity of their fellowship. For the avoiding of differences, for the greater solemnity in the celebration of ordinances, and for the larger usefulness of the gifts and graces of the Holy Ghost, saints, living within such distances as that they can conveniently assemble for Divine worship, ought rather to join in one Church for their mutual strengthening and edification than to set up many distinct societies. In cases of difficulties or differences, it is according to the mind of Christ, that many Churches holding communion together do by their managers meet in a synod or council, to consider and give advice; howbeit, these synods are not intrusted with any Church power, properly so called, or with any jurisdiction over the Churches. Such reforming Churches as consist of persons sound in the faith, and of conversation becoming the Gospel, ought not to refuse the communion of each other, so far as may consist with their own principles respectively, though they walk not in all things according to the same rules of Church order.[236]

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

It will be seen upon comparing the account of Independency with the account just given of Presbyterianism, that the Independents differed from their brethren (1) in their mode of admitting members,—for the Presbyterians left that responsibility entirely in the hands of the minister, and the Independents placed it entirely in the hands of the Church; (2) in their method of exercising discipline,—for, in the one case, such exercise followed the minister’s authority, and, in the other case, it followed the popular voice;[237] (3) in the relation of pastor and people,—for Presbyterians considered the first to be placed over the second by the presbyters engaged in ordination, but the Independents looked upon the second as validly appointing the first to office, the essence of the call, according to their judgments, consisting in the election of the Church; and (4) in the manner of ordination,—fasting, and prayer, and imposition of hands were recognized by Presbyterians as parts of the one rite, but though fasting and prayer were generally observed in the ordination of Independent ministers, the imposition of hands was omitted in some cases.

The conclusions at the Savoy were not ecclesiastical canons, but simply united opinions. They had no binding force. They aspired to no higher character than that of counsel and advice. How far they were studied, or how frequently they guided the proceedings of Congregationalists, I cannot say, but they may be considered as embodying the ideas of Congregationalism, which were most common amongst the early advocates of the system. The principle laid down with regard to the extent of a Church is in conformity with the practice adopted under the Commonwealth, when the multiplication of distinct societies was avoided as much as possible, and, except when the number of worshippers demanded a different course, it was the rule not to have more than one Congregational community in one place; and it would seem that the multiplication of small assemblies, which afterwards became frequent, resulted from the pressure of circumstances—persecution, or inability to obtain extensive accommodation rendering division absolutely necessary. Conferences in the form, but without the authority, of synods were held by Congregationalists under the Protectorate, and the cessation of them afterwards, except upon a small scale, may be easily accounted for, without supposing the occurrence of any change of opinion upon the subject. Willingness to receive Presbyterians into communion, and a disposition to unite with Presbyterian fellowships, distinctly appear in the history of those times. It is recorded, respecting Heywood’s Church, in the year 1672, that Independents were willing to acknowledge Presbyterians, and Presbyterians were willing to acknowledge Independents; “and a special season was appointed for communicating together in the Lord’s Supper. Both parties went away abundantly satisfied.”[238]

Both Presbyterians and Independents adopted the practice of adult and of pædo-baptism by sprinkling. According to the Westminster Confession, “not only those that do actually profess faith in and obedience unto Christ, but also the infants of one or both believing parents are to be baptized.” John Owen remarks, as to the subjects of the rite—“The question is not whether all infants are to be baptized or not. For, according to the will of God, some are not to be baptized, even such whose parents are strangers from the covenant.”[239] Baxter adopted the same view.[240] So did Goodwin, but he considered that the child of a godly person, though not in fellowship with any Church, was entitled to the ordinance.[241]

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

Of the importance of a baptismal dedication of infants, Presbyterians and Independents held decided views. Some of the former spoke of the nature and advantages of the sacrament in terms which would be greatly modified by their successors,[242] even as the latter confined its administration within narrower limits than many of the former.

The Baptists resembled the Independents in Church polity, except as it regards baptism. They were specially singled out for attack by the High Church party, and their extraordinary sufferings have never been forgotten by their successors. They could not but be winnowed by the winds of persecution. Forty-six Baptist Churches are said to have been in existence in London in the year 1646. The number of them represented at an assembly held in 1689 is but eleven.[243] Supposing the first of these statements to be exaggerated, and the second to be inadequate, allowing that in the former estimate some small groups of worshippers were counted as Churches, although not organized as such, and that there might be more Baptist Churches in London than were represented in the assembly held after the Restoration; further, taking into account the fact that the erection of larger places of worship, after liberty had been conceded, would absorb the fragmentary assemblies common when oppression was rife; still, the comparison even of these loose returns would indicate that the fact of the case is in accordance with the probability, and that Baptists, like Independents, declined somewhat in numerical power.

Baptist Churches sprung out of Independent ones, as before, so after the days of Cromwell. For instance, in the year 1633, a number of Baptists in London, who had been members of an Independent Church, swarmed, and settled down into a distinct Baptist community,[244] and in 1667 a Baptist member of the Independent Church in Norwich withdrew from that society, and entered upon the task “of building another house for God.”[245]

In the records of early Independency we meet with allusions to messengers appointed to take part in conferences between those Churches and others of the same denomination. A like practice existed among the Baptists, who seem to have gone beyond their brethren in the number and importance of such conferences.

The Baptists were divided into Particular and General. The Particular Baptists were those who held the doctrine of particular redemption.

Upon comparing the doctrinal part of the confession of the Particular Baptists, published in the years 1677 and 1689, with the doctrinal part of the confession of the Westminster Divines, it will be found to resemble it—differing in this respect from an earlier confession of faith, published by seven Baptist Churches in 1644 and 1646. That earlier confession presents a statement of doctrinal belief much shorter, couched in different terms, and arranged in a different order.[246] The Predestinarianism expressed by the Baptists in 1677 and 1689, is not less decided than the Predestinarianism of the Confession of 1644 and 1646, but in neither of these confessions can I find the doctrine of reprobation. The omission in the last confession, of the Westminster Article on that subject, is very significant.

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

The Article on the nature of baptism in the Baptist Confession of 1677 differs but slightly from the Articles on the same subject in the Westminster Confession, and in the Savoy Declaration; but, of course, there is a great difference from these, in the Article touching the subjects of baptism, and the mode of its administration. The Baptist Confession says, “Those who do actually profess repentance towards God, faith in and obedience to our Lord Jesus Christ are the only proper subjects of this ordinance. The outward element to be used in this ordinance is water, wherein the party is to be baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Immersion or dipping of the person in water is necessary to the due administration of the ordinance.”

The General Baptists, whose early history can be reviewed more conveniently when we have passed the Revolution, were those who, resembling their brethren in other respects, held Anti-Calvinistic sentiments, and preached the doctrine of general redemption. Some of the Churches of this denomination kept Saturday as a day of rest and worship, and were on that account called Seventh Day Baptists. They seem to have been very strict in their ecclesiastical discipline, and to have drawn around them very closely the bonds of fellowship. Not only were formal letters of dismissal from one Church to another given when members removed to a new residence—as was a common practice amongst all Congregationalists—but an instance is at hand of “an epistle of commendation,” written in a very primitive style, being given to a person on the point of travelling to some distant part of the country.

The document is signed by Francis Bampfield, a well-known ejected minister,[247]—who died in Newgate,—and also by his deacons. They thus jointly express their fraternal affection: “To any Church of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom our brother may come, who are one with us in the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, and in the order of the Gospel of God keeping the holy Sabbath. Our brother, having occasion to visit your parts, and being unacquainted with the faces of the saints in your parts, was desirous of a testimony from us, which we are desirous to give unto you, that he may be watched over, and made a partaker of the privileges of Christ’s house. For he is a brother, and faithful, who also hath been as a living member amongst us, in varieties of cases in which he hath been tried. Therefore receive him as you would receive any of us, and as we would receive you in the Lord, who commend him and you to the grace of God, and subscribe ourselves in behalf of the rest, &c.”[248]

Baptists were not only divided into Particular and General, as it respects doctrine; they were distinguished as Strict and Open with respect to communion. In the Confession of 1677 the distinction as to discipline is thus represented—“The known principles and the state of the consciences of us that have agreed in this confession is such, that we cannot hold Church communion with any other than baptized believers, and Churches constituted of such; yet some other of us have a greater liberty, and freedom in our spirits that way.”

Kiffin and Thomas Paul were advocates of strict communion; Jessy, Tombes, and Bunyan were advocates of open communion.[249]

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

The records of the Baptist Church assembling in Broadmead, Bristol, furnish a complete history of its Christian fellowship. The mode of admission is fully described. Candidates gave an account of the work of God upon their souls before the whole congregation. Three are on one occasion mentioned as giving satisfaction, but two of the brethren desired further time to discourse with one Mary Skinker about her principles, whether she was sound in the doctrine of the Gospel, concerning the person and human nature of Christ our Lord; and time also to discourse with one Elizabeth Jordan somewhat further, for their satisfaction concerning the truth of the work of grace upon her soul. Persons, “hoped to be in the truth,” were baptized in the river Frome—this was done once, amidst frost and snow, and a sharp, piercing wind, so that a wet handkerchief was frozen round the neck of one of the women; although one person was sick, and another had tooth-ache, and a third had sprained his leg, and a fourth was consumptive, the Lord, it is said, “to declare His power, did, as it were, work a miracle, to give a precedent to others,” lest, from the coldness of the season, they should fear to do His will. He preserved them all, and not so much as one was ill; each was the better for being baptized, and all were alive ten years afterwards to speak of the Lord’s goodness, and have it recorded in the Church Book. Discipline was rigidly maintained. Letters were written to members suspected of improper conduct, and the answers they returned of confession, or denial, or excuse, are carefully preserved. Instances of answers to prayer are recorded—one of a bachelor, who fell distracted, so that he was forced to be bound to his bed, but after days of prayer the Lord cast out, “as it were, three spirits, visible to be seen”—a spirit of uncleanness for rage and blasphemy, a spirit of horror and fear, and a spirit of shame and dumbness. Allusion is made to the occurrence of a fiery apparition on the north-west side of the City, like a boy’s kite, with a fiery oval head, and a long white tail. These records abound in stories of persecution and disturbance; but whatever may be thought of the superstitious tinge, so apparent in the character of these simple-hearted and pious people, every reader must be touched by the following entries:—

“On the 2nd of July [1682], Lord’s Day, our pastor preached in another place in the Wood. Our friends took much pains in the rain, because many informers were ordered out to search, and we were in peace, though there were near twenty men and boys in search.” “On the 16th brother Fownes first, and brother Whinnell after, preached under a tree, it being very rainy.” “On the 13th [of August] our pastor preached in the Wood, and afterwards broke bread at Mr. Young’s in peace. But Hellier and the rest were busy that day, and shut up the gates, and kept watch at the Weir, and behind St. Philip’s in the morning, to prevent any going out, and in the evening to catch them coming in, and took up several in the evening as vagrants on the Lord’s Day, and sent some to Newgate, and some to Bridewell, watching till seven in the evening for that purpose.” “On the 20th met above Scruze Hole, in our old place, and heard brother Fownes preach twice in peace. Brother Terrill had caused workmen to make banks on the side of the hill to sit down on, several of them like a gallery. And there we met also on the 27th in peace. And both days we sang a psalm in the open wood.”[250] No doubt if other Congregational Church books, Baptist and Pædo-baptist, had been as minute and copious in detail, and had been as safely handed down to us as the Broadmead Records have happily been, we should have found in them somewhat similar information, touching different kinds of Independent communities.

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

The history of the Quakers, throughout the period under review, is a history of spiritual life, of intense suffering, of calm endurance, of inflexible adherence to principle, of heroic zeal, of indefatigable activity, and of large success, both as to the increase of numbers, and the moral improvement of mankind. It is also a history of organic ecclesiastical development. So spiritual an impulse worked out a graduated system of co-operation and discipline. Quakers differed from the Presbyterians, from the Independents, and from the Baptists in doctrinal opinions, and they also rejected the celebration of sacraments, which all the others reverentially observed; but in ecclesiastical government the Quakers were much less unlike the Presbyterians than the other two denominations. Quakers’ Societies were not distinct Churches, independent of each other, but they formed one large spiritual aggregate, the various parts being united, not only in sympathy and general action, but in certain definite social arrangements. In respect to corporate unity, Quakers attained to a perfection at which the Presbyterians of the Commonwealth aimed in vain, and which the Presbyterians of the Restoration never attempted. After the first few years of struggle and suffering, Quakerism consolidated itself into the following shape, as described by Sewell, the historian of the sect:—

“As to Church government, both for looking to the orderly conversation of the members, and for taking care of the poor, and of indigent widows and orphans, and also for making inquiry into marriages solemnized among them, they have particular meetings, either weekly, or every two weeks, or monthly, according to the greatness of the Churches. They have also quarterly meetings in every county, where matters are brought that cannot well be adjusted in the particular meetings. To these meetings come not only the ministers and elders, but also other members, that are known to be of sober conversation; and what is agreed upon there is entered into a book belonging to the meeting. Besides these meetings, a general annual assembly is kept at London in the Whitsun Week so-called, not for any superstitious observation the Quakers have for that more than any other time, but because that season of the year best suits the general accommodation. To this yearly meeting, which sometimes lasteth four, five, or more days, are admitted such as are sent from all Churches of that Society in the world, to give an account of the state of the particular Churches, which from some places is done only by writing, and from that meeting is sent a general epistle to all the Churches, which commonly is printed, and sometimes particular epistles are also sent to the respective Churches. By which it may be known every year in what condition the Churches are, and in the said epistle generally is recommended a godly life and conversation, and due care about the education of children. If it happen that the poor anywhere are in want, then that is supplied by others who have in store, or sometimes by an extraordinary collection.”

DEVELOPMENT OF NONCONFORMITY.

He supplies the following particulars respecting another subject:—

“In their method of marriage they also depart from the common way, for in the Old Testament they find not that the joining of a couple in marriage ever was the office of a priest, nor in the Gospel any preacher among Christians appointed thereto. Therefore it is their custom, that when any intend to enter into marriage, they first having the consent of parents or guardians, acquaint the respective men’s and women’s meetings of their intention, and after due inquiry, all things appearing clear, they in a public meeting solemnly take each other in marriage, with a promise of love and fidelity, and not to leave one another before death separates them. Of this a certificate is drawn, mentioning the names and distinctions of the persons thus joined, which, being first signed by themselves, those then that are present sign as witnesses. In the burying of their dead they mind decency, and endeavour to avoid all pomp, and the wearing of mourning is not approved among them, for they think that the mourning which is lawful may be showed sufficiently to the world by a modest and grave deportment.”[251]

CHAPTER XI.

After tracing the political history of the Church, and the development of Nonconformity in different directions, I proceed to gather up a number of facts illustrative of the worship and social religious life of England after the Restoration.

I. The injuries done to cathedrals during the Civil Wars were repaired, and such partitions as had been erected to adapt them for Nonconformist use were removed.

Seth Ward, first as Dean, afterwards as Bishop of Exeter, improved the cathedral of that diocese. The same may be said respecting Salisbury, to which he was translated. That cathedral had been kept in repair during the Commonwealth, at whose expense no one knew, for the workmen engaged upon it were wont to reply to inquirers, “They who employ us well pay us—trouble not yourselves to inquire who they are. Whoever they are they do not desire to have their names known.” But Ward increased the beauty of the building, for he paved the cloisters and choir, the latter with black and white marble.[252]

CHURCHES.

Hacket persevered in his labours at Lichfield until the sacred edifice reached its completion. He raised money “by bare-faced begging,” and no gentleman lodged or baited in the City whom he did not visit, that he might solicit contributions towards the object so dear to his heart. North, who says this, also remarks, that the Bishop adorned the choir so “completely and politely,” that he had never seen a “more laudable and well-composed structure.” He also mentions the Cathedral of York as “stately,” only “disgraced by a wooden roof.” Durham too is described by the same pen as most ancient, with the “marks of old ruin;” and of that, and of York Minster, the judge says that “the gentry affect to walk there to see and be seen.”[253] Dr. John Barwick, who, for his loyalty, was first rewarded by the bestowment upon him of the Deanery of Durham, exerted himself vigorously during the short time that he held that office, in the reparation of the cathedral and the prebendal houses.[254] And when removed to the Deanery of St. Paul’s he evinced equal zeal in promoting the restoration of that edifice. The rebuilding of it after the fire was a great undertaking, and called forth the strenuous efforts of Sancroft, who succeeded Barwick in the Deanery. To him, as much as to any one, posterity owes the adoption of Sir Christopher Wren’s design, after abortive attempts had been made to build anew upon the old foundations. Sancroft’s correspondence with the architect indicates his interest in the preparation of the plans; the passing of the Coal Act, by which funds were secured, was promoted by his exertions, and amongst the voluntary subscribers the Dean’s name is conspicuous.[255] The first stone was laid in 1675, and ten years afterwards the edifice had so far advanced that the walls of the choir and side-aisles were completed, and the porticoes and pillars of the dome were finished.

The style of architecture adopted in new ecclesiastical structures was debased Grecian; of which a specimen may be found at Northampton, in All Saints’ Church, with its Ionic columns supporting a balustrade, in the centre of which—symbolical of the worship of royalty—stands the statue of Charles II., who gave towards the building a large quantity of timber. The pencil of Sir Godfrey Kneller was employed upon pictures of Moses and Aaron for the decoration of the altar-piece; there, and in several cathedrals and large churches, remained until of late, hideous examples of the wooden screens and galleries of the period. In connection with this allusion to ecclesiastical carpentry, it is not impertinent to notice that there is a paper in the Record Office, dated February 18th, 1677, thanking Williamson for a new pulpit just erected at Bridekirk, “gilded with gold and silver for its better adornment, and all covered over with a brownish ointment.” The churchwardens ask for a new pulpit-cloth and cushion. Sculptured sepulchres of the same age, now, after a complete revolution in public taste, excite as much ridicule as they then excited admiration; yet long before it was said, “Princes’ images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray to Heaven; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the tooth-ache. They are not carved with their eyes fixed upon the stars; but, as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the self-same way they seem to turn their faces.”[256]

CHURCHES.

The ornaments of the church, like its architecture and its sculpture, expressed the taste of the day. An altar “especially adorned, the white marble enclosure curiously and richly carved,”—flowers and garlands, the work of Grinling Gibbons,—purple velvet fringed with gold, with the letters I H S richly embroidered,—sacramental plate valued at £200—these are notable objects which, in the new church of St. James, Westminster, erected at that time, called forth admiring words from the eminent Anglican John Evelyn.[257] They indicate a feeling totally at variance with mediæval Catholicism; and nowhere does it appear that in those days vases of flowers, or painted banners, or other accompaniments of mediæval Ritualism, were in any case employed. On the contrary, a keen jealousy of Romanism extensively prevailed, and it may be discovered very plainly in the following passage, extracted from a contemporary diary:—“The Church of Allhallows, Barking, in London, was presented for innovations, as bowing to the East, and for the picture of the Angel Gabriel over the altar. It came to a trial, Monday, March 1st, and the picture was brought into the Court; and the minister that caused it to be set up submitted to the Court, and the picture must be set up no more, and so the business ends.”[258]

In Articles of Visitation we meet with minute inquiries respecting parish churches; but many of the old fabrics must have been in a miserable condition, if we may judge from complaints made in the diocese of Winchester; it being said that “some in late times were totally ruined and demolished, and those of them still standing were much decayed and out of repair.” The Bishop, in pursuance of an Act of Parliament, united some of the parishes, “for the encouragement of able ministers to undertake the care of them.”[259] The cost expended on the church at Euston, in Suffolk, is mentioned as “most laudable,” in contrast with other Houses of God in that county, which resembled thatched cottages rather than “temples in which to serve the Most High.”[260] Even cathedrals were badly furnished, and in sorry repair. “Are the uncomely forms,” asks the Bishop of Durham, in 1668, “and coarse mats, lately used at the administration of the Holy Communion, for such persons as usually resort thither, without the rails, taken away; and others more comely put in their place, and decently covered, as heretofore hath been accustomed? And are the partitions on each hand of these forms, under the two arches of the church next the said rails, well framed in joiners’ work, and there set up for the better keeping out of the wind and cold, which otherwise do many times molest and annoy the communicant?”[261]

WORSHIP.

It was required that in every parish church there should be a stone font; a comely pulpit, with a decent cloth or cushion; a carpet of silk, or some decent stuff, on the communion-table during service; and a fair cloth for the celebration of the Lord’s Supper; also a cup and flagon of silver, chests for alms and for registers; and it was also ordered that in churches there should be placed the Book of Canons, a Book of Offices for the 30th of January, the 29th of May, and the 5th of November, a copy of Jewel’s Apology well and fairly bound, and a record—in which strange preachers should write their names in the presence of churchwardens. Notwithstanding the careful and repeated inquiries made respecting such matters in Articles of Visitation, it is highly probable that they were often neglected.[262]

II. From the buildings and their furniture we turn to the worship, including its vestments and mode of celebration. Whatever may be the exact meaning of the rubric prefixed to the Order of Morning Prayer, chasubles and other priestly attire used in the second year of King Edward, were not worn after the Restoration, nor did any of the Anglican prelates attempt to enforce their use. Copes, according to the Twenty-fourth Canon, were prescribed to be worn by the principal ministers at the Holy Communion in cathedrals; but in other churches ministers were to read the Divine service, and administer the sacraments, in a decent and comely surplice with sleeves, and wearing University hoods according to their degrees. With such an arrangement the visitation articles of the prelates are in accordance. Croft, Bishop of Hereford, that very low Churchman, took care to express his decided approbation “of a pure white robe on the minister’s shoulders,” emblematical of the purity of heart which became the service.[263]

Wind instruments were, for a time used in some cathedral choirs, but they soon gave place to organs; and the boys failed not to bring “a fair book of the anthem and service, and sometimes the score,” to distinguished strangers.[264]

Baptism was performed according to the Prayer Book, and a public administration of it in the case of those who had passed the age of childhood sometimes attracted considerable notice. The following anecdote on this subject occurs in a letter:—“Mr. John Harrington (whose father was some time since one of the serjeants-at-arms to His Majesty) had his boy baptized in the church; he being about fifteen years old, and not baptized before, and the son of a Nonconformist. To see which the church was fuller than it useth to be at other times; he having God-fathers and God-mothers according to the ceremony of the Church.”[265]

The Lord’s Supper was administered from the table placed by the wall, at the east end of the church, in accordance with Laudian precedents, in spite of the rubrical direction that it “shall stand in the body of the church, or in the chancel; where morning and evening prayers are appointed to be said.” In some churches, the Communion Service, on non-communion days, was read from the desk, it being alleged, “that it was indecent to go to the altar and back, with the surplice still on, to the homily or sermon”—a reason which implies that the surplice was worn in the pulpit, even by those who read the Communion Service in the desk. Clergymen left the desk, after the second lesson, to baptize in the font at the west end of the church.[266]

WORSHIP.

On special occasions, cathedrals witnessed extraordinary processions—as when Judges, with the Sheriffs and their officers, attended at Assize sermons; or when a Mayor and Aldermen, clothed in municipal robes, with their gold chains, marched or rode thither, through streets of quaint architecture, to celebrate festivals civic or sacred. A Royal visit eclipsed all mere annual pageants; and it is related that when Charles II., in the year 1671, visited the City of Norwich, as the guest of Lord Henry Howard, afterwards Duke of Norfolk, His Majesty went to the grand old Norman temple in the Close—the pride of the City—and was “sung into the church with an anthem; and when he had ended his devotion at the east end of the church, where he kneeled on the hard stone, he went to the Bishop’s palace [then occupied by Reynolds], and was there nobly entertained.”[267]

St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, became the scene of peculiar solemnities. The Feast of St. George was there celebrated in 1662; and the knights elect were constrained to receive their investiture below, in the choir, yet directly under their proper stalls, because of “the great concourse of people which at that time had flocked to Windsor (greedy to behold the glory of that solemnity, which for many years had been intermitted), and rudely forced not only into and filled the lower row of stalls, but taken up almost the whole choir.” Two years afterwards, at the Feast of St. George, there was an anthem, composed for the solemnity, accompanied by the organ and other instrumental music; this was the first time that instrumental music was introduced into the Royal chapel.[268]

Pompous funerals had taken place during the Commonwealth, particularly in Westminster Abbey. Funerals more pompous still occurred in the same national edifice, with a splendour surpassing what might be exhibited elsewhere. Monk, Duke of Albemarle, in 1670, was conveyed “by the King’s orders, with all respect imaginable,” in a long procession; and within the sacred walls the remains were met by the Dean and Prebendaries, who wore copes; and, in connection with the service, offerings were made at the altar.[269]

On Easter Day, at the Royal Chapel, when the Bishop of Rochester preached before the King, and the sacrament followed, “there was perfume burnt before the office began.”[270]

The Restoration brought with it much irreverence in religion. The worship at Lichfield was performed “with more harmony and less huddle” than in any church in England, except in St. Paul’s at a later period;[271] a laudable exception proving a disgraceful rule. Complaints were officially made, by a circular letter in the name of Archbishop Sheldon, respecting the slovenly performance of sacred duties by Deans, Canons, and other dignitaries. Reading the service and administering the sacraments had been neglected by such persons, as if they had been offices beneath their importance, to be performed only by Vicars or petty Canons.[272] Croft, Bishop of Hereford, complains that “such dirty nasty surplices as most of them wear, and especially the singers in cathedrals (where they should be most decent), is rather an imitation of their dirty lives,” and had given his “stomach such a surfeit of them” as that he had almost an aversion to them all; and he adds, “I am confident, had not this decent habit been so indecently abused, it had never been so generally loathed.”[273] And Trelawny, of Bristol, laments, in reference to the united parishes of Elberton and Littleton, “I never saw so ill churches, or such ill parishioners. In one the sacrament has not been administered since the Restoration, in the other very seldom; and all the plate is but a small silver bowl, and that is kept at a Quaker’s house, with my late orders to the contrary.”[274] In Articles of Visitation by the Bishop of Lincoln, it is asked whether churchwardens took care that people should not stand idle, or talk together in the church-porch, or walk in the church-yard during the time of sacred offices, or lean or lay their hats on the communion-table; and whether no minstrels, morrice-dancers, dogs, hawks, or hounds were brought into the church to the disturbance of the congregation.[275]

WORSHIP.

Neglect on the part of ecclesiastical officers was accompanied by irreverence on the part of people in general; in all of which may be traced—beyond the result of certain Puritan extravagances during the Civil War—the effect of educational habits which date as far back as the Reformation, and even earlier still, when worn-out superstitions produced contempt. In some cases during the reign of Charles II. impious frivolity and brutal ignorance are apparent. A curious example of this is furnished in the letter of a Canon Residentiary at York, written February 12th, 1673, and preserved amongst the State Papers:—“On Sundays and holidays (when the young people of the town are afloat), 400 or 500 would walk, talk, and do much worse things, to the great disturbance of Divine service (not to mention other aggravations), that nothing could be heard, though with all, I have used such temper and moderation in it, that nothing hath at any time been done against any of them, further than to urge them either to go in to prayers, or to go out of the church, unless sometimes I have catched at a rude boy’s hat, and kept it till the end of the prayers, and given it him (with a chiding) again. Howbeit, this, it seems, so exasperated the youth of the town, that yesterday (being Shrove Tuesday) they, in time of Divine service, broke open the church doors (which I had caused to be shut), and when (after service ended) I was going to my house, they so affronted and abused me, that Captain Henry Wood, and sundry other officers of the garrison, who were walking in the church, were forced not only to come, but to send for two files of musketeers, to my rescue.” The writer then relates that, after the soldiers had left, the mob attacked his house, broke his windows, and did damage to the extent of £40; and would possibly have set fire to his house, had they not been restrained by the military. The Lord Mayor of the City refused to interfere, as the church-yard was not within his liberty.

REVENUES.

III. Episcopal revenues were unequally distributed.[276] The Bishop of Durham received, in 1670 and afterwards, an annual income of £3,280; previously to which his resources were so limited, that it was computed not more than £1,500 remained after he had paid subsidies and first-fruits. Durham House, in the Strand, had been seized by Queen Elizabeth; although reclaimed by the Bishop upon her death, it never again became the episcopal residence; but Aukland Palace, which used to be to Durham what Croydon used to be to Lambeth, remained in the Bishops’ possession, and furnished an opportunity for the richest hospitalities. Ely Place, where Shakespeare’s “good strawberries” grew in the garden, with its vineyard, meadow, and orchard, had been appropriated to Sir Christopher Hatton by Queen Elizabeth; yet Bishop Laney had possession of the palace, and died there in 1675. The Bishops of Carlisle had long lost Worcester House, in the Strand; and the prelates of Winchester had leased out “their very fair house well repaired” (in Southwark), which had “a large wharf and landing-place,” to occupy a mansion in the suburb of Chelsea.[277] The provincial palaces of the Bishops surpassed those which they had in the Metropolis, and were well-known centres of social attraction and entertainment. Whilst lamentations were poured forth by some over the robbery and spoliation of sees, so that it was said a mean gentleman of £200 in land yearly would not exchange his worldly state and condition with divers Bishops,[278]—Burnet speaks of the extravagance of the class generally, and represents them as a bad pattern “to all the lower dignitaries, who generally took more care of themselves than of the Church.” It is a fact, however, which it would be unjust not to mention, that many of the Bishops were large contributors to the repairs of sacred buildings, and to other ecclesiastical objects. Cosin, for instance, expended the income of the first seven years of his episcopacy in the improvement of property belonging to the see of Durham, and in establishing various charitable foundations.

The see of Bristol was extremely poor, and Hereford yielded only £800 a year.[279] Yet Brian Duppa, after his translation to the see of Winchester, which he held but a year and a half, is reported to have received in fines as much as £50,000. Out of this large amount, however, he remitted £30,000 to his tenants, and expended £16,000 in acts of charity.[280] Morley disposed of almost all his income in benefactions. Sheldon’s gifts were computed at upwards of £66,000.[281]

REVENUES.

Palaces, deaneries, and prebendal houses, like cathedrals and churches, had suffered in the wars. Their reparation, and the business connected with raising funds for the purpose, largely occupied the attention of the restored possessors. Hacket, so successful in the re-edification of his cathedral, failed to complete the re-edification of his palace, and left the work to his successor, who shamefully neglected it; but it should be remembered that the restoration of the palaces at Exeter and Salisbury are amongst the good deeds ascribed to Seth Ward.[282] Sancroft procured an Act of Parliament which enabled him to lease out shops and tenements in St. Paul’s Churchyard, upon condition of expending £2,500, before September 30th, 1673, in building a commodious deanery; and the Privy Council, after noticing, in their minutes, that the houses of the Dean and Prebendaries of Winchester, in the late rebellion, were totally demolished, and the greatest part of two other houses likewise pulled down, and three only left standing on the old foundations, very ruinous and out of repair, gave orders, with a view to facilitate the rebuilding, that there should be a repeal of the clauses in the statutes of the Church “which concern succession in vacant prebends, and the reparation of deans’ and prebends’ houses.”[283] Large demands were made upon Chapter revenues, not only for repairs, but for Royal presents and charities; and some cathedral stalls furnished little emolument to their occupants: so that, speaking of a prebend, Croft of Hereford says, “This thing, though small (worth not above £80 per annum) is the best and only considerable thing in my gift, my bishopric being as wretched in this—to my great discomfort—as in the revenue.”[284] Deans and Canons could not vie with Bishops in hospitality, but the comforts of life were amply provided and enjoyed in snug and cozy abodes, within the limits of the cathedral close: and North mentions the good ale and small beer brewed from South Country malt, and supplied from the Prebend’s cellars to his relative the Judge, when visiting the City of Carlisle.[285]

In the year 1663 it was computed that there were 12,000 church livings, of which 3,000 were impropriate, and 4,165 were sinecures without resident clergymen. Considering the small means possessed by some distinguished clergymen, we are not surprised at the eager applications with which they beset Secretary Williamson, whenever vacancies occurred in ecclesiastical posts of a promising kind. Sometimes bribes were offered to promote success, as appears from a letter written to Williamson by a clergyman named Gregory, who sought a stall in a cathedral. He said he had a friend near the Earl of Clarendon; but, the Earl’s interest failing, he desired the Secretary to procure a grant of the next prebend in either of the places he referred to; and he promised gladly, upon the passing of the seal, to gratify his friend with one hundred pieces. A living in any county, if considerable, would be no less welcome, though the simoniacal oath deterred the writer from anything more than an indefinite engagement. He could answer for it, that his Lordship of Gloucester would give him such a character as showed him deserving of the preferment desired.[286]

REVENUES.

To pass from this shot so skilfully but so illegally fired into the ecclesiastical preserves of the State—whether it brought anything into the hands of this ministerial poacher is not worth inquiry—we light upon other examples, in abundance, of clergymen patiently waiting and eagerly asking for the bestowment of patronage. The Rector of Meonstoke, Hampshire, informed the influential man at head-quarters that he had just fulfilled his course of preaching in the Cathedral Church of Chichester as a minor prophet, which rendered him capable of advancement to a residentiary’s place, if he could obtain an election. There was a place vacant, and he now solicited the Secretary’s interest with the Dean, who was Clerk of the Closet,—as he would not deny such an important personage anything,—and the petitioner was sure that a certain Canon he mentions would agree with the Dean; and both together could overrule the Chapter, which at that time consisted of them and two others. The latter, indeed, were stiffly resolved for a Mr. Sefton, and the Dean had thoughts of the thing for himself; but the writer presumed the Dean would get loose to it when he understood it was below him. Should he, however, continue in such inclination, the petitioner asked that he might be the Dean’s successor. The place would be a preferment to the suppliant Rector, who considered he would not be unacceptable to the Church and City, and it would redeem him from the desolate condition he was in by the death of his dear Betty.[287] Again, Bishop Reynolds appointed Dr. Mylles to be his Chancellor in the diocese of Norwich, by patent under his Episcopal seal dated 13th of September, 1661. The Chancellor requested the Dean and Chapter to confirm the patent, which they refused to do, without assigning any reason for their refusal. He accordingly applied to the King, and prayed that he would be graciously pleased to enforce the needful confirmation of the patent by the proper ecclesiastical authorities. In urging upon His Majesty this petition, Dr. Mylles notices an objection made to him, on the ground of his having been on the side of the Parliament in the late troubles. To remove the objection, he asserts that he had never disobliged any of the King’s friends; that when he discovered Cromwell’s designs, he quitted the army; that he was ejected from the University at Oxford for declining to take the Engagement; that he had served under the Duke of Albemarle, and had helped to bring in the King. This petition was backed by Rushworth, who pleaded, amongst other things, in his client’s favour, that at private meetings, where he thought he might speak without danger, he had not hesitated to contribute counsel and advice towards His Majesty’s restoration, which had produced upon Lord Fairfax, and other considerable persons, a good effect.[288]

To cite another case:—“Most honoured Sir,”—wrote Dr. Fell, Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, to Williamson, immediately after the death of Dr. William Fuller, who had been translated from Limerick to Lincoln,—“it is a privilege our people here take to themselves to bestow all bishoprics before the King disposes of them; and they, having, upon the first news of the vacancy of Lincoln, made the Provost to be the successor, went on, in the same method of liberality, to bestow his places; and upon Sunday night one of the most popular Bachelors in Divinity that we have in town came to me upon that errand, signifying his concern on behalf of the Master of Pembroke; and on Monday several others, of other houses, made the same application. I told them all, that first it was very indecent to begin a canvass before a place was actually void, and probably a considerable time would pass before there would be a vacancy; besides, they should consider that Dr. Tully might justly pretend to the place, and, if he did, would not fail of being assisted by his friends.” To move on behalf of Dr. Hall, he goes on to say, might be a great unkindness to him, since he did not appear as a candidate, nor probably would like to have his name brought in question; besides, it would create a competition and disturbance in the University; and therefore he had desired his friends not to proceed in the matter.[289] Dr. Tully, referred to in this letter—an eminent Divine and Controversialist, of whom notice will be taken in our review of the theology of the period—was not an unconcerned spectator of the changes occurring at the time, and the excitement which they produced; and I find amongst the State Papers the following exquisite specimen of the characteristic flattery of the age preserved in a letter which he wrote, on Holy Thursday, to his friend at Court:—“Right Honourable,—Having no way else to express the sense of my greatest obligations to you, I beg you will commiserate so far as to accept this renewal of my heartiest acknowledgments. I hasten to make it, not for fear I should forget your favours (I know that to be next impossibility), but to shun the pain of delay, from the weight and pressure of them. It is some ease to a grateful mind, under such a load of obligations, to air itself in the field where they grow. Most honoured Sir, amongst all the rest of your noble kindnesses to me, I must single that out of the crowd, which made you unkind (I had almost said, unnatural) to yourself, to let me know how much you are my friend. I can but thank you, and tell stories at home and abroad of your goodness to me, and heartily pray for the increase of all honour to you, with a long enjoyment, and the reward at last of a blessed immortality.”[290]

REVENUES.

These well-timed compliments were not in vain; for, though Tully did not obtain any preferment in consequence of the death of the Bishop of Lincoln, he was immediately afterwards promoted to the Deanery of Ripon, upon the death of Dr. John Neile.

Dr. Barlow, a well-known Oxford man, and an eager aspirant for a bishopric, obtained the see of Lincoln, and wrote on the 29th of May, as mentioned already, to his friend, the Secretary, stating that fees, first-fruits, and other charges cost him £1,500 or £2,000 before he could receive a penny from the bishopric. “I was never in debt,” he says, “yet borrow I must, and, to enable me to repay honestly, I mean to stay here (as others I see do in the like case) till a little after Lady-day next. My College and Margaret Lecture I can (without any dispensation) keep, and perform the duties of both till then.”[291]

Amidst the turnings of the preferment-wheel at that time, Dr. Hall, referred to in Vice-Chancellor Fell’s letter, was elected to the Margaret professorship, vacated at length by Barlow’s resignation.

In July of the same year, 1675, another letter reached Whitehall, upon a similar subject. “It is thought here,” wrote Dr. John Wallis, the celebrated Mathematician at Oxford, “that the Bishop of Worcester is either dead, or at least not likely to subsist long, which will give occasion of alterations. If that or any other occasion give you opportunity of doing a kindness to your servant, or my son, I believe His Majesty would be very ready to grant, if we knew what to ask. I have signified to Dr. Conant by his son your good thoughts of him.” We must now terminate these illustrations.

IV. By an easy transition we pass from ecclesiastical revenues to ecclesiastical courts. Both the Archidiaconal and the Consistorial resumed their activity after the Restoration, and before them were brought numerous charges of delinquency, respecting clergymen and laymen. It would be beyond my purpose to enter into the penetralia of these intricate proceedings; it will be sufficient to notice the nature of some of the accusations on which individuals were arraigned, as illustrative of the social life of the period. Yet before doing so I must notice two circumstances, which require more attention than they have received from historians. The first is this:—

ECCLESIASTICAL COURTS.

By the Act of the 13th Charles II. cap. 12, which restored the jurisdiction of the ordinary Ecclesiastical Courts, but abolished that of the extraordinary High Commission Court, it was expressly provided that there should no longer be any administration of the ex-officio oath, by which persons were compelled to accuse, or to purge themselves of any criminal matter. But as it has been recently remarked, whilst the letter of this enactment seems to have been so far observed, that an accused clergyman or other person, liable to deprivation, could not be obliged to answer on oath as to the truth of the charge,—the spirit of the enactment, in certain other cases, was violated to a great extent. For, in the administration of articles to a defendant in a cause of correction, the practice was to charge the commission of the offence on the ground of public “fame,” without specific evidence, and to require the defendant to answer on oath, who, if he failed to do so, was treated as having admitted the truth of the allegation. Thus, instead of the burden of proving guilt being thrown on the accuser, the burden of establishing innocence seems to have rested on the accused, and he became liable to be called upon to make “canonical purgation;” i.e., “to declare on oath that he was not guilty of the offence, and to produce a certain number of witnesses, as ‘compurgators,’ to swear that they believed his declaration to be true.”[292] This circumstance shows, in what a limited degree the Act of Charles II., restoring the ecclesiastical courts, diminished even oppressive tendencies; how, whilst it altered them in form, it left scope for the exercise of their former spirit, and how they remained instruments of injustice and cruelty, to be used by those who were malignantly or resentfully disposed. At the same time we should carefully weigh the number and the nature of the appeals made from the judgment of the lower to the decision of the higher authority. To this I will presently direct attention.

The second circumstance is that the High Court of Delegates was restored upon the return of Charles II. This court, which had from ancient times received secular appeals, acquired, in the reign of Henry VIII., the power of deciding ecclesiastical appeals from all ordinary ecclesiastical tribunals in England and Wales.[293] It appears that the only court not within its appellate jurisdiction was the Court of High Commission. Cases of doctrine, and cases of discipline, unsatisfactorily litigated in the lower courts, came up before this tribunal of delegates for final review and decision. The constitution of the court was remarkable. Although exercising a supreme ecclesiastical jurisdiction, the lay element preponderated. Of the fifty-one Commissions between 1660 and 1688, two were composed of Bishops and Civilians; eighteen included Bishops, Judges, and Civilians; one contained Peers, Bishops, Judges, and Civilians; eleven of the Commissions were directed to Civilians only, and nineteen to Judges and Civilians.[294] It may be added that soon after the Restoration the use of Latin was resumed in their proceedings. The fact, with regard to the strong infusion of laical power into the constitution of this important court, not only throws an instructive light upon the relations of Church and State, but it proves that for none of the acts of this court, at that time under consideration, whether righteous or unrighteous, are the clergy to be held entirely responsible; with some of them they had nothing whatever to do.

ECCLESIASTICAL COURTS.

It is to the Parliamentary Returns of the appeals made to the delegates, that we are indebted for the knowledge of the following ecclesiastical causes:—

A clergyman, named Slader, Rector of Birmingham, had been brought before the Court of Arches on an appeal from the Consistory of Lichfield, and finally his case came before the Court of Delegates, by which court he was decreed to be sequestered ab officio suo clericali. He stood charged with having forged letters of orders, with disaffection to the King, with preaching amongst the Quakers, railing in the pulpit at the parishioners, and indulging in swearing, gaming, perjury, and incest. Some of these charges were very scandalous, but to them were added others of a most curious and extraordinary description,—for this man was accused of practising jugglery, of pretending, on one occasion, to cut off his son’s head, and to set it on again, and of “taking money for the sight thereof.” One Dr. Meades was deprived, on an appeal from the Arches, and from the Consistory of Winchester, for non-residence, neglect of duty, allowing the vicarage to fall into decay, and for not having read the Thirty-Nine Articles within the time prescribed by law, after his institution and induction. William Woodward, Rector of Trotterscliffe, Kent, was charged with “having uttered various profane and blasphemous speeches, e.g., that the Lord’s Prayer was not commanded to be used; that the Church of England might as well be called the Church of Rome; that he had attained such perfection that he could not sin; and that one William Francklin, a ropemaker, who had lived with him, was the Christ and Saviour.” Sentence of deprivation was ultimately pronounced in this case.[295] Theophilus Hart, in the diocese of Peterborough, was corrected, punished, and condemned in costs, for not conforming in the exercise of his clerical office: he did not baptize infants with the sign of the cross, he did not catechise the young, and he omitted many parts of the services prescribed by the Book of Common Prayer. Woodward and Hart seem to be the only clergymen during this period who appealed to the delegates in proceedings carried on against false doctrine. One Clewer, Vicar of Croydon, figures in local history as a very disgraceful person; he was tried and burnt in the hand at the Old Bailey for stealing a silver cup. His case came before the Court of Appeal, and the deprivation previously pronounced by the Court of Arches received confirmation.[296]

The laity, as well as the clergy, being subject to the ecclesiastical tribunals, causes relating to the former, after being tried elsewhere, were finally adjudicated by the delegates. One man was proceeded against for having three children unbaptized, and for not receiving the Lord’s Supper; a second, for absence from public worship; a third, for not keeping in repair the chancel of the parish church; and a fourth, for contempt of the law, and ecclesiastical jurisdiction, in teaching boys without having obtained any faculty or license.[297] Ancient forms of Church discipline sometimes followed conviction. A party, charged in the Consistory Court of Norwich with defamation, was sentenced to do penance in the parish church of Darsham, by repeating, after the minister, words of confession and contrition.[298]

ECCLESIASTICAL COURTS.

As to the number of appeals there may be reckoned up forty-five during a little more than a century, between the year 1533—the date of the commencement of the ecclesiastical power of the court—and the year 1641, the period of its temporary suppression. There were forty-six between the date of its re-establishment, in 1660, and the year of the Revolution, 1688. This would look as if more dissatisfaction was felt with the judgment of the lower ecclesiastical authority during this twenty-eight years after the Restoration, than during the hundred and eight years before the outbreak of the Parliament struggle with Charles I. Hence it might be inferred that the grievances of ecclesiastical rule increased in the reign of Charles II.; but this would not be a fair deduction, because the High Commission Court, which had been by far the most oppressive tribunal for spiritual causes, and which had been exempted from the supervision of the Court of Delegates, remained no longer in existence; and thereby a large amount of injustice was prevented. Forty-five appeals in twenty-eight years from all the ecclesiastical courts of England and Wales do not form a large number, and would seem to show that trials in ecclesiastical cases must have been much less numerous than when the High Commission existed in full play. Very few cases of appeal touching Dissenters appear in the records of the Court of Delegates. Dissenters, of course, were subject to trouble and annoyance from Archidiaconal and Consistorial authorities, but the main sorrows of Nonconformity, under the last two Stuarts’ reign, arose from the operation of Statute Law, as found in the Uniformity, Conventicle, and Five Mile Acts.

Amongst instances of discipline exercised by Bishops upon the clergy, there occurred one so striking and curious that it deserves particular mention. Dr. Lloyd, who held the see of Peterborough from 1679 to 1685, and was thence transferred to Norwich, seems to have been extraordinarily strict in the discharge of his episcopal functions, and to have visited offending ministers with public punishment. In accordance with his habitual zeal for purity in the faith and morals of the Church, he required the following recantation to be read in his cathedral by the person whose name is mentioned, and whose case is thus described:—“I, Thomas Ashenden, being deeply sensible of the foul dishonour I have done to our most holy religion, and the great scandal I have given by a late profane abuse of the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten Commandments, which I wrote and caused to be published, do here, in the presence of God, and of His ministers, and of this congregation, most heartily bewail, with unfeigned sorrow, both that notorious offence, and also all my other sins, which betrayed me into it, most humbly begging forgiveness of God, and of his Church, whose heaviest censures I have justly deserved. And as I earnestly desire that none of my brethren (much less our holy function or the Church) may be the worse thought of by any, by reason of my miscarriages, so I do faithfully promise, by God’s grace, to endeavour to behave myself hereafter so religiously in my place and calling, that I may be no more a discredit to them. In which resolution that I may persist, I beg and implore the assistance of all your prayers, and desire withal, that this my retractation and sincere profession of repentance, may be made as public as my crimes have been, that none may be tempted hereafter to do evil by my example.”[299]

NONCONFORMIST PLACES OF WORSHIP.

V. There existed, in different parts of the country, buildings entirely set apart for Nonconformist worship. Some of them were barns and warehouses adapted to the purpose, and in Norwich the refectory and dormitory of the old Blackfriars’ Convent, which, after the Restoration, had been turned into granaries for the City corn, were fitted up by permission of the Court of Mayoralty, for the use of the Presbyterian and Independent Congregationalists: also the old Leather Hall, in Coventry, a gloomy but spacious room, fitted up with galleries, was used for Nonconformist religious service.[300] A large meeting-house was erected in Zoar Street, Southwark, not far from the spot occupied by the summer theatre of Shakespeare, and within that building John Bunyan attracted immense congregations. “If there were but one day’s notice given,” his friend, Charles Doe, remarks, “there would be more people come together to hear him preach than the meeting-house could hold. I have seen, to hear him preach, by my computation, about 1,200 at a morning lecture, by seven o’clock, on a working-day, in the dark winter time. I also computed about 3,000 that came to hear him one Lord’s Day, at London, at a town’s-end meeting-house [in Zoar Street], so that half were fain to go back again for want of room, and then himself was fain at a back-door to be pulled almost over people to get upstairs to his pulpit.”[301] Mill Hill Chapel, at Leeds, was built during the period of Indulgence, being the first edifice erected by Dissenters “more ecclesiastico with arches.”[302] A meeting-house at Yarmouth is described as measuring fifty-eight feet one way, and sixty feet another, with a gallery quite round close to the pulpit, with six seats in it, one behind the other, and all accommodation possible for the reception of people below.[303] The “fanatic party” at Margate is referred to as building a “conventicle house” when it was illegal to do so, and as making great haste to get it up in spite of His Majesty’s proclamation.[304]

In some cases, so favourably inclined were the parish authorities, that they allowed Nonconformists to meet in the Church. At Southwold, every fourth Sunday, the incumbent and the Dissenting ministers both conducted Divine service under the same roof. The first who came took precedence, and after he had pronounced the Benediction, his neighbour began another service in his own way.

The liberty of using a parish church was also enjoyed by the Nonconformists of Waltham-le-Willows, a small village in Suffolk, and in connection with this arrangement there occurred a ludicrous circumstance. On one occasion when Mr. Salkeld, the Congregational minister, occupied the pulpit, Sir Edmund Bacon, of Redgrave, and Sir William Spring, of Packenham, being greatly scandalized at what they deemed a profanation of the edifice, came, with other country gentlemen, and planted themselves at the church-doors. Sir Edmund wished to compel the minister immediately to desist, but Sir William thought it more seemly to wait until the minister had finished his discourse. A noisy altercation consequently arose in the church-yard between the two gentlemen, when, upon the former becoming outrageously violent, his friend observed, “We read, Sir Edmund, that the devil entered into a herd of swine, and, upon my word, I think he is not got out of the Bacon yet.”[305]

RELIGIOUS STATISTICS.

VI. Perhaps this is as convenient a place as any to inquire into the relative number of Conformists and Nonconformists, towards the end of the period, embraced in this History.

The population of England towards the close of the seventeenth century, has been computed by Lord Macaulay at rather more than five millions.[306] He bases his estimate upon calculations made by King, Lancaster Herald, in 1696; upon returns consulted by William III., and upon conclusions drawn in the preface to the population returns of 1831. I find the estimate of about five millions confirmed by the author of The Happy Future State of England, published in 1688, who states an approximate number as the result of returns reported in a survey made by the Bishops in 1676.[307] Of these five millions and a half, or so, the Conformists formed an immense majority. In the returns which came under William’s eye, and in the report of the Bishops’ survey,—which seems to have been all but identical with them,—the Conformists, above sixteen years of age, in the province of Canterbury are put down at 2,123,362. York yields 353,892, making a total of 2,477,254. Against these are reckoned the following number of Nonconformists above sixteen years of age:—93,151 in the province of Canterbury, and 15,525 in the province of York—forming a gross amount of 108,676. The Conformists to the Nonconformists here are as 22⅘ to 1. The author I have just mentioned represents the Nonconformists as on the decline; and no doubt they were, during the reigns of Charles II. and James II., much fewer than they had been under the Commonwealth; but there is reason to believe, from their subsequent history, they were on the increase before the period of the Revolution. The same writer speaks of them, in the gross, as consisting of artizans and retail traders in corporations,[308] and probably the bulk of them would be found amongst the humbler classes; but it is to be remembered that some county families, including noble ones, to say nothing of old army officers, and rich citizen merchants, continued still within the ranks of Dissent. It is interesting and instructive to ponder the following particulars appended to the returns brought under the notice of William III., and certainly not prepared in any friendly spirit. Many persons left the Church upon the late Indulgence, who before did frequent it. The inquires made (I presume those of 1676 are referred to) caused many to frequent church. Walloons chiefly made up the number of Dissenters in Canterbury, Sandwich, and Dover. Presbyterians were divided; some of them not being wholly Dissenters, but occasionally going to church. A considerable number of Nonconformists belonged to no particular sect. Of those who attended church many did not receive the sacrament. There were in Kent about thirty heretics, called Muggletonians; the rest were Presbyterians, Anabaptists, Independents, and Quakers, in about equal numbers. The heads and preachers of the several factions had taken a large share in the Great Rebellion.[309]

PREACHING.

I may add that the Papists altogether are reckoned in the same document at 13,856. It was thought that they had increased in consequence of the Indulgence, and that the Jesuits had been very active up to the time of the plot, when they amounted to 1,800. After the excitement created by Oates’ business they are said to have considerably diminished.[310]

VII. The contrasts between Churchmen and Nonconformists already described, suggest another of a corresponding kind. Divine service in the Establishment, especially as conducted in cathedrals, in Royal chapels, and in large churches, would present an imposing appearance, such as never could belong to worship conducted in a conventicle. And a social prestige pertained to the Episcopalian priest, now forfeited by the Nonconformist preacher. Baxter, Owen, and Howe could not but feel the change which had come over their external circumstances since the day when, from high places—Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s, for example—they had addressed ex cathedra the élite of Puritan intelligence and rank.

The form of sermons, whether composed by Anglicans or Puritans, continued after the Restoration to be that which we may call textual, rather than topical, and Sanderson, who survived that crisis, broke up what he had to say upon a text into a perplexing arrangement of divisions and subdivisions; so far he resembled Andrewes, the great preacher of the reign of James I. This practice did not form the peculiarity of a class. It had been borrowed from the schoolmen, and came to be adopted alike by those who were most Protestant and those who were most Catholic. As it was with the teachers, so it was with the taught; the people, no doubt, liked this method, and acquired a habit of threading the mazes of a lengthened homily through all its numerical departments, with an expertness resembling that of modern schoolboys who perform such wonderful evolutions in mental arithmetic. Tastes began to change before the Revolution. Even Dr. Donne, in the beginning of the century, broke somewhat through technical trammels, and indulged in sonorous periods, flowing out into ample paragraphs; and Baxter himself, slave as he often was to scholastic fashions, would often burst into a strain of impassioned rhetoric which carried him page over page without a single break. South may be mentioned as a distinguished instance of departure from the old style, and Bates may be named also as an example, so far, of the same class. Sermons were very long. Some compositions, indeed, bearing that name, but extending to the dimensions of a considerable treatise, were never delivered at all. They were intended to be read, not heard. This was the case with some compositions from the pens of Baxter and Barrow: but anecdotes related respecting the latter Divine, show the enormous length to which he sometimes carried his oral addresses. Once, before he preached in Westminster Abbey, the Dean requested him to be short. He showed the sermon to that dignitary, who, finding it consisted of two parts, requested him to deliver only one of them. Barrow did so, yet that occupied an hour and a half in the delivery. Upon another occasion, he “enlarged” so much, that the vergers who were anxious to show to impatient visitors “the tombs and effigies of the Kings and Queens in wax,” “caused the organ to be struck up against him, and would not give over playing till they had blowd him down.” His Spital sermon lasted three hours and a half; what the Lord Mayor and Aldermen thought of it we do not know; but we are informed that the preacher, when asked if he felt tired, replied, that “he began to be weary of standing so long.”[311] Barrow’s case, no doubt, is an extreme one; but although he exceeded what might be common, it is plain enough from the specimens of pulpit eloquence belonging to that age, that they usually were such as would exhaust the patience of modern congregations.

PREACHING.

An amusing story is related of Barrow’s preaching, soon after the Restoration, at St. Lawrence Jewry. His “aspect pale, meagre, and unpromising, slovenly and carelessly dressed, his collar unbuttoned, and his hair uncombed,” so alarmed the congregation that a spectator declares, “there was such a noise of pattens of serving maids and ordinary women, and of unlocking of pews, and cracking of seats, caused by the younger sort hastily climbing over them, that I thought all the congregation were mad.” An apprentice accosted him when all was over, saying, “Sir, be not dismayed, for I assure you ’twas a good sermon.” When asked what he thought of the congregation running away, Barrow answered—“I thought they did not like me or my sermon, and I have no reason to be angry with them for that.” “But what was your opinion of the apprentice?” “I take him,” replied he, “to be a very civil person, and if I could meet with him I’d present him with a bottle of wine.” Some of the parishioners afterwards called on Dr. Wilkins, the Incumbent, to expostulate with him for allowing one “who looked like a starved Cavalier to preach in his pulpit.” Baxter, happening to be in the Vicar’s house when the parishioners arrived, Wilkins said: “The person you thus despise, I assure you, is a pious man, an eminent scholar, and an excellent preacher, for the truth of the latter, I appeal to Mr. Baxter, here present, who heard the sermon you so vilify, I am sure you believe Mr. Baxter is a competent judge.” Baxter praised the sermon, and the parishioners ended by requesting that Barrow might preach again. But he was not disposed to appear any “more on that stage.”[312]

As to the mode of delivering sermons, some Nonconformists, as well as Churchmen, read from a MS., and Dr. Charnock is described as having used an eye-glass to assist his sight.[313] Of Baxter, it is said in the funeral sermon by his friend and assistant Sylvester—“He was a person wonderful at extemporate preaching, for having once left his notes behind him, he was surprised into extemporate thoughts upon (as I remember) Heb. iv. 15, ‘For we have not an High Priest, &c.’ Whereon he preached to very great satisfaction unto all that heard him; and when he came down from the pulpit, he asked me if I was not tired? I said, With what? He said, With his extemporate discourse. I told him, that had he not declared it, I believe none could have discovered it. His reply to me was, that he thought it very needful for a minister to have a body of divinity in his head.” Clarkson, in his funeral sermon for Dr. Owen, remarks that he seldom used notes. Of Dr. Bates, Howe observes, that faithful to the example and traditions of their Puritan fathers, “his sermons, wherein nothing could be more remote from ramble, he constantly delivered from his memory, and hath sometime told me, with an amicable freedom, that he partly did it, to teach some that were younger to preach without notes.”[314] Bull, however,—in this respect anticipating Addison,—advised young Divines not at first to preach their own sermons, but to provide themselves with the compositions of approved authors, or to read to their congregations either one of the authorized Homilies or a chapter selected from The Whole Duty of Man.[315] The old Puritan practice of taking down sermons continued to be very common; and, if we may notice so trivial a matter as pulpit costume, it is amusing to add an odd story told of a Royal chaplain, who preached before the King at Newmarket, “in a long periwig and holland sleeves, according to the then fashion for gentlemen,” at which His Majesty was so scandalized that he commanded the Chancellor of the University to put in execution the statutes respecting decency in apparel.[316]

SUPERSTITION.

VIII. Superstition still prevailed. Though the zeal for witchfinding diminished, rumours of witchcraft continued in circulation. People in Worcestershire said, that if certain witches had not been taken up, the King would never have returned to England. From Lancashire, a stronghold of the infernal sisterhood, one of the correspondents of the Secretary of State wrote an account of a woman who confessed, that she, and her father and her mother, “each rode on a black cat to Warrington, nine miles off, and that the cats sucked her mother till they sucked blood.” He states, however, that he had “little faith in this, though given on oath.”[317]

Wise and good men, especially Divines and lawyers, clung as firmly as ever to the old belief of the power of necromancy. Baxter pursued his inquiries into the subject; and Sir Matthew Hale, at the Bury Assizes, in March, 1664, observed, touching a witch case, that he made no doubt there were such creatures, and appealed to Scripture in proof of the fact.[318] On that occasion, Sir Thomas Browne, gave it as his opinion, that the parties named in the indictment as sufferers, were really bewitched. It is proper to remember, with respect to such superstitions, that, at that time, things were worse in France than in England. Witchcraft, divination, raising apparitions, and consulting the stars, were so common there in 1679, that a Commission was appointed, called the “Chambre Ardente,” to inquire into such cases.

The Royal touch for curing the King’s Evil was again sought and bestowed. A minute religious ceremonial, almost incredible to us, accompanied the act. His Majesty sat in a chair of state. One of the Clerks of the Closet stood on his right hand, holding as many gold angels, everyone tied to a riband of white silk, as there were patients to be touched. A chaplain read in the 16th chapter of the Gospel of Mark from the 14th verse to the end. The chirurgeon presented the diseased; and making three reverences, they knelt down together before the King, the chaplain repeating the words: “They shall lay their hands on the sick, and they shall be healed.” His Majesty then touched the cheeks of the persons brought to be cured; after which, the chaplain read the first chapter of John as far as the 15th verse; and, as the words were pronounced, “That was the true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world,” the King suspended round the neck of each person one of the gold angels, handed to him by the clerk. Other passages of Scripture followed, a prayer was offered, and the ceremony ended with the King’s washing his hands.[319] Numerous were the applications made for the Royal touch, to which, no doubt, the obtaining of a gold angel operated as a motive, no less than the hope of receiving a sovereign cure.

SUPERSTITION.

I add a further illustration of the superstition of the age, not amongst the ignorant, but the educated. Rectors of parishes requested the Secretary of State to procure His Majesty’s touch for parishioners who were troubled with the malady. When Charles II. went to Newmarket, Sir Thomas Browne wrote to Sergeant Knight, and sent certificates for divers afflicted persons who were going from Norwich to be touched by the King. No fewer than 92,107 persons were asserted by the eminent physician, just named, to have passed through this ceremony between the years 1660 and 1683. One woman is said to have been cured of blindness by these wonderful means; and greater marvel still, a man is reported to have been cured of Nonconformity by witnessing the effect of the Royal fingers upon his child!—he expressed his thanks in this method: “Farewell to all Dissenters, and to all Nonconformists; if God can put so much virtue into the King’s hand as to heal my child, I’ll serve that God and that King so long as I live with all thankfulness.” An example of other absurd beliefs is found in a statement made to the Secretary of State, about a salmon which came up to the River Avon, on a Christmas Day. It was represented as being so religious, that it allowed itself to be touched by a staff, whereas at other times it is said, “Salmon are so shy that they endure not the least shadow.” “If any one made a prey of these quiet Christian fish they came to an unfortunate end.”[320]

Samuel Hartlib, in his correspondence with Dr. Worthington, of Cambridge, raised a question respecting angelic apparitions: “For long-bearded, good angels,” he says, “or lady-angels of true light, they do indeed cross all the old records of antiquity, whether Gentile or Jewish, neither Mercury, nor Gabriel, appeared otherwise than in prime of youthful vigour.”[321] The Cambridge scholar inclined to the idea, that angels might appear in long beards, and told his friend a story of a stranger, who knocked at a sick man’s door, and directed him to make use of two red sage leaves, and one blood-wort leaf, steeped in beer for three days,—and to live for a month in fresh country air. “Several circumstances,” he gravely added, “made it probable that he who came was a good angel, and if so, that he appeared as a grave old man, very tall and straight, of a very fresh colour, his hair as white as wool, and his beard broad and very white.” This old man, believed to be an angelic visitant, wore new shoes, tied with black ribbons.[322]

CHAPTER XII.

IX. Family life amongst the Nonconformists, in the reign of the later Stuarts, framed itself after the Puritan model; and in the memoirs of Oliver Heywood and Philip Henry, windows are open through which we discover their domestic habits. Saint Bartholomew’s Day became a solemn fast in commemoration of the ejectment,—sometimes held in fellowship with a neighbouring minister or ministers,—when “the Lord helped His servants, with strong cries, many tears, and mighty workings to acknowledge sin, accept of punishment, and implore mercy.”[323] Sometimes, when none but the family were present, each person prayed in turn, the minister, the wife, the two sons, and the maid, beginning with the youngest. Heywood, in his Diary, alludes to a particular friend—“a solid, gracious, useful, peaceable, tender-hearted Christian,” with whom he had “many a sweet day of prayer; and,” he says, “a few days before he died, we were at a private fast together in Ovenden-wood; and, oh! oh! how melting and affectionate was his heart for his children, a son and daughter, both here this day!” At another time, the same minister speaks of a private fast with two of his brethren, “about a special business, and our judgment was desired in an intricate matrimonial case, which seems something dark.”[324]

It is said of Thomas Aquinas that he had “the gift of tears;” and his weeping at church is mentioned amongst the signs of his saintship. The same gift seems to have been possessed by this Nonconformist family. When Heywood’s two sons devoted themselves to the work of the Christian ministry, and a solemn domestic service of worship celebrated the event, as one of the ministers read the 48th chapter in Genesis, and came to the words, “The angel which redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads,” tears stopped him; all wept. He says in prayer “God helped all;” and he adds: “God wrought strangely in my heart; oh! what a flood of tears, what pleadings with God! I can scarce remember the like.” At night again, they prayed, “sobbing and weeping,” like David and Jonathan, “until David exceeded.”[325]

Loyalty to the Stuarts beat in the bosoms of these Nonconformists, notwithstanding the treatment which they received; for we learn that, in the month of May, Mr. Heywood, his children, and his servant, spent several days with Mr. Angier at Denton, one of which days was the anniversary of Charles’ return, when there was a service in which Heywood took part.[326]

FAMILY LIFE.

They had their family meetings. Nathaniel Heywood, with his wife and his sons, visited Oliver; and the brother and uncle felt it a comfort to have “these three couples of Heywoods to meet together”—“a rising generation, all very hopeful.”[327] We fancy how they talked that April time—in the oak parlour, as the window was thrown open, during a burst of sunshine, after a shower which had drenched the fruit-blossoms and the rose-buds. We may guess the topics from incidents in connection with the Stanley family: Nathaniel might relate the story of his being taken by a party of soldiers, while preaching in the chapel at Bickerstaff, when Lady Stanley, who attended the service, came out of her gallery, and placed herself near the pulpit door, hoping to overawe their spirits and obstruct their designs; and how, when he attended the sessions at Wigan, Lady Stanley came with her husband, and others, to speak on behalf of the persecuted clergyman.[328] And Oliver might be led to recur, by the force of association, to the visit of himself and Mr. Angier to Sir Thomas Stanley of Alderley, when, being requested to pray in that large family, the first morning he was tempted to study and speak “handsome words from respect to the company;” but, reflecting to whom he prayed, and that it was no trifling matter, he set himself to the exercise in serious earnestness, and God helped him to speak devoutly, with respect to the state of their souls.[329] The hospitalities of Broad Oak were the praise of all the country round. The dwelling stood by the roadside, and any one travelling that way met with a cordial welcome at the bright fire-side, where the silenced Presbyter, Philip Henry, exemplified the virtues of a Bishop, “like Abraham sitting at his tent-door in quest of opportunities to do good. If he met with any poor near his house and gave them alms in money, yet he would bid them go to his door besides, for relief there. He was very tender and compassionate towards poor strangers and travellers, though his charity and candour were often imposed upon by cheats and pretenders.”[330] “This man,” says a competent witness, “(ever since I knew him, and whilst I was his neighbour) was careful to rise early on Sunday mornings, to spend a considerable portion of his time in his private devotions and preparations, then to come down and call his family together, and, after some short, preparatory prayer, to sing a Psalm (commonly the 100th), and then read some part of the sacred Scripture, and expound it very largely and particularly, and at last kneel down with all his family and pray devoutly; with particular references to the day and duties of it, and the minister that was to officiate. After which a short refection for breakfast, he made haste to church, and took care that all his family that could be spared, should go in due time likewise: sometime he was before the preacher, and often before the rest of the congregation; (as once particularly, when I gave them a sermon in that place, he and I walked together a considerable time before the people came;) he behaved himself reverently and very gravely in the church during the service; stood up commonly at prayers, and always, in my time, wrote a sermon after the minister. When the morning service was ended, he commonly invited the minister to dine with him, who seldom refused; and many others, who either lived at a distance, as Mrs. Hanmer, Sir Job Charleton’s daughter, married to a Justice of Peace in that country, or else such as were poor and needy. His discourse homewards was sweet and spiritual; at table it was seasoned as well as his meat; edifying, and yet pleasant, and taking; never wild or offensive. After meat and thanks returned, they commonly (I think constantly) before departure from table, sung the 23rd Psalm. Sometime after, when the servants had dined, he propounded to such guests as he thought in prudence he should not be too free with, to retire into the parlour for a while, till he had attended upon his family, repeated over the sermon and prayed with them; after which he returned to his guests again, and having entertained them with some short discourse, he retired awhile himself, and by and by, called upon his family to go to church. After evening service and sermon ended, he retired again till six o’clock (then called for prayers, catechised, took an account of children and servants of what they remembered at church, which accounts were given sometimes very largely and particularly), sung a Psalm, kneeled down to prayers (which consisted more of praise and benediction than at other times), and at last, his children kneeling down before him (to beg his blessing), he blessed them all, and concluded the service of the day with the 123rd Psalm; save that after supper, he retired for about half-an-hour more into his study before bed-time. Sometimes after the public service ended at church, he gave some spiritual instructions, and preached in his house to as many as would come to hear him; and in his last years, when the Incumbents grew careless in providing supplies for two or three neighbouring churches and chapels, and the people cried out for lack of vision, he set up a constant ministration and preaching at home, never taking anything by way of reward for his pains, unless with a purpose to give it away to those who were in greater necessities.”[331]

FAMILY LIFE.

That a sad colour tinged the joys of the Nonconformists must be confessed. How their Anglo-Saxon gravity might become more grave, and the light which sparkled over the home-life of their neighbours, might, in their own case, be darkened,—we see plainly enough when we recollect the perils which brooded over them even in seasons of calm, and the cruel interruptions which they suffered in the cloudy and dark day. Heywood speaks of officers sweeping away his chests, his tables, his chairs, his bed,—in short all his goods, except a cupboard and a few seats; and the same person was, for holding a religious meeting, imprisoned in York Castle.[332] How could such men, with all their tenderness, help being stern in their faith, and solemn in their pleasures? If genial they could not be light-hearted. They did not weep, as their enemies often said of them that they did, with a hypocritical whine; nor did they laugh, as some of their enemies really did, with affected glee,—their tears and smiles were genuine as the rain and the sunshine from heaven. Life was not to them, as to some others, a gay comedy,—it had in it a tragic cast; yet they never regarded it as a drama acted on the stage, but always as a real, earnest battle, fought in the open field, under the eye of God.

FAMILY LIFE.

Let us pass from the homes of Oliver Heywood and the two Henrys to the mansion of a Nonconformist nobleman already noticed—Philip Lord Wharton, the good Lord Wharton, as he is called, to distinguish him from a descendant of a far different character. In the pleasant village of Woburn, in Buckinghamshire, situated on the river Wick, a tributary to the Thames,—which in its course through a delightful district, turns the wheel of many a paper mill,—there stands, under the shadow of richly-wooded hills, and adorned by a stately row of poplars, a goodly house; connected with which are stables and fish-ponds, pertaining to a far nobler residence which once occupied the site. The estate, before it came into the possession of the Whartons, exhibited much magnificence, of the feudal stamp, containing a palace for the Bishops of Lincoln, and a chapel with a small cell adjoining, called Little Ease,—where Thomas Chase, of Amersham, was, in 1506, privately strangled for heresy, and where Thomas Harding, of Chesham, was confined in 1532, previously to his being burnt at the stake. This ancient and stately house became a great place of resort for Nonconformist Divines. Manton and Bates, Howe and Owen, were often entertained under the hospitable roof, and the shadows of these departed ones still pleasantly haunt the spot, as the Puritan residents of the neighbourhood conduct strangers through the gardens, and relate to them the legends of the old dwelling. There—during one of the severe attacks of his fatal malady—Owen wrote his last and justly admired letters to his Church; and there, under the operation of the Five Mile Act—the house being above that distance from High Wycombe—the Nonconformists of the neighbouring town used to assemble for worship. The chapel formed a convenient place for the purpose; and within its walls the voices of eminent Divines, Owen and Howe, for example, might be often heard. Thither came Puritans from Wycombe and Farnham, and Langley and other places; and one can see them in the dress of the period, with their steeple-crowned hats, and their short cloaks, coming down the hill-side, or crossing the green—not in large groups, but singly, stealthily picking their way to avoid observation, a peasant from a neighbouring farm wading on foot, a burgess from the good town of Wycombe, riding his little cob. When the service was over on Sunday forenoon, and the Wycombe people and other folks from Marlow and Beaconsfield, and stragglers from a greater distance, were putting on their hats and cloaks, and preparing to unfasten their nags and to turn homewards, the noble host would invite the people, in Buckinghamshire phraseology, “to stop and take a sop in the pan,” that they might avail themselves of the privilege of attending worship again in the afternoon.[333]

FAMILY LIFE.

The curious and quaint structure of Hoghton Tower, in the County of Lancaster, is also connected with the Nonconformist memories of the seventeenth century; for there Howe preached a part of his sublime discourse concerning “The Redeemer’s dominion over the invisible world.” And from the exquisitely tender dedication prefixed to it, we gather that it was occasioned by the death of the eldest son of Sir Charles and Lady Hoghton, to whom the tower belonged. The dedication indicates that the bereaved parents had sprung from “religious and honourable families, favoured of God, valued and beloved in the countries where He had planted them;” and that their early homes had been “both seats of religion and of the worship of God, the resorts of His servants; houses of mercy to the indigent, of justice to the vicious, of patronage to the sober and virtuous; of good example to all about them.” Addressing her ladyship, the preacher says: “Madam, who could have a more pleasant retrospect upon former days, than you? recounting your Antrim delights; the delight you took in your excellent relations, your garden delights, your closet delights, your Lord’s Day delights! But how much a greater thing is it to serve God in your present station, as the mother of a numerous and hopeful offspring; as the mistress of a large family; where you bear your part, with your like-minded consort, in supporting the interest of God and religion, and have opportunity of scattering blessings round about you.”[334] The graceful allusions, which the author makes to the family circle at Hoghton, brings before us a domestic picture, which may serve as a pendant to that of Broad Oak, the accessories of a Nonconformist minister’s household being alone exchanged for those of a baronet. From the title and dedication of another sermon by the same Divine, “Self-dedication discoursed in the anniversary thanksgiving of a person of honour for a great deliverance,”—namely, the preservation from death by a fall from a horse of “John, Earl of Kildare, Baron of Ophalia, first of his order in the kingdom of Ireland,”—we gather that it was a Puritan practice to celebrate distinguished family mercies by annual religious solemnities. Two sermons by the same writer on the words, “Yield yourselves unto God,” are inscribed “To the much-honoured Bartholomew Soame, Esq., of Thurlow, and Susanna his pious consort;” with the notice, that one day in the previous summer the author preached the sermons under their roof.[335] The circumstance shows, that sometimes elaborate addresses, fitted for public audiences, were carefully prepared for a small number of persons, such as could be accommodated within the entrance-hall, or in one of the apartments of a country gentleman’s house.

In some Nonconformist families, as was quite natural, romantic incidents occurred. Major-General Lambert, who figured prominently in connection with Cromwell, and who was kept a prisoner in the days of Charles II., had a son very unlike himself as it regards religion. This gentleman became acquainted with the widow of Charles Nowel of Merely—a lady who was of the family of Lister, of Arnoldsbiggen. The union with her first husband had been a runaway match, contracted in a covered walk within her father’s grounds; after which the bridegroom fell into the water, and was drowned, in returning home with the license of marriage in his pocket, so that he and she never met again. Young Lambert married this ill-fated maiden-widow; and then it turned out that the tastes of the couple were utterly unlike—he much addicted to pleasure, she against it; he going to church at Kirkby, Malham-dale, she walking every Sunday to the Dissenting meeting-house at Winterburn. His father, the Major-General, wrote a letter, rebuking him for his extravagance; and his wife invited Mr. Frankland, the Nonconformist pastor, to come and preach in Craven, with a view to his benefit; this the gay sportsman at first opposed. But a change came over him; he himself invited Oliver Heywood to be his guest, and showed him his pictures—“he being an exact limner:” one would hope he also became a penitent Christian. Lambert was seized with palsy in January, 1676, about which time his mother died in Plymouth Castle.[336]

During the first three centuries of the history of Christianity, and the more than ten persecutions which annalists have numbered, the professors of the Divine faith had to suffer, far beyond what the laws in their utmost severity could inflict. Imperial rescripts carried out to the letter, or magisterial commands going further, were terrible beyond description; and popular fury shouting, “The Christians to the lions,” became more cruel still. But another source of suffering, to minds of sensibility exceeding the rest in the bitterness of anguish which it produced, was when the husband persecuted the wife, and the father the child. Tertullian tells us that there were many such cases. The annals of the Church of the Restoration afford parallels in this last, as in other respects, to the records of older times.

FAMILY LIFE.

Agnes Beaumont, the daughter of a Bedfordshire yeoman, lost her mother when very young. Her father sometimes went to hear the preaching of John Bunyan, but he afterwards conceived a strong antipathy to that famous minister. The girl manifested religious feeling, and joined Bunyan’s Church, when a lawyer, who had wished to marry her for the sake of her father’s property, became her inveterate foe. But the daughter remained faithful to her convictions; and this circumstance so provoked her father’s irritable temper, that he opposed her going to hear the favourite preacher any more. On a particular occasion, however, she extorted his consent to attend once. It was the depth of winter. Weary of wading through the mud, and overtaken by Bunyan riding on his way to the place of worship, she was reluctantly permitted by him to sit, pillion-fashion, behind him on horseback, when the two were met by a clergyman, who immediately invented a scandalous report respecting the minister and the maid. Agnes, after attending the meeting, found the door of her house barred against her admission. “Who is there?” asked Beaumont, as she knocked. “’Tis I, father, come home wet and dirty: pray let me in.” “Where you have been all day, you may go at night,” was the answer from the other side of the bolted entrance. She went and sought shelter in a barn. The morning brought no relenting to the heart of her unnatural parent; and he declared that she should not enter the house, unless she promised never to go to a meeting again so long as he lived. “Father,” she answered, “my soul is of too much worth to do this. Can you stand in my stead, and answer for me at the great day? If so, I will obey you in this demand, as I do in all other things.” Much painful excitement followed. At last, fearful of being disobedient, the young woman promised never to go to a conventicle as long as he lived, without his consent. This softened him a little, and they were reconciled; but as she reflected upon her promise, it struck her that she had been unfaithful to her conscience, and she passed through great spiritual distress. Soon afterwards Beaumont fell ill, and retired to rest. His daughter, hearing him moaning in his chamber, rushed to his assistance, and found him struck with death. Fatal disease had been brought on, most likely by violence of temper; and the poor girl, through the villany of her pretended lover, now had to face the accusation of having murdered her parent. Though, on the coroner’s inquest, her innocence was established, her implacable enemy perseveringly maintained, that she had privately confessed the crime, the object of which was to marry Bunyan, who had a wife living at that very time; the villain also, without one atom of evidence, charged her with committing arson.[337] More of revenge than persecution entered into the conduct of this man; yet, for a while, Agnes Beaumont, for her religious constancy, endured the most violent parental anger, probably not uncommon in those days, and akin to that which fell upon many a pure-minded maiden in Carthage or in Rome.

FAMILY LIFE.

The domestic and private life of the Established clergy and their friends, as they appear in the biographies and gossiping literature of the day, assume a rather different aspect from that of the Nonconformists. Such a dignitary as Reynolds, who had been a Presbyterian, would no doubt preserve, in his palace at Norwich, many of the Puritan habits of the Commonwealth—would gather around him, as far as possible, a godly household, in sympathy with him in his spiritual tastes—would continue to converse much after the fashion of by-gone days—and with the adoption of the Episcopalian formularies in the cathedral and chapel, would connect, in more retired devotion, the use of extemporaneous prayer, and of Scripture exposition. And such a parish pastor as Gurnall would, in a similar way, continue Puritan usages in his quiet parsonage at Lavenham. We must look elsewhere for characteristic habits and customs of the Episcopalian stamp. Of an Anglican prelate, enjoying his palace, and engaged in his diocese, a good specimen is afforded by the memoirs of Seth Ward, the Bishop of Salisbury.[338]

He was renowned for hospitality. The clergy, even the meanest curates, were welcome at his table; and people of quality, travelling between London and Exeter, stopped at the Wiltshire city, and dined at the palace. He was a hearty entertainer, we are told, assuring his guests that he accounted himself but a steward, and pressing upon them the enjoyment of the fare which he plentifully provided. He would not ask, “Will you drink a glass of wine?” says his biographer, with amusing minuteness; but he would call for a bottle, and drink himself, and then offer it to his friends. The poor were relieved at his gates. He had a band of weekly pensioners; and when he went out for a walk in the streets or on the plains, he gave money to all who solicited alms; and when children saw him in his coach or on horseback, they would rush from their play, to shout, in expectation of a largess, “The Bishop is coming.” Being a capital horseman, he would ride twenty miles before dinner, and not mind following the hounds, if he “by chance chopt upon” them. After dinner and “a dish or two of coffee or tea,” as soon as the bell “tilled,”—to use the Salisbury phrase,—he called for his robes, and went to church, taking with him his visitors.[339]

Of another kind of dignitary an example is afforded in the memoirs of the Honourable and Reverend Dr. John North. He was Clerk of the Closet to Charles II.; possessing “a very convenient lodging in Whitehall, upon the parade of the Court, near the presence-chamber,” where his table was provided from the Royal kitchen, and he enjoyed the company of His Majesty’s chaplains. People who had nothing else to do, would say to one another—so North’s brother reports—“Come, shall we go and spend half-an-hour with Mr. Clerk of the Closet?” but when they went with the expectation of getting “a glass of wine or ale,” the wary Divine, by the advice of an old Courtier, would not offer so much as “small beer in hot weather,” lest he should be overdone with visitors. In consequence of this prudent determination, he lived “like a hermit in his cell, in the midst of the Court, and proved the title of a foolish French writer, La Solitude de la Cour.” “Divers persons,” however, particularly ladies, “far from Papists,” were wont to repair to this spiritual officer for a different purpose, thinking “auricular confession, though no duty, a pious practice,” and seeking “to ease their minds” by means of that Anglo-Catholic custom. He did “the office of a pastor or parochus of the Court,” somewhat after the fashion of the mediæval Clerks of the Closet, who were, in fact, Court confessors. “And I have heard him say,” proceeds his brother, “that, for the number of persons that resided in the Court, a place reputed a centre of all vice and irreligion, he thought there were as many truly pious and strictly religious as could be found in any other resort whatsoever; and he never saw so much fervent devotion, and such frequent acts of piety and charity, as his station gave him occasion to observe there. It often falls out that extremes are conterminous, and, as contraries, illustrate each other: so here virtue and vice.”[340] We are glad to hear such testimony, and, when we think of Evelyn and Margaret Godolphin, we cannot altogether doubt it; but, as this Court Divine lived in a cell, he could not know much of what went on around him in the Court.

FAMILY LIFE.

Noble families observed the duties of domestic worship; and, from the same source as that from which the last illustration is drawn, it appears how the household of the princely Duke of Beaufort, at Badminton, attended to this practice. There was breakfast in the Duchess’ gallery, which opened into the gardens, where perhaps a deer was to be killed; and half-an-hour after eleven in the forenoon the bell rang to prayers; and at six in the evening the best company went into an aisle in the church, where the Duke and Duchess could see if all the family were present. Her Grace had divers gentlewomen with her, commonly engaged upon “embroidery and fringe-making; for all the beds of state were made and finished in the house.”[341]

Instead of extemporary effusions, Episcopalians used the daily prayers of the Church, or selections from them. On special occasions the minister of the parish performed the office; and an amusing instance occurs of the neglect of this custom on the part of a gentleman who had the honour of entertaining the Judges on the Western Circuit. “He himself got behind the table in his hall, and read a chapter, and then a long-winded prayer, after the Presbyterian way. The Judges took it very ill, but did not think fit to affront him in his own house. Next day”—who the narrator is may be guessed—“when we came early in the morning to Exeter, all the news was that the Judges had been at a conventicle, and the Grand Jury intended to present them and all their retinue for it; and much merriment was made upon that subject.”[342]

Devout Anglicans attended strictly to the private duties of religion. They kept fasts and festivals in their own houses, as well as at church; and in their morning and evening devotions they used portions of the Common Prayer, or forms supplied by Taylor and Andrewes. They read the sermons of those Divines, and of Sanderson and others; perhaps also the annotations of Hammond or some kindred expositor. At a later period, The Whole Duty of Man became a very popular book with the class of persons now described.

I conclude these illustrations of Anglo-Catholic life with the account of the death of an Anglo-Catholic young lady:—

“Upon Thursday, the 1st of February, my most dearly beloved daughter Grimston fell sick of small-pox.

“She had, from the beginning of her sickness to the last period of her breath, an understanding very entire, and so perfect a patience that her demeanour towards them who were about her was not only holy, but cheerful too.

FAMILY LIFE.

“She received the sentence of death with the greatest tranquillity of soul that is imaginable, and sent for Mr. Frampton (the household chaplain to the Master of the Rolls, in whose house she died). To him she made an excellent confession of her faith and life, and opened all the burdens of her spirit, wherein were found no heavier matters than a few angry words spoken seven years since, and some small errors of that nature. But [there followed] a most solemn repentance for all transgressions, whether remembered or forgotten. This being done, she did, with great devotion, receive the blessed sacrament, and the absolution of the Church. Before she composed herself to die, she first took a most kind and comfortable leave of her dear husband—who, from the beginning of her sickness till the hour of her death, never left her chamber—praying God to bless him, and that he might never find the want of her. Then she recommended her little girl to my wife, entreating her to take her into her family, if it might not be too great a trouble, and desiring her not to weep, for she was happy. She remembered almost every relation she had in the world by name, and offered up a particular prayer for them. I had never seen her after the second day of her sickness; but she prayed most devoutly for me, and desired all that were present to tell me from her, that, if prayer were made in heaven, she would never cease to pray for me there so long as I lived here: an expression so amazing from a child, and withal so piercing, that, in the midst of all my spiritual joys, I feel a sorrow great enough to break my heart if I would give way to it. For within a few minutes after these words uttered, she surrendered up her blessed soul into the hands of God Almighty, who, by the assistance of His most blessed Spirit, had prepared and fitted her for Himself. And now she hath left her dear husband, and his family, and mine, as full of mourning and lamentation for the want of her as can possibly consist with Christian patience and submission. On Monday next she is carried from hence to her grave, in St. Michael’s Church, near Gorhambury.”[343]

X. As during the Commonwealth, so after the Restoration, different opinions were entertained respecting the observance of Sunday. Puritans were not all of one mind upon that matter. Extreme men argued thus:—“If honest labour be forbidden, much more honest recreations; for recreation is but the means to prepare and fit men for labour; therefore, if labour, which is the end of recreation, be forbidden, much more recreation, which is but the means to labour.”[344] But Baxter, who was himself strict in the observance of the day, and who then walked for his health privately, lest he “should tempt others to sin,” observed, with great moderation, “The body must be kept in that condition (as far we can) that is fittest for the service of the soul: a heavy body is but a dull and heavy servant to the mind, yea, a great impediment to the soul in duty, and a great temptation to many sins.” “When the sights of prospects, and beautiful buildings, and fields, and countries, or the use of walks, or gardens, do tend to raise the soul to holy contemplation, to admire the Creator, and to think of the glory of the life to come (as Bernard used his pleasant walks), this delight is lawful, if not a duty where it may be had.” Of music and moderate feasting he says, when they “promote the spiritual service of the day, they are good and profitable.”[345]

OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH.

Owen, perhaps, was more strict in his views of Sabbath observance than Baxter; yet he spoke of its being no small mistake that men have laboured more to multiply directions about external duties than to direct a due sanctification of the day according to the spirit and genius of Gospel obedience; and he did not deny that some, measuring others by themselves, tied people up unto such long tiresome duties, and rigid abstinences from refreshments, as clogged their minds, and turned the whole service of the day into a wearisome bodily exercise which profiteth little.[346]

Between Puritans and Anglicans a great difference continued upon the Sunday question. Jeremy Taylor, speaking of persons who objected to have meat dressed upon the Lord’s Day, or to use an innocent, permitted recreation, says—“When such an opinion makes a sect, and this sect gets firm, confident, and zealous defenders, in a little time it will dwell upon the conscience as if it were a native there, whereas it is but a pitiful inmate, and ought to be turned out of doors.”[347] Thorndike denied the obligation of the Fourth Commandment upon any but the Jewish people; he based the authority for the Lord’s Day on the Apostolic custom of the Church, and he disapproved of the Sabbatarian strictness of the Puritans.[348] Sanderson pleaded for recreations, “walking and discoursing” for “men of liberal education;” but for the “ruder sort of people,” “shooting, leaping, pitching the bar, and stool-ball,” rather than “dicing and carding.” “These pastimes,” he said, were to be used “in godly and commendable sort,” with great moderation, at seasonable times, not during Divine service, nor at hours appointed by the master of the house for private devotion, but so as to make men fitter for God’s service during the rest of the day, and all this was to be done, not doubtingly, for whatsoever is not of faith is sin; nor uncharitably, for in this, “as in all indifferent things, a wise and charitable man will, in godly wisdom, deny himself many times the use of that liberty, which, in a godly charity, he dare not deny to his brother.”[349] Although the Book of Sports had lost its authority, its spirit revived after the Restoration, and amusements in accordance with its provisions were encouraged, in some cases, without any checks or any religious teaching of the kind adopted by Sanderson. Cosin, indeed, in a sermon upon Sunday observance, quotes a remark by Augustine, which condemns all vain and idle pastimes—“Some people keep holy day for the devil, and not for God, and should be better employed, labouring and ploughing in their fields, than so to spend the day in idleness and vanity, and women should better bestow their time in spinning of wool, than upon the Lord’s Day to lose their time leaping and dancing, and other such wantonness.”[350] Borough magistrates enforced the observance of the Sabbath; not only were corporations, attired in their gowns, required to attend church, morning and afternoon, but all masters were ordered to cause their apprentices to be at Divine service at the same time.[351] In the houses of such as disliked Puritanism, scenes of levity, if not dissipation, often desecrated the holy hours. After attendance at church, time was spent in a manner at variance with the previous devotions.

RECREATIONS.

Pious Anglicans after the Restoration loved the first day of the week with all the fervour of George Herbert;—and what some of them said with reference to recreations, shocking as it appeared to Puritans, proceeded not from a desire of self-indulgence, but from a consideration of weakness in other people,—still, the Sabbath remained the Puritans’ peculiar treasure. They put on it the highest price. To them it seemed the jewel and crown, the bloom and flower of the week, the torch which lighted up its dark days, the sunshine which from eternity streamed down on the waters of time. Unwisdom, sinking into superstition, betrayed itself in the strictness of their conduct, provoking ridicule, and producing reaction; but it should not be overlooked that it was from their great love to the festival, that they were so careful to frame rules for its preservation. Some treated Puritan habits as pitiable, and regarded the men as insanely melancholy, but the latter esteemed themselves objects for envy rather than commiseration, since in their own hearts they made the Sabbath “a delight, the holy of the Lord, and honourable.”

XI. The idea of “a Christian year,” a sanctification of the seasons of nature by Gospel memories, is undeniably beautiful. This theory of time, adopted by the Church of England, reappeared at the Revolution, and days which mark the progress of the old earth’s journeys round the sun were stamped anew with sacred names, and entwined with the history of the Redeemer and His Apostles. Christmas celebrated the Incarnation, and Epiphany the infant appearance of Jesus to the Magi at Bethlehem, with subsequent manifestations of His glory; Lent was the spring period, set apart for fasting and prayer, preparatory to the commemoration of Divine mercy in the atonement of Christ. Palm Sunday is not recognized in the English Prayer Book. On the Sunday before Easter no reference occurs to our Lord’s entrance into Jerusalem in the proper Lessons, the Epistle, or the Gospel. But Easter itself, after the sorrows of Good Friday, is a high and holy festival, when the Church breaks out into songs of joy because of the Resurrection of her Lord. At the close of the forty days following, come Rogation Week, with Holy Thursday, and then Whitsuntide—a season associated with Christ’s Ascension, and culminating in the celebration of Pentecost. Trinity Sunday crowns the whole, and invites the faithful to contemplate the comprehensive, the fundamental, the mysterious doctrine of a distinction in the Godhead. The character and history of St. John the Baptist, and of the Apostles, St. Matthias, St. Peter, St. James, St. Bartholomew, St. Matthew, St. Simon and St. Jude, St. Andrew, St. Thomas, are in succession bound up with certain days, the series terminating in the festival of All Saints.[352]

RECREATIONS.

With these seasons, observed from ancient times, various recreations had become connected in the middle ages. Many of them survived the fall of Popery, and with exceptions and changes, came once more, at the Restoration, into general fashion and indulgence. To say the least, they brought around sacred things the strangest and most incongruous associations. Some, indeed, were very much worse than strange and incongruous. Christmas Eve shone with the blaze of the Yule log, and its bountiful accompaniments of good cheer. The Christmas carol echoed through the family hall with gay music from the minstrels’ gallery. The Christmas hobby-horse cut strange capers, and Christmas-boxes were given freely to young and old. The Lord of misrule, the foot plough, and the sword dance, Yule doughs, mince-pies, Christmas-pies and plum-puddings added to the tide of fellowship and pleasure at that mid-winter season. All the glories of Twelfth night, which threw old men and old women, as well as little children, into ecstasies of merriment, were engrafted on the feast of Epiphany. Easter holidays, Easter liftings, Easter eggs, and all sorts of Easter fun, gathered in strange, grotesque, often revolting, contrast round the professed acknowledgment of the greatest of the redemptive miracles of Christianity. Rogation Week, with Ascension Day in its centre, had long been the chosen time for sacred processions and litanies, and now again in England, on the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of that week, parochial perambulations revived; charity children carried flowers; the clergy with singing men and boys, all in sacred vestments, and with churchwardens and parishioners, beat the bounds of the parish, and under Gospel oaks, and other Gospel trees, the Incumbent read the Gospel, according to an old custom, in which had originated these familiar appellations. The idea of such perambulations, sanctioned by the Church, was—that processional worship should be offered to the Almighty, that thanks should be given to Him for the promise of a good crop, or that prayer should be offered for His mercy on the prospect of a bad harvest. But the gathering together of all sorts of idle people, and the habit of drinking which obtained amongst them, led to most deplorable excesses.

Superstitious and absurd practices cropped up profusely on St. Mark’s Eve. With St. John’s Day was coupled the use, in decoration, of the birch, the lily, and St. John’s wort, and at night bonfires illuminated the villages of “Merrie England.” St. Peter’s Day had similar illuminations; St. James’ Day was a time for eating oysters, and Allhallow Even was devoted to nut-cracking, apple-catching, and the ancient game of quintain. The feasts of the consecration of churches degenerated into rush bearings, hoppings, and all kinds of rustic amusements, in which, as Bishop Hall observed in his Triumph of Pleasure “you may well say no Greek can be merrier than they.”

The theory was to unite the remembrance of Christian facts and Christian names with particular seasons in the lives of men, to interlink religion with social intercourse, to recognize recreation as a human necessity, to hallow it with Christian influences, and to allow joy, on account of the events recorded in the Gospel, to express itself in innocent festivities. But nobody can fail to see that if this was the theory, the practice did not correspond with it, for the history of the amusements common in England at these festivals after the Restoration, as before, abounds in proofs of revelry and riot, most unseemly in the estimation of sober Christians. A distinction ought to be made between the use of festivities at Christmas, Easter, and other seasons, and their abuse; between what is harmful and what is innocent; and also it must be allowed that, whilst Churchmen, in the days of which we speak, mingled recreation with religion, some of them also mingled the spirit of religion with recreation, and condemned all vicious indulgence; but the fact still remains, that amongst the lower classes, and the upper as well, in cities and towns, and in rural districts, a large amount of social demoralization existed under the cover of Christian symbols, and in union with professedly Christian observances. This fact should not be overlooked in an Ecclesiastical History of England.

RECREATIONS.

Different ideas respecting amusements are marked badges of religious denominations, and one of the dangers of all Puritanism is a tendency to separate between recreation and religion, and to regard them as if antagonistic, from mistaken views of the condition and necessities of human nature; views which ignore one side of the mind of man, and narrow the range of social sympathies. Some good men of the Puritan class did, in consequence, look sourly on several very innocent sorts of pleasure; but the morbid, ungenial restriction of feeling, ascribed to the Puritans in general, has been greatly exaggerated, and to some extent, so far as it really existed, an excuse may be found for it in the persecuting treatment which they, as a body, received from those who were foremost in promoting the revival of old English customs. The distinctive amusements of the Church festivals the Puritan disliked, condemned, and opposed. Indeed, many disliked, condemned, and opposed the festivals themselves, from a strong conviction that they were superstitious in their origin, their character, and their tendency. They devoutly believed in the events which those festivals commemorated, and thought that they should be remembered, not at particular seasons, but all the year round. Their idea of the festivals was not such as to redeem the recreations which had clustered round them; and the recreations themselves were, to their religious and moral tastes, exceedingly offensive.

After all which has been said to the contrary, however, numbers of the Puritans—under the later Stuarts, under the earlier ones, and under the Commonwealth—were genial and even “facetious”—to use a word applied to some of their best men—full of pleasantness, and by no means averse to certain English amusements. Many demonstrations of joy they made in common with their neighbours. Feasting and sending gifts to one another, the ringing of bells, making bonfires, and sounding trumpets, with thundering of ordnance on great national occasions, had been recommended in so many words from the chief pulpit of Manchester, by the chief Presbyterian minister of that City. If Puritans objected to drinking healths, some had no objections to see the street-conduits running with claret. Anti-prelatists, like prelatists before, and Nonconformists, like Conformists after the Restoration, indulged in the sports of fishing and shooting; they followed the hounds, and they went a hawking.

Cock-fighting is an old English amusement, especially at Shrove-tide, and, strange as it may seem, an eminent Puritan minister, Henry Newcome, allowed his boys, when that season came round, to “shoot at the cock.” He amusingly expresses in his diary a fear lest the youngsters should come to mischief in so dangerous a game, and therefore prayed to God that He would preserve them, as he thankfully acknowledges God was pleased to do; and he mentions that on one occasion he had particular reason to be alarmed, since what was meant for the cock threatened danger to the boy, for “Daniel’s hat on his head was shot through with an arrow.” Yet the careful and devout father never indicates an apprehension of there being anything wrong in the game itself.[353] Nonconformists condemned card-playing, and other games of chance, but if the late Nonconformists resembled their Presbyterian predecessors, they amused themselves with balls and billiards. The game of shuffle-board was a Royal amusement, and a board for playing the game is mentioned in an inventory of the goods belonging to Charles I., which were seized at Ludlow Castle. Boards of this description had lines drawn across them at one end, and the players stood at the other, the object being to push or shove flat pieces of metal across the lines, without causing them to fall off the board. Newcome liked to play this game, as appears from his diary, only he was afraid of taking “too great a latitude in such mirth,” and thought it his duty to let some “savoury thing” fall at the time, and if he cracked a jest, he considered himself as thereby incurring a debt for an equal amount of serious discourse. The Presbyterian minister, who tells these stories of himself, was a young man at the time to which he thus refers, and he lived beyond the Revolution, but it is very probable that in after years he continued cautiously to practise his early favourite amusement. There is, however, no reason to believe that his taste in this respect, and his habit of indulging in it, is to be taken as a specimen of Nonconformists’ recreation in general.

CHARITIES.

XII. The charities revived or established after the Restoration, springing from the benevolent spirit of Christianity, call for some notice. Visiting the venerable hospital of St. Mary, in the City of Chichester, with its spacious hall, spanned by an arched roof, and its rows of tiny rooms built on either side, as if in a covered street, with its chapel and altar table, and other provisions for Episcopalian worship on Sundays and week-days, and with its old-fashioned men and women finding rest in their declining days, after the toils and troubles of life; or visiting the like venerable hospital of Bishopgate, in the City of Norwich, with somewhat similar arrangements, we see the kind of place in which benevolent people loved to shelter the aged and the infirm in the days of Charles II. After the banishment—during the Commonwealth—of the ancient religious services, and of the old spirit of these quaint retreats—not, however, to the violation of the charitable purposes of the foundation—those services took possession of them again at the Restoration. The same may be said of numerous almshouses in different parts of the country.

New ones of a similar description were established. Bishop Ward’s College of Matrons, for the maintenance of ten widows of orthodox clergymen, may be mentioned as an instance. He disliked it to be called an hospital, it being intended for those who were well descended, and had lived in good reputation. He purchased land in the Close at Salisbury, on which to erect the buildings, and the Cathedral being so near, they were required to attend worship there, both morning and evening. The same prelate endowed an hospital at Buntingford, in Hertfordshire, the place of his birth, for ten aged men, each to receive ten pounds a year.

Some persons, in founding almshouses, required that all the inmates should “be conformed to the Church of England, according to the Thirty-Nine Articles,” and placed under the ban of exclusion all such as should not profess, or follow the Protestant religion, or should absent themselves from the parish or castle church without cause.[354] Others devised bequests in a more catholic spirit, providing “that poor boys may be instructed in the principles of the Protestant religion, and in the fear of the Lord, and also to read and to write, and to cast up accounts, that so they may be blessed in their souls as well as in their bodies, and may be a blessing to their masters, and may for ever have cause to bless God for the fatherly care” of the Mayor on their behalf.[355]

CHARITIES.

The name of a singular kind of person, who signalized himself by his beneficence, may also be introduced.

An epitaph on a tomb-stone in the Chapel of Jesus’ College, Cambridge, records his deeds:—“Tobias Rustat, Yeoman of the Robes to King Charles II., whom he served with all duty and faithfulness in his adversity as well as prosperity, both at home and abroad. The greatest part of the estate he gathered by God’s blessing, the King’s favour, and his industry, he disposed in his lifetime in works of charity, and found the more he bestowed upon churches, hospitals, universities, and colleges, and upon poor widows and orphans of orthodox ministers, the more he had at the year’s end. Neither was he unmindful of his kindred and relations in making them provision out of what remained. He died a bachelor the 15th day of March, in the year of our Lord 1693, aged 87.”

Dr. Sutcliffe, in the reign of James I., founded and built a college at Chelsea “principally for the maintenance of the true Catholic, Apostolic, and Christian faith, and next, for the practice, setting forth, and increase of true and sound learning against the pedantry, sophistries and novelties of the Jesuits, and others, the Pope’s factors and followers; and, thirdly, against the treachery of the Pelagians, and Arminians, and others, that draw towards Popery and Babylonian slavery, endeavouring to make a rent in God’s Church, and a peace between heresy and God’s true faith—between Christ and Antichrist.”[356] Although patronized by the King, this indefinite scheme for maintaining truth in a controversial age came to nothing, and Charles II. appropriated the ground occupied by the college to the famous Royal Hospital for superannuated soldiers. Everybody is familiar with the imposing edifice near the banks of the Thames, and with the stories about Nell Gwynn’s influence, in the establishment of the foundation, but it is not generally known, that a number of persons, besides the King, took part in the work, and that it is really a monument of national as well as of Royal munificence.

Tillotson, in one of his sermons, commemorates the benevolence of a London merchant:—

“He (Mr. Gouge) set the poor of St. Sepulchre’s parish (where he was a minister) to work at his own charge. He bought flax and hemp for them to spin; when spun he paid them for their work, and caused it to be wrought into cloth, which he sold as he could, himself bearing the whole loss. This was a very wise and well-chosen way of charity, and in the good effect of it, a much greater charity; than if he had given to those very persons (freely and for nothing) so much as he made them earn by their work, because, by this means, he rescued them from two most dangerous temptations—idleness and poverty. This course, so happily devised and begun by Mr. Gouge, gave, it may be, the first hint to that useful and worthy citizen, Mr. Thos. Firman, of a much larger design, which has been managed by him some years in this city, with that vigour and good success, that many hundreds of poor children, and others, who lived idle before, unprofitable both to themselves and the public, now maintain themselves, and are also some advantage to the community. By the assistance and charity of many excellent and well-disposed persons, Mr. Firman is enabled to bear the unavoidable loss and charge of so vast an undertaking, and by his own forward inclination to charity, and unwearied diligence and activity, is fitted to sustain and go through the incredible pains of it.”[357]

CHARITIES.

Such instances of Christian benevolence are quite as worthy of being recorded in ecclesiastical history as the strifes of controversy, and the changes of government, and it may therefore be added in reference to “the useful and worthy citizen, Mr. Firman,” just mentioned, that, although he was a person of singular and heterodox opinions, he distinguished himself above many who condemned his errors; and left behind him a name for active and unwearied charity, which entitles him to a place in the same honourable list with Howard, Fry, and Peabody. The details of his beneficence are minutely recorded in his interesting life: besides establishing a linen manufactory entirely for the employment and benefit of poor spinners, he visited prisons, and redeemed poor debtors; he was a zealous supporter of Christ’s and St. Thomas’ Hospitals; he largely gave away Bibles, good books, and catechisms; he diligently helped the French Refugees; he evinced a deep interest in the sufferings and relief of the persecuted Irish, and he was an eminent contributor to the wants of the poor.[358]

Nor were missionary efforts altogether neglected. Sir Leoline Jenkins—who, in 1680, succeeded Sir William Coventry as Secretary of State—was touched by the large amount of spiritual destitution amongst the Navy and in the Colonies, and with a view to the supplying of it, he instituted two fellowships in Jesus’ College, Oxford, the holders of which should go out to sea as Chaplains of the Fleet, or proceed to “His Majesty’s foreign plantations, there to take upon them a cure of souls.”

In July, 1649, an ordinance had been passed by the Long Parliament for the propagation of the Gospel in New England. A collection for the object having been made in every parish, a large sum was realized in consequence. With this money certain lands were purchased of Colonel Beddingfield, a Roman Catholic Royalist, the annual proceeds of which were to be devoted to the mission. But after the Restoration, the Colonel seized back the property for his own use, and it was only after legal proceedings,—in which Clarendon, as Lord Chancellor, behaved most equitably,—that it was recovered by the trustees. Charles II. granted the Society a new Charter of Incorporation, of which Robert Boyle became president; and Mr. Ashurst, an influential and pious citizen, and alderman of London, who had been treasurer before, reaccepted that important post. Richard Baxter took an active part in the proceedings at home, and John Eliot, a missionary to the Indians, carried on its operations abroad. Letters are preserved which passed between the illustrious Divine and the illustrious Evangelist, and from one written by the former we learn that, although, from reasons connected with the peculiar character of the times, numbers were unwilling to leave England just then to embark in this new expedition of religious zeal, many would have been glad to have gone amongst “Persians, Tartarians, and Indians,” to preach the Gospel, had they but understood the language. Hints respecting universal language—a dream which occupied the thoughts of Wilkins, the Bishop of Chester, and inspired George Dalgarno’s Ars Signorum—occur in Eliot’s letters, showing that he leaned towards the Hebrew tongue as the all-comprehensive vehicle of instruction—the tongue which, he said, will be spoken in heaven, and which, by its “trigramical foundation,” is “capable of a regular expatiation into millions of words, no language like it.” Baxter was strongly excited by the deplorable destitution of the Gospel, but it inspired more of despair than of hope; it paralyzed rather than stimulated effort. “He that surveyeth the present state of the earth, and considereth, that scarcely a sixth part is Christian, and how small a part of them are reformed, and how small a part of them have much of the power of godliness, will be ready to think that Christ hath called almost all His chosen, and is ready to forsake the earth, rather than that He intendeth us such blessed days below as we desire. We shall have what we would, but not in this world.”[359] There are also several letters from Eliot to Boyle, written with touching simplicity—reports, in fact, of the missionary work in New England—in which the apostle to the Indians addresses the President of the Society as a right honourable, deeply learned, abundantly charitable, and constant, nursing father.[360]

CHARITIES.

Boyle devoted to the New England mission, £300 a year during his life, and, by his will, bequeathed a legacy of £100; and although several persons of distinction were nominally connected with the scheme, he was its moving-spring, its power and life. The meetings for the transaction of its affairs, which he commonly attended, were held at Alderman Ashurst’s residence in London—the first board of foreign missions in Protestant England, and the first mission-house of that kind in its enterprising metropolis. Missionary operations on a much larger scale were commenced after the Revolution.

XIII. I have recorded several incidents which occurred in the Universities. Nothing like a history of those great institutions comes within the purpose of this work, nor is there any need to describe their state after the Restoration, as in former volumes I described it before that event:—because, during the Commonwealth, the Universities were extraordinarily circumstanced, but at the Restoration they returned to their normal condition, in which they have continued ever since. A few notices, however, indicative of the studies and habits of the members, may be appropriately included within this chapter.

Sancroft conveys an unfavourable impression of the state of things at Cambridge in the year 1663:—“It would grieve you to hear of our public examinations; the Hebrew and Greek learning being out of fashion everywhere, and especially in the other Colleges, where we are forced to seek our candidates for fellowships; and the rational learning they pretend to, being neither the old philosophy, nor steadily any one of the new. In fine, though I must do the present society right, and say, that divers of them are very good scholars, and orthodox (I believe) and dutiful both to King and Church; yet methinks I find not that old genius and spirit of learning generally in the College that made it once so deservedly famous; nor shall I hope to retrieve it any way sooner, than by your directions who lived here in the most flourishing times of it.”[361]

Not only would the transition from Puritan to Anglican occasion inconvenience, but a transition also occurred from the study of the old to the study of the new philosophy,—from Aristotle to Plato, and from the pursuit of metaphysics to the investigation of physical science. Lucas founded a professorship of Mathematics in the year 1663, to which office Barrow was the first appointed, and in his inaugural address, he eulogizes that department of knowledge which he was about to teach.[362]

UNIVERSITIES.

Another great change at Cambridge, consequent upon the Restoration, is seen in the decline of Calvinistic theology, the return of Anglican opinions, and especially the progress of the Latitudinarian schools of Divinity, described in a subsequent portion of this work. Turning to less important matters, it may be observed that Royal mandates became too common, and provoked refusals from the College authorities. Dr. Cudworth, Master of Christ’s, politely apologized for declining an order for the election of a son of Sir Richard Fanshaw, as a Fellow, pleading that “since the Restoration, their little College had received and obeyed ten Royal letters; and even received a manciple imposed by letter, though it was a thing never known before.” “When mandates are so plentifully granted they cannot possibly be all obeyed.”[363] North set himself decidedly against these mandates, as most mischievous abuses, and contrived by pre-elections to obviate their occurrence. “Out of the several years, four or five one under another, he caused to be pre-elected into fellowships scholars of the best capacities in the several years; which made it improbable another election should come about in so many years then next ensuing, for until all these elections were benefited there could be no vacancy, and that broke the course of mandates whilst he lived.” North was a High Tory, an advocate of absolute monarchy, a severe disciplinarian, and an austere man in his personal habits. Although his opinions accorded with those prevalent in the University, his conduct as the Head of a College made him unpopular; and it happened, one evening,—when sitting in his dining-room by the fire, the chimney being opposite to the windows, looking out into the great quadrangle,—that a stone was sent from the court through the window. He was “inwardly vexed, and soon after, the discourse fell upon the subject of people’s kicking against their superiors in government, who preserves them as children are preserved by parents; and then he had a scroll of instances, out of Greek history, to the same purpose, concluding that no conscientious magistrate can be popular, but in lieu of that, he must arm himself with equanimity.” He differed at times from the senior fellows, and at a meeting for business, when eight of them had determined to have their own way, and carry a point on which they had previously agreed, one of them attempted to effect his object by saying, “Master, since you will not agree, we must rise, and break up the meeting.” “Nay,” he replied, “that you shall not do, for I myself will rise and be gone first.”[364] This brought them round. The relation of such an incident gives an idea of the High Church Don at Cambridge much better than any general description, and throws amusing light on the social life of the University.

The election of a new Chancellor was then, as it generally is, an exciting event for the University men, and every kind of influence was brought to bear upon the success of the respective competitors. In 1671, the Duke of Buckingham entered into a contest with the Earl of Arlington, for the enjoyment of the honour, and obtained the prize; Williamson, the Secretary of State, having without effect canvassed on the opposite side. Leading men apologized to him for not supporting his candidate, of which an instance appears in the following communication:—

UNIVERSITIES.

“For Joseph Williamson, Esq., Whitehall.—Sir,—My worthy friend,—This morning, about seven, I received the favour of your letter sent me by Dr. Turner, of St. John’s, and Dr. Cudworth our Master received another from you to the same effect. But we were so far engaged before, having been visited (as we call it here, for the Duke of Buckingham) on Sunday or Monday last, and the inclinations of the University lay so against an Oxford man (you know our academical humour) that no good could be done so late for my Lord Arlington, but the Duke was chosen this day with a nemine contradicente. You know, dear Sir, my personal obligations to you are such, and peculiarly in my expectancy for the professorship, that you might command not only my own suffrage, but all the friends I could make if it had been in time.

“Believe me to be your much obliged and humble Servant,

John Carr.

“Christ’s Coll., Cambridge,
May 11, 1671.”

There are other letters amongst the State Papers on the same subject, including one from Dr. Cudworth, to Williamson, excusing himself for supporting the Duke instead of the Earl.

Charles II. visited Cambridge on the 4th of October in the same year, and the whole body of students wearing academical habits, according to their several degrees, lined the streets as His Majesty visited the various buildings. He was received by the new Chancellor and the other authorities, who presented him with a “fair Bible,” accompanied by a short speech from the public orator. The King visited the University’s libraries and the Colleges of Trinity and St. John, and after dining at Trinity he saw a comedy acted there, with which he expressed himself well pleased.[365] In 1674, the Duke of Monmouth succeeded the Duke of Buckingham in the Chancellorship, and in that year we find the former sending a curious communication to the Eastern University.

By His Majesty’s desire he noticed the liberty which several persons in holy orders had taken to wear their own hair and perukes of an unusual and unbecoming length, and rebuked them for it, strictly enjoining that all such, who professed the study of Divinity, should wear their hair in a manner more suitable to the gravity and sobriety of their profession. He also blamed them in His Majesty’s name for reading sermons, and commanded that preaching from MS., which took a beginning with the disorders of the late times, should be wholly laid aside, and that preachers should deliver their sermons, both in Latin and English, by memory or without book, as being a way of preaching which His Majesty judged most agreeable to the use of all foreign Churches, to the former custom of the University, and the nature and intention of the holy exercise itself.[366] These injunctions were anticipated at Oxford, where James, Duke of Ormond, continued Chancellor from 1669 to 1688.

UNIVERSITIES.

“It is not long since,” writes Dr. Ralph Bathurst, President of Trinity, “we had notice of the Duke of Monmouth’s letter, written by His Majesty’s command, to the University of Cambridge, against long hair and the reading of sermons. It was here thought advisable to obviate the like reproof to ourselves, by an early compliance with His Majesty’s desires, though we think ourselves much more blameless than they, especially in the last particular. To this end, I have this day published a programme, the copy whereof I have made bold to send you.”[367]

With this amusing insight into academic life, may be coupled another of earlier date. Williamson, Secretary of State, presented to Queen’s College, a silver trumpet and two pairs of banners. Thanks were returned by Dr. Thomas Barlow, in the name of the Society, and the gift was described as “most welcome, not only for its cost and curiosity, but for its congruity to them who by statute are to be called to dinner with a trumpet, though fitter for him to give than for a poor College to receive, to call them to a mess of pottage and twopenny commons. It will be used on all solemn days, but at other times their old brass trumpet will serve the turn.” In another letter, it is remarked, “The Provost, and all the company, highly extol them, and are very grateful for them. The trumpet was long sounded in the quadrangle, wine was drunk through the hall, and venison pasties were at every table, there being a whole buck from Lady Foster, of Aldermaston,” besides Williamson’s from Woodstock.[368] Old Christmas and Candlemas customs were revived, and the senior undergraduates amused themselves at night before the charcoal fires by bringing in the freshmen, and making them “sit down on a form in the middle of the hall, joining to the declaimer’s desk,”—where they were required to “speak some pretty apothegm, or make a jest or bull;” and if the thing were not done cleverly, the unhappy wight was punished by the seniors, who would “tuck him—that is set the nail of their thumb to his chin, just under the lip, and by the help of their other fingers under the chin, they would give him a mark which sometimes would produce blood.”[369] A picturesque usage occurred on Holy Thursday, when the Fellows of New College walked to Bartholomew’s Hospital, which was decked with fruit for the occasion, and then, after reading the Scriptures, and the singing of hymns, they offered silver to be divided amongst poor men; then they proceeded to Stockwell, where, after reading the epistle and gospel for the day, the Fellows in “the open place, like the ancient Druids, echoed and warbled out from the shady arbours, melodious melody, consisting of several parts, then most in fashion.”[370]

UNIVERSITIES.

The conduct of persons who from time to time acted the part of Terræ filius, had been complained of under the Commonwealth; it continued to be complained of after the Restoration. The excesses into which these lawless students were wont to run, with other corresponding extravagances, appear to have reached their greatest height in 1669, at the opening of the Sheldon theatre. South once, as University orator, delivered a long oration, in which he satirically inveighed against Cromwell, the Fanatics, the Royal Society, and the new philosophy:—and then pronounced encomiums upon the Archbishop, the building, the Vice-Chancellor, the Architect, and the Decorator, concluding with execrations, cast upon Fanatics, Conventicles, and Comprehension, “damning them ad inferos, ad Gehennam.” At the same Commemoration, the Terræ filius gave so general offence, that Dr. Wallis says: “I believe the University hath thereby lost more reputation than they have gained by all the rest.” “The excellent Lady,” he adds, “which your letter mentions, was, in the broadest language represented as guilty of those crimes, of which, if there were occasion, you would not stick to be her compurgator.”[371]

Complaints of the same kind were made years afterwards. The Bishop of Oxford, writing December 14, 1684, complains:—“The Terræ filii in this place have of late taken to themselves such licenses as were altogether intolerable, their scurrilous discourses passing not only the bounds of decency but of common humanity, so that it was necessary for the University to oppose sharp remedies to so prevailing an evil.”[372]

Within eighteen months of the date of the Oxford decree for burning the books of Milton and others, there occurred another Act conceived in the same spirit. Lord Sunderland wrote to the Bishop of Oxford, Dr. John Fell, complaining of John Locke,—“He being,” remarks the Bishop in reply, “as your Lordship is truly informed, a person who was much trusted by the late Earl of Shaftesbury, and who is suspected to be ill-affected to the Government, I have for divers years had an eye upon him, but so close has his guard been on himself, that after several strict inquiries, I may confidently affirm that there is not any man in the College, however familiar with him, who has heard him speak a word either against, or so much as concerning the Government.” Yet, although Locke was so extremely cautious, the Bishop professed the greatest zeal in seeking his expulsion, and, after describing what he himself meant to do, adds: “If this method seem not effectual or speedy enough, and His Majesty, our founder and visitor, shall please to command his immediate remove, upon the receipt thereof, directed to the Dean and Chapter, it shall accordingly be executed.” A warrant, immediately despatched by Sunderland, signified the King’s pleasure, that John Locke should be removed from his student’s place, to which the Bishop obsequiously replied: “I hold myself bound in duty to signify to your Lordship that His Majesty’s command for the expulsion of Mr. Locke from this College is fully executed.”[373] This disgraceful deed originated, it is true, with the Sovereign, but the part taken by the Bishop, and the Dean and Chapter of Christchurch, with the silent acquiescence of the University, demonstrates what must have been the political and ecclesiastical atmosphere of the place at that time.

We here terminate these somewhat rambling notices of the ecclesiastical, the religious, and the academic life of the period; and proceed to notice, in the next chapter, a very important subject connected with the state of the English Churches, which has not received from historians the attention it requires.

CHAPTER XIII.

Theological science is a growth; and to its growth, as developed in our own day, the labours of a long line of students have contributed. The genesis of doctrinal opinion is a subject worthy of much more careful research than it has yet received. To find out how particular dogmas have been broached and modified, how they have originated and been unfolded, goes far to fix their truth or their falsehood; and any man who would thoroughly understand the theology of this country, must study carefully the chief authors of theological literature in the seventeenth century. Andrewes, Donne, Jackson, Thorndike, Taylor, Pearson, and Bull—More, Smith, Cudworth, and Barrow—Goodwin, Owen, Baxter, Howe, and Charnock—were all eminent Divines of that period—all, in different degrees, erudite scholars—all hard thinkers; and although they belonged to schools of thought differing in important respects, inasmuch as they read each other’s books, and answered each other’s arguments, they could not but influence each other’s minds. To ponder and to compare them is an exercise helpful to a theological thinker in his search after truth. Unless we believe in the infallibility of our own Church, whatever that Church may be—unless we also believe our own Church to have collected every part of theological truth, to have examined it under every possible aspect, and to have secured the best possible point of view—all of us who engage in sacred studies are bound not to confine ourselves to the perusal of authors who belong to the way of thinking which prevails in our own denomination. Rome has her Index Expurgatorius, and in this she is perfectly consistent. Protestantism, whilst it condemns the Romanist prohibition of inquiry, is excessively inconsistent, if it encourages similar exclusiveness on the part of its own disciples, or allows a wider circle of reading only for controversial purposes. The narrowness of theological schools, and the bigotry of religious sects, is very much owing to a limited acquaintance with books, and to a prejudiced feeling against what is read when accustomed limits are overstepped. And in reference to the authors of the seventeenth century, it cannot be fairly denied—after all which may justly be said touching the dryness and prolixity of their dissertations—that a depth, thoroughness, and power may be found in some of these men which we miss, with a few exceptions, in Divines of our own day.

As the writings of which I speak, together with other influences, have served to produce phases of religious thought amongst ourselves, so amongst them, the writings of earlier theologians, together with other influences, served to produce the characteristic peculiarities of their religious thought. We are apt to underrate the number of ways in which thinking is affected; and we often forget that a simple result may proceed from most complex and composite causes. Many people imagine that the climate of a country is determined entirely by position in point of latitude—that every mile nearer the pole it must be colder, and every mile nearer the equator it must be warmer; whereas numerous and diversified agencies interfere with climate, and produce wonderful curves in the isothermal lines. So, many people imagine that one cause—the study of the Bible—solely determines theological opinion; whereas, forces of all descriptions—even climate and scenery, race and language, laws and memories, especially early education, domestic life, books, friendships, and idiosyncrasies—have a share in the result. Divines two centuries ago might not, any more than ourselves, be conscious of the diversified and subtle operations to which they were subjected; but that circumstance does not interfere with the fact itself.

THEOLOGY.

There had been four broad lines of theological opinion long before the middle of the seventeenth century, as there have been four broad lines running on ever since. In the second century and onward we meet with patristic orthodoxy, the great facts and principles of Christianity taught by the Apostles being illustrated and defended, especially in the Nicene age, by thoughtful men, who, in the use of their natural faculties, by the blessing of Almighty God, explained and established much which is true; not, however, without an admixture of something which was false. In the third century we meet with Alexandrian philosophy, which, by a natural tendency, aimed at bringing the intellectual culture of the age into connection with the Gospel; and therefore dwelt much upon the reasonableness of Christianity, and the points of affinity between it and certain forms of human opinion. In the fourth century we find dogmatic Evangelicalism gathered up by Augustine, and woven into a distinctive system of Christian thought. At the same time the element of Mysticism appears at work, preparing for a vigorous expression of itself during the middle ages. Throughout those ages these four currents are traceable, generic resemblances, being marked, of course, by specific varieties. At the Reformation two of these, the Nicene and the Augustinian, are manifest enough in the English Protestant Church, both struggling against Rome; each also struggling with the other. The traces of Alexandrianism and of Mysticism, after disappearing for awhile, become distinctly visible in the seventeenth century.

It is impossible not to connect the Anglican development of that period with the faith, the polity, and the worship of the Nicene age, and the Puritan doctrines of the same period, with the theology and spiritual life of Augustine. Nor can there be any doubt that the so-called Latitudinarianism (I use the word in its historical sense) of the Cambridge school comes in lineal succession to that of Alexandria. And if Mysticism, as existing amongst Quakers, be not capable of showing distinct historical links of connection with previous thinking, it is plain that its elements had existed long before: a fact, indeed, insisted upon by its more erudite exponents.[374] Anglicans, Puritans, Latitudinarians, and Mystics were all of ancient lineage, although some were unacquainted with, and might even be prejudiced against, their ancestry. Besides, as already indicated, there were other and more immediate influences at work. The ecclesiastical revolutions and conflicts under Elizabeth and the Stuarts, the traditions of domestic life, parental and school education, the atmosphere pervading social circles, and especially the constitution of individual minds—these served to shape systems which stood in direct and determined conflict with one another. Nor let it be forgotten that, though divers factors of religious thought may be enumerated, others exist which lie too deep for discovery and analysis, even by the most subtle inquirers. If it be true generally that we have no complete science of history, it is eminently true of the history of theological opinion. There is mystery in all growth, for there is mystery in all life; and it is idle to suppose that, at least in this world, we shall ever arrive at a perfect philosophy of the progress or activity of mind, in reference to that which is at once, of all subjects, the most practical and the most mysterious.

THEOLOGY.

It will assist the reader in understanding what follows, to observe that, whilst all the theologians to be described appealed to Scripture, each class had its own standard and principles of interpretation; and that, whilst all professed to take the Bible as a whole, each selected from it some favourite parts. The Anglicans, professedly as well as actually, adopted the teaching of the first four or five centuries as a guide to the meaning of Holy Writ. They looked upon that period as the purest and ripest age of Christian wisdom, and concluded that the Church of after-days has been, and is, bound to adhere to the faith and order then established. The Puritans had no such idea of patristic teaching, but contended for the full right of private judgment. Some of the Fathers they valued and loved, particularly Augustine; yet without attaching any special authority even to him. They professed to come to the sacred oracles with unbiassed minds, and it is one of their characteristic notions that the Holy Spirit, bestowed upon devout seekers, remains alone the unerring Expositor of His own Word. The Latitudinarians had their favourite authors, particularly of the Greek philosophical school; and although they did not adopt the opinions of the Puritans as to the teaching of the Spirit, any more than did the Anglicans, yet, in common with both of them, they were prepared to seek Divine assistance in the study of the sacred volume. What, however, they mainly relied upon was their own reason. The Quakers, in their turn, extolled the inward light, the illumination of Christ’s Spirit, as explaining and supplementing the written Word. The Fathers, the Holy Spirit, human reason, and the inward light, were the interpreters to which different classes of Scripture students looked for help in their momentous investigations. In connection with this difference another presents itself. The Anglicans insisted upon those parts of Scripture which relate to the Holy Trinity, the Incarnation, and the Atonement, and to the ordinances of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. They used the priesthood and rites of Judaism for the support of their own views regarding sacerdotal ministrations. Diocesan episcopacy and Apostolical succession they endeavoured to deduce from the New Testament; but they were obliged to rest principally upon patristic records for what they believed and taught upon these subjects.

THEOLOGY.

Passages relating to justification by faith, to the election of grace, and to the adoption of believers, do not stand out in their writings, as do the other class of passages to which I have referred. In this respect the Anglicans differed from the Puritans. By the latter, texts bearing upon the topics now mentioned, in connection with other texts touching the Divinity of our Lord, and the Holy Trinity, and the satisfaction made by Christ upon the cross, were most abundantly cited, illustrated, and enforced. The Puritans regarded such texts as distinctive of the Gospel—as rendering it a suitable message of redemption and love to sinful men. I scruple not to say that I warmly sympathize with them in this last respect. The Gospel is glad tidings of great joy to all people: this is the pith of the blessed message, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” “His name shall be called Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins.” But whilst I admire and honour the Puritans for their attachment to evangelic truth, I cannot conceal my conviction that they too, in their turn, are chargeable with one-sidedness. They had their favourite verses, and, in some instances, dwelt upon them to the neglect of others, and without fully considering the general current of Scripture instructions—which current is really still more important and decisive than particular sentences, which are apt to be looked at apart from their connection. Some of the Puritan Divines did not sufficiently consider those passages which recognize in the Atonement an element of moral power over the human soul; or those passages which present justification and sanctification, in their inseparable relation, as two sides of one and the same redemption; or those passages which teach the power of the human will, the free agency of man, and his personal responsibility; or those passages which unfold the sweet and beautiful fatherhood of Almighty God. The reaction produced by the errors of Popery in identifying sanctification with justification, in overlooking the free grace of the Gospel, and in fostering notions of human merit, drove the Puritans into extreme antagonistic positions, where the forensic idea of righteousness too often overshadowed the moral idea, and an inevitable and resistless fatalism took the place of Divine parental government at once merciful and righteous. Some of the Puritans, indeed, lie less open to such exceptions than did others, as will appear in the subsequent analysis of their works.

The Latitudinarians also had their favourite portions of hallowed Writ, raising the moral teaching of the New Testament, and what they considered the large and liberal views of humanity given in the Bible, above the doctrinal sentences which so much occupied the attention of Anglicans on the one hand, and above those which equally occupied the attention of Puritans on the other. To Latitudinarians, Christianity seemed more an ethical than a doctrinal system; and in their writings evangelic truth shines with a very subdued and chilly kind of illumination.

The Quakers, too, had their favourite verses, and were continually insisting upon those which, as they thought, supported the idea of an inward light.

What has now been imperfectly advanced in relation to predominant lines of thinking in the seventeenth century is to be accepted only in a general sense. One writer differed so much from another, that, whilst resemblances exist, mere general statements respecting them are likely to mislead, unless they are checked and modified by a careful review of individual opinions.

Such a review is now to be attempted, with a full conviction of its very great difficulties.

THEOLOGY.

Taking the period between the opening of the Long Parliament and the Revolution (1640–1688), I might divide it into two epochs—the one extending as far as the end of the Commonwealth, the other beginning at that crisis. Modes of thought of the kind just pointed out can be traced along the whole course, abreast of each other. The two antagonistic systems are Anglicanism and Puritanism; and from 1640 to 1660, Puritanism is seen in the ascendant, as a reaction against Anglicanism; and from 1660 to 1688, Anglicanism is in the ascendant, as a reaction against Puritanism. No doubt some slight differences obtained between the Anglicanism of the first twenty years and the Anglicanism of the last twenty-eight, and the same may be said of the Puritanism of the first and second of those generations; but there is no necessity for breaking the history into two parts, since the general identity of each system is preserved throughout the whole period, and all the leading representatives lived and studied, and most of them acted and wrote, both before and after the Restoration; besides, to separate their later from their earlier works would destroy the unity of this narrative, and create confusion in the reader’s mind. The Latitudinarians appeared at Cambridge before the death of Oliver Cromwell, and at that period began to produce some effect upon theological speculation and religious life; but it was not until afterwards that their characteristic tendencies became fully apparent. Quaker Mysticism took its rise in the midst of the Commonwealth era, and continued its course, with increasing power, up to the hour of the Revolution. Therefore to cut in two the theological history of this half century would be inconvenient; and although the plan which I adopt is open to objection, I shall select examples of the teaching throughout that period, without adopting any chronological subdivision. I shall begin with the Anglicans, then notice the Latitudinarians, then touch upon the Quaker Mystics, and end with the Puritans. My endeavour will be to state them as fairly as I can; not to indulge in vague generalization, but to give their own words and turns of thought whenever it is possible; and, by references as well as citations, to supply the means of rectifying any mistakes into which I may unfortunately happen to fall. In stating arguments on different sides, I shall endeavour to guard against colouring reports of opinion with my own predilections or prejudices. At the same time, I shall not refrain from occasionally indicating, in a few words, my own belief; for no man who has deep convictions touching these subjects, however he may strive to write with impartiality about various parties, will dare to write with indifference upon what he conceives to be vital truths. Moreover, it appears to me very important to notice certain circumstances in the lives of these authors; for it is quite clear to my mind, that we cannot accurately understand the history of theology, or duly estimate theological opinions, apart from the biography of the theologians themselves.

Herbert Thorndike first claims attention. He possessed a mind which was singularly acute and comprehensive. He had trained himself to the practice of subtle reasoning, yet he generally gives, in his writings, indications of no small measure of what Englishmen call common sense; and, on every page, he exhibits those rich and varied treasures of theological learning which a quiet life of study alone can enable any one to accumulate. It cannot be denied that the formal method employed in his arguments is often quite unimpeachable; yet, whilst logical in reasoning, he is illogical in arrangement; and his discursive habits of thought often tempt him into zigzag courses, and lead him to double his path, and retrace his steps, and come back to some point which the reader concludes the author had finished. And to this serious defect he adds another: his crabbed and crooked style presents the most infelicitous collocation of words, perhaps, to be found in English literature, many of his sentences needing to be translated into some plainer form before they can be understood. What a contrast, in point of style, does the student find, when, leaving the majestic diction of Hooker, or the flowing rhythm of Jackson, he turns to the perusal of Thorndike’s paragraphs! Yet, in spite of drawbacks, Thorndike deserves to be carefully studied. No other theologian of his age, or, indeed, of any other, has wrought out the Anglican theory with such elaboration and completeness. The disciples of that system find in his books an arsenal of defence; and its opponents should examine carefully his positions, if they would overthrow the citadel in which Divines of his order are wont to entrench themselves. But he ought not to be studied simply for controversial purposes: any large-minded student, with sympathy for God’s truth wherever found, may derive great advantage from many parts of this good man’s writings.

ANGLICANS.—THORNDIKE.

In common with some other Divines of that day, he passed through a change of opinion, and that at an early period of life. He went to Cambridge with no strong theological bias of any kind, and entered Trinity College at a time when that College was accused neither of Puritan nor of Romanizing tendencies. But he thought less unfavourably of Calvinism at the commencement of his studies than he did during his subsequent career. At first he did not, without some qualification, condemn the doctrine of final perseverance; also he then opposed other parts of the system upon grounds which he afterwards abandoned, as not sufficiently distinct and fundamental. He was also far less severe when controverting the arguments of Nonconformists in the former than in the latter period of his life.[375] Patristic studies, to a large extent, most likely produced the change which he experienced; and his ejectment from his Fellowship at Trinity by the Presbyterians would naturally serve to increase his growing distaste for their distinguishing tenets.

The book in which he unfolds his scheme of divinity was written before the Restoration, and bears the title of An Epilogue to the Tragedy of the Church of England (1659): a title which provoked the criticisms of his friends, especially afterwards, when the book proved to be a prologue to that Church’s revival. The work contains The Principles of Christian Truth; The Covenant of Grace; and The Laws of the Church.

In laying down the principles of Christian truth, Thorndike, as an Anglican, somewhat startles his reader by his first position, that reason is to decide controversies of faith[376]—a form of words which, taken alone, certainly conveys an idea very different from what the writer intends. Any rationalistic interpretation is prevented by what follows. He proceeds, indeed, to explain that neither the private teaching of the Spirit of God to the individual soul on the one hand, nor the authority of the Church in relation to men in general on the other, can be the ground of believing. But, on that account, he does not enthrone human reason. He adds, that there is obscurity in Scripture, all truth being in it not explicitly but only implicitly; and he argues that whilst the Bible is sufficient in one sense, it is not so in another, and that it therefore needs such interpretation as is supplied by the traditions of the Church.[377] The use of reason (or reasoning) in matters of faith is resolved by him into this—that by it “all undertake to persuade all,” and its only scope is in the examination of evidence. Yet what are commonly called the evidences of Christianity are very much overlooked in Thorndike’s writings. There are numerous incidental allusions to the opinions of Herbert and Hobbes. Sometimes these writers are grappled with; but reliance on reasoning is abandoned when, by this Divine, outlawry is maintained to be “the penalty of the Leviathan, and all that have or may follow him either into apostasy or atheism.”[378] Thorndike, indeed, touches on both the external and internal proofs of revealed religion, but he nowhere, that I can find, thoroughly and at length discusses the matter. I may here observe, in passing, that he speaks with approval of the way in which the Jewish Doctors resolve inspiration into different degrees.[379] But the interpretation of Christianity is, in his view, the office of the Church. The Church, he maintains, is a permanent teacher, its permanence depending upon Apostolical succession, and its tuition finding expression in the decisions of Councils and in the writings of Fathers; the authority of the latter being explained as not arising out of personal qualities of learning and holiness, but out of ecclesiastical position. Tradition limits the interpretation of Holy Writ; but this principle “pretends not any general rule for the interpretation of Scripture, even in those things which concern the rule of faith, but infers a prescription against anything that can be alleged out of Scripture, that, if it may appear contrary to that which the whole Church hath received and held from the beginning, it cannot be the true meaning of that Scripture which is alleged to prove it.” At the same time Thorndike says, that the power of the Church limits the tradition of Apostles only in matters of ceremony and order, such as are indifferent in themselves; changes in circumstances, and in the usages of society, rendering changes of that nature necessary and unavoidable: a conclusion equivalent to the well-known one that the Church hath power, within certain bounds, to decree rites and ceremonies. Heresy, Thorndike defines as consisting in the denial of something necessary to salvation; and schism to consist in a departure from the unity of the Church, whether from heresy, or from any other cause. Upon these principles—which he defends at great length, not without many discursions, and sometimes in a manner which it is difficult to follow—Thorndike declares the Church of England to have laid her deep foundations; and her main position is by him asserted to be, that, repudiating all pretensions to infallibility, she owns tradition to be her guide, and requires that “no interpretation of the Scriptures be alleged contrary to the consent of the Fathers.”[380]

ANGLICANS.—THORNDIKE.

The covenant of grace is examined by this Divine at great length; and, if I may be allowed the attempt, I would give an outline of his method somewhat as follows:—

I. The condition of that covenant is the contract of baptism, and that contract is identical with justifying faith. Such faith is not simply credence, or trust, or persuasion—it is not merely the belief of a Divine testimony, or a reliance upon a Divine person—nor is it a conviction that one is already justified and predestinated to life; but is an acceptation of Christianity, “embracing and professing it” as a whole. Faith, as enjoined by St. Paul and St. James, and as exemplified in the lives of the Hebrew patriarchs, is essentially practical; and when the former Apostle puts faith in opposition to works, he means the works of Jewish law, and not the works of Gospel precept. Faith is rooted “in the affection of the will, not in the perfection of the understanding.” Yet good works are entirely the production of Divine grace.[381] Though the Fathers are free to acknowledge, with St. Paul, the doctrine of justification by faith alone, they are, on the other side, so copious in attributing the promises of the Gospel to Christian obedience, that it may be truly said, there is not one of them from whom sufficient authority may not be drawn in favour of it: a concurrence which amounts to a tradition of the whole Church upon this important point.

ANGLICANS.—THORNDIKE.

II. The necessity of the covenant of grace arises out of original sin, which is confessed by David and St. Paul, which consists in concupiscence, and which cleaves to every man by his first birth, the birth of a carnal nature.[382]

III. The Mediator of the covenant is the Divine Christ, the Angel of the Lord, whose apparitions of old “were prefaces to the Incarnation”—the Word, who was in the beginning, by whom all things were created, and who was made flesh. He is “the great God,” with St. Paul; the “true God,” with St. John; the “only Lord God,” with St. Jude. Scripture abounds in proofs of His Godhead. To the full meaning of these titles, as expressed by other texts in equivalent terms, the early Church’s belief in Christ’s Divinity, and the writings of the ante-Nicene Fathers, Ignatius, Justin, Irenæus, Clement, and Origen, bear concurrent witness. The fact of a Trinity in the Godhead is fully and clearly stated in Scripture. The admission of the mystery is reconcilable with reason; but no one can explain the secrets of the Divine nature, and it is only rational that, on such a subject, we should submit to the teaching of revelation. “All dispute about essence, and persons, and natures, and all the terms whereby either the Scriptures express themselves in this point, or the Church excludes the importunities of heresies from the true sense of the Christian faith, improves no man’s understanding an inch in this mystery. The service it does, is to teach men the language of the Church, by distinguishing that sense of several sayings which is, and that which is not, consistent with the faith. And if any man hereupon proceed, by discourse upon the nature of the subject, to infer what is and what is not such, his understanding is unsufferable.”[383]

IV. The method of the covenant is gracious. All its provisions depend entirely upon the grace of Christ. But salvation is not through any Divine predestination of the will of man. God determines not what the moral acts of His creatures shall be in themselves, but only the practical results of them. The soul is free from necessity, though not from bondage; and the doctrine of the predetermination of the human will is not the root but the rooting up of freedom and of Christianity. Nothing formally determines the will of man, but his own act. Predestination to the enjoyment of grace is absolute, but predestination to the enjoyment of glory is conditional, and has respect to character. The end to which God predestinates is not the end for which He predestinates. Grace is the reward of the right use of grace. Upon this entire subject, the tradition of the Church runs counter to Predestinarianism, to Arminianism, and to Pelagianism.[384]

ANGLICANS.—THORNDIKE.

Thorndike says, in reference to Calvinism: “It seems that God’s predestination must of force appoint salvation to them that are to be saved, in the first place; from thence proceeding to design the way and order by which the person designed to it may be induced of his own free choice to accept the means of it. This slight mistake,” he observes, “seems to have been the occasion of many horrible imaginations, which even Christian Divines have had, of God’s design from everlasting to create the most part of men on purpose to glorify Himself by condemning them to everlasting torments, though in consideration of the sins which they shall have done.” “The mistake is,” he remarks, “that the end of the creature by God’s appointment, is taken for God’s end, which though it be His end because He appointeth it for His creature, yet it is not any end that He seeks for Himself.” God, being of Himself sufficient for Himself, can have no end upon human beings. He is personally disinterested. Nothing accrues to Him, nothing is lost by Him; all the gain or loss is by the creature; and, having given a moral law to intelligent beings, He will abide by that law, and bestow happiness upon them accordingly.

Salvation is through the satisfaction of Christ, who, by His propitiatory sacrifice perfected in death, paid the ransom of human souls. He expiates our sin by bearing the punishment of it, and we are reconciled to God by the Gospel in consideration of Christ’s obedience. This is taught by the sacrifices according to the law, by the prophet Isaiah, and in the New Testament. Socinus is altogether in error, and the doctrine that Divine grace rests on a satisfaction made for guilt is the doctrine of the Catholic Church. Yet neither according to Scripture nor according to patristic teaching, are our sins imputable to Christ, or His sufferings imputable to us: the latter are but the meritorious causes of the Christian covenant, and the promises of the Gospel depend upon His active as well as His passive obedience. Yet though all this be true—though salvation is now actually conveyed only through the work of Christ—yet God might have reconciled man to Himself in some other way.[385]

Salvation is not secured by a decree of perseverance, but the saying of the schoolman is true—Deus neminem deserit, nisi desertus, God leaves no man that leaves not Him first; and, though the assurance of salvation is not included in the act of justifying faith, it follows as the consequence of it.[386]

Finally, with respect to the covenant of grace, salvation is not through obedience to the original law of God—for that is impossible—but through the fulfilment of evangelical precepts. The fulfilment, if not perfect, may be acceptable, for there are venial as well as mortal offences; and if, among men, friendship long exercised suffers not a man who stands upon his credit to break with his friend upon ordinary offences, we see the reason why God so often helps His ancient people in respect of that covenant, which they, for their parts, had made void and forfeited; and therefore how much more He obligeth Himself to pass by these failures and weaknesses which Christians endeavour to overcome, although they cannot fully do it.[387]

Thorndike describes not so much salvation itself as the means of salvation. He nowhere endorses the dogma of Trent which confounds justification with sanctification; neither does he clearly distinguish between these two blessings. In his writings much may be found upon justifying faith, little upon justification as a distinct theological idea; and what little may be discovered is by no means explicit.[388]

ANGLICANS.—THORNDIKE.

Such is a very condensed account of Thorndike’s scheme of salvation by grace. Yet enough is seen to show the theological student how closely this Anglican Divine in some points touches upon the creed of the Romish Church, how now and then he even crosses the line; and the fact is made still more clear by his distinctions between matters of precept and matters of counsel,—by his notions of Christian perfection,—by his stating that the backslider’s recovery of God’s grace is a work of labour and time,—by his doctrine of the efficacy of penance,—and by the position, that there is a sense in which the works of Christians may be regarded as satisfying justice with regard to sin, and as meriting heaven.[389]

What Thorndike advances respecting the laws of the Church must be reported with still more brevity. The Church is founded upon the duty of communicating in Divine offices, particularly in the sacrament of the Eucharist, wherein, with the elements, Christ Himself is present, not simply through the living faith of the recipient, but because of the true profession of Christianity in the Church; nevertheless, the invisible faithfulness of the heart, in making good or in resolving to make good the said profession, makes the receiving of it effectual to the spiritual eating and drinking of Christ’s body and blood. Which Eucharist also, according to the New Testament and the Fathers, Thorndike maintains, may be accounted a sacrifice, first as to the oblation of the bread and wine; secondly, as to the offering of prayer; thirdly, as to the consecration of the elements, whereby they become a propitiatory and impetratory offering; and fourthly, as to the presenting to God of the bodies and souls of the receivers. He argues for the baptism of infants, on the grounds, that there is no other cure for original sin; that the children of Christians are holy, and may be made disciples; and that the effect of circumcision under the law inferreth the effect of baptism under the Gospel. This third book also treats of penance, extreme unction, marriage, government, and, in particular, of the Papal supremacy, and of the Presbyterian and Independent schemes; of the days, places, forms, and subject matter of Divine service; of the state of souls after death; of prayer to saints, and image worship; of monachism, and the celibacy of the clergy; and, lastly, of the relation of the ecclesiastical and civil powers. In some cases this Divine draws a pretty broad distinction between what he holds as Catholic views and the views which are held by the Church of Rome; but in other cases the difference is so refined that it becomes almost imperceptible. No doubt Thorndike may, on technical grounds, be vindicated from the charge of Romanism proper; and it may be said that, in his defence of prayers for the dead, he follows Ussher; and that, in his doctrine respecting the Eucharist, he symbolizes with Cosin and with Bramhall, with Hammond and Taylor and Ken.[390] Between him and many clergymen of the Established Church in the present day a strong resemblance exists; but certainly, in the judgment of other theologians, whose opinions will be stated hereafter, and in the judgment of such as may be deemed their successors, the tendency of Thorndike’s teaching is decidedly towards Rome; and, whatever may be the distinction drawn between the Catholicism taught by him, and the Catholicism of the Council of Trent, that distinction, in some particulars, although comprehended by metaphysical Divines, is scarcely to be discerned by plain English understandings.

ANGLICANS.—BULL.

George Bull may be placed next to Herbert Thorndike. Bull was admitted into Exeter College, Oxford, two years before the imposition of the Engagement. That Act, in 1649, ejected him; in consequence of which he became a student in the house of a Presbyterian Rector. The Puritan influence in the rectory, however, became neutralized by the Rector’s son, through whose friendship the young student came to study Hooker, Hammond, Taylor, Grotius, and Episcopius. The father foresaw the result, and, looking at it from his own point of view, would often say, “My son will corrupt Mr. Bull.”[391]

Bull has not, like Thorndike, bequeathed any treatise on systematic Divinity in general, nor has he propounded views of the extreme kind, which the former has done in his Laws of the Church; but between Bull’s two great works and certain aspects of Thorndike’s teaching there is a considerable resemblance.

The first great work produced by him is his Harmonia Apostolica, published in 1670, in which he propounds his views upon justification. His general method is to examine the Scriptures in the light of patristic teaching; and, adopting the same principles of interpretation as Thorndike, he arrives at similar conclusions. He is quite as learned as the contemporary of his earlier days, and he is far more lucid and methodical in his mode of treatment; for he can be easily followed, and he can be clearly understood. Also, he is much more cautious in his statements, and he carefully strives to save himself from misapprehension. He attributes salvation entirely to Christ’s meritorious obedience, of which obedience Christ’s death was the consummation and completion. Bull maintains that this obedience satisfied Divine justice, that this alone is the efficacious cause of eternal life; and he constantly insists that no man can, without Divine grace, and the assistance of the Holy Spirit, as flowing from the precious side of the Crucified One, perform the conditions of the covenant.

He further distinctly states, as the result of a careful examination of Scripture, “that the word justification, in this subject, has the meaning of a judicial term, and signifies the act of God as a Judge, according to the merciful law of Christ, acquitting the accused, pronouncing him righteous, and admitting him to the reward of righteousness, that is, eternal life.”[392] But, though adopting the forensic view of justification, and thus moving in the same line as Martin Luther, Bull differs from the German Reformer in this very important respect—that, instead of taking law to mean law apart from the Gospel, he explains it to mean law as incorporated in the Gospel; for he says, “It must be ever observed, as an undeniable truth, that Christ, in His sermon, not only explained the moral law, but also laid it down as His own, and required its observance, assisted by the grace of the Gospel, from all Christians, as a condition of His covenant indispensably necessary.” It is this view of the law which lies at the foundation of Bull’s theory of justification. Consistently with it, he reduces his argument to this syllogistic form—“Whoever is acquitted by the law of Christ must necessarily fulfil that law; but by faith alone, without works, no one fulfils the law of Christ; therefore by faith alone, without works, no one is acquitted by the law of Christ.”[393]

ANGLICANS.—BULL.

Having arrived at such a conclusion from the study of the Epistle of St. James, then comes the pinch: how is such a conclusion to be reconciled with the teaching of St. Paul? The learned author, after hastily disposing of other methods of reconciliation, prepares for defending his own, by laying down the principle that St. Paul’s teaching is to be explained by St. James’ and not St. James’ by St. Paul’s; our critic believing, with Augustine, that St. James wrote after St. Paul—an assumption contradicted by modern Biblical criticism. Bull, then, asserts, that faith, to which justification “is attributed by St. Paul, is not to be understood as one single virtue, but denotes the whole condition of the Gospel covenant—that is, comprehends in one word all the works of Christian piety.” “Assuredly,” he adds, “it is clearer than light itself, that the faith to which St. Paul attributes justification is only that which worketh by love, which is the same as a new creature, which, in short, contains in itself the observance of the commandments of God.” In order to get over the great objection arising from the plain words of St. Paul, that “a man is justified by faith, without the deeds of the law,” this controversialist attempts to show, that the works which St. Paul excludes from justification are not all kinds of works, but works of a certain description only,—namely, works of the Mosaic law, and works of the natural law, works done in obedience to the Jewish ritual, and works done by the force of nature. Bull then proceeds to dwell at considerable length upon the Apostle’s argument from the universality of sin, and the weakness of the law; and, as the result, he presents two deductions—first, that the Apostle entirely excludes from justification only those works which are performed by the aid of the Mosaic, and of the natural law, without the grace of the Gospel; secondly, that the Apostle’s argument, so far from taking away from justification the necessity of good works, proves that the true righteousness of works is absolutely necessary to justification, and that the Gospel is the only efficacious method by which any man can be brought to practise such righteousness.[394]

The coincidence of Bull’s teaching with Thorndike’s, as to the grounds of faith, appears in the following passage:—

“God knows the secrets of my heart; so far am I from the itch of originality in theological doctrines, ... that whatever are sanctioned by the consent of Catholic Fathers and ancient Bishops, though my own small ability attain not to them, yet I will embrace them with all reverence. In truth I had already learned, by no few experiments, in writing my Harmony, while yet a young man, what now in my mature age I am most thoroughly persuaded of, that no one can contradict Catholic consent, however he may seem to be countenanced for a while by some passages of Scripture wrongly understood, and by the illusions of unreal arguments, without being found in the end to have contradicted both Scripture and sound reason. I daily deplore and sigh over the unbridled license of prophesying which obtained for some years in this our England, ... under the tyranny of what some considered a wretched necessity. In a word, my hearty desire is this, Let the ancient customs and doctrines remain in force.”[395]

ANGLICANS.—BULL.

The publication of the Harmonia Apostolica occasioned much controversy. Answers appeared, written by Charles Gataker, son of Thomas Gataker, one of the Westminster Divines; by Joseph Truman,—who, though refusing to conform as a clergyman to the Established Church, remained in it as a lay communicant; by Dr. Thomas Tully, Principal of St. Edmund’s Hall, Oxford, a man of high reputation for learning and ability; and by John Tombes, the Anti-pædobaptist,—who, like Truman, declined ministerial conformity, but at least occasionally practised communion. Truman differed from Bull less than did the other combatants. Not to be wearisome, I would merely state, that his part in the dispute mainly turned upon the question, What is grace? Bull, in Truman’s estimation, regarding it as a bestowment of spiritual power, to be improved or misimproved, according to the will of the recipient; Truman, who in this respect anticipated the opinions of modern Calvinists, representing grace as a Divine influence securing the obedience of the will to the Gospel of Christ. He highly commended that sober sentiment of the great Bishop Sanderson, who, confessing his own disability to reconcile the consistency of grace and free-will in conversion, and being sensible that they must both be maintained, tells us, he ever held it “the more pious and safe way, to place the grace of God in the throne, where we think it should stand, and so to leave the will of man to shift for the maintenance of its own freedom, as well as it can, than to establish the power and liberty of free-will at its height, and then to be at a loss how to maintain the power and efficacy of God’s grace.”[396] Gataker, Tully, and Tombes were, what might be termed, High Calvinists. The first maintained, in opposition to the Author of the Harmonia, as it appears from his reply,—that remission of sins is entirely extraneous to justification, that there are conditions in the Gospel covenant which are not conditions of Gospel justification, that repentance is a condition of the Gospel joined by Christ with faith, but it is not a condition of justification, and that we are justified by the imputed righteousness of Christ.[397] Tully treated Bull as an innovator; and after alluding to Socinians and Papists, insinuated that he belonged to those, “who perfidiously serving the interests of one or other of these parties, shamelessly take to themselves the title of sons of the Church of England.”[398] Tully contended for justification by faith alone; and, injudiciously adding to the Scriptural argument the authority of the Fathers, which he maintained to be in his favour, laid himself open to the attacks of his opponent, who criticised his citations, and turned against him testimonies from Irenæus, Origen, Cyprian, Hilary, Basil, and Ambrose. The judgment of the Church of England, and of the Reformed Churches on the Continent, also came under debate in this department of the controversy; Bull and his antagonists each claiming patristic witnesses on his own side. Also the doctrine of the saint’s final perseverance, and the limitation of the efficacy of the atonement to the elect, were points asserted by Tully and denied by Bull. Tombes’ book seems to have been of a more discursive kind than the rest; and to have aimed at answering not only the Harmonia, but also Aphorisms, written by Richard Baxter, whose name we find much mixed up in this controversy;—and by an alliteration very agreeable to the taste of that day, associated with the names of Bull and Bellarmine. Bull’s name is provocative of puns; and we find the author, in his preface to the Examen Censuræ, commenting on Tombes in the following manner, which shows the kind of attack to which Tombes had descended:—“He,” says our author, “need not fear the horns and stamping of the Bull (such is his wit, which foreigners will scarcely understand, Englishmen will smile at) since the Bull has long since learnt to despise all such barking animals.”[399] In an age when the amenities of literature were unknown, when Milton and Salmasius were abusing one another with a virulence which astonishes a modern reader, we cannot wonder at finding very bad passions manifested in the field of theological controversy. Bull, doubtless, was a learned and pious man, but his polemical writings show that he was deeply imbued with the violent polemical spirit of the times; yet, violent as may be the spirit of controversy in the modern Church, where can we find anything so fierce, so truly savage, as Tertullian’s attack on Marcion, at the opening of the first Book?

ANGLICANS.—BULL.

The Defensio Fidei Nicenæ (1685) was written not to establish, by proofs from Scripture, the doctrine of Christ’s Divinity, but to show that the opinions of the ante-Nicene Fathers upon the subject, were in harmony with those expressed in the Creed of the first Œcumenical Council. This purpose Bull formed, in consequence of an attack upon those Fathers, by the learned Jesuit Petavius, and the use made of that attack, for ends opposed to his, by Arians and Socinians. The most perfect success on the part of the Anglican advocate would not, in the estimation of Divines of the Puritan school, be conclusive evidence of our Lord’s Deity, nor would his failure shake their faith; but the importance which he attached to the question, appears from the immense labour which he devoted to it. To him, as an Anglo-Catholic, the inquiry into what the early Church believed and taught appeared one of vital interest; and into his chosen task he threw the treasures of a vast erudition, and, if not powers of the highest order, certainly a decisive will and an extraordinarily active and patient inquisitiveness. Parts of his argument, it must be confessed, seem unsatisfactory. For he deals with his patristic authorities, as we do with the Holy Scriptures. Whilst we reasonably assume that the latter are always consistent, and therefore endeavour to harmonize apparent discrepancies, he assumes the same with regard to the writings of the Fathers. Hence he attempts to reconcile contradictory passages in the same author, and also contradictory passages in different authors. Moreover, upon a presumption of the perfect unity of patristic opinions, and of a thoroughly logical apprehension of subjects on the part of the Fathers, he sometimes educes proofs not from what they plainly say in so many words, but from what their language may be made to imply, when analyzed and manipulated with the utmost sagacity and skill. Loyal men standing at the bar have been unjustly arraigned for constructive treason. In controversy men of the soundest opinion have been unrighteously charged with constructive heresy. On the other hand, Bull’s method of criticism serves sometimes to vindicate opinions open to suspicion, and so to throw around doubtful points the halo of a constructive orthodoxy.[400]

ANGLICANS.—HEYLYN.

There is a good deal of special pleading in Bull’s Defence of the Nicene Creed. Nevertheless he has, in my opinion, clearly and fully established his main point, that a belief in the Divinity of our blessed Lord was common in the ante-Nicene Church. Bull’s views, as they are expressed in these works, are coincident as far as they go with those of Thorndike on the same subjects, but Bull leaves unvisited many fields which Thorndike traversed from end to end. Before leaving this eminent theologian it may be interesting to notice that he was one of those who in this country, in the seventeenth century, revived the ancient and scriptural distinction between soul and spirit; yet he so united the Spirit of God with the spirit of man that his theory amounts to a sort of tetrachomy. I may add—Hammond, in his Paraphrase (1 Thess. v. 23), and Jackson On the Creed, also insisted upon a distinction between soul and spirit.[401]

Another investigator, or rather champion, more comprehensive in his way than Bull, even going beyond Thorndike in variety of discussion, is Peter Heylyn, inferior to them both in all respects. Educated at Oxford, partly under a Puritan tutor, he, within three years after his ordination as a deacon, expressed such extreme ecclesiastical opinions, that he was denounced by Prideaux, the Regius Professor of Divinity, as Bellarminian and Pontifician: these very opinions, however, recommended him to the favour of Laud, at the time Bishop of Bath and Wells.

Heylyn, in his Theologia Veterum, gives what he calls “the sum of Christian theology, positive, philological, and polemical, contained in the Apostles’ Creed, or reducible to it.” Drawing his outline from the Creed, which he pronounces to be written by the Apostles, and to be all but canonical, he falls, though at a distance, into the wake of Dean Jackson: the eloquence of that great Divine it was impossible for Heylyn to reach; his candour and practical habit of mind, he had no disposition to cherish. In his preface, Heylyn declares himself an English Catholic,—keeping to the doctrines, rules, and forms of government established in the Church of England; and beyond those bounds, regulating “his liberty by the traditions of the Church, and the universal consent of the ancient Fathers.” The authority of the Church, in this writer’s opinion, includes the exposition of Scripture, the determination of controversies and the ordering of ceremonies; and he never misses an opportunity of upholding the rank and reputation of the Fathers. Heretics greatly excite his wrath, yet he admits, that neither all nor any who are merely schismatics, exclude themselves from the Catholic pale; but, speaking of Presbyterians and Popery, he remarks, the last is the lovelier error: better the Church be all head, than no head at all.[402] The antiquity and importance of fasts and festivals he strenuously maintains; the forgiveness of sin he connects with baptism; and he advocates both confession to a priest, and sacerdotal absolution. He is orthodox respecting the doctrines of the Trinity and the Atonement. The article upon Christ’s descent into hell, he discusses at length; and informs us, in his preface, that his inquiries into this mysterious subject led him to an exposition of the whole Creed. Pearson says cautiously that Christ’s soul “underwent the condition of the souls of such as die, and being.[403] He died in the similitude of a sinner, His soul went to the place where the souls of men are kept who die for their sins, and so did wholly undergo the law of death.” But Heylyn maintains that hell in the Creed means “the place of torments;” and that the soul of Christ as really descended there as His body entered the grave. The indication of these points will suffice to show the stamp of Heylyn’s theology, and the place to be assigned him among Anglican Divines. His talents were considerable, his learning does him credit; but he is so full of prejudice and party spirit that, whilst he has incurred odium from opponents, he can never win admiration even from friends.

ANGLICANS.—TAYLOR.

Jeremy Taylor is better known and more renowned for the rhythm of his rhetorical diction, the exuberance and felicity of his poetical illustrations, and the inexhaustible stores of his varied knowledge, than for Biblical scholarship, or for the depth, wisdom, and soundness of his theological reasonings. Yet he was a learned, painstaking, and diligent Divine, as well as a surprisingly eloquent and persuasive preacher: and though he has left behind him no body of divinity, there are some points distinctive of the Anglican school which he has treated with especial fulness; and, whilst faithful to its theology as a whole, there are portions of it which he has handled after a manner of his own. The influence of his patristic studies may be traced throughout his works; and the patronage of Archbishop Laud, and his friendship with Christopher Davenport—a learned and able Franciscan friar—were not likely to be altogether without effect upon so sensitive a nature as that of young Jeremy Taylor.

ANGLICANS.—TAYLOR.

He has much to say upon baptismal regeneration. In baptism, according to his teaching, we are admitted to the kingdom of Christ, we are presented unto Him, we are consigned with His sacrament, and we enter into His militia. It is also an adoption into the covenant, and a new birth. In it, all our sins are pardoned. “The catechumen descends,” he says,—following the words of Bede,—“into the font a sinner, he arises purified; he goes down the son of death, he comes up the son of the resurrection; he enters in, the son of folly and prevarication, he returns the son of reconciliation; he stoops down the child of wrath, and ascends the heir of mercy; he was the child of the devil, and now he is the servant and the son of God.” Baptism not only pardons past sins, but puts us into a state of pardon for time to come. It is a sanctification by the spirit of grace. It is the suppletory of original righteousness. Its effects are illumination, new life, and a holy resurrection. In short, by baptism we are saved. After having thus, in the most unqualified way, exhausted, one might suppose, all which imagination could conceive of the efficacy of the rite, Taylor says, there is less need to descend to temporal blessings, or rare contingencies, or miraculous events, or probable notices of things less certain; and then he speaks of miraculous cures effected by the baptismal water, and of the appointment of an angel guardian to each baptized person—which, indeed, he does not insist upon, although it seems to him “hugely probable.” Resuming a poetical theology, he adds, in patristic phraseology, that baptism is a new birth, “a chariot carrying us to God, the great circumcision, a circumcision made without hands, the key of the kingdom, the paranymph of the kingdom, the earnest of our inheritance, the answer of a good conscience, the robe of light, the sacrament of a new life, and of eternal salvation, Ἄριστον μὲν ὕδωρ.”[404] Perhaps no one ever hung so many wreaths of flowers around the font as Taylor did; and if we were to take the highly coloured words which he uses by themselves, we should say, that his teaching on the subject was calculated to lull his disciples, if they had been only baptized, into a state of most deceptive and fearful self-security. But then, we know that other parts of his writings are of the most pungent and heart-searching description, destructive of all self-delusion, and, in some respects, ministering to a spirit of bondage, rather than to a spirit of presumptuous hope. The truth is, that much of the air of the old economy is breathed over Taylor’s views of the new dispensation. At times it blows with a chilling gust. We lack, in the garden of his rhetoric, the genial warmth of an evangelical summer; and in his language respecting sacraments, he shows a fondness for what St. Paul calls, “beggarly elements.” It should be noticed, in connection with his doctrine of baptism, that, though, in his Liberty of Prophesying, he deals gently with Anabaptists, no one could hold more strongly than did he the doctrine of infant baptism.

The doctrine of the Lord’s Supper is expressed in less figurative terms, but with the same excess of description, and, as his admiring biographer admits, with some incautiousness in the use of terms. He says:—“The doctrine of the Church of England, and generally of the Protestants, in this article, is,—that after the minister of the holy mysteries hath rightly prayed, and blessed or consecrated the bread and the wine, the symbols become changed into the body and blood of Christ, after a sacramental, that is, in a spiritual real manner: so that all that worthily communicate, do by faith receive Christ really, effectually, to all the purposes of His passion: the wicked receive not Christ, but the bare symbols only; but yet to their hurt, because the offer of Christ is rejected, and they pollute the blood of the covenant, by using it as an unholy thing. The result of which doctrine is this: It is bread, and it is Christ’s body. It is bread in substance, Christ in the sacrament; and Christ is as really given to all that are truly disposed, as the symbols are; each as they can; Christ as Christ can be given; the bread and wine as they can; and to the same real purposes, to which they are designed; and Christ does as really nourish and sanctify the soul, as the elements do the body. It is here, as in the other sacraments: for as the natural water becomes the laver of regeneration; so here, bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ; but, there and here too, the first substance is changed by grace, but remains the same in nature.”[405]

ANGLICANS.—TAYLOR.

Taylor is one of the last men to whom we are to look for cautious and qualified statements. He had a mind of that order which “moveth altogether if it move at all.” He could say nothing by halves;—and, no doubt, his glowing periods require qualification. But, when all possible allowance has been made, the passage just quoted conveys something which is very much like the Lutheran doctrine of consubstantiation. Yet, strange to say, the same author, who holds that there is a real change in the Lord’s Supper, interprets our Lord’s words, “This is my body”—to mean no more than this: “it figuratively represents my body:” and he denies that the passage in the sixth chapter of John, often urged in support of the doctrine of the real presence, has anything to do with the Lord’s Supper.[406]

In his notion of original sin, he deviates from Anglican as well as Puritan standards. The superiority of Adam before the fall, in Taylor’s opinion, consisted in certain superadded qualifications which he forfeited by the first sin—and he thought that men now come into the world, not with any evil taint or tendency, not with anything of corruption or degeneracy, but simply without those superadded qualifications. He says of human sinfulness, that “a great part is a natural impotency, and the other is brought in by our own folly.” He imputes it, in great part, to the “many concurrent causes of evil which have influence upon communities of men; such as are evil examples, the similitude of Adam’s transgression, vices of princes, wars, impurity, ignorance, error, false principles, flattery, interest, fear, partiality, authority, evil laws, heresy, schism, spite and ambition, natural inclination, and other principiant causes, which proceeding from the natural weakness of human constitution, are the fountain and proper causes of many consequent evils.”[407] His doctrine has in it altogether a strong taint of Pelagianism; and what he says of “concurrent causes,” is pronounced by Bishop Heber—a mild critic and a moderate Divine—to be “neither good logic nor good divinity.”

No one can be more definite and precise than Jeremy Taylor in his doctrine of the sacraments, but he shows elsewhere a remarkable leaning to what is general and vague. What he means exactly by original sin—how he distinguished it from actual sin, and what effect he believed the sin of Adam to have upon his posterity, it is difficult to say; and the same and even greater indefiniteness is manifest in his views of the doctrine of justification. Indeed, here he avowedly eschews all precision of language. He differs from Thorndike and Bull, not only in not defining justification as they do, but in not defining it at all, and he speaks almost pettishly on the subject.

ANGLICANS.—TAYLOR.

“That no man should fool himself by disputing about the philosophy of justification, and what causality faith hath in it, and whether it be the act of faith that justifies, or the habit? Whether faith as a good work, or faith as an instrument? Whether faith as it is obedience, or faith as it is an access to Christ? Whether as a hand or as a heart? Whether by its own innate virtue, or by the efficacy of the object? Whether as a sign, or as a thing signified? Whether by introduction, or by perfection? Whether in the first beginnings, or in its last and best productions? Whether by inherent worthiness, or adventitious imputations? Uberiùs ista quæso (that I may use the words of Cicero): hæc enim spinosiora, prius, ut confitear me cogunt, quam ut assentiar: these things are knotty, and too intricate to do any good; they may amuse us, but never instruct us; and they have already made men careless and confident, disputative and troublesome, proud and uncharitable, but neither wiser nor better. Let us, therefore, leave these weak ways of troubling ourselves or others, and directly look to the theology of it, the direct duty, the end of faith, and the work of faith, the conditions and the instruments of our salvation, the just foundation of our hopes, how our faith can destroy our sin, and how it can unite us unto God, how by it we can be made partakers of Christ’s death, and imitators of His life. For since it is evident, by the premises, that this article is not to be determined or relied upon by arguing from words of many significations, we must walk by a clearer light; by such plain sayings and dogmatical propositions of Scripture, which evidently teach us our duty, and place our hopes upon that which cannot deceive us, that is, which require obedience, which call upon us to glorify God, and to do good to men, and to keep all God’s commandments with diligence and sincerity.”[408]

This kind of teaching cuts away the ground entirely from under scientific theology, treating it as a work of supererogation, or as an utter impossibility, and at the same time reducing religion to the observance of certain commands. Yet this passionate protest against dogma has hardly escaped the writer’s pen, when he proceeds to construct that against which he protests, and lays down logically, “two propositions, a negative and an affirmative.” The negative is: By faith only a man is not justified; the affirmative, By works also a man is justified. He says “that obedience is the same thing with faith, and that all Christian graces are parts of its bulk and constitution, is also the doctrine of the Holy Ghost, and the grammar of Scripture, making faith and obedience to be terms coincident, and expressive of each other.”[409]

Having expressed this theological idea in a double form, he immediately abandons the theological element; and proceeds to declaim, with his accustomed vigour and variety, upon the common truth, which all Divines, Calvinist and Arminian, maintain—that no man enjoys the blessing of justification, apart from a life of Christian obedience. After a careful perusal of the whole discourse, the reader feels that the theological question of justification by faith, or by works, or by both, has really not been touched by the author, although much that is of practical value has been said on the necessity of holiness. The essential defect of the treatment is an omission to explain what justification means; hence the loose and ambiguous employment of the term throughout, and its application most frequently to the idea of salvation as a whole. In one place, after having repeatedly used the two words, as bearing different significations, Taylor says: “So that now we see that justification and sanctification cannot be distinguished, but as words of art, signifying the various steps of progression in the same course: they may be distinguished in notion and speculation, but never when they are to pass on to material events, for no man is justified but he that is also sanctified.”[410] It is very noticeable, by a critical reader who will take the trouble to analyze Taylor’s sentences, how much he is in the habit of playing fast and loose with the meaning of words.

ANGLICANS.—TAYLOR.

The same habit of thought—avoiding and even protesting against definite statements of certain doctrines—appears in the Liberty of Prophesying and in the Nature of Faith. The duty of faith, he remarks, is complete in believing the Articles of the Apostles’ Creed,—“All other things are implicitly in the belief of the Articles of God’s veracity, and are not necessary in respect of the constitution of faith to be drawn out, but may there lie in the bowels of the great Articles, without danger to any thing or any person, unless some other accident or circumstance makes them necessary.”[411] “This is the great and entire complexion of a Christian’s faith, and since salvation is promised to the belief of this creed [I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God] either a snare is laid for us with a purpose to deceive us—or else nothing is of prime and original necessity to be believed but this Jesus Christ our Redeemer.”[412] Bearing in mind the distinction between religion and theology;—and it is to the former that Taylor seems to refer in his treatise on Faith,—the doctrine, in substance, may be accepted as sound. But turning to the Liberty of Prophesying where also the standard raised is the Apostles’ Creed, the question, as his biographer remarks, “becomes much more difficult, if, as Taylor seems to have meant, and as is implied in the very title of his discourse, we extend this same principle to the admission of persons into the public ministry.”[413] In other words, to treat Theology, which ought to be thoroughly understood by Christian teachers, as if it were entirely comprehended within the first simple primitive creed,—as if that creed, regarded as seminally containing all Christian doctrine, and as actually drawn out by the study of Scripture, and devout reflection into theological particulars, were a sufficient standard of orthodoxy for those who are teachers of others,—betrays a manner of thinking in which scarcely a second Anglican teacher could be found to agree. There and elsewhere the Bishop would seem to have found his way within Latitudinarian lines.

Taylor is a strenuous advocate for an Episcopal Church—yet even here he breaks bounds, and has exposed himself to the correction, if not the censure, of Episcopalian critics. Departing from Hooker’s method in his Ecclesiastical Polity, he endorses the Puritan idea, that a precise form of government is laid down in Scripture; and then he proceeds to say, that “the government of the Church is in immediate order to the good and benison of souls.” The first of these peculiar opinions, his biographer pronounces unwise, the second untrue, and both as going too far,—the one as proving too much, the other as an exaggerated conception of what is not to be ranked amongst things of the first importance,—for the sincere word and the means of grace are alone immediately necessary to salvation.[414] Mere government, according to Hooker, rests amongst the non-essentials of Christianity; and any change therein is to change the way of safety, no otherwise than as “a path is changed by altering only the uppermost face thereof, which, be it laid with gravel, or set with grass, or paved with stone, remaineth still the same path.”[415] A further example of running to an extreme of strictness in reference to Church polity, after so much latitude, and even looseness in relation to Christian doctrine, is found in Taylor’s assumption of facts touching Episcopal orders. It is an assumption, says Heber, “in which he is neither borne out by antiquity, nor the tenor of the Gospel history, when he finds in the Apostles, during the abode of their Lord on earth, the first Bishops, and in the seventy-two disciples, whom Christ also selected from His followers, the first presbyters of His Church.”[416]

ANGLICANS.—COSIN.

Amongst Anglican theologians Cosin requires particular attention. The history of his opinions is somewhat peculiar. In early life, his sermons, and especially his devotional writings, betray a strong leaning towards Roman Catholicism. In later life it is otherwise. His second series of Notes on the Prayer Book, indicates a controversial tone opposing the Anglican to the Roman view, which does not appear in the first series. After his son became a Papist, the father assumed a more decided attitude towards the Papal Church; but it does not so much appear that Cosin’s own views of doctrine altered, as that, during the earlier part of his life, he dwelt on points of agreement, and during the latter, on points of difference, between himself and Rome.[417] Every one, however, must see that such a change was a very great one, and involved much more than at first sight is visible. Cosin’s two principal contributions to theological literature are his Scholastic History of the Canon of the Holy Scriptures and his History of Transubstantiation. The former, which is a work of very great learning and ability is directed entirely against the decisions of the Council of Trent, as to the canonicity of Apocryphal Books; and the author patiently goes over the whole field of Church literature, from the Apostolic age to the Reformation, showing that the books in question were never accepted by the Church, as inspired authorities. The stores of learning displayed in this history are of great value to the general student; and in any revival of this old controversy with Romanist theologians, Cosin’s work will be of eminent service on the Protestant side. The History of the Canon appeared in 1657, during Cosin’s exile. The History of Transubstantiation was, about the same time, written in Latin, although not published until 1675. A year afterwards, an English translation came out, executed by Luke de Beaulieu. The origin of the book is a key to its character. When Charles II., in his wanderings, reached Cologne, and there “visited a neighbouring potent prince of the Empire of the Roman persuasion,” he met with certain Jesuits, who accused the English Church of heretical opinions touching the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. That Church, said they, “holds no real, but only a kind of imaginary presence of the body and blood of Christ;” whereas Rome holds the sacred mystery of all ages,—to wit, that the whole substance of the bread and wine is changed into the substance of Christ’s body and blood. Cosin, being asked to vindicate the Church “from the calumny,” and plainly to declare what is her doctrine of the real presence, complied with the request; and the result is, that throughout his book, he labours to establish the doctrine of a real presence of the body and blood of the Redeemer in the bread and wine;—but at the same time, denies and demolishes the doctrine of a transubstantiation of the elements. As to the latter point, what he says resolves itself into an argument for the continued presence, not merely of the material accidents, but of the material substance. The bent of the author’s mind, and the necessary conditions of the author’s argument, looked at from the Anglican point of view, may be seen in his copious citations from the Fathers and schoolmen; and the purpose of those citations is to show that the real presence, as he expresses it, is the ancient doctrine of Christendom; and that the dogma of Transubstantiation is an invention of the twelfth century. Theologians of the Puritan stamp, if disposed to avail themselves of the distinctive reasoning of this distinguished scholar against Rome, would not follow the patristic and scholastic teaching on its positive side, to which he showed so much deference; but would rather represent very much of it—by its incautious phraseology, and its mystic sentiment—as preparing for the definite error which Cosin so earnestly denounced. Some of them would say, that the extreme doctrine of the spiritual presence of the body and blood of Christ in the bread and wine is as mischievous, in respect to superstition, as the doctrine of Transubstantiation itself. They would also say that Anglicans attach an undue importance to the continued existence and presence of the material substance of bread and wine, an importance which is scarcely perceptible to others who differ from them; for if the bodily presence of Christ in the sacrament be admitted, arguments in support of the continued substantial presence of bread and wine as well, only issue in some consubstantial theory, between which and the transubstantial one, there is little to choose, in the estimation of most English Protestants. And further, they would allege that whilst the Roman dogma is in itself incredible and absurd, it is in its terms intelligible; but that the High Anglican dogma is unintelligible in terms and incredible in itself, so far as its import can be divined. To the Puritan mind, the distinction maintained by Cosin and others between a real presence and a transubstantiation is of little importance, and quite incomprehensible; but to the Anglican mind, it is perfectly clear, and of the highest moment.[418] That I distinctly perceive. Without entering into the controversy, I may be allowed to add, that the belief of the spiritual presence of Christ’s body in the elements is one thing, and the deep and devout belief of a real and a special presence of Christ Himself with His people in the Lord’s Supper, is another. There is nothing whatever to prevent a modern disciple of the Puritans from consistently maintaining the latter. For my own part, I would maintain it with the utmost earnestness.

ANGLICANS.—MORLEY.

Next to Cosin let us take Morley. Morley lived to a great age, and had a high reputation for theological learning before the Civil Wars, as well as after the re-establishment of Episcopacy, being well versed in the logic of the schools, and proving himself a formidable controversialist. That he was a Calvinist is distinctly stated by Wood and Burnet; but I cannot find that he published anything upon the subject. Besides his controversy with Baxter, which turns upon political and ecclesiastical questions, we possess certain treatises written by him before and since the Restoration, in which he undertakes fully to make known his judgment concerning the Church of Rome, and most of those doctrines which fall into controversy betwixt her and the Church of England. The reader is disappointed to find, that these Treatises consist only of A short Conference with a Jesuit at Brussels; An Argument against Transubstantiation; A Sermon preached at Whitehall; Correspondence with Father Cressey; A Letter to the Duchess of York; and two Latin Epistles, relating to Prayers for the Dead, and the Invocation of Saints. Three points alone in the Romanist controversy are discussed. The treatment of these, however, indicate deep learning and great skill. Morley plies with much success the argument against Transubstantiation, “drawn from the evidence and certainty of sense,”—maintaining his convincing argument with the dexterity of a practised logician, so as to parry most successfully all the objections of Roman Catholic antagonists. He decidedly opposes the Popish doctrine of purgatory,—but he vindicates prayers for the dead, in the way in which they were offered in the early Church, and as by modern Anglicans they are still encouraged to be offered; that is, for the rest of the soul, the resurrection of the body, and the plenitude of redemption at the last day.[419] Whatever may be the propriety of praying for the dead in such a qualified sense as this, Morley contends that there is no ground on which to rest the doctrine of the Invocation of Saints. That doctrine he overthrows by an appeal to Scripture; and then he proceeds, after the Anglican method, to examine the writings of the Fathers, and to show that they do not justify the Popish dogma and its associated practices.

The writings of so eminent a man as Archbishop Bramhall ought not to be wholly passed over, even in this limited and superficial sketch. He did not write any comprehensive treatise on theology in general, or on any doctrine in particular; but whilst the other Divines named, with one exception, guarded what they believed to be the citadel of truth, this learned prelate of Ireland defended what he regarded as some of the outworks of Anglican Christianity. He strove, in his Just Vindication of the Church of England (1654), to repel the charge of schism, alleged by the Romanists; and, in his Consecration and Succession of Protestant Bishops, to rebut the Nag’s Head fable (1658). So far his battle was with Rome. He dealt blows of another kind in his treatises “Against the English Sectarie” (1643–1672), and included within his polemical tasks a “Defence of true liberty from antecedent and extrinsical necessity” (1655); “Castigations of Mr. Hobbes’ Animadversions” (1658); and “The Catching of Leviathan or the Great Whale” (1653). In the quaint pleasantry of the age, he spoke of using three harping irons, one for its heart, a second for its chine, and a third for its head,—meaning by these images, the religious, political, and rational aspects of the work. He further described this monster as neither fish nor flesh, but the combination of a man, with a whale—“not unlike Dagon, the idol of the Philistines.”[420] The Malmsbury philosopher was reckoned the most dangerous enemy of the day to the true interests of the Christian religion, and Bramhall, in writing against him, acted the part of one anxious to expose a covert and to crush a seminal infidelity.

CHAPTER XIV.

Those Divines whom I have already imperfectly described, may be characterized as High Anglicans. There remains for consideration, a second class, whom I venture to denominate semi-Anglicans.

Sanderson’s fame as a theologian rests mainly upon his treatment of casuistical questions, and upon his noble volume of sermons. The latter compositions (1659–1674), which exhibit great vigour, compass, and patience of thought, expressed in massive but tedious eloquence,—are chiefly practical; but also, they here and there reveal doctrinal opinions, and, together with the reports of his friends, and extracts from his MSS., indicate some of the leading points in the preacher’s system of divinity. He affords an instance of that change of opinion which we find to have been so common at the time. In early life, having adopted the sublapsarian scheme, he afterwards renounced it, “as well as the supralapsarian, which he could never fancy.”[421] To use his own words, “We must acknowledge the work of both (grace and free-will) in the conversion of a sinner. And so, likewise, in all other events the consistency of the infallibility of God’s foreknowledge at least (though not with any absolute but conditional predestination), with the liberty of man’s will and the contingency of inferior causes and effects.”[422] He made strong objections to some leading points in Twiss’ Vindiciæ Gratiæ, a book written against Arminius. But one of the characteristic principles held by the Divines of the school, to which Sanderson in earlier life belonged, he seems to have retained to the last, for he expresses, in one of his sermons, published by himself not long before his death, the following account of Christian faith:—“The word faith is used to signify, that theological virtue or gracious habit, whereby we embrace with our minds and affections the Lord Jesus Christ as the only-begotten Son of God and alone Saviour of the world, casting ourselves wholly upon the mercy of God through His merits for remission and everlasting salvation. It is that which is commonly called a lively or justifying faith; whereunto are ascribed in Holy Writ those many gracious effects, of purifying the heart, adoption, justification, life, joy, peace, salvation, &c. Not as to their proper and primary cause, but as to the instrument, whereby we apprehend and apply Christ, whose merits and Spirit are the true causes of all those blessed effects.”[423]

The life of Sanderson requires us to consider him as sympathizing in some respects with Anglican Divines, but their distinguishing dogmas are not at all conspicuous in his sermons.

HAMMOND.

Hammond, the friend of Sanderson,[424]—associated with him scarcely less in doctrinal opinions and ecclesiastical sympathies, than in the closest intimacy and warmest affection,—has been described as one—

“Whose mild persuasive voice

Taught us in trials to rejoice

Most like a faithful dove,

That by some ruined homestead builds,

And pours to the forsaken fields

His wonted lay of love.”

And the calm, tender strain of his theology harmonizes with the spirit which the poet has thus so touchingly characterized. Like Sanderson, Hammond is more practical than scientific. Like Sanderson, he shines with richer lustre as a Christian casuist, than as a systematic Divine. In his Practical Catechism, however, he appears to advantage both as an evangelical moralist and a doctrinal teacher: it contains expositions of the Creed, of the Ten Commandments, and of the Sermon on the Mount. Exhibitions of principle are skilfully interwoven with the enforcement of precepts; moderation is blended with orthodoxy; and in his conclusions touching the critical points of theology which we have selected as tests for elucidating distinctive opinion, he closely approaches his beloved companion Sanderson. With Hammond faith is the condition of justification; he scruples to call it the instrument, lest he should ascribe to it any undue efficiency;[425] but in faith he includes the germ of all Christian obedience, all Christian virtue; he describes it as a cordial, sincere, giving up oneself to God, particularly to Christ, firmly to rely on all His promises, and faithfully to obey all His commands. Hammond broadly distinguishes justification from sanctification,—defining the first as God’s covering or pardoning our iniquities, His being so reconciled unto us sinners, that He determines not to punish us eternally;—and the second, as the infusion of holiness into our hearts, the turning of the soul to Himself. Into the relation between the two blessings, and the order of their bestowment—which of them is conferred first—he enters, with a subtlety of analysis unusual in the Anglican school; and whilst, with exemplary candour, he suggests what he allows to be an orthodox rendering of the Puritan doctrine of justification before sanctification, he himself prefers to place the latter first in the order of time; yet, in doing this, he so qualifies his statement as not to alarm even the Puritan, who ventures upon this abstruse, perplexing, and not very profitable path of speculative inquiry. Hammond believed that justification flows from the mediatorial priesthood of the Lord Jesus; but he distinctly denied that the Redeemer’s active obedience is imputed to men.[426]

PEARSON.

Pearson’s Exposition of the Creed (1659) is a well-known theological treatise. He implicitly pursues an Anglican course, citing the Fathers in support of his positions; but he nowhere distinctly defines what authority he attaches to them, or, indeed, formally lays down as a principle that they are his guides at all. Pearson must have been moderate in his ecclesiastical views, or he could not have pursued the course he did during the Commonwealth; and his position as Lecturer at St. Clement’s, Eastcheap, and the association into which he would necessarily be brought with his Puritan brethren, might have the effect of widening his sympathies, and of preventing, in his case, those controversial asperities which embitter the writings of extreme Anglicans. In his article on the Church, he refers to its unity, its perpetuity, its holiness, and its Catholicity, meaning apparently by the Church the aggregate of Christian professors, whether they be good or bad.[427] Under the last head, he touches upon the authority of the Church in the following brief remark:—“They call the Church of Christ the Catholic Church, because it teacheth all things which are necessary for a Christian to know, whether they be things in heaven or things in earth, whether they concern the condition of man in this life, or in the life to come. As the Holy Ghost did lead the Apostles into all truth, so did the Apostles leave all truth unto the Church, which teaching all the same, may be well called Catholic from the universality of necessary and saving truths retained in it.” Even this scarcely amounts to an assertion of Church authority in the Anglican sense; it might be explained consistently with Puritan principles, it never would have satisfied Thorndike or Heylyn, or even Bull. To baptism, however, Pearson attributes great efficacy, coupling it, as Heylyn and others do, with the article on Forgiveness of Sins, according to the teaching of the Nicene and other Creeds. Unlike Thorndike, he does not propound any theory of justification in connection with baptism; nor does he, any more than Heylyn, dwell on the subject of justification in any way: he confines himself to the idea of remitting sins, which perhaps, in his opinion, is equivalent to justification. He uses strong expressions in speaking of the Atonement,—referring to “the punishment which Christ, who was our surety, endured,” as “a full satisfaction to the will and justice of God.” “It was a price given to redeem”—something “laid down by way of compensation.” “Although God be said to remit our sins by which we were captivated, yet He is never said to remit the price, without which we had never been redeemed, neither can He be said to have remitted it, because He did require it and receive it.” A Calvinist could scarcely have marked the point more strongly. Pearson also says “that Christ did render God propitious unto us by His blood—that is, His sufferings unto death—who before was offended with us for our sins; and this propitiation amounted to reconciliation, that is, a kindness after wrath. We must conceive that God was angry with mankind before He determined to give our Saviour; we cannot imagine that God, who is essentially just, should not abominate iniquity.” Pearson’s definition of faith is very different from Thorndike’s. It is a habit of the intellectual part of man, and therefore of itself invisible; and to believe is a spiritual act, and consequently “immanent and internal, and known to no man but him that believeth.” We find in Pearson’s exposition none of those peculiarly High Church views in which Thorndike and Heylyn so much delighted; and, what is very remarkable, as far as I can find, he only in a cursory way mentions the Lord’s Supper. Certainly he does not dwell upon it in any part of his treatise.[428]

Pearson’s common sense, mastery of learning, clearness of thought, perspicuity of style, and directness of reasoning, have secured and will retain for him a high place amongst English theological teachers. His orderly arrangement of topics, and his compact and forcible method of expression, render him popular with all students of his school of theology; and there are few points on which they can consult him without finding what they want in a shape convenient for use. Those who differ from him may read him with advantage; and they will discover that, for the most part, his faults are only defects which may be supplied by repairing to other sources of information.

BARROW.

Isaac Barrow devoted long years to the study of mathematics, for which he has acquired high renown; and he travelled in Turkey, and resided twelve months in Constantinople, where he read the whole of Chrysostom’s works near the spot upon which many of his sermons were delivered—a course of reading which must have been of immense service to him as an expounder of Christian morality. His favourite scientific studies left upon his mind a stamp of precision and order, apparent in his writings; and his familiarity with Greek patristic eloquence may be traced in the stately flow of his copious diction. His theology lies close to the boundary line between Anglicanism and the Divinity of the Cambridge school. After holding a mathematical professorship at Cambridge, he devoted the remainder of his life to theology, in which he achieved a reputation equal to that which he had won in the pursuit of science.

In his sermons on the Creed, instead of confining himself, as Pearson and Heylyn have done, to the exposition of Christian truth, he carefully employs himself in constructing defences of the faith. He begins his task with an exposure of the unreasonableness of infidelity, and with an assertion of the perfectly rational nature of belief in the Gospel. He afterwards dwells, at length, upon proofs of the existence of God; upon the Divinity and excellence of the Christian religion, as compared with the impiety and imposture of Paganism and Mahometanism, and the imperfection of Judaism; and upon the evidence that Jesus is the true Messias. Thus Barrow appears as a Christian advocate. He habitually bases his arguments upon Scripture texts, but he also habitually weaves into these arguments threads of reason, so as to commend what he advances to the understanding of his readers, ever avoiding what is mystical, or merely imaginative. Yet he does not neglect the dogmas of revelation, but brings many of them out with a clearness and precision which has been overlooked by some critics. His disquisition upon the nature of faith is as exhaustive as that of any Puritan, and will be found a wearisome piece of reading by some modern students. He dwells much upon the difficulties of faith, and upon the moral virtue involved in overcoming them; and when we compare his opinions with those of Thorndike and Bull, we discover in him a general similarity to them, in connection with shades of difference. In common with Thorndike, he resolutely opposes the idea that faith consists in any belief of our being pardoned, or in any assurance of salvation, or in any persuasion that a true Christian cannot fall from grace. His representations of the virtuousness of evangelical belief are obviously in harmony with that writer’s statements; and he also, in accordance with them, associates faith and the baptismal covenant, saying, “Faith is nothing else but a hearty embracing Christianity, which first exerteth itself by open declaration and avowal in baptism.”[429] Barrow, however, of all men, requires to be judged, not by isolated expressions, but by a comparison of one part of his teaching with another. Turning, then, to the following passage, which is complete in itself, and which I quote as an example of his diffuse and affluent style, we meet with an account of Christian faith, such as would scarcely have satisfied the demands of Thorndike’s baptismal theology:—“By this faith (as to the first and primary sense thereof) is understood the being truly and firmly persuaded in our minds that Jesus was what He professed Himself to be, and what the Apostles testified Him to be, the Messias, by God designed, foretold, and promised to be sent into the world, to redeem, govern, instruct, and save mankind, our Redeemer and Saviour, our Lord and Master, our King and Judge, the great High Priest, and Prophet of God—the being assured of these and all other propositions connexed with these; or, in short, the being thoroughly persuaded of the truth of that Gospel which was revealed and taught by Jesus and His Apostles. That this notion is true, those descriptions of this faith, and phrases expressing it, do sufficiently show; the nature and reason of the thing doth confirm the same, for that such a faith is, in its kind and order, apt and sufficient to promote God’s design of saving us, to render us capable of God’s favour, to purge our hearts, and work that change of mind which is necessary in order to the obtaining God’s favour, and enjoying happiness; to produce that obedience which God requires of us, and without which we cannot be saved: these things are the natural results of such a persuasion concerning those truths; as natural as the desire and pursuit of any good doth arise from the clear apprehension thereof, or as the shunning of any mischief doth follow from the like apprehension; as a persuasion that wealth is to be got thereby makes the merchant to undergo the dangers and pains of a long voyage (verifying that, Impiger extremos currit mercator ad Indos, Per mare pauperiem fugiens, per saxa, per ignes); as the persuasion that health may thereby be recovered, engages a man not only to take down the most unsavoury potions, but to endure cuttings and burnings (ut valeas, ferrum patieris et ignes); as a persuasion that refreshment is to be found in a place, doth effectually carry the hungry person thither; so a strong persuasion that the Christian religion is true, and the way of obtaining happiness, and of escaping misery, doth naturally produce a subjection of heart and an obedience thereto; and accordingly we see the highest of those effects, which the Gospel offers or requires, are assigned to this faith, as results from it, or adjuncts thereof.”[430]

BARROW.

The strong moral power attributed to faith places Barrow’s description of it in nearly strict coincidence with the teaching of Bishop Bull upon the same subject. Yet from Thorndike, and from other Anglo-Catholic Divines, with exceptions already pointed out, Barrow differs in his definite and sharp distinction between holiness and justification. No Puritan could more precisely mark off the latter from the former. Admitting, he says, that whoever is justified is also endued with some measure of intrinsic righteousness—“avowing willingly that such a righteousness doth ever accompany the justification St. Paul speaketh of—yet that sort of righteousness doth not seem implied by the word justification, according to St. Paul’s intent, in those places where he discourseth about justification by faith, for that such a sense of the word doth not well consist with the drift and efficacy of his reasoning, nor with divers passages in his discourse.”[431] But to the distinction he so clearly makes he attributes less importance than many theologians are wont to do.

BARROW.

Although Barrow does not copiously discuss the doctrine of the Atonement—although he dwells chiefly on the moral effects of Christ’s death—yet he uses very strong expressions as to the effect of our Lord’s sacrifice upon the Divine government, speaking of it as “appeasing that wrath of God which He naturally beareth toward iniquity, and reconciling God to men, who by sin were alienated from Him, by procuring a favourable disposition and intentions of grace toward us.” “Christ died, removing thereby that just hatred and displeasure.” “The non-imputation of our sins is expressed as a singular effect, an instance, an argument of His being in mind reconciled and favourably disposed towards us.”[432]

In five sermons, entirely devoted to the subject, this Divine asserts and explains the doctrine of universal redemption, saying that salvation is made attainable, and is really tendered unto all, upon feasible and equal conditions; and that a competency of grace is imparted to every man, qualifying him to do what God requires.[433]

His account of the Divinity and personality of the Holy Spirit is the same as is generally given by orthodox teachers. As to the work of the third Person in the Trinity, Barrow’s line of thought coincides more with Anglican than with Puritan writers. Besides much of a general character upon the Spirit’s assistance, in the thirty-fourth sermon on the Creed, Barrow remarks—“It hath been the doctrine constantly with general consent delivered in and by the Catholic Church, that to all persons by the holy mystery of baptism duly initiated into Christianity, and admitted into the communion of Christ’s body, the grace of the Holy Spirit is communicated, enabling them to perform the conditions of piety and virtue which they undertake.”[434]

Barrow appears to have been a Low Churchman, and, in the fragment he has left us upon “the holy Catholic Church,” omits those assertions respecting ecclesiastical authority which were the joy of Thorndike and Heylyn. He explains the different senses in which the word “Church” is used in the New Testament; and, in its larger sense, applies to it the epithets “holy” and “Catholic,” winding up all he has to say with practical remarks which commend themselves to candid Christians of all denominations.[435] It may be added that, in his discourse concerning The unity of the Church, he opposes the idea of any such ecclesiastical authority as is contended for either by Papists or Anglo-Catholics.

The Treatise of the Pope’s Supremacy, from the same pen—too long to be described—places the author amongst the chief defenders of Protestantism, and deserves the eulogium of Tillotson,—what “many others have handled before, he hath exhausted.” The student can find arguments against the assumptions of Rome nowhere so fully and powerfully stated as on Barrow’s pages. Those arguments are, perhaps, like Saul’s armour, too cumbrous for the Davids of the present day; but there are in Barrow’s armoury stones from the brook for simple shepherds, as well as spears and shields for veteran warriors.

The feeling of Barrow towards the Romish Church is plain from what has now been said, and it is desirable, before we leave the opinions of the Anglicans, to inquire what their feeling generally was upon this subject; and also how they expressed themselves in reference to Protestant communities.

OPINIONS RESPECTING POPERY.

Thorndike calls the Romish a true but corrupt Church, in which salvation may be obtained, although it be clogged with difficulty. It is not Antichrist. It is not formally idolatrous; yet, after referring to its abuses, he says, “to live under them, and to yield conformity to them, is a burden unsufferable for a Christian to undergo: to approve them by being reconciled to the Church that maintains them is a scandal incurable and irreparable.”[436]

Bishop Bull observes, referring to certain doctrines held by Romanists, “I look upon it as a wonderful both just and wise providence of God, that He hath suffered the Church of Rome to fall into such gross errors (which otherwise it is scarce imaginable how men in their wits that had not renounced not only the Scriptures, but their reason, yea and their senses too, could be overtaken with), and to determine them for articles of faith.”[437]

Heylyn concedes to Rome the character of a true Church; yet after referring to the argument for image worship, he remarks:—“Though perhaps some men of learning may be able to relieve themselves by these distinctions; yet I can see no possibility how the common people, who kneel and make their prayers directly to the image itself, without being able to discern where the difference lieth between their proprie and improprie, or per se and per accidens, can be excused from palpable and downright idolatry.”[438]

The same writer, describing the Reformation, and contending for the continuity of the English Church, reflects, by implication, severely upon its previously Romanized state:—“Whereas, the case, if rightly stated, is but like that of a sick and wounded man, that had long lain weltering in his own blood, or languishing under a tedious burden of diseases, and afterwards by God’s great mercy, and the skilful diligence of honest chirurgeons and physicians, is at the last restored to his former health.”[439]

Taylor is much more decided in his condemnation of Rome:—“Now let any man judge whether it be not our duty, and a necessary work of charity, and the proper office of our ministry, to persuade our charges from the ‘immodesty of an evil heart,’ from having a ‘devilish spirit,’ from doing that ‘which is vehemently forbidden by the Apostle,’ from ‘infidelity and pride;’ and, lastly, from that ‘eternal woe which is denounced’ against them that add other words and doctrines than what is contained in the Scriptures, and say, ‘Dominus dixit, the Lord hath said it,’ and He hath not said it. If we had put these severe censures upon the Popish doctrine of tradition, we should have been thought uncharitable; but, because the holy fathers do so, we ought to be charitable, and snatch our charges from the ambient flame.”[440]

Bramhall, whose Protestantism went further than that of Thorndike or Heylyn, says:—“That Church which hath changed the apostolical creed, the apostolical succession, the apostolical regiment, and the apostolical communion, is no apostolical, orthodox, or Catholic Church. But the Church of Rome hath changed the apostolical creed, the apostolical succession, the apostolical regiment, and the apostolical communion. Therefore the Church of Rome is no apostolical, orthodox, or Catholic Church.”[441]

RESPECTING UNEPISCOPAL CHURCHES.

In reference to Protestant communities abroad, the same writer expresses his opinion thus:—

“I cannot assent that either all or any considerable part of the Episcopal Divines in England do unchurch either all or most part of the Protestant Churches. No man is hurt but by himself. They unchurch none at all, but leave them to stand or fall to their own master. They do not unchurch the Swedish, Danish, Bohemian Churches, and many other Churches in Polonia, Hungaria, and those parts of the world who have an ordinary, uninterrupted succession of pastors—some by the names of Bishops, others under the name of Seniors, unto this day. (I meddle not with the Socinians.) They unchurch not the Lutheran Churches in Germany, who both assert Episcopacy in their confessions, and have actual superintendents in their practice, and would have Bishops, name and thing, if it were in their power.... Episcopal Divines do not deny those Churches to be true Churches, wherein salvation may be had. We advise them, as it is our duty, to be circumspect for themselves, and not to put it to more question, whether they have ordination or not, or desert the general practice of the Universal Church for nothing, when they may clear it if they please. Their case is not the same with those who labour under invincible necessity.... This mistake proceedeth from not distinguishing between the true nature and essence of a Church, which we do readily grant them, and the integrity or perfection of a Church, which we cannot grant them, without swerving from the judgment of the Catholic Church.”[442]

“Wheresoever, in the world,” observes Cosin, “Churches bearing the name of Christ profess the true, ancient, and Catholic religion and faith, and invocate and worship, with one mouth and heart, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, if from actual communion with them I am now debarred, either by the distance of regions, or the dissensions of men, or any other obstacle; nevertheless, always in my heart, and soul, and affection, I hold communion and unite with them—that which I wish especially to be understood of the Protestant and well-reformed Churches. For the foundations being safe, any difference of opinion or of ceremonies—on points circumstantial, and not essential, nor repugnant to the universal practice of the ancient Church, in other Churches (over which we are not to rule)—we in a friendly, placid, and peaceable spirit, may bear, and therefore ought to bear.”[443]

Morley is cautious:—“Our Church is not so liberal of her anathemas as [Rome] is. We are sure our Church is truly apostolical, and that for government and discipline, as well as doctrine. Whether the Christian congregations in other Protestant countries be so or no, Ætatem habent, respondeant pro semetipsis et Domino suo stent vel cadent. In the mean time our Church hath declared, that no man shall be accounted or taken to be a lawful Bishop, Priest or Deacon in the Church of England, or suffered to exercise any of those sacred functions, except he be called, tried, examined, and admitted thereunto, according unto the form hereafter following; or unless he had formerly Episcopal consecration, or ordination.”[444]

RESPECTING UNEPISCOPAL CHURCHES.

Of Nonconformists, Thorndike speaks in distinct and decided terms. Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists, are guilty of schism. This he asserts over and over again; and of his opinion respecting schism, he leaves us in no doubt. Schism may, indeed, be unjust on both sides,—a favourite idea with Thorndike;—and it may be such as that salvation may be had on both sides; but this lenient view of the subject, he expresses only in relation to the differences between the Eastern and the Western Churches, between the Church of England and the Church of Rome. Schism, as committed by Nonconformists, he ever represents in the darkest colours. Presbyterian baptism, he affirms, to be no baptism. Their service is an imposture; in opposing Episcopacy, and setting up their synods, they erect altar against altar. It is mere equivocation to call their congregations Churches, and their ordinances sacraments. It was unwarrantable, he maintains, under the Commonwealth, to communicate with Presbyterians and Independents; although the moral impossibility of communing with them could not justify communing with Papists. The theory of the Independents he holds to be more suitable to Christianity than that of the Presbyterians, but he says it is impracticable, without Scriptural authority, and not less free from schism.[445] He counts the doctrine of justification, as he supposed it to be held by some Nonconformists, no other than a dreadful heresy, worse even than the Romanist doctrine of justification. Yet we find, in one place, this cold gleam of charity:—“I confess, as afore I allowed the Church of Rome some excuse from the unreasonableness of their adversaries; so here, considering the horrible scandals given by that communion in standing so rigorously upon laws so visibly ruinous to the service of God, and the advancement of Christianity, and the difficulty of finding that mean in which the truth stands between the extremes (as our Lord Christ between the thieves, saith Tertullian), I do not proceed to give the salvation of poor souls for lost, that are carried away with the pretence of reformation in the change that is made, even to hate, and persecute, by word or by deed, those who cannot allow it.” The book in which this passage occurs was published in 1659.

Anabaptists, Thorndike pronounces to be schismatics, if not heretics:—“As for the ground of that opinion, which moves them to break up the seal of God, marked upon those that are baptized unto the hope of salvation upon the obligation of Christianity, by baptizing them anew, to the hope of salvation, without the obligation of Christianity; whether they are to be counted heretics therefore or not, let who will dispute. This, I may justly infer, they take as sure a course to murder the souls of those whom they baptize again, as of those whom they let go out of the world unbaptized.”[446]

As Thorndike is more full and explicit in the statement of his views respecting the schism which he believed to be involved in Nonconformity, so also he goes beyond some other Anglicans in denouncing its principles, and censuring its professors. Perhaps certain writers of his class might think less unjustly, and more charitably, of Dissenters; yet none of them, consistently with their own Church notions, could regard Independent societies as Churches, whatever favourable opinion they might entertain of individual members.

Anything like intercommunion with communities not Episcopalian, seems, in the estimation of such a man as Thorndike, utterly out of the question; and therefore by him, and by those who think with him, the Episcopal Church of England is placed in an entirely isolated position, in reference to the rest of Protestant Christendom, except where Bishops are retained; such instances being few and doubtful.

THE PRAYER BOOK.

Cosin, in his Confession, declares very strongly against sectaries and fanatics, amongst whom he ranks “not only the Separatists, the Anabaptists, and their followers, alas, too, too many, but also the New Independents and Presbyterians of our country, a kind of men hurried away with the spirit of malice, disobedience, and sedition, who by a disloyal attempt (the like whereof was never heard since the world began) have, of late, committed so many great and execrable crimes, to the contempt and despite of religion, and the Christian faith: which, how great they were, without horror cannot be spoken or mentioned.”[447]

Connected with love for the Anglican Church, with dislike of the Papacy, and with alienation from unepiscopal communities, there existed a strong attachment to the formularies of faith, and of worship, contained in the Book of Common Prayer. That Book was used in secret during the Commonwealth; and before being reviewed in 1662—indeed previously to the Restoration—it received comment and eulogy from the pen of Hamon L’Estrange,—who published, in 1659, an elaborate and learned work on The Alliance of Divine Offices, in which he compared other Liturgies with that of the Church of England since the Reformation. His book is based upon the study of Whitgift and Hooker, who had answered Cartwright’s objections to the Anglican services, and who had convinced the author that they did not lie open to the charge of unlawfulness, but were of a nature to command obedience. L’Estrange also studied the previous records, as he calls them, of the first six centuries; the result being a conviction, that the noblest parts of the Liturgy were used by the Primitive Church, before a Popish Mass had ever been said; and that an admirable harmony obtained, even in external rites, between the Church of England and the ancient Fathers. This volume did not reach a second edition before the year 1690; but until it was supplemented or superseded by later works, it continued to be the chief authority on the subject, and has been, in our own time, thought worthy of republication in the library of Anglo-Catholic Theology.

A new publication appeared, partly in 1651, and partly in 1662, bearing upon the Anglican controversy with Puritanism, of too important a character to be passed over in silence. The first five books of Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity, had long been the admiration of Episcopalian Churchmen,—the rest of the treatise, supposed to be lost, remaining to them an object of desire. At the periods now mentioned, there came to light the last three books of this great work as possessed by posterity.

HOOKER’S WORKS.

The sixth book, included in the part which issued from the press in 1651, is, according to the title, a disquisition upon ecclesiastical power and the question of lay eldership; but the reader does not proceed many pages before he finds the disquisition going off in a tangent, from the subject of Church jurisdiction, to pursue inquiries relative to the Popish dogmas of confession and penance. Such a method of composition is so unlike that of “the judicious Hooker,” that there can be no doubt his last accomplished Editor is right in concluding, that we have here some compositions from the author’s pen not intended for insertion in the Ecclesiastical Polity. Notes remain showing that he had drawn up a plan for this department of his task, which would have methodically and pertinently disposed of it, but no MS. has been discovered filling up the carefully-digested outline. It has been suspected that the Puritan relatives of the Church champion in Elizabeth’s reign were guilty of foul play in this matter, and that after destroying most of the genuine copy, they vamped up the mutilated remainder with dissertations selected from other papers. Such a thing may be possible, but certainly it is not proved. I can find no satisfactory positive evidence in support of the suspicion,[448] and it is quite unaccountable how, if the Puritan manglers of his MSS. had made away with what related to lay eldership, they should leave in existence a long Essay, containing a lengthened defence of Episcopal order. This defence, which appeared in 1662, under the Editorship of Gauden, who does not say where he obtained it, presents abundant internal proof of its genuineness, showing nevertheless the absence of that careful revision and correction, which the Author would have bestowed, had he lived to complete his own publication. It forms the seventh book.

In the fourth and fifth chapters there is a discussion of the main point, “whence it hath grown that the Church is governed by Bishops.” In the fifth, Hooker says:—

“It was the general received persuasion of the ancient Christian world, that Ecclesia est in Episcopo, ‘the outward being of a Church consisteth in the having of a Bishop.’ That where colleges of presbyters were, there was at the first, equality amongst them, St. Jerome thinketh it a matter clear: but when the rest were thus equal, so that no one of them could command any other as inferior unto him, they all were controllable by the Apostles, who had that Episcopal authority abiding at the first in themselves, which they afterwards derived unto others. The cause wherefore they under themselves appointed such Bishops as were not every where at the first, is said to have been those strifes and contentions, for remedy whereof, whether the Apostles alone did conclude of such a regiment, or else they together with the whole Church judging it a fit and a needful policy, did agree to receive it for a custom; no doubt but being established by them on whom the Holy Ghost was poured in so abundant measure for the ordering of Christ’s Church, it had either Divine appointment beforehand, or Divine approbation afterwards, and is in that respect to be acknowledged the ordinance of God, no less than that ancient Jewish regiment, whereof though Jethro were the deviser, yet after that God had allowed it, all men were subject unto it, as to the polity of God, and not of Jethro.”

In the course of the entire argument respecting Episcopacy, Hooker changes his standing again and again; sometimes taking higher, and sometimes lower ground; now insisting upon the Divine origin of Diocesan Bishops, and then, supposing their origin not to be immediately Divine, attempting to show the inherent authority of the Church to determine its own frame of government, and to establish the sufficiency of such evidence as may be drawn from patristic sources.

HOOKER’S WORKS.

The eighth book treats of the Royal supremacy in ecclesiastical matters, and is intended as a reply to certain Puritan objections brought against the form of that supremacy as established by the laws of the land. It is a curious circumstance that one chapter contains a vindication of the title, “Supreme Head of the Church;”[449] although this did not remain the parliamentary title of the sovereign, according to the statute of supremacy in the first year of Elizabeth’s reign: and such being the fact, it may be inferred, that Hooker used the title as an equivalent to the statutable appellation of “Supreme Governor in all spiritual and ecclesiastical causes.”

Hooker’s vindication of the Royal supremacy contains a course of elaborate reasoning in support of the prerogative with regard to Church assemblies, and Church legislation, the appointing of Bishops, and the jurisdiction of Ecclesiastical Courts. Finally, he discusses the Royal exemption from ecclesiastical censure, as well as from all other kinds of judicial power. This topic is handled with much caution, and some reticence, and the chapter in which it is considered remains in an unfinished state. I have not lighted upon any controversial publications arising out of the appearance of these recovered writings, but I notice that Kennet says, Bishop Gauden “doth, with great confidence, use diverse arguments to satisfy the world that the three books joined to the five genuine books of the said Mr. Hooker are genuine, and penned by him, notwithstanding those poisonous assertions against the regal power, which are to be found therein.”[450] To what in particular the closing words refer is not plain; they can scarcely point to a fragment on the limits of obedience, which Gauden attached to the eighth book, but which Keble transfers to an Appendix, since the author there enforces subjection to civil governors as a conscientious duty. It is not a little remarkable, that Thorndike makes no use either of the earlier or later editions of the Ecclesiastical Polity.

The Anglican Divines included distinguished sermon writers. They followed in the wake of Andrewes and Donne, whom they resembled in their theology, from whom they differed in their style. Like the Puritans after the Reformation, they were generally cut off from public preaching during the Interregnum; but they wrote sermons, and some abroad had liberty to preach,—as for example Cosin, who, at Paris, during his exile, delivered several discourses, which are included in his works. The chief of them were prepared for the festivals of the Church, and treat of the Nativity, the Resurrection, and the Ascension: subjects which are handled sometimes in a cold orthodox manner, sometimes with forcible and original reasoning, and now and then with strokes of vigorous eloquence. It is remarkable that we have no sermons by Cosin, written after the Restoration; and indeed there is a general paucity of homiletic literature by members of the Episcopal bench for twenty years before the Revolution.

ANGLICAN SERMON WRITERS.

The Irish bench supplied one brilliant sermon-writer—whose compositions in that department are above all praise. Jeremy Taylor’s theology has been already considered, space here only permits the remark that his theology appears in his sermons, that he is the true Anglican throughout, and that all his opinions are there arrayed in robes of bewitching grace and splendour. His practical works,—for example The Life of Christ and Holy Living and Dying,—may be classed with his discourses; and abound in rich specimens of that golden eloquence—stamped with an Anglican mint-mark—which he was wont copiously to issue from the pulpit. Sanderson’s sermons are exhaustive treatises, in which the homiletic character sometimes fades, but orthodox doctrine is always implied; the casuistry of Christian experience is handled sometimes in almost a Puritan spirit, and Christian ethics are ever treated in a clear, manly, incisive style. Barrow’s sermons are also treatises, many of them most decidedly doctrinal, orthodox and argumentative. But, of all these Divines, it may be said—not excepting Jeremy Taylor, who exerts a charm of another kind—that they lack the evangelical unction, the softness and fragrance of which is felt to be suffused over the Puritan homilies.

Controversy tinges more or less most of the sermons of that period; but, for invective, Dr. South has won an unenviable notoriety. No one can admire more than I do, the good sense and masculine style of this author. There are sermons of his which are perfect models of pulpit address; but on reading others, who but must feel that perhaps there never was another man who could so well enforce the truths of Christianity, who also did so flagrantly violate their spirit. He never misses, or rather, he never fails to make, when he had any pretence for it, an opportunity of attacking his Puritan contemporaries; although he must have lived on terms of civility with them when at Oxford. As in a sermon by Chrysostom, preached at Antioch, one scarcely ever gets to the end, without finding him rebuking swearers, so South in his sermons preached at Westminster Abbey, and in other places, rarely concludes without assailing English schismatics, who were not less bad in his eyes, than were the most profane Syrians in the eyes of the orator of the Eastern Church. Men destitute of South’s power manifested a similar temper, vilifying the Nonconformists “as far more dangerous enemies than the Papists;”[451] and thus, in the treatment of opponents, they imitated and even exceeded the worst polemical vices of such men as Vicars and Edwards, under the Commonwealth.

ANGLICAN CRITICS.

Before the Restoration there appeared a book on practical piety, which attained to an extraordinary degree of popularity. Every one has heard of the Whole Duty of Man; and most people given to religious reading have met with a treatise bearing that title; probably on examination it has proved to be what is entitled, the New Whole Duty of Man, a work proceeding on different principles from the original treatise—only the name of which it bears, only the form of which it imitates.[452] The original treatise, from the pen of an anonymous author,[453] bears a commendatory letter, written by Dr. Hammond, a circumstance which alone would suggest our ranking it amongst the productions of the Anglican school of theology. Its contents justify our doing so. It proceeds upon the theory, so largely illustrated by Thorndike, that by baptism men are brought into a gracious covenant with God; and that men become, not by merit, but by mercy, entitled to the blessings promised in the Gospel. A Christian life is the fulfilment of vows and obligations incurred in baptism. The book recognizes the doctrines of the Trinity, the Divinity of our Lord, the Atonement, and other related truths under Anglican forms of expression; but the stress of the work, indeed every page, except a few at the beginning, consists in an inculcation of human duty, considered under a threefold aspect—so common once in the pulpits of the Establishment—our duty towards God, our duty towards ourselves, and our duty towards one another. All the precepts of devotion, of virtue, and of beneficence are ranged under these heads. The great motives to godliness and goodness are not overlooked; but the proportion in which they are exhibited is very small compared with the space allotted to a prescriptive treatment of the subject. Of the fulness and variety of the practical advice given no one can complain; but the scanty reference to the distinctive doctrines of the Gospel, will be acknowledged by most Divines as a serious defect. The defect is explained, but not justified by the circumstance, that the book is a reaction against a theological tendency, needing to be checked—“the fanatics were shamefully regardless of good works, and preached up faith as all-sufficient.”

The Whole Duty of Man has been more condemned and more praised than it deserves. It presents a large amount of moral advice, but it lacks the main motive power which produces Christian virtue; and as to style, it is hard and unattractive from beginning to end, utterly lacking tenderness, and exhibiting practical religion only in a dry light.

Some of the Anglican Divines zealously devoted themselves to Biblical criticism. In the matter of exegesis, the Puritans achieved much; but they looked with suspicion upon all attempts to amend the sacred text. In this department, certain of their theological opponents laid their own age and posterity under immense obligation. Bryan Walton, perhaps, is not to be numbered with Anglicans; and amongst his most efficient helpers, was Lightfoot, more of a Latitudinarian than an Anglican,—but Castell and Pocock, Herbert Thorndike, and Alexander Huish, if not Thomas Hyde and Samuel Clark,[454] all of them eminent scholars, were more or less Anglican, certainly they were all Episcopalian, in their views; and it is to them, assisted by Oliver Cromwell, who permitted the paper for the purpose to be imported duty free, that we owe the English Polyglott,—which competent judges have pronounced superior to its more splendid predecessors, published on the Continent. Castell was enthusiastically devoted to critical studies, to which he sacrificed his property, his time, and his energies, with small reward, in the way of Church preferment. His Lexicon Heptaglotton is a monument of astonishing learning, and worthy of being associated with his friend’s Polyglott Bible.

After the Restoration, an idea was entertained of printing the famous Alexandrian MS., which had been sent as a present to Charles I. from the Greek Patriarch Cyrillus; and the editorship was to have been entrusted to Dr. Smith, an Oxford scholar, to whom Charles II. promised a Canonry at Windsor or Westminster for his labour; but the design was abandoned. Dr. John Fell, Bishop of Oxford, published, in 1675, an edition of the Greek New Testament, with various readings, taken from Walton and others; his object being to show the substantial correctness of the received text, and how little its integrity is affected by the numerous lections accumulated by an industrious collation of MSS.

ANGLICAN CRITICS.

To these critics must be added the well-known commentator Dr. Hammond, who, instead of following the Fathers and the Reformers in their schemes of mystical interpretation, struck out a path for himself, and sought to illustrate the grammatical sense of the sacred writings. He studied the Hellenistic dialect, compared Greek MSS., examined ancient manners and customs, and employed the opinions of the Gnostics to elucidate references in the Epistles to early heresies. This is very remarkable in an Anglican Divine, and it indicates what some who sympathized with him in other respects might have regarded as a rationalistic tendency—certainly they would have so regarded it in any one not belonging to themselves. Hammond’s Paraphrase and Annotations, published in 1659, may be taken as constituting an epoch in the history of exegesis; the more so on account of his influence, for his name stood so high with the Episcopalian clergy, “that he naturally turned the tide of interpretation his own way.”[455]

CHAPTER XV.

Four eminent Divines, who have made a deep mark on English literature, now claim attention, coming, as they do, from their complexion of thought, and from their characteristic opinions, between the Anglicans just reviewed, and the Latitudinarians who remain to be noticed.

William Chillingworth was one of those clever, hard-headed men in whom the reasoning faculty predominates over imagination and sentiment, and who are thoroughly at home in the exercises of logic, subjecting the opinions of opponents to a subtle analysis, and entrenching themselves behind carefully-constructed outworks of argumentative defence. The skill which, as an engineer, he displayed at the siege of Gloucester, in framing engines to storm the place, was of a piece with the skill which he exhibited in attacking what he believed to be forms of error and superstition.[456] He is best known by his great work, The Religion of Protestants a Safe Way to Salvation; and it is evident that he had derived advantages, as an assailant of the Roman Church, from the acquaintance with it which he had formed during the period of his connection with that community.

LIBERAL ORTHODOX.—CHILLINGWORTH.

His famous dictum, “The Bible, and the Bible alone, is the religion of Protestants”—the lever with which he sought to upheave and overthrow the tenets of Popery—placed him in a theological position distinct from that which was occupied by Anglicans; for, though they were ready enough to appeal to Scripture against Rome, they also appealed to Christian antiquity against Puritanism. Chillingworth’s method of reasoning betrayed an absence of sympathy with High Church Divines in their reverence for the early Fathers, and showed how he fixed his religious opinions solely upon the basis of the written revelation, as interpreted by reason. And at the same time, by largely insisting upon the principle that the Apostles’ Creed contains all necessary points of mere belief,[457] and by the disposition which he manifested to recognize as little doctrinal meaning upon disputed points as possible in the articles of that early Christian confession, he not only separated himself from Anglicans, but he separated himself from Puritans. He was reticent upon evangelical subjects, respecting which the latter delighted to speak; and from his desire to comprehend people of considerable dogmatic divergency within the pale of the Church, he incurred reproaches from those last named, and was stigmatized by them, not only as an Arminian, but as a Socinian. No definite idea of his opinions upon some important parts of Divine truth can be gathered from his writings. It is plain that he loved a large liberty in all kinds of thinking, and set a higher value upon a religious temper, a devout spirit, a Catholic disposition, and a moral life, than upon orthodoxy of sentiment, or forms of worship, or methods of ecclesiastical government and discipline.

Chillingworth, a native of the City, and an ornament of the University of Oxford, died in 1644. Eight years afterwards, the English Church lost another Divine, an ornament of the University of Cambridge, who, though very different in many respects from Chillingworth, may be classed with him in the same division of liberal Divines.

LIBERAL ORTHODOX.—SMITH.

John Smith possessed a mind in which the mystical element mingled itself with an intense energy of reflection, a habit of calm thought, and an imagination which employed itself, not in painting individual objects, but in dyeing, with rich tints of colour, abstract and immutable ideas. His mental training had been in the Greek Academy. He had long sat as a loving disciple at the feet of Plato, and had conversed with the earlier and later Platonists. The reader of Smith’s works will, in every page, discover traces of his peculiar culture, as well as of his peculiar endowments. His Select Discourses, published in 1660, take a wide range, embracing the true method of attaining Divine knowledge; the errors that grow up beside it—superstition on the one hand, atheism on the other; the immortality of the soul, which is the subject, and the existence and nature of God, who is the Author and object of religion; and prophecy, which Smith treats as the way whereby revealed truth is dispensed and conveyed, rather than as a proof whereby it is established. The discourses upon the difference between an evangelical and legal righteousness, upon the excellency and nobleness of true religion, and upon a Christian’s conflict with and conquest over Satan, exhibit the author’s characteristic views of doctrinal, ethical, and experimental Divinity. The first only requires particular notice here. “The law was the ministry of death, and in itself an external and lifeless thing; neither could it procure or beget that Divine life and spiritual form of godliness, in the souls of men, which God expects from all the heirs of glory, nor that glory which is only consequent upon a true Divine life.” Whereas, on the other side, the Gospel is set forth “as a mighty efflux and emanation of life and spirit, freely issuing forth from an omnipotent source of grace and love, as that true, God-like, vital influence whereby the Divinity derives itself into the souls of men, enlivening and transforming them into its own likeness, and strongly imprinting upon them a copy of its own beauty and goodness; like the spermatical virtue of the heavens, which spreads itself freely upon this lower world, and, subtily insinuating itself into this benumbed, feeble, earthly matter, begets life and motion in it. Briefly, it is that whereby God comes to dwell in us, and we in Him.”[458]

Particular passages may mislead as to the general character of an author’s teaching; but there is a ring in these words, indicating at once the kind of metal of which Smith’s theology is made. It is of the same substance throughout. “The righteousness of faith,” he says, “and the righteousness of God, is a Christ-like nature in a man’s soul, or Christ appearing in the minds of men by the mighty power of His Divine Spirit, and thereby deriving a true participation of Himself to them.” And in accordance with this, and showing at the same time the author’s shrinking from definite and precise forms of dogmatic statement, such as may be found in Anglicans on the one side, and in Puritans on the other, he observes that the Gospel “was not brought in, only to refine some notions of truth that might formerly seem discoloured and disfigured by a multitude of legal rites and ceremonies; it was not to cast our opinions concerning the way of life and happiness only into a new mould and shape in a pedagogical kind of way; it is not so much a system and body of saving Divinity, but the spirit and vital influx of it, spreading itself over all the powers of men’s souls, and quickening them into a Divine life; it is not so properly a doctrine that is wrapt up in ink and paper as it is vitalis scientia, a living impression made upon the soul and spirit.”[459] Another name challenges attention.

The ever-memorable John Hales, pronounced by Pearson to have had “as great a sharpness, quickness, and subtlety of wit as ever this or perhaps any nation bred,” had been a Calvinist; but he said, that at the Synod of Dort, which he attended, he bid John Calvin good-night. He had certainly what might be termed very broad views of Christian faith; for he remarked, “The Church is like Amphiaraus, she hath no device, no word in her shield; mark and essence with her are all one, and she hath no other note but to be.”[460] This was a statement which removed him to an equal distance from both Anglicans and Puritans; and one sentence from a sermon by Hales is sufficient to show how widely his teaching as to the way of salvation differed from all preachers of the latter class. “The water of baptism, and the tears of true repentance, creatures of themselves weak and contemptible, yet through the wonderful operation of the grace of God annext unto them, are able, were our sins as red as twice-dyed scarlet, to make them as white as snow.”[461] Hales was as orthodox as a man could be on the subject of the Trinity;[462] and, in his masterly sermon on Christian omnipotency, plainly asserts the power and sufficiency of Divine grace.[463]

LIBERAL ORTHODOX.—FARINDON.

Hales died in 1656, and was followed to the grave two years afterwards by his attached friend Anthony Farindon, both of them being members of the University of Oxford. Farindon was far more evangelical than Hales and Chillingworth. He had not the mystical turn of mind which is so marked in John Smith, nor was he so manifestly a Platonist. Altogether his habits of thought are much more on a level with common understandings.

The distance which severed Farindon from the Anglicans comes out in the following passage:—“And now, if we look into the Church, we shall find that most men stand in need of a ‘yea, rather.’ ... Felix sacramentum! ‘Blessed sacrament of baptism!’ ... It is true; but there is ... ‘Yea, rather; blessed are they that have put on Christ.’ ‘Blessed sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.’ It is true; but, ‘Yea, rather; blessed are they that dwell in Christ.’ ‘Blessed profession of Christianity!’ ‘Yea, rather; blessed are they that are Christ’s.’ ‘Blessed cross!’ The Fathers call it so. ‘Yea, rather; blessed are they that have crucified their flesh, with the affections and lusts.’ ‘Blessed Church!’ ‘Yea, rather; blessed are they who are members of Christ.’ ‘Blessed Reformation!’ ‘Yea, rather; blessed are they that reform themselves.’”[464]

Nor is the distinction between Farindon and the Puritans much less visible, when he remarks, with regard to the act of justification, “What mattereth it whether I believe or not believe, know or not know, that our justification doth consist in one or more acts, so that I certainly know and believe that it is the greatest blessing that God can let fall upon His creature, and believe that by it I am made acceptable in His sight, and, though I have broken the law, yet shall be dealt with as if I had been just and righteous indeed? whether it be done by pardoning all my sins, or imputing universal obedience to me, or the active and passive obedience of Christ?” “And as in justification, so in the point of faith by which we are justified, what profit is there so busily to inquire whether the nature of faith consisteth in an obsequious assent, or in the appropriation of the grace and mercy of God, or in a mere fiducial apprehension and application of the merits of Christ?”[465] It would be difficult to point out, in the writings of this theologian, a precise definition either of justification or of faith, and equally difficult to point out any statement adverse to those views of salvation by grace in which all evangelic Christians agree. He finds fault with Augustine for confounding justification with sanctification, and separates himself from the Anglican, though not so widely as from the Romanist, when he stigmatizes as “an unsavoury tenet” the doctrine, “that justification is not a pronouncing, but a making one righteous; that inherent holiness is the formal cause of justification; and that we may redeem our sins, and purchase forgiveness, by fasting, almsdeeds, and other good works.” Deficient in definiteness upon these points, Farindon is clear in reference to the Trinity, the Incarnation, and the Atonement. He expounds them in an orthodox way, yet he does not dwell upon them so frequently, and at such length, as his Anglican and Puritan contemporaries. He is no Calvinist; without entering into lengthened controversy on the five points, he shows his great dislike to Calvin’s views.[466] He holds decidedly that Christ died for all men; and with caustic reasoning, shows that, when it is said, “God so loved the world,” it cannot mean, He so loved the elect.[467] His Arminianism is perhaps nearly, if not quite, as evangelical as that of our Wesleyan brethren, but he lacks the fervour with which they set forth the verities of Christianity in relation to the deepest wants of man. Puritans could scarcely apply the moral lessons of the Gospel to the hearts of men on grounds more evangelic than those presented by Farindon; but we miss in his sermons a penetrating fire like that of John Owen, and a melting pathos like that of Richard Baxter.

CAMBRIDGE SCHOOL.

The way is now open for viewing that division of thinkers who distinguished themselves, after the Restoration, by the breadth of their opinions. They followed in the steps of those whom we have now described, but in some particulars they went far beyond them. In a former volume I touched upon the Cambridge school of theologians; it remains for me to trace the subsequent development and progress of their peculiarities. They early received the name of Latitudinarians, and in 1662 their name had passed into everybody’s mouth, although its explicit meaning, it was said, remained as great a mystery as the order of the Rosicrucians. Some spoke of them as holding dangerous opinions, others defended them; but all which people in general knew seemed to be that the new school of thinkers mostly belonged to the University of Cambridge, and that they mostly followed the new philosophy.

A contemporary—one of their number—describes them in the first place as attached to the liturgy of the Church of England; and as admiring its solemnity, gravity, and primitive simplicity, together with its freedom both from affected phrases, and from any mixture of vain and doubtful opinions. They also, he says, believed “that it is the greatest check to devotion which can be, to hear men mix their private opinions with their public prayers,”—and they expressed themselves strongly against extempore devotions. As for rites and ceremonies, they approved what is called “the virtuous mediocrity of the Reformed Episcopal Church,” between the “meretricious gaudiness” of Rome, and “the squalid sluttery” of the fanatics. They contended that “so long as we live in this region of mortality, we must make use of such external helps” as the Church has thought fitted for the ends of worship. According to the same authority, they were averse to Presbyterianism and to Independency; and were decided supporters of Episcopal order. As for the doctrines of the Church, the Latitudinarians cordially adhered to the Thirty-nine Articles, to the three Creeds, and to any doctrine held by the Church, “unless absolute reprobation be one, which they do not think themselves bound to believe.” Great reverence is attributed to them, for the genuine monuments of the ancient Fathers, those especially of the first and purest age; and the writer then meets the charge of their hearkening too much to reason. For reason, he says, “is that faculty, whereby a man must judge of everything; nor can a man believe anything except he have some reason for it, whether that reason be a deduction from the light of nature, and those principles which are the candle of the Lord, set up in the soul of every man that hath not wilfully extinguished it, or a branch of Divine revelation in the oracles of Holy Scripture; or the general interpretation of genuine antiquity, or the proposal of our own Church consentaneous thereto; or lastly, the result of some or all of these: for he that will rightly make use of his reason, must take all that is reasonable into consideration. And it is admirable to consider how the same conclusions do naturally flow from all these several principles; and what in the faithful use of the faculties that God hath given, men have believed for true, doth excellently agree with that revelation that God hath exhibited in the Scripture, and the doctrine of the ancient Church with them both. Thus the freedom of our wills, the universal intent of Christ’s death, and sufficiency of God’s grace, the condition of justification, and many other points of the like nature, which have been almost exploded in these latter degenerate ages of the world, do again begin to obtain, though with different persons upon different accounts: some embrace them for their evidence in Scripture, others for the concurrent testimony of the primitive Church for above four hundred years; others for the reasonableness of the things themselves, and their agreement both with the Divine attributes, and the easy suggestions of their own minds. Nor is there any point in Divinity, where that which is most ancient doth not prove the most rational, and the most rational the ancientest; for there is an eternal consanguinity between all verity; and nothing is true in Divinity, which is false in Philosophy, or on the contrary; and therefore what God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”[468]

CAMBRIDGE SCHOOL.

The account is that of a partizan, who evidently wishes to make Latitudinarianism stand well in the estimation of all sorts of Churchmen; and therefore he strives to paint its teachers in colours of orthodoxy, and he charily remarks that they will be “generally suspected to be for liberty of conscience.”

Baxter, in 1665, speaks of the same school, as Platonists, or Cartesians, and of many of them as Arminians, with this addition, that they had more charitable thoughts than others of the salvation of heathens and infidels; and that some of them agreed in the opinions of Origen, about the pre-existence of souls.[469] Burnet says that they “read Episcopius much,”[470] respecting whose works Thorndike affirmed, that in them “the faith of the Holy Trinity is made an indifferent thing,” and the doctrine of original sin is “turned out of doors,”[471]—a sweeping accusation which has been called in question, yet it would be difficult to establish the orthodoxy of Episcopius on the Trinity, in the sense attached to that term by writers like Thorndike. No doubt there were heterodox tendencies in the writings of Episcopius and his school; but in this respect some of the later Remonstrants went beyond their master.

FOWLER.

The writer who most fully expounded the tenets of the Latitudinarians as a whole was Edward Fowler, who hesitated to conform in 1662, but who became afterwards Rector of Allhallows, Bread Street, and finally was elevated to the see of Gloucester. In his work On the Principles and Practices of Certain Moderate Divines of the Church of England, published in 1679, he professes truly to represent and defend them, and every page bears witness to the fact of their having been adopted by this author. He strongly maintains the eternal and immutable grounds of morality, against the pernicious principle which had been urged by some Calvinists, that the entire basis of virtue is to be found in the will of God, and vindicates the prominence given by the new teachers to the reasonableness of Christianity. Though the supernatural origin of the Gospel, and the Divine authority of its doctrines, are implied, and even distinctly acknowledged in the volume, yet the impression given by it altogether is such as to place the duty of accepting Christianity mainly upon the ground of its being a rational system. The production of faith is described as a process of reasoning, with regard to which the inward testimony of the Spirit is resolved “ordinarily” into a blessing on the use of means, i.e., the consideration of the motives He hath given us to believe.[472]

Another passage may be quoted, indicating the view of the writer upon a question which proves a touchstone of theological sentiment.

The Latitudinarians “are very careful so to handle the doctrine of justifying faith, as not only to make obedience to follow it, but likewise to include a hearty willingness to submit to all Christ’s precepts in the nature of it; and to show the falsity and defectiveness of some descriptions of faith, that have had too general an entertainment, and still have. This they look upon themselves as greatly obliged to do, as being well aware, of what dangerous consequence some received notions of that grace are, and that not a few that have imbibed them, have so well understood their true and natural inferences, as to be thereby encouraged to let the reins loose to all ungodliness.”[473]

Fowler affirms that those who are sincerely righteous, and from an inward living principle allow themselves in no known sin, nor in the neglect of any known duty, which is to be truly, evangelically righteous, shall be dealt with and rewarded, in and through Christ, as if they were perfectly and in a strict legal sense so. Entering essentially into Fowler’s notion of faith is the idea of its being the germ of Christian virtue: and, as it regards the connection between faith and justification, he believes that the receiving of Christ as Lord is a prerequisite to the obtaining of Christ as Redeemer. He defines justifying faith in these words:—“A grace of the Holy Spirit, whereby a man being convinced of his sin and miserable estate in regard of it, and an all-sufficiency in Christ to save from both, receives Him as He is tendered in the Gospel, or according to his three offices of Prophet, Priest, and King;” and,—which is important to the understanding of Fowler’s views,—he adds, “That act of receiving Christ as Lord, is to go before that of receiving Him as a Priest; for we may not rely upon Him for salvation, till we are willing to yield obedience to Him.”[474] In all this, and in much more, may be recognized a striving after some way of thoroughly meeting the two sides of that redemption from evil, which in the Gospel is ever represented as one. Whilst some theologians made holiness the result of faith in a Divine salvation, which salvation was treated by them as identical with justification, and others considered holiness as an essential part of it,—Fowler leaned in the direction of making holiness the means of salvation; and the tendency to adopt a via media further appears in his attempt to steer a middle course between Calvinism and Arminianism:—He remarks, “That there is such a thing as distinguishing grace, whereby some persons are absolutely elected, by virtue whereof they shall be (having potent and infallible means prepared for them) irresistibly saved. But that others, that are not in the number of those singular and special favourites, are not at all in a desperate condition, but have sufficient means appointed for them to qualify them for greater or less degrees of happiness, and have sufficient grace offered to them some way or other, and some time or other; and are in a capacity of salvation either greater or less, through the merits of Jesus Christ; and that none of them are damned, but those that wilfully refuse to co-operate with that grace of God, and will not act in some moral suitableness to that power they have received.”[475]

FOWLER.

Universal redemption,—by which is signified the universal applicability of our Lord’s atoning sacrifice,—is strenuously maintained by this Divine;[476] and he speaks hopefully of the future state, through Christ, of virtuous heathens.

Passing to Church questions, the same writer expresses a preference for Episcopacy, but does not unchurch unepiscopal societies; he holds Erastian views of the power of the civil magistrate; and strangely denies, that liberty of conscience forms a part of Christian liberty. He would concede to every man liberty of opinion, but not the liberty of persuading others to adopt his opinion; so that this scheme, ecclesiastically considered, runs at last into the doctrine of intolerance. Throughout Fowler’s works an anti-Puritan feeling is predominant; and his allusions to Nonconformists are by no means friendly.[477]

Wilkins, the moderate and liberal Bishop of Chester, belonged to the same class with Fowler. Known chiefly by his scientific works, he, nevertheless, deserves notice as one of the early defenders of natural religion against the attacks and the innuendoes of sceptics and infidels. The authors who have been just mentioned passed over the evidences of religion and plunged at once into the discussion of doctrines; but Wilkins saw that there is much outside Christianity which needed defence, for the subsequent preservation of the palladium of the faith. He is to be reckoned amongst the first to expound those more general and fundamental truths which, in the next century, occupied so much attention, and were esteemed bulwarks of revelation. He wrote upon the principles and duties of natural religion; but only twelve chapters of the book on the subject were completed by himself; the rest being prepared from the Bishop’s MSS., by his friend Tillotson. Cumberland’s De legibus Naturæ Disquisitio Philosophica (1672) is scarcely a theological treatise, it being a pioneer in the dangerous region of utilitarian ethics; but Cumberland may properly be reckoned as belonging to the Latitudinarians, for his speculations are more or less intimately related to what is generally regarded as the religion of nature in its alliance with the religion of revelation.

CUDWORTH.

A chief—if not the very first place—amongst the opponents of atheism and immorality, must be adjudged to Ralph Cudworth, whose learning and ability have reflected so much lustre on the Cambridge school. His Intellectual System is left unfinished, and reminds us of costly preparations for palatial buildings which have never risen above a few layers of marble blocks. With such a comparison, however, a contrast is suggested; for whilst the substructions referred to, may be monuments of the folly, condemned in the Gospel, of him who begins to build and is not able to finish,—Cudworth’s treatise shows it was from no want of power that he left his work incomplete. Of the five chapters of the first and only book of the Intellectual System, the fourth and fifth are by very far the longest, and these are devoted to Theology. It comes not within my province to make an attempt at deciding upon the place of honour due to Cudworth in the temple of fame, to report his speculations, or to repeat his critical estimates of different philosophers; my duty is simply to call attention to the two chapters, in which he ventures to trace a resemblance between the Trinity of Plato and the Trinity of Scripture, and argues also against Atheism. Respecting the latter, Cudworth had stated in his second chapter, the various reasonings of the ancient fatalists, whose system he characterized as “a gigantical and titanical attempt to dethrone the Deity,”—“Atheism openly swaggering under the glorious appearance of wisdom and philosophy.” In the fourth chapter, where he speaks of the Trinity, he explains Platonic ideas, attempting to show, that notwithstanding the difference between them and the ideas in Scripture, the three hypostases of the Platonists were Homoousian, Coessential, and Consubstantial. He touches upon the opinions of the Fathers, and expounds the views of Athanasius, who supposes that the three Divine hypostases “make up one entire Divinity, after the same manner as the fountain and the stream make up one entire river; or the root, and the stock, and the branches, one entire tree.” Cudworth contends that the Christian Trinity, though a mystery, is more agreeable to reason than the Platonic; and that there is no absurdity at all in supposing “the pure soul and body of the Messiah to be made a living temple or Shechinah-image or statue of the Deity.”[478] The bent of the author’s mind, and the tendency of the school to which he belonged, is seen throughout this part of his design, which is not to place the doctrine of the Trinity on a scriptural basis, but to establish and illustrate its perfect reasonableness, and to point out coincidences between it and some of the best guesses, or most satisfactory conclusions, of thinkers who never enjoyed the advantages of revelation. In harmony with this, is the fact of his noting, in the midst of his speculations, the following errors:—“The first, of those who make Christianity nothing but an Antinomian Plot against real righteousness, and, as it were, a secret confederacy with the Devil. The second, of those who turn that into matter of mere notion and opinion, dispute and controversy, which was designed by God only as a contrivance, machine, or engine to bring men effectually to a holy and godly life.”[479]

CUDWORTH.

The fifth chapter is devoted to “a particular confutation of all the atheistic grounds,” which confutation covers 270 folio pages. The two principal objections which he combats are, that, either men have no idea of God at all, or else, none but such as is compounded and made up of impossible and contradictory notions; whence these Atheists would infer Him to be an inconceivable nothing, and that, as nothing could come from nothing, it may be concluded, that whatever substantially or really is, was from all eternity of itself unmade, or uncreated by any Deity. The answering of these objections—in a course of argument which combines great learning with metaphysical acuteness—leads Cudworth to introduce proofs of the Divine existence drawn from final causes, as in the subjoined passage, which is quoted as one of the most familiar and popular forms of reasoning to be found in this recondite treatise:—“It is no more possible, that the fortuitous motion of dead and senseless matter, should ever from itself be taught and necessitated to produce such an orderly and regular system as the frame of this whole world is, together with the bodies of animals, and constantly to continue the same; than that a man perfectly illiterate and neither able to write nor read, taking up a pen into his hand, and making all manner of scrawls, with ink upon paper, should at length be taught and necessitated by the thing itself, to write a whole quire of paper together, with such characters, as being decyphered by a certain key, would all prove coherent philosophic sense.” Or to take another instance:—“This is no more possible than that ten or a dozen persons, altogether unskilled in music, having several instruments given them, and striking the strings or keys thereof, any how as it happened, should, after some time of discord and jarring, at length be taught and necessitated, to fall into most exquisite harmony, and continue the same uninterruptedly for several hours together.”[480]

Cudworth directed his studies chiefly to the foundations of religion and morality. Neither from his published works, nor, it would appear, from his unpublished MSS., in the British Museum, can any definite system of Biblical doctrine be gathered. The general colouring of his theological views, however, may be inferred from the very title of one of his printed treatises: “Deus Justificatus; or the Divine Goodness vindicated and cleared against the assertors of absolute and inconditionate Reprobation.”

CAMBRIDGE.—CRITICS.

Edward Stillingfleet, who has claimed our attention both as a healer and a stirrer up of strife, although not a doctrinal controversialist, demands some notice as a writer on Christian evidences. His broad and moderate churchmanship at the period of the Restoration, and his sympathy also at that time with the Latitudinarian Divines of Cambridge,—where he was educated and obtained a Fellowship at St. John’s in 1653,—entitle him to a place amongst them in the early part of his life.[481] It was in the year 1662, that he published his “Origines Sacræ; or Rational Account of the Christian Faith, as to the Truth and Divine Authority of the Scripture.” His learning, acuteness, logical ability, and lawyer-like habit of thought eminently fitted him for controversy, and these talents are signally displayed in the book now mentioned. The first part is occupied with an exposure of the obscurity, defect, and uncertainty of heathen histories, and of heathen chronology. In the treatment of this subject, he so completely undermines the credibility of all ancient history, except what is in Scripture, that he unwittingly precludes the proper use of the former in certain instances as a corroboration of the latter. He does not with thorough care distinguish between insufficiency and a complete want of authority. In the second book, he dwells on the knowledge, fidelity, and integrity of Moses; and upon the proofs of a Divine inspiration of the prophets from the fulfilment of their prophecies; but in this part of his work, he does not so much anticipate the details of the modern argument, as unfold the principles upon which he conceived the argument should rest. The evidence from miracles is also exhibited. The third book, to which the title of Origines particularly points, treats of the being of God, and the origin of the universe,—of evil—of the nations of the earth—and of the Heathen Mythology. In connection with the origin of nations, he vindicates the Scripture history of the Deluge, and falls into harmony with modern geologists, by confessing that he sees no necessity from Scripture, to assert, that the flood spread itself over the whole surface of the earth.[482]

Before proceeding further with the current of theological opinion, let me pause for a moment to mention the names of men who, in the service of Biblical learning, may perhaps be justly classed with the Divines now under review. Lightfoot, the Erastian, published, between 1644 and 1664, a Harmony of the Gospels, a Commentary upon the Acts, and Notes upon St. Paul’s Epistles to the Romans and Corinthians, besides Horæ Hebraicæ, et Talmudicæ, and other Exercitations of a similar kind. All his books exhibit Rabbinical lore applied to the elucidation of the Holy Scriptures; and he is not only the first of our English Divines to break up new ground decidedly and extensively in this field, but he actually tills the soil to such a degree, that none of his successors in the same path of industry are equal to this master-workman. Besides his own volumes, he has contributed to the interests of Biblical scholarship, by largely assisting Walton in his Polyglott, and Poole in his Synopsis.

Simon Patrick—numbered by Burnet among the Latitudinarians—wrote Commentaries upon the Old Testament, as far as the Book of Esther,—these were published between the years 1694 and 1705,—but at an earlier date, between 1678 and 1681, he wrote Paraphrases of Job and the Psalms, of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Solomon. He united reverence with learning, and brevity with accuracy; and avoiding the method of citing a number of opinions, which only perplex the reader, he gives his own in a style which is clear, and with arguments which are forcible.[483]

There is another person entitled to honourable mention, which perhaps may be as fittingly introduced here as anywhere: for, though he cannot be identified with the Latitudinarian school, neither can he in any proper sense be pronounced either Anglican or Puritan. Dr. James Ussher occupies a niche of his own in the temple of theological literature. His broad sympathies seem to fix his place at least near to those scholars who have just been described. As to time, his publications take their place between the beginning of the works of Lightfoot and the beginning of the works of Patrick. Ussher differed from them both. He was far superior to the last in learning; but I should infer, from what is said of him, that in some respects—certainly in the Rabbinical department of study—he was inferior to Lightfoot as a Biblical critic. In the learning which relates to sacred chronology he had no rival.

CAMBRIDGE.—SCIENCE.

At the close of this chapter, in which so much has been said respecting the free thought of the Cambridge school, and just as we are on the point of noticing its wider developments, I would seize the opportunity of saying a few words in relation to views of science entertained by more advanced theological inquirers. Aristotle remained a favourite philosophical teacher with the supporters of old-fashioned orthodoxy. The “new learning,” as the investigation of physical phenomena after the Baconian method, came to be termed, inspired an immense degree of suspicion in the minds of a large number of clergymen, who fancied they could detect in it tendencies to Popery, or Socinianism,—they scarcely knew which; and the infant Royal Society, then beginning “to knock at the door where truth was to be found, although it was left for Newton to force it open,”[484] expressed a good deal of indignation on account of its supposed arrogance. It received such treatment as falls to the lot of a pert and conceited child, and old people shook their heads as they prognosticated the end of such folly after a little experience. Gunning, Bishop of Ely, Barlow, Bishop of Lincoln, and South, when orator at the University of Oxford, denounced these new studies as most mischievous; and Henry Stubbe, an intense admirer of Aristotle, raved against the scientific associates with a violence which was perfectly absurd.[485] That jealousy of science, which is not yet extinguished, then burnt with greater fury than it does now; and the Divines who united the inductive study of nature with the more immediate duties of their profession, had to sustain the brunt of a fierce battle. Seth Ward, Bishop of Salisbury, and Wilkins, Bishop of Chester, whilst theologically at variance, were scientifically in unison, and occupied the front rank in the clerical army on the side of intellectual advancement. But the person most zealous and laborious in the defence of the new philosophy was Joseph Glanvill, Rector of Bath, and Chaplain in Ordinary to Charles II., a writer of great ability, who had at his command a racy vigorous English style. It is amusing to find him employing the doctrine of a pre-existence of souls as the key to unlock the grand mysteries of Providence, and defending the possibility and real existence of witches and apparitions; still more amusing to be told by him that Adam needed neither spectacles nor telescope, for his naked eyes saw as much of the celestial world as we can discover with all the advantages of art.[486] Nevertheless the tone of his philosophy on the whole was decidedly sceptical; more so than Descartes, more so than Malebranche.

CAMBRIDGE.—SCIENCE.

Glanvill, who was a Fellow of the Royal Society, and acted as its Secretary, described and vindicated its character and proceedings, as a noble institution, vouchsafed to the modern world for the communication and increase of knowledge, according to the pregnant suggestion of Lord Bacon, that many heads and hands should unite in making and recording scientific observations, thus gathering up the facts which lie scattered in “the vast champaign of nature,” and bringing them into a common store.[487] But a notice of the way in which Glanvill defended the religious temper and tendencies of the experimental philosophy is more to our purpose; and I may, therefore, state that he executed his task in an ingenious and lively performance which is well worth the attention of certain people in the present day. He shows that God is to be praised in all His works—that His works are to be studied by those that would praise Him for them—that the study of nature in relation to God is very serviceable to religion—and that the ministers and professors of religion ought not to discourage, but promote the knowledge of the ways and works of its Author. He not only points out the connection between science and natural religion, but proves how true philosophy may be a friend of revelation, since it is a maxim of reason, that whatsoever God saith is to be believed, though we cannot apprehend the manner of it or tell how the thing should be.[488] No heterodoxy lurked under the advocacy of this scientific Divine, for he applied his principle to the Trinity and Incarnation, as being defensible on the same grounds as the existence of matter and motion. He moves nearer to the controversies of our own time, and indeed takes up a position in the midst of existing strifes, when he challenges the imputation, that philosophy teaches doctrines contrary to the Word of God. He meets it by saying, philosophy teaches many things which are not revealed in Scripture, for the design of Scripture is to teach religion, not science; no tenet ought to be exploded because some statements in the Divine oracles seem not to comport with it, natural objects being popularly described in the Old Testament; and the free experimental philosophy which the author pursued, and undertook to recommend, ventured, he said, on no peremptory and dogmatical assertions opposed to Divine authority, but confined itself to probabilities, where religion and the Scriptures are not at all concerned.[489] In many of his remarks, Glanvill anticipates the line of defence adopted by modern religious philosophers; and whilst he evinces a freedom of inquiry into natural phenomena which proves that he had burst the trammels of ancient prejudices, he also indicates a profound reverence for the Bible, and never allows his scepticism to utter a syllable inconsistent with belief in Divine revelation. I may add, that he published a discourse upon the agreement between reason and religion, against infidelity, scepticism, and fanaticisms of all sorts. It is apparent, from what he says, that he had no sympathy with Puritanism, but he had a great respect for Richard Baxter.

CHAPTER XVI.

The term Latitudinarian, both as a term of praise and a term of reproach, intended by friends to signify that a man was liberal, intended by enemies to denote that he was heterodox, came to be applied to thinkers holding very different opinions. Amongst the Divines, often placed under the generic denomination, very considerable diversities of sentiment existed. Indeed, the name is so loosely used as to be given to some persons whose orthodoxy is above all just suspicion—to others not only verging upon but deeply involved in considerable error. When we examine the essence of Latitudinarianism, and find that it consisted in the elevation of morals above dogmas, in the assertion of charity against bigotry, in abstinence from a curious prying into mysteries, yet in the culture of a spirit of free investigation, we see that there might be lying concealed under much which is truly excellent, elements of a different description. Scepticism might nestle under all this virtue, and all this tolerance—under this love of what is reasonable, and this habit of liberal inquiry. Faith, in that which is most precious, might live in amicable alliance with the distinctive Latitudinarian temper, or scepticism might secretly nestle beneath its wings.

From the beginning of the movement, some who took part in it, betrayed a want of sympathy in those strong Gospel convictions, which are of supreme importance, and in connection with it there were entertained, at an early period of its history, curious speculations respecting the pre-existence of souls, the salvation of the heathen, and the state of the body at the resurrection. Though some of these speculations were only fanciful, and others were capable of an orthodox construction, they certainly indicated a mental tendency very apt to resent the restraints of the Church’s faith, and to run into devious, if not dangerous paths. It was more than possible for this habit of rational and free inquiry to slip from under the control of its better principles, and to assume forms of even a disastrous kind.

LATITUDINARIANISM.

We cannot help recognizing in the movement, one wave amongst many then foaming and breaking over the wide ocean of human thought. Resistance to the strict Calvinistic theory appeared and increased in the French Protestant Church. In the academy of Saumur speculations were rife, undermining the doctrines of imputation and original sin, and pointing to the idea of universal grace.[490] A similar tendency existed in Switzerland, not so manifest but yet operative; for the Formula Consensus adopted in 1675 to exclude Divines, who were not sound in the faith of Geneva, met with violent opposition, and had to be softened down, and explained away. Against orthodox Lutheranism, as expounded in its symbolical books, there had appeared in Germany, in the first half of the century, a scheme in support of union and toleration resting on the basis of the Apostles’ Creed, such a proposal being pronounced by opponents to be Syncretism or a “Lying medley;” and in the second half of the same century may be traced the rise of Pietism under Spener, who, although an orthodox believer, exalted spiritual life above theological belief.[491] Even the Roman Catholic Church throbbed with inquisitive impulses perilous to the blind rule which it upheld. The theology of Jansenism, whilst, under one aspect, it appears as an assertion of orthodox Augustinianism,—under another aspect reveals itself as a protest against authority; and the sentiment of Quietism, with its spiritual ardour, tended to the depreciation of what is dogmatical. The Port Royalists and Madame Guyon were, in fact, falling into a current which they did not comprehend. Biblical criticism was looking the same way. It carried in its bosom elements both of faith and scepticism. Inquiries into the state of the sacred text alarmed many of the learned and the good; and Hermeneutical Canons were being followed, which, while soundly Protestant, imperilled ideas venerable for their antiquity.[492] Historical criticism exposed ancient falsehoods. The spuriousness of the Isidorian Decretals, for ages the stronghold of Papal despotism, was demonstrated by the Protestant Controversialist Blondel, and was acknowledged even by the Catholic Canonist Contius. The abandonment of the scholastic method of reasoning, the triumph of modern philosophy in the Universities of Europe, the formation of a fresh secular literature, and the critical study of history in general, with the explosion of old fables and superstitions, were all signs of the times, conveying the impression that a new epoch was at hand in the history of human intelligence.

Philosophy abroad placed itself at the head of these tendencies. Even Descartes, the Christian, in seeking a basis for positive belief, started with a doubt; Spinoza, the Jew, his disciple in some respects, found his goal in pantheism.[493] The Malmesbury philosopher, Hobbes, and, still earlier, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, in their free-thinking speculations, long before any great movement took place at Cambridge, not only laid religion open to the inroads of infidelity, but aided and abetted attacks upon its citadel: Herbert, by denying the necessity of a Scripture revelation, Hobbes by representing Christianity as resting on a foundation, which no reasonable man can tolerate for a moment. Thus widely, for good and for evil, free thought was at work in Europe. Some saw in it a rising storm, which would tear every vessel from its moorings; others believed it to be the breaking up of a winter’s frost, and the melting down of icebergs, which had long chilled the whole intellectual atmosphere. For my own part, I am convinced that there was both evil and good in all this activity, of which the effect may be traced in the history of intellectual inquiry ever since. It is felt in the controversies of the present day; and he is the wise man who strives to distinguish between the precious and the vile, to separate the one from the other, and in the noble service of truth to abstain from any alliance with error.

MILTON’S OPINIONS.

In this notice of the progress of free inquiry one great thinker should be mentioned, whose fame as a poet has so eclipsed the reputation of his genius in other respects, that he is rarely remembered in the character of a theologian, although he really was one. In that capacity he combined, perhaps, beyond any man of his age, peculiarities drawn from two schools, with neither of which could he be identified. In the very title of John Milton’s Treatise on Christian Doctrine, compiled from the Holy Scriptures alone, there is a Puritan-like renunciation of the Anglican doctrine of patristic authority: his inquiry touches only what the Bible teaches, and he professes, as many others have done, without allowing for educational and constitutional influences, to draw all his conclusions immediately and impartially from Holy Writ. He might free himself from Church trammels of all kinds; nevertheless even he could not deliver his mind from all predilections and prejudgments; and when in his old age he sat down to read the Bible, Milton, no more than other men, could bring to it a tabula rasa ready to receive nothing but unbiassed impressions from the Divine oracles.

The Latitudinarianism of Milton—how far influenced by the spirit of free thought existing at Cambridge I cannot say—appears in his doctrine of the Son of God; yet it modestly presents itself, and it by no means reaches a Socinian conclusion. In contradiction to the title of his Treatise he approaches this mysterious subject, through the medium of certain metaphysical postulates, and teaches that the Son, produced by generation, is neither co-eternal, nor co-essential, and that His existence “was no less owing to the decree and will of the Father, than His priesthood or kingly power, or His resuscitation from the dead.” Milton overlooks, or virtually denies, the distinction in the Nicene Creed, “begotten and not made;” when he says, “nothing can be more evident than that God, of His own will, created or generated, or produced the Son before all things;” and again, whilst professing to discard reason in such matters, and to follow the doctrine of Holy Scripture exclusively, he proceeds to insist metaphysically upon the unity of God, and to confine that unity to the nature of the Father. According to this idea, he interprets a number of texts, respecting the union of Christ with the Father, as meaning no more than that the Father and the Son are one in purpose. Milton examines, seriatim, the texts adduced in proof of the absolute Divinity of the Redeemer, and sets them aside one by one, with a calmness only now and then ruffled by a slight breeze of anger—in striking contrast with the Neptune-like storms of controversy which he raises in most of his polemical works. The negative side of his theory of the nature of the Son is sufficiently clear; not so the positive side. He is not a Trinitarian. He is not a Socinian. Is he an Arian? If so, he belongs to the class nearest to orthodoxy, for all which he denies is the co-eternity, and the co-existence of the Son, whilst he expressly attributes to Him, Omnipresence, Omniscience, Omnipotence, and universal Authority, as well as Divine works, and Divine honours. His Editor, Dr. Sumner, remarks, that Milton ascribes to the Son as high a share of Divinity as was compatible with the denial of his self-existence, and eternal generation, his co-equality, and co-essentiality with the Father.[494]

Milton devotes a chapter to the doctrine of predestination, which he defines as being not particular but universal:—none are predestinated or elected irrespectively of character (e.g., Peter is not elected as Peter, or John as John, but inasmuch as they are believers, and continue in their belief); and thus, he says, the general decree of election becomes personally applicable to each particular believer, and is ratified to all who remain steadfast in the faith.

MILTON’S OPINIONS.

Milton’s sympathy with Puritanism appears in his views of redemption, regeneration, repentance, justification, and adoption. In his chapter on saving faith he describes it as a full persuasion produced in us through the gift of God, whereby we believe, on the sole authority of the promise itself, that all things are ours, whatsoever he has promised us in Christ, and especially the grace of eternal life.[495]

The spirit of free inquiry, at a later period, ran into decided Arianism and Socinianism: at the time of which I am now speaking, tendencies in that direction were at work in different quarters. When, under the Commonwealth, Philip Nye said that “to his knowledge the denying of the Divinity of Christ was a growing opinion;”—when Edwards said, it had found an entrance into some of the Independent Churches;—when Owen said, “The evil is at the door, there is not a city, a town, scarce a village in England wherein some of this poison is not poured forth;”—these writers might be under the influence of uncharitableness, or of false alarm—both are common in seasons of excitement—but when Parliament resolved, in the year 1652, to seize and burn all copies of the Racovian Catechism, that fact forces us to conclude that the Catechism must have been in circulation, and that the tenets which it expressed were being propagated.

John Biddle, who under the Commonwealth Government suffered much in consequence of his opinions, may be considered the father of Socinianism. Being a man of blameless life, the persecutions that he underwent awaken our sympathy; and it is highly probable, that the treatment which he received, although intended to reclaim him from his errors, only served to drive him further from orthodoxy. He took high ground as to free inquiry; but professed to exercise it simply in getting at the meaning of Scripture; and he exhorted people “to lay aside for a while, controversial writings, together with those prejudicate opinions that have been instilled into the memory and understanding, and closely to apply themselves to the search of the New Testament.” At first he declared, “I believe, that our Saviour Jesus Christ is truly God, by being truly, really, and properly united to the only Person of the Infinite and Almighty Essence;”—this position, instead of being employed by his opponents as an admission, sufficient to keep him, if consistent, within the bounds of evangelical faith, excited their suspicions, and led to fresh controversy, and fresh persecution. Although he continued to use orthodox language, he made it more and more a vehicle for conveying unorthodox ideas. His opinions and modes of expression are equally peculiar.

For example, one of the positions which he lays down is this:—“I believe that there is One principal Minister of God and Christ, principally sent from heaven to sanctify the Church, who, by reason of His eminency, and intimacy with God, is singled out of the number of the other heavenly ministers, or angels, and comprised in the Holy Trinity, being the third Person thereof, and that this Minister of God and Christ is the Holy Spirit.” Further, he observes, “the Trinity which the Apostle Paul believed, consisteth of One God, One Lord, and One Spirit, but not of three Persons in One God.” And he proceeds even to adduce the usual arguments for the personality of the Holy Spirit:—a doctrine which he admits throughout a singular Tract, published by him at an earlier period.

BIDDLE.

In another article of faith, he avers, “I believe that Jesus Christ, to the intent He might be a brother, and have a fellow-feeling of our infirmities, and so become the more ready to help us (the consideration whereof is the greatest encouragement to piety that can be imagined), hath no other than a human nature; and, therefore, in the very nature, is not only a Person (since none but a human person can be our brother), but also our Lord, yea, our God.”

His use of the word Trinity, which it seems he never dropped, he explains by saying, that the Trinity which the Apostle Peter (Acts ii. 36) believed, consisteth of God the Father, of the Man Jesus Christ our Lord, and of the Holy Spirit, the gift of God through our Lord Jesus Christ.[496]

In Biddle’s Catechism, which John Owen couples with the Racovian, and elaborately answers in his Vindiciæ Evangelicæ,[497] the author so far from explaining away the language of Holy Writ, pushes its literal interpretation, respecting one subject at least, in a very bold, rude fashion, to such an extreme, that he attributes to the Almighty, a bodily and visible shape, with human affections and passions. Consequently, he objected to the terms infinite and incomprehensible, as forms of speech not used in Scripture, and not applicable to the Supreme Being. Tertullian, it may here be noticed, ascribed corporeality to God, but he seems to have meant by it nothing more than substance and personality.[498]

A very different man from Biddle,—one whom from his absurd manner of talking, we should suspect had in him a touch of insanity,—was Daniel Scargill, Fellow of Corpus Christi, Cambridge. In 1669, he formally and publicly, before the University, recanted the following opinions which he had formerly maintained: that all right of dominion is founded only in power—that moral righteousness is based on the law of the Magistrate—that the authority of Scripture rests on the same foundation—that whatsoever the Civil Government commanded is to be obeyed, although it may be contrary to Divine laws, and “that there is a desirable glory in being, and in being reputed an Atheist—which I implied when I expressly affirmed that I gloried to be an Hobbist and an Atheist.” These retractions indicate the previous entertainment of most extraordinary errors.

In the next chapter I shall examine the mysticism of the Quakers before I proceed to the theology of the Puritans.

CHAPTER XVII.

George Fox was the father of Quakerism, but to William Penn belongs the distinction of being the first logical expounder of its principles.

William Penn was the son of Admiral Penn. When only twelve years old he began “to listen to the voice of God in his soul:” and when a student at Oxford he suffered fines and expulsion for his incipient Nonconformity. His father, incensed by these religious peculiarities, turned him into the streets, but this did not in the least degree destroy his convictions; and subsequently, European travel, and education, which it might have been expected would dissipate his impressions, left them as deep as ever, combined with an accession of intelligence, and an acquisition of graceful manners which rendered him the admiration of polite society. He had learned to handle the rapier, with all the skill of a French gentleman, yet he remained imbued with “a deep sense of the vanity of the world, and the irreligiousness of its religions.” “Further,” to use his own language, “God, in His everlasting kindness, guided my feet in the flower of my youth, when about two-and-twenty years of age. Religion is my crime, and my innocence,—it makes me a prisoner to malice, but my own freeman.” When the fashionable world laughed at the rumour of the accomplished William Penn becoming a Quaker, such ridicule did not move his purpose, he only showed more steadfastness of conviction, and avowed his adoption of Quaker habits by going to Court with his hat on. When the Bishop of London menaced him with imprisonment, “My prison shall be my grave,” the youth replied. When Charles sent Stillingfleet to talk with him, the youthful Dissenter, through that Divine, returned an answer to every threat—“The Tower is to me the worst argument in the world.” This was in 1668, the year in which he published his Truth Exalted, or a Testimony to Rulers, Priests, and Bishops; and the same year, and in consequence of this same book, he was actually confined as a prisoner within the gloomy walls of the old Norman fortress, where he remained seven months; and where he wrote his No Cross, No Crown, or Several Sober Reasons against Hat Worship, Titular Respect, You to a single person, with the Apparel and Recreations of the Times, in Defence of the poor despised Quakers, against the practice and objections of their adversaries. The title is modified in later editions.

QUAKERS.—WILLIAM PENN.

The old Admiral paid his son’s fines, and on his deathbed, in altered tones, observed to him, “Son William, if you and your friends keep to your plain way of preaching and living, you will make an end of the priests.” Now possessed of his father’s fortune, he surprised people by his religious eccentricities. “You are an ingenious gentleman,” said a magistrate before whom he was brought, “you have a plentiful estate, why should you render yourself unhappy by associating with such a simple people?” “I prefer,” said he, “the honestly simple to the ingeniously wicked;” this was in 1670, when committed to Newgate, under the Conventicle Act, for preaching to “a riotous and seditious assembly,”—that is to say, for preaching to a company of Friends, who met for worship in the open-air; and from Newgate, he addressed to Parliament and the people of England, a plea for liberty of conscience, saying, if the efforts of the Quakers cannot obtain “the olive branch of toleration, we bless the providence of God, resolving by patience to outweary persecution, and by our constant sufferings, to obtain a victory, more glorious than our adversaries can achieve by their cruelties.”[499]

These incidents in his early life were obviously connected with his religious opinions. Far less imbued with the element of mysticism than was the founder of the sect, this eminent disciple appears no less earnest in the advocacy of his opinions; and he works them out with a facility of reasoning, a compass of knowledge, and a force and glow of diction, in which the reader cannot but recognize, in connection with his natural ability, the fruits of his Oxford culture. A comparison between the writings of Fox and Penn, as it regards mental peculiarities, is interesting and instructive, showing the original and creative genius of the one, and the effect of academical training upon the other: in the enjoyment of a spiritual education, not of this world, they were much alike.

The fundamental principle of Quaker theology is found in the doctrine of the inward light; and to the exposition and establishment of that doctrine, William Penn devotes himself in his work, entitled The Christian a Quaker (1674). He explains the light as being not something metaphorical, nor yet the mere spirit or reason of man, but Christ, “that glorious Sun of Righteousness and heavenly luminary of the intellectual or invisible world, represented of all outward resemblances, most exactly by the great sun of this sensible and visible world; that as this natural light ariseth upon all, and gives light to all about the affairs of this life, so that Divine light ariseth upon all and gives light to all that will receive the manifestations of it about the concerns of the other life.” That light manifests sin, and reveals duty. It saved from Adam’s day, through the holy patriarchs’ and prophets’ time down to Christ; amongst the Jews as proved from Scripture, amongst the Gentiles, as proved from their own literature. Under this division, Penn quotes largely from the Stromata of Clement of Alexandria, adopting his quotations as genuine and trustworthy. The primitive Fathers expressed themselves in accordance with this doctrine; and amongst the heathen there were men of virtuous lives, who taught the indispensableness of virtue to life eternal. The author contends that the latter foresaw the coming of Christ, and curiously adds, that their refusing to swear proves the sufficiency of the inward light.[500] In the support of these opinions, Penn appeals to the authority of Scripture, and employs a large amount of general reasoning.

QUAKERS.—WILLIAM PENN.

Although the inward light be the rule,[501] Holy Scripture is a rule, and one authoritative and binding on those who possess it. Hence, whilst ever appealing to reason in his theological arguments, Penn habitually refers to Scripture as an inspired revelation from God, of great importance in determining religious controversy. The distinction which he makes, and the place which he assigns to the Bible had better be given in his own words:—“A rule, and the rule are two things. By the rule of faith and practice I understand the living, spiritual, immediate, Omnipresent, discovering, ordering Spirit of God; and by a rule I apprehend some instrument, by and through which, this great and universal rule may convey its directions. Such a subordinate, secondary, and declaratory rule, we never said several parts of Scripture were not, yet we confess the reason of our obedience is not merely because they are there written (for that were legal) but because they are the eternal precepts of the Spirit in men’s consciences, there repeated and declared.”[502] This is the key which unlocks Penn’s theological system; and it is remarkable, how the controversy between the old Quakers and their contemporaries, turned mainly upon a question, agitated in the present day by thinkers very unlike the Quakers in many respects.

The two rules thus defined were regarded by this writer as requiring the rejection of the Anglican doctrine of the Trinity, and of the Puritan doctrines respecting Christ’s Atonement, as a satisfaction offered to God, and respecting the imputation of Christ’s righteousness.[503]

In consequence of what he said touching the Trinity, Penn was charged with not believing in the Divinity of Christ, and indeed was sent to prison on that account; but he clearly avows in his apology, entitled, Innocency with her Open Face, that Christ is God; for, he observes, if none can save or be properly styled a Saviour, but God, and yet Christ is said to save, and is properly called a Saviour, it must needs follow that Christ the Saviour is God. The strongest passage I have noticed in the writings of Penn in relation to the atonement is the following:—“That as there was a necessity that ‘One should die for the people,’ so, whoever, then or since, believed in Him, had and have a seal or confirmation of the remission of their sins in His blood; and that blood—alluding to the custom of the Jewish sacrifices—shall be an utter blotting out of former iniquities, carrying them as into a land of forgetfulness.”

The prominence which this Quaker Divine justly gave to the truth, that Christ saves from sin, is not associated with such ideas of justification as accord with Puritan standards. According to his own view, holiness is an integral part of that justification, which he seems to identify with man’s entire salvation.[504]

Penn, no doubt, misunderstood both Anglicans and Puritans, and in some cases his disputes turned very much upon the meaning of words, yet no one who attentively studies his works, can help seeing that there were real and momentous differences between the Quakers and their fellow Christians. Quakers, absorbed by their inward experiences, did not attach the importance which is due to the historical and dogmatic instructions of the sacred volume. Not that Quakers denied what is historical, but they often, like early mystical expositors—Origen, for example—overlaid it with fanciful meanings. Not that they neglected all dogmatic teaching, but they failed to bring out clearly some of the truths revealed in the New Testament, especially in the writings of the Apostle Paul. The bright side of Quakerism lies in the marked elevation of the moral above the intellectual, of the spiritual above the formal, of the Divine above the human, of the work of God above the work of man: and it is as a corollary from the master principle of the whole system, the principle of the inner light, rather than as a deduction from reason or from expediency, or even from Scripture, that there is contained in Quaker literature such a distinct enunciation of men’s right, universally, to the freedom of religious speech and of religious worship.[505]

QUAKERS.—WILLIAM PENN.

Liberty, in William Penn’s estimation, was identical with Christianity. Persecution he held to be thoroughly anti-Christian. Judging people by their conduct, not by their creed, esteeming meekness and charity as fruits of the Spirit, inseparable from true religion, he looked upon all persecutors, whether Churchmen or Separatists, whether sound or heterodox, as alienated from their Maker, and as enemies to their race.[506]

William Penn had an opportunity such as no other person amongst the authors we are now describing ever possessed, of testing his theory of religion and morals.

After travelling with George Fox over the Continent upon religious service, and after finding all hopes of liberty crushed at home, Penn in 1681 resolved to cross the Atlantic, and in America to realize the bright dreams which had entertained his imagination from a boy—dreams of “a free Colony for all mankind.” He landed on the banks of the Delaware, to try “the holy experiment.” Tradition tells of his receiving the enfeoffment of the territory, by delivery of earth and water to him, as he stood surrounded by Swedes, Dutch, and English, in the Court House of the Colonial town of Newcastle; and of his ascending the river, fringed with pine trees, to the spot where was to rise the City of Philadelphia, and of his treaty with the Indians under the autumn-tinted elm tree of Shakamaxon. “We meet,” he said to his new neighbours, the red-complexioned children of the forest, “on the broad pathway of good faith and good will, no advantage shall be taken on either side, but all shall be openness and love. I will not call you children, for parents sometimes chide their children too severely; nor brothers only, for brothers differ. The friendship between you and me, I will not compare to a chain, for that the rains might rust, or the falling tree might break. We are the same, as if one man’s body were to be divided into two parts, we are all one flesh and blood.” Never had there been in the wild regions of the earth such colonizing as that before. “We will live,” said the red men, “in love with William Penn and his children, as long as the moon and the sun shall endure.” God was the sole witness of that covenant. Its only memorials were the strings of wampun which these covenanters hung up in their huts, and the shells they counted over upon a piece of bark; yet whilst other treaties amongst civilized Europeans have been torn into shreds as soon as they have been sealed, this has remained inviolate. “We have done better,” could the Colonists say, “than if, with the proud Spaniards, we had gained the mines of Potosi. We may make the ambitious heroes whom the world admires, blush for their shameful victories. To the poor dark souls round about us we teach their rights as men.” Penn visited the natives in their cabins, partook of their roasted acorns, laughed and played with the frolicksome, and spoke to them of God. “The poor savage people believed in God, and the soul, without the aid of metaphysics.”

The infant city, the Philadelphia, which in 1683 “consisted of three or four little cottages,” grew and spread, hollow trees were succeeded by houses. The chestnut, the walnut, and the ash were cut down for the use of the emigrants, roads were made, boys and girls played in the streets of this new Jerusalem, and the kindly-hearted Quaker, with his genial good-humoured face, with his broad-brimmed hat, his long neckcloth, and his drab attire, might be seen patting their heads with fatherly love.

William Penn, as a theologian, wrote books. William Penn, as a Christian philanthropist and statesman, did a work which surpassed his books. “How happy must be a community instituted on their principles,” said Peter the Great, speaking of the Quakers. “Beautiful,” cried Frederic the Great; “it is perfect, if it can endure.” It has endured.

QUAKERS.—BARCLAY.

Robert Barclay, a Scotch Friend, the son of Colonel David Barclay, of an ancient family, and of Catherine Gordon, of the ducal house of that name, published his famous Apology in 1676, two years after Penn had published The Christian a Quaker. With nothing like the flowing style of his English contemporary, he had a more robust understanding, a keener conception of what he meant to say, a still more logical method of treatment, and, without any show of learning, perhaps he had a deeper amount of scholarship, obtained during his education and residence in France. Barclay affords the student a great advantage wanting in Penn; whereas, in the case of Penn, we have to search through several treatises, extending to five volumes, in order to ascertain the beliefs which he inculcated, in Barclay they are brought together in their proper relation and proportions, and are compactly yet fully expressed. A remarkable coincidence of opinion appears between the two writers, although the intimacy between them does not seem to have commenced until after Barclay had written his Apology.

He strikes the same key-note as does his friend. The inward light is the true foundation of knowledge, and the Scriptures are not to be esteemed the principal ground of truth and knowledge, the primary rule of faith and manners. He maintains that there is universal redemption by Christ, and that the saving spiritual light enlighteneth every man. Christ is in all men a supernatural light or seed, beyond reason, above conscience, Vehiculum Dei: yet there is a great difference between Christ in the wicked, and Christ in the saints. He is quenched and crucified in the one; He is cherished and obeyed in the other.[507]

QUAKERS.—BARCLAY.

Barclay speaks of an outward redemption wrought for man by Christ in His crucified body, whereby we are made capable of salvation, and of an inward redemption wrought within us by the Spirit of Christ. “The first,” he says, “is the redemption performed and accomplished by Christ for us, in His crucified body, without us; the other is the redemption wrought by Christ in us, which no less properly is called and accounted a redemption than the former. The first, then, is that whereby a man as he stands in the fall, is put into a capacity of salvation, and hath conveyed unto him a measure of that power, virtue, spirit, life, and grace, that was in Christ Jesus, which, as the free gift of God, is able to counterbalance, overcome, and root out the evil seed, wherewith we are naturally, as in the fall, leavened. The second is that whereby we witness and know this pure and perfect redemption in ourselves, purifying, cleansing, and redeeming us from the power of corruption, and bringing us into unity, favour, and friendship with God. By the first of these two, we that were lost in Adam are so far reconciled to God by the death of His Son, while enemies, that we are put into a capacity of salvation, having the glad tidings of the Gospel of peace offered unto us; and God is reconciled unto us in Christ. By the second, we witness this capacity brought into act; whereby receiving, and not resisting, the purchase of His death, to wit, the light, Spirit, and grace of Christ revealed in us, we witness and possess, a real, true, and inward redemption from the power and prevalency of sin; and so come to be truly and really redeemed, justified, and made righteous, and to a sensible union and friendship with God. Thus He died for us, that He might redeem us from all iniquity; and thus we know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being made conformable to His death. This last follows the first in order, and is a consequence of it, proceeding from it, as an effect from its cause; for, as none could have enjoyed the last, without the first had been (such being the will of God); so also can none now partake of the first, but as he witnesseth the last. Wherefore, as to us, they are both causes of our justification; the first the procuring efficient, the other the formal cause.”[508]

Although in Barclay’s proposition concerning justification, he seems verbally to distinguish between that privilege and holiness of character, yet he really confounds them together. Nor does he scruple to style good works meritorious “in a qualified sense.” He takes care, however, distinctly to ascribe human salvation to the merit of the Lord Jesus Christ. In another proposition, he expresses his faith in perfection, defining it as a freedom from actual sinning, yet admitting a growth of goodness which, however, involves a possibility of sin.[509] The Calvinistic doctrine of perseverance he distinctly denies; and in the remainder of the treatise he unfolds the well-known Quaker views concerning the ministry, Divine worship, the sacraments, the power of the magistrate, and social intercourse.

There is remarkable breadth in the Quaker scheme of theology, it has singular affinities to other systems; and hence, in addition to its inherent amiable and loving spirit—which from the beginning rose above its fierce antagonism to existing Churches—the hold it has frequently gained upon the sympathies of Christians of different communions. Its relationship to all mystical forms of Christianity is obvious at a glance. Not less real is the resemblance between it and certain aspects of Latitudinarianism on the one side, and of Anglicanism on the other. The Quaker, like the Latitudinarian, dwells chiefly on the moral and spiritual side of the Gospel, eschews dogmatical teaching, sees a heavenly Teacher in every human soul, and looks for religious instruction beyond what written texts convey. He also, like the Anglican, treats Scripture as insufficient, taken alone; it is to both a rule, a supreme rule, but not the only one. The Quaker finds in his own breast the supplemental voice which the Anglican seeks in the ancient Church.

There were at that period other Mystics besides the Quakers. Indeed, our English theological literature of the seventeenth century is much richer in sentiment, speculation, and imagery of this kind, than many well-informed persons suppose.

OTHER MYSTICS.—SALTMARSH.

John Saltmarsh’s “Sparkles of Glory, or some beams of the Morning Star, wherein are many discoveries as to truth and peace, to the establishment and pure enlargement of a Christian in spirit and truth,” is a book of considerable power, written in a compact and lucid style, such as one rarely finds in works of this description. The author—without condemning water baptism, or the divers organized ministries of the Churches, or the institutes of Episcopacy, Presbyterianism, and Independency, as the Quakers were wont to do, but rather counting them as mere forms, full of weakness and defect, yet to be tolerated, as having subordinate and preparatory uses—dwells chiefly upon the passage from lower ministrations to higher, and expatiates with much delight upon the mystery of true Christian liberty from God, upon the glorious discoveries of the Spirit to the soul, and upon the revelation of Christ in us. The history of Christ’s life and death, with the new relationships in which those stupendous events place mankind to the Divine Being, and the grand doctrines embodied in the ancient Church creeds, are little, if at all, noticed in this mystical treatise. Religion is resolved entirely into the experience of a spiritual life. Personal responsibility, moral obligation, and individual duties, are not the subjects which attract the writer’s attention, his one chief idea throughout being, that the Christian soul is the passive, quiet, trustful recipient of grace and love. The highest prayer is a spiritual revelation. “All that we pray—and not the Spirit of God in us, not that spirit of prayer spoken of in Scripture—is but the spirit of man praying, which is but the cry of the creature, or a natural complaining for what we want, as the Ninevites, and the children and beasts of that city, all cried unto the Lord.” “That which is the pure, spiritual, comprehensive principle of a Christian is this:—That all outward administrations, whether as to religion, or to natural, civil, and moral things, are only the visible appearances of God, as to the world, or in this creation; or the clothing of God, being such forms and dispensations as God puts on amongst men to appear to them in: this is the garment the Son of God was clothed with down to the feet, or to His lowest appearance. And God doth not fix Himself upon any one form or outward dispensation, but at His own will and pleasure comes forth in such and such an administration, and goes out of it, and leaves it, and takes up another. And this is clear in all God’s proceedings with the world, both in the Jewish Church and State, and Christians now. And when God is gone out, and hath left such or such an administration, of what kind soever it is, be it religious, moral, or civil, such an administration is a desolate house, a temple whose veil is rent, a sun whose light is darkened; and to worship it then, is to worship an idol, an image, a form, without God, or any manifestation of God in it, save to him who (as Paul saith) knows an idol to be nothing. The pure, spiritual, comprehensive Christian, is one who grows up with God from administration to administration, and so walks with God in all his removes and spiritual increasings and flowings; and such are weak and in the flesh who tarry behind, worshipping that form or administration out of which God is departed.”[510]

OTHER MYSTICS.—STERRY.

Peter Sterry, one of Cromwell’s chaplains, is described as “a high-flown mystical Divine.” After being first much abused and then long neglected, he has of late been named with honour in high literary quarters. The Rise, Race, and Royalty of the Kingdom of God in the Soul of Man, is a publication in which the characteristics of the author’s mind and teaching may be fully seen. It consists of a series of sermons upon the words, “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven;” the rise to the kingdom being conversion, the race to the kingdom being a life like that of little children, and the royalty itself being composed of the two states of present grace and future glory. The practice of minutely dividing and subdividing a discourse, until it becomes a thing of shreds and patches, is pushed in this instance to an intolerable extreme; and the breaking up of sentences into distinct paragraphs, with the carrying on of different sets of numbers from page to page, render the perusal of the book a tremendous task. Upon reading it, I find that the mysticism which it exhibits is of another order than that found in the pages of Saltmarsh. The substance of Saltmarsh’s thought is saturated with the spirit of mysticism, the whole nature and scope of his theology is mystical from head to foot; but the mysticism of Sterry strikes one as pertaining more to his imaginative forms of conception and modes of expression than to anything else. His doctrines of conversion and of religious life, of Christian experience, duty, and hope, are of the usual evangelical type, but his ideas are ever dressed in mystical phraseology. He quotes texts of Scripture in abundance, and then commonly runs out into some strain of allegorical interpretation. I will quote one passage, which, whilst a specimen of his style, is more than ordinarily impregnated with mysticism in the substance of the thought:—

“God comes into our nature, as the root of each single person. Here He becomes our Jesus, making Himself a new seed; out of this seed He brings forth a new image of Divinity, by which He breaks through the image of the devil and nature, brings forth man out of them, brings them into subjection to this growing beauty. As the fuel is dissolved into smoke, and the smoke again breaks up into flame, so the image of the devil riseth up out of the image of nature, shaking that to dust, as it riseth: the image of God, again, sprouts forth in the midst of the devil’s image, first spoiling, then triumphing over, and in both.

“God through nature, as the root, grows up into single persons, as the branches. Then as the shades of night fly away before the ascending day, so,—as this Divine seed our Jesus sends forth itself in an image of beauty through our souls,—the image of darkness and death sinks down into its own place, and principle.”[511]

To Sterry’s book on The Kingdom of God an introduction is prefixed, written by Jeremy White, who had been chaplain to Oliver Cromwell, and who lived in private after the Restoration, preaching but occasionally. White sympathized in the mysticism of Sterry, and, in the following beautiful passage, uttered truths well worth the serious consideration of all spiritually-minded people, especially of those who are disposed to undervalue, perhaps to ridicule, thoughts imbued with mystic elements:—

“Who among us is yet able to comprehend all the distinct ages and growths of good minds; to understand the various improvements, measures, and attainments, the several capacities, languages, and operations which are peculiar to those ages and growths? It is impossible for us to set the bounds to spiritual things, to stint that spirit in ourselves or others which is a fountain of Divine light and life in all regenerated souls, continually sending forth new streams, and running along with a fresh succession of waters without any stop or limit. We are too proud to understand the condescensions, too low to take the height, too shallow to fathom the depth, too narrow to measure the breadth, too short to reach the length of the Divine truth and goodness, and the various communications of themselves to us. We cannot assign the highest or the lowest state of saints whilst they are here below. We cannot say, All above this is fancy, whimsey, dream, and delusion; all below that is common, carnal, formal, and superstitious. As we ought not, then, to despise and contemn that which is below, so let us not censure and condemn that which is above us. Blessed be God, all good souls, in the midst of their greatest distances from one another here below, do all meet in the Divine comprehension above. We are all enfolded in the Divine arms, we are all encircled in the Divine love. That has breadth, and length, and depth, and height enough to reach and hold us all. And if we cannot yet receive and embrace each other in our several ages, growths, measures, and attainments, it is because we have little, low, dark, narrow, and contracted hearts, feel but little of the love of Christ, and are no more filled with that Spirit which is the spring, the centre, the circle, the band to all good spirits in heaven and on earth.”

Jeremy White was a follower of Origen in his views of the ultimate safety and happiness of the whole universe, and he wrote a book,—published after his death,—the title of which sums up his theory: he calls it “The Restoration of all Things, or a vindication of the goodness and grace of God, to be manifested at last, in the recovery of the whole creation out of their fall.”

OTHER MYSTICS.—SIR HENRY VANE.

Sir Henry Vane is numbered amongst English Mystics, but he was more of the mystical philosopher than the mystical theologian, and the same may be said, to some extent, of Henry More; but the profession of the latter, as a clergyman, naturally directed his attention to Divinity properly so called, and how his mystical views influenced his religious life and character, will be shown in a subsequent portion of this volume.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The proofs of Christianity were noticed by Anglican Divines. Embedded in the rich quarry of Jeremy Taylor’s Ductor Dubitantium, may be found an able and eloquent summary of the external and internal evidences; and Hammond, in his Reasonableness of Christian Religion, points out the ground upon which men embrace it “in the gross, all of it together,” after which he descends in detail to the survey and vindication of those particular branches of Christianity which appeared to men at that time to be least supported. And it may be mentioned, as an illustration of the changing fashions of scepticism, that the points here considered by Hammond were—objections to God’s disposition of providence, founded on the prosperity of injustice and the calamities of innocence; and the exceptions taken to Christ’s commands because He enjoins the duty of taking up the cross—points which certainly would not engross the attention of Christian advocates in the present day.

PURITAN WORKS ON EVIDENCES.

The evidences of our holy religion were more largely discussed by writers of the Latitudinarian school, as already described; and they also received pre-eminent attention from Puritan authors. Authors of that class were amongst the first keenly to discern the signs of the times in the direction of scepticism, amongst the first to combat the rising evil. Devoted to the study of the Sacred Volume, they also devoted themselves to the examination of the basis of its Divine claims. One reason why the Cambridge and Puritan Divines paid more attention to this branch of study might be, that they thought so much more of Christianity than of the Church, so much more of the former as a system of truth, than of the latter as a scheme of government; and further, which is only another particular effect of the same general cause, they were under the influence of an individualizing power, which is one of the secrets of Protestantism, and which makes each person feel so strongly his own responsibility for the creed which he adopts. In this respect especially, the Puritan differed from the Anglican, who might be said to receive his Christianity from the Church, rather than his Church from Christianity.

Two distinguished Puritan writers exhibit the proofs of natural religion,—and two others the proofs of revealed religion.

Cudworth’s great work was published in 1678; but nine years before that time, Theophilus Gale presented to the world treatises containing arguments against atheism. The Court of the Gentiles—as the expansion of the title shows—is “a discourse touching the original of human literature, both philology and philosophy, from the Scriptures and Jewish Church, in order to a demonstration of the perfection of God’s Word and Church light, the imperfection of nature’s light, and mischief of vain philosophy, the right use of human learning, and especially, sound philosophy.” The title-page describes and exhibits the whole work as a defence of religion. The author’s idea is that the philosophy of the ancients, so far as it is true, constitutes an outer court, leading to the Holy of Holies in the Word of God. All which is valuable in classic writings, according to Gale, had been derived from the chosen people. Pagan ignorance and folly arose from the obstinacy of the human mind in forsaking Divine oracles. The inventiveness of the human intellect added to the mischief, and the degradation of the heathen, proves the need of the Gospel. In this frame-work of evidence, built up in four parts, Gale inserts one book—the second of the fourth part upon Atheism, and the existence of the Deity, in which,—professedly following Plato, but often adding much to the force of his master’s reasoning,—he demonstrates the being of a God from universal consent—from a subordination of second causes to the first, from a prime Motor; from the order of the universe; from the connate idea of God in the soul; and from moral arguments founded upon conscience and a natural sense of religion. In his reasoning he anticipates Cudworth, and will bear honourable comparison with his great successor.

PURITAN WORKS ON EVIDENCES.

The first part of Howe’s Living Temple appeared in 1676. In it he proves the “existence of God and His conversableness with men.” His first argument is the same as Gale’s,[512] the consent of mankind; but Howe does not appear to be indebted to his predecessor for this mode of treating his subject. Common consent, Howe extends from God’s existence to God’s conversableness,—in other words, to religious worship; he quotes from Plutarch in proof of its universality, it being characteristic of the age to cite an ancient classic in proof of a statement of fact, which we should test by our own experience and observation. Howe anticipates the Demonstration contrived by Samuel Clarke, and engages in a strain of reasoning beyond that of either Gale or Cudworth.[513] He argues that since something exists now, something must always have existed, unless we admit, that at one period or another, something sprung out of nothing. When he proceeds to prove the intelligence of this Eternal and uncaused Being, he enters upon the à posteriori path, which Gale and Cudworth, and indeed the ancients, traversed to some extent, but in which the moderns have gone so far beyond them. It is worthy of remark, that the ingenious reference of Paley to a watch, as illustrating the indication of design in nature is found in Howe; and to him also belongs the credit of including among the proofs of Divine purpose, the constitution of the human mind, as well as the organization of matter,—a department in natural theology the neglect of which by many was lamented by Lord Brougham. I may add, that when Howe demands of the atheist, whether, if he will reject all the preceding evidence for the existence of God, there are any conceivable methods by which the fact of the Divine existence could be certified,—he opens another spring of thought on this subject, as original as it is profound. After establishing the truth of the Divine existence, Howe resumes his argument for the Divine conversableness; and after ingeniously overthrowing the Epicurean theory, he deduces from what he has said, that God is such a Being as can converse with men, and he asserts His omniscience, His omnipotence, His immensity, and His unlimited goodness.

There is another work by John Howe of singular eloquence—The Vanity of Man as Mortal—in which the author suggests arguments for the soul’s immortality, of a kind which only occur to minds of a superior order. The works just noticed relate to natural religion.

John Owen and Richard Baxter wrote upon the evidences of revealed religion.

In 1659, the former published The Divine Original of the Scriptures. He bases his argument chiefly on the light and efficacy of Divine truth,—a branch of reasoning too much neglected in after times, but vigorously renewed in our own day. Light, from its very nature, he says, not only makes other things visible, but itself manifest. So Scripture has a self-evidencing power, a power beyond that of miracles. And as there are innate arguments in the Bible of its Divine original and authority, so also it exerts an influence which confirms those arguments. Owen’s forms of expression suffice to show that, whilst as to the points and bearing of his arguments, he anticipates modern turns of thought, the details of his logic bear an unmistakeably Puritan impress. But he passes out of the range of evidence into the domains of dogmatic theology, when he proceeds to dwell upon the conviction of the Bible being the Word of God as the result of a twofold efficacy of the Spirit—that efficacy consisting in a Divine communication of spiritual light, enabling the mind to discern the majesty and authority of Revelation, and also in the Divine inspiration of a sense or taste for the truths revealed.[514]

PURITAN WORKS ON EVIDENCES.

Owen, in his book upon The Holy Spirit, published at a later period, speaks of the nature of inspiration as not leaving the sacred writers to “the use of their natural faculties, their minds or memories, to understand, and remember the things spoken by Him, and so declare them to others. But He himself acted [upon] their faculties, making use of them to express His words, not their own conceptions.” This Divine reduces the modes of revelation mentioned in Scripture to three heads—voices, dreams, and visions, with the accidental adjuncts of symbolical actions and local imitations.[515]

Owen wrote his defence of revelation in the year 1659, before the end of the Commonwealth;—at a still earlier period in 1655, when Oliver Cromwell was on the throne, before any of the authors now mentioned had published a word upon the subject, Richard Baxter produced his Unreasonableness of Infidelity. It is thrown into the form of the Spirit’s witness to the truth of Christianity, so far reminding us of John Owen’s later work. Baxter, however, assigns a much higher place to the evidential force of miracles than did his contemporary; and, instead of dwelling upon the Spirit’s influence, in and through the Holy Scriptures, he resolves the Spirit’s witness into the miraculous operations of the first age. Baxter proceeds to show that the evangelists did not deceive the world, but that they published undoubted truths,—and that we have received their writings without any considerable corruption. Having gone thus far in a path much trodden since, he strangely turns aside to insist upon the doctrine of everlasting punishment, and to explain the nature of the sin against the Holy Ghost. He then refers to tradition, to the creed, to church ordinances, to the succession of religion, to the preservation of MSS., to the writings of Divines, to the laws of the Roman Empire, and the like, as evidences of the history of the New Testament. He writes, in rather a vague and confused way, upon a subject afterwards elaborated by Lardner and Paley, but to him belongs the distinction of having first entered this new field. He grapples with the objection to miracles, but not as Campbell afterwards did. The ground he takes somewhat resembles that of Bishop Douglas, when the Bishop compares with the miracles of Scripture, those recorded by Augustine and other Fathers.

Baxter’s treatise did not satisfy its author; and, in 1667, he added Reasons for the Christian Religion. In this book, he treats of religion, both natural and supernatural, describing man as “a living wight having an active power, an understanding to guide it, and a will to command it,”—and pointing out the relations in which he stands to the Creator, as his Owner, his Governor, and his Benefactor. The difficulties of religious duty, a future life of retribution, the intrinsical evils and righteous penalties of sin, the present miserable state of the world, and the mercy of God, all come within the scope of Baxter’s observations, and are presented in the light of nature and of reason. In the second part the Author points out the need of Revelation, refers to the several religions existing in the world, illustrates the nature and “congruities” of Christianity, and proves the Divine mission of our Lord, by prophecy, by His character, by His miracles, and by His renovation of men. Confirmatory proofs, and collateral arguments follow, touching the historical grounds on which we believe in miracles, and unfolding certain curious considerations which tend to show that the world is not eternal.

The extrinsical and intrinsical difficulties of the Christian faith, altogether amounting to the number of forty, are resolved seriatim, and the refutation is extended over nearly one hundred pages, concluding with a long and devout address to the Deity—somewhat after the manner of Augustine’s confessions—in which the Puritan Presbyter pours out his soul in strains not less devout and eloquent than those of the patristic Bishop.

PURITAN WORKS ON EVIDENCES.

In 1672 Baxter returned to the subject, and published More Reasons for the Christian Religion and No Reason against it, in which he answers the De Veritate[516] of Lord Herbert, the first of our English deistical writers. The author dedicates his work to Sir Henry Herbert, a relative of the philosopher, and makes a graceful allusion to Sir Henry’s brother,—the “excellently holy, as well as learned and ingenious,” Mr. George Herbert. Baxter also wrote two treatises on the Immortality of man’s soul, the nature of it, and of other spirits. And also a most singular production, entitled, “The certainty of the world of spirits fully evinced by unquestionable histories of apparitions, and witchcraft’s operations, voices, &c.—proving the immortality of souls, the malice and misery of devils, and the damned, and the blessedness of the justified—written for the conviction of Sadducees and Infidels.” This treatise was not printed until the year 1691—a short time before Baxter’s death,—but its illustrations and arguments are akin to those which, forty years earlier, he had introduced into his incomparable Saint’s Everlasting Rest.

Baxter leads the van of the great army of our Christian Apologists as they have been infelicitously termed. The armour which the veteran wore was made after the fashion of the times—the weapons which he wielded, and which he had forged, are some of them not such as would be serviceable now, and all of them, as used by him, are unsuited to our methods of defence; his wisdom also, it must be admitted, was occasionally defective in his modes of attack, yet no small honour is due to the man who was the first to enter the lists in English literature against the infidelity of his day.

PURITAN THEOLOGY.

Turning to the doctrinal views of the Puritan school, I shall first notice certain points of resemblance between them and the opinions of Anglican Divines. The former, as well as the latter, insisted upon the doctrines of the Trinity, the Deity of our Lord, and the Divinity and personality of the Holy Spirit—nor could any disciple of the Nicene faith more firmly hold the eternal generation of the Son of God than did some of them.[517] Also, they firmly held the doctrine of original sin. At the same time, in common with the Low Church or Latitudinarian writers, they eschewed appeals to the Fathers as invested with any special authority, adopting more or less a spirit of free inquiry which gradually led some of them to relax a little their doctrinal strictness; and they went beyond their last-mentioned contemporaries in anti-sacerdotal and anti-sacramental views. They present marked characteristics of their own. They all appeal to the Scriptures, not only as the supreme, but as the exclusively accessible tribunal to which theological controversy could be brought; yet, it should be noticed in passing, that many of them studied patristic literature with great diligence, especially certain portions in harmony with their own opinions and tastes. There is also this peculiarity attaching to them as a class, that they do not, as Thorndike, work out a covenant of grace founded upon baptism,[518]—although they occasionally allude to that sacrament in a way which is surprising to some of their descendants; nor did they, as Jackson, as Heylyn, as Pearson, or as Barrow, follow the creeds of the Church in their theological inquiries. Baxter especially valued the Apostles’ Creed, but Puritan Divines did not adopt that, or any other of the ancient symbols, as a formula for the order of their own thoughts. Not that they broke away altogether from the habit of beginning with God the Great Cause, and descending to man His creature, subject, and fallen child; not that they adopted an à posteriori method, beginning with man as a degenerate and guilty being, and rising up to God whom man has offended, and who alone can be the Author of his salvation,—a method which is adopted by some theological thinkers of our own time. In commencing their systematic ideas of theology with God, and coming down to man, the Puritans followed the traditional order of studious thoughtfulness upon such high themes. Goodwin resolved all Divine knowledge into the knowledge of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost; but still it was not to the Creed as a textual authority, it was not to its clauses, one by one, that he or any of his brethren referred, as direction posts along the sacred way. Their wont was to select some one principle as a centre, and then to cluster round it kindred theological ideas, the various parts being woven into one harmonious whole. In this respect, they differed both from Anglicans and from Latitudinarians, who were not accustomed to the use of such a graduated scale of doctrine, who did not attach to what are termed Evangelical truths, so much relative importance. Certainly, the themes which the Puritans most devoutly cherished, were not those to which either Anglicans or Latitudinarians chiefly turned. Puritan theology, because it is more experimental than Anglican theology,—because it deals more with the spiritual consciousness of Divine relations, with the position and acts of the human soul towards the Divine Lord and Redeemer,—is thought by some to be less dogmatic than Anglican theology; by which is meant, that it deals less with those Divine fundamental facts, which are distinctly recognized in the Creeds, and which, whether men believe them or not, are absolute and unchangeable realities. But this apprehension is a mistake. Puritanism, indeed, does insist much upon what is experimental and practical in theology; it looks at Divine persons, at their attributes and dispensations in reference to man’s wants, and character, and conduct; it treats revelation rather as a light to walk by, than as a light to look at,—which is wise—but it does not throw into a distance, it does not place on the remote horizon of its view the doctrines respecting Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, taught in the Scriptures, and upheld by the early Church.

PURITAN THEOLOGY.

The Puritans broke with the Anglicans—not upon the doctrines of the Creeds, but upon other points. They broke with them as Reformers had broken with Romanists on the question—What are the true means of grace? Clerical orders and sacraments, said the Church of Rome. Apostolical succession and sacraments, said the Anglican Church of England; but the Anglican Church of England controverted the doctrine of the Church of Rome as to the number, the nature, the form and the efficacy of the sacraments. The Puritans went much further than the Anglicans in this direction, and denied the Anglican views of the ministry and the sacraments. The Anglican watchwords were,—orders, sacraments, faith, grace. The Puritan watchwords were—the Bible, grace, truth, faith. Both parties believed that men are saved by grace through faith; but the one connected the salvation chiefly with sacraments, the other with truth.

In considering the theology of the Puritans, we ought carefully to notice differences amongst them, and I shall therefore subdivide them into three classes—the Calvinistic, the Arminian, and the Intermediate. I begin with the Calvinists, and shall select Thomas Goodwin and John Owen.

The influence exerted by Perkins and other Puritan teachers and friends in the University of Cambridge upon the mind of Goodwin when a student, his remarkable conversion, the effect of his residence in Holland, and of his association there, with Dutch Divines, and with “English Dissenting brethren,” are visible in his opinions. Three main stand-points come out sharply in the phases of Goodwin’s theology.

The first is Faith. In his treatise on that subject he discusses (1) the object of faith, including the mercies in God’s nature, the Person and work of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the riches of free grace as declared and proposed in the Gospel covenant; (2) the acts of faith in the understanding, the affections and the will, respecting which he distinguishes between justifying faith in general, and the faith of assurance; and (3) the properties of faith, its excellence and use—good works, he says, so far from being slighted by the exaltation of belief, are really promoted in a pre-eminent degree by the influence of that principle. It is apparent at once, that in this way a complete scheme of theology is arranged with faith for a pivot on which the entire circle of thought is made to move. Accordingly, we find introduced into this elaborate treatise, nearly, if not quite, all the doctrines comprised within the writer’s evangelical creed. There are abundant descriptions of faith, of what it is, and of what it does, but we do not discover any compact definition of it in any part of the volume. Goodwin alludes to it as sealed in the understanding, in the heart, and in the will,—a description which might seem comprehensive enough to take in all which Thorndike or Bull has advanced on the subject; but Goodwin’s way of working out the idea is very different from theirs, and whilst they are chiefly intent upon preserving the interests of Christian morality, he, although not neglectful of them, is principally engaged in exalting the glories of sovereign grace. According to his theology, faith is commanded by God, it influences all the graces—but it is the meanest and lowest of them all, and it is merely and altogether a passive principle. It should be carefully noticed, as amongst the marked features of Goodwin’s teaching:—not, however, peculiar to him, but common to Puritan Divines—that although he enumerates many objects of faith, by far the most prominent one is Christ Himself, as the great propitiation for sin.[519]

GOODWIN.

Another stand-point of Goodwin’s is Election. He argues for the necessity of this—saying, that without it “Christ had died in vain, and not saved a man,” and had been in heaven alone to lament that He had come short in this work. Goodwin dwells upon the order of God’s decrees touching election and reprobation, and upon the end to which the elect are ordained, even a supernatural union with God, and the communication of Himself to their souls. The infinity of God’s electing grace is a special theme of this writer’s meditations, in which, amongst other points most repulsive to moderate Calvinists, he insists upon a vast disproportion between the elect and the rest—rejoicing not, as one would suppose, in the thought, that the saved immensely outnumber the lost, but in the thought, that the paucity of men who enjoy any privilege magnifies it the more. He speaks of the infinite number of those laid aside in a fallen condition, in comparison with the very few elected out of them, as enhancing the grace of election. He contends for the perfect freedom of election, and the absence in it of all reference to merit or worthiness; for its intimate connection with effectual calling, which he unfolds at length; and for the doctrine of final perseverance, which follows from the doctrine he has previously laid down. It is remarkable that he employs a whole book in showing that election in its ordinary course runs from believing parents to their posterity; that the covenant of grace is entailed upon the children of believers, and that God most usually makes them His choice. He is careful practically to apply his views to Christian parents on the one hand, and to their children on the other.[520]

The doctrine of reprobation is connected by Goodwin with the doctrine of election; it is described as being its dark shadow. If Goodwin was not a supralapsarian, he was, next to that, the highest predestinarian a man could be.[521] It is marvellous how, with all his thoughtfulness, he could have overlooked the question of moral government and human responsibility, in connection with some of his speculations; and it is distressing to find that one so zealous for what he deemed the glory of Divine grace, could lay his scheme of theology open to the charge of its robbing God of the attributes of justice and righteousness.

Goodwin does not, in his treatise on election, or in his other writings, give prominence to the dogma of particular redemption; but he distinctly affirms in one place that the elect alone are redeemed;[522] and his whole system of theology proceeds on the principle, that the death of Christ was a ransom for the salvation of the elect. He presses to the utmost extreme the ideas of suretyship, and of debt-paying; and refers to the sinner’s liability as met by the sufferings of the Saviour, and to the sinner’s bonds as for ever cancelled by the Redeemer’s resurrection. To such an extent does the author carry his notion of the identification of the Lord with His people as their surety, that he positively declares Christ by imputation was made the greatest sinner that ever was—for the sins of all God’s chosen met in Him![523]

The last stand-point of Goodwin, which I have space to notice, is Regeneration. In his treatise, entitled The Work of the Holy Ghost in our Salvation, Regeneration is the theme throughout the volume. Its necessity, its nature, and its cause are illustrated in every variety of form and phrase; and it is noteworthy that no allusion is made to the ordinance of baptism in connection with it, nor is any opportunity lost of placing this spiritual change in relation to the Divine decrees and electing love.[524]

JOHN OWEN.

Were it not that my proper business is to present, as succinctly as possible, the doctrinal views of the Puritans, I should most earnestly combat some of Goodwin’s theological positions, and point out the tremendous consequences which they involve—admitting, at the same time, the redeeming elements, which may be found in his ofttimes wearisome method of instruction. I will only say, that when he wandered into what appear to me not only perilous but pernicious regions of thought, he did but stumble in the midst of fields into which Augustine had gone before, and where Jonathan Edwards followed afterwards. Happily, such men are inconsistent, and whilst sacrificing the righteousness of God in one way, they contend for it most zealously in another.

Owen’s works may be appropriately coupled with Goodwin’s. Their literary defects and their religious excellencies are not dissimilar. In each the reader is wearied with refinements and perplexed by multiplied divisions; in neither can be found any graces of style, any delectable flow of words, any rhythm of diction, any wealth of expression; in both are presented signs of profound reflection, of patient inquiry, of logical acumen, and also, beyond all these, proofs of intense evangelical piety.

Owen goes over very much of the ground which is occupied by Goodwin, and he is scarcely less rigid in his predestinarianism. It is instructive to compare with the point of view selected by Goodwin that which is chosen by Owen. Owen’s treatise on the Doctrine of Justification (1677) should be examined by the side of Goodwin’s work on the Objects and Acts of Justifying Faith. Owen describes justifying faith “as the heart’s approbation of the way of justification and salvation of sinners by Jesus Christ;” he omits, and vindicates the omission of any definition of this spiritual act: but he is singularly full in his account of the Divine side of justification, dwelling at great length upon its forensic nature, and its basis in the imputed righteousness of the Redeemer. The last point is wrought out with pre-eminent distinctness. It occurs at the beginning—it is resumed in the middle—it is enforced at the end of the book. The idea of Christ’s imputed righteousness is considered by many evangelical Divines as at the best a theoretical key to explain the fact of justification, rather than as an essential element of the doctrine. Some hold the fact without accepting the explanation, not finding it to be a key at all. But the state of opinion was widely different in Owen’s day, the whole atmosphere of controversy was different; he and others identified imputation with justification, and fought for it as for the hearth of truth, as for the altar of God. They deemed the interests of Protestantism, the security of the doctrines of grace, and the welfare of Christ’s Church at stake in this one doctrinal dispute.

JOHN OWEN.

Owen agrees substantially with Goodwin, but he is more cautious; and he more frequently qualifies his statements. He says men may really be saved by that grace which doctrinally they question, and they may be justified by the imputation of that righteousness, which, in opinion, they deny to be imputed. He shrinks from affirming what Goodwin affirms as to the identification of Christ with the sinner.[525] It may again be observed, that throughout, Owen looks more intently at the Divine act of the sinner’s justification than at the human act by which the justification is secured. His views on the whole are coincident with Goodwin’s as to the Divine decrees; but he exhibits them less prominently in reference to the doctrine of election than in reference to the doctrine of particular redemption. The Atonement is a central point in his thoughts; and it is in a treatise respecting the death and satisfaction of Christ, that his clearest statements on the tenet of election can be found.[526]

It was usual with most of the Puritan Divines, in harmony with the order of thought pursued in the Westminster formularies, to start with the doctrine of the Divine decrees; to regard, as the foundation of all theology, the idea of God having resolved to save a certain number of human beings; and to view all the processes of redeeming love, as simply designed to accomplish that resolution. They did not deny the responsibility of all men in a certain sense, and they were ready to maintain the righteousness of God, as they understood it, against any who dared to impugn that righteousness. But generally they did not look at the moral government of God as dealing with mankind in general, on common grounds of justice, love, and mercy; they did not regard the Gospel as a gracious law for a fallen race; they did not consider it as alike the duty and the privilege of every sinful child of Adam, to accept the offer of eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. There is a deeper theological difference between ancient and modern Calvinists than some suppose—a difference appearing even more in the order, the relations, and the turns of thought touching salvation, than in any scientific mode of expressing it. But there remains a strong religious resemblance between the two classes. What most of the old doctrinal Puritans put first as the premises leading to certain conclusions, many of what may be called the new doctrinal Puritans put last, as a conclusion drawn from certain premises. In a careful study of the whole Bible, as a revelation of God’s government of the whole world, they find passages which relate to mysterious operations of grace upon human minds; and after a careful analysis of all human and secondary causes, at work in the world’s history, or at work in private experience, they discover rightly, in my opinion, a residuum which points to what is not human, but Divine and absolute; and in this they recognize the mysterious sovereign grace of God. Further, in those passages of Scripture which speak of an election, a predestination, and a purpose before the world began, they see a statement of the fact, that what God does in time He from eternity meant to do; that the knowledge and mercy, that the wisdom and the will of the Infinite and Eternal One, must have been ever the same as they are now. And also, the present disciples of this Puritan faith, like the former, delight to dwell upon the cause and character of salvation, more even than upon its consequences in their own experience and hopes; and they are not weary, and I hope never will be, of adoring the Divine love, righteousness, and power in which their redemption originated, and on which it must for ever rest.

JOHN OWEN.

Owen enters fully into the nature of the death of Christ, and insists upon its having been a price or ransom, a sacrifice and a satisfaction. He contends that it was a punishment for sin properly so called; and that the covenant between the Father and the Son was the ground and foundation of the penal sufferings from which redemption flows. Nor does he confine himself to the citation and enforcement of Scripture texts in support of these opinions. He supplies a dissertation on Divine justice—in which, from the consent of mankind, as appears in the testimony of the heathen, and the power of conscience, from the prevalence of sacrifices, and from the works of providence,—he concludes that Divine justice is a vindicating justice, and that the non-punishment of sin would be contrary to the glory of that justice. He examines and answers the objections of Socinus, and the main drift of the whole treatise is to establish the indispensable necessity of the satisfaction of Christ for the salvation of sinners.

In his Salus Electorum Sanguis Jesu, a work published so early as 1648, Owen connects the Atonement with the Divine decrees. He points out what he conceives to be the false and supposed ends of the death of Christ, and unfolds his reasons for a belief in the doctrine of particular redemption.[527] He admits that the sacrifice of Christ was of infinite worth and dignity, sufficient in itself for the redeeming of all and every man, if it had pleased the Lord to employ it to that purpose; but the main drift of the Essay is to prove that it did not please the Lord so to employ it.[528] Whatever may be thought of the logical consequences of Owen’s positions in reference to election and particular redemption, it would be extreme injustice—and the same remark may be applied to Goodwin and others—to charge him or them with any connivance at Antinomianism, an error which they regarded with the utmost abhorrence, and opposed with not a whit less of zeal than burns intensely in their writings, when they are subjecting Arminianism to a process of destructive criticism.

CHAPTER XIX.

We have noticed a change in the Church of England, from prevalent Calvinism, during the reign of Elizabeth, for prevalent Arminianism, during the latter part of the reign of James I. A corresponding change occurred in the history of several eminent Divines of the seventeenth century: Bishop Andrewes, Dean Jackson, Bishop Davenant, Archbishop Ussher, John Hales, of Eton, and Dr. Sanderson, are conspicuous examples. Another instance, more remarkable in some respects, is found in the life of John Goodwin—now less known to fame than the celebrated Churchmen just mentioned, and yet a man who, in his own day, attracted not less attention than did they; and whose works for vigour, ingenuity, argument, and eloquence deserve to rank high amongst theological productions, in an age when theology bore its richest fruit. The names now grouped together belong to men who, from first to last, retained more or less of Anglican predilections, and after the commencement of the Stuart period, Anglicanism and anti-Calvinism appear in close alliance; but John Goodwin, unlike the other converts, began his career under the influence of that description of religious feeling which forms so important an element in Puritanism, and he retained that feeling to the end of life. Although he became an Arminian, and renounced opinions identified with doctrinal Puritanism, his Arminianism did not destroy the unction and ardour which were characteristic of his earlier creed. His Arminianism presents some striking differences from that of both the Anglican and Latitudinarian schools; it is animated by an evangelical spirit, and it is wrought out, in connection with evangelical principles, akin to those which appear prominently in the Arminianism of our Wesleyan brethren. Like them, this eminent predecessor of theirs maintained strenuously the doctrine of human depravity, of justification by faith, of the work of the Holy Spirit, of the new birth, and of sanctification.

JOHN GOODWIN.

Before John Goodwin abandoned Calvinism he repudiated the doctrine of the imputed righteousness of Christ as held by the Calvinists of his own day. Yet he concedes almost all for which modern Calvinists would contend, when he remarks that a believer may “be said to be clothed with the righteousness of Christ, and yet the righteousness of Christ itself may not be his clothing, but only that which procured his clothing to him. So Calvin calls the clothing of righteousness, wherewith a believer is clad in his justification, Justitiam morte, et resurrectione Christi, acquisitam—a righteousness procured by the death and resurrection of Christ.”[529]

Goodwin, in his Redemption Redeemed, earnestly insists upon the broad view of the effect of the Atonement,—“that there is a possibility, yea a fair and gracious possibility, for all men without exception, considered as men, without and before their voluntary obduration by actual sinning to obtain actual salvation by His death; so that, in case any man perisheth, his destruction is altogether from himself, there being as much, and as much intended, in the death of Christ to and towards the procuring of his salvation, as there is for procuring the salvation of any of those who come to be actually saved.”[530]

The great moot point between the old-fashioned Calvinists and their opponents is treated by this intensely-evangelical Arminian in such a way in his concessions, that he approaches rather closely to modern Calvinism, without conceding the whole for which the advocates of the latter system would stipulate.[531]

JOHN GOODWIN.

John Goodwin’s object was, whilst magnifying the grace of God, to preserve what is demanded by the personality, the free agency, and the responsibility of man. He so clearly explains his opinion and so carefully fences it round, he so distinctly asserts the Divine origin of salvation in every individual, and so vigilantly repels every idea of indigenous rectitude in human nature, suffering from the fall, that no one can charge his creed with any Pelagian or even semi-Pelagian taint. So far as that point is concerned, Goodwin’s opinion might have received the approval of Augustine, and it ought to have passed muster with the second Councils of Milevis and Orange. Whether the keen Catholic theologians of the fourth and fifth centuries, in their jealousy for orthodox opinion, would have endorsed the following sentence is another question: “That the act of believing whensoever it is performed, is at so low a rate of efficiency from a man’s self, that suppose the act could be divided into a thousand parts, nine hundred, ninety, and nine of them are to be ascribed unto the free grace of God, and only one unto man. Yea, this one is no otherwise to be ascribed to man, than as supported, strengthened, and assisted by the free grace of God.”

Goodwin was a person who thought for himself, and looked at a subject on more sides than one, and was as zealous to maintain the freeness of Divine grace as any Divine could be; consequently, we find him expressing himself, so as to appear, in the eyes of opponents, logically inconsistent, although he had a way of his own by which to defend himself against the imputation. Although he distinctly denies the Calvinistic doctrine of predestination, yet he maintains, when stating his own opinion on the subject, that predestination does not depend on the foresight of faith, or righteousness. “For though it be supposed,” he says, “that God decreeth to elect, and accordingly actually electeth all that believe and none other; yet this, at no hand proveth, either that His purpose, or the execution hereof, proceed in their origination, from the faith of such persons foreseen, no nor from the foresight of their faith: though this be more tolerable than the other. There is nothing in the nature of faith, nor in God’s foresight of faith, in what persons soever, that hath in it any generative virtue of any such purpose in God.”

There were other Puritans who adopted Arminian views. John Horne, Vicar of Allhallows, Lynn—a learned man of most exemplary and primitive piety who was ejected in 1662—previously published a book entitled, “The open door for Man’s approach to God; or, a vindication of the Record of God concerning the extent of the death of Christ.”[532] Tobias Conyers, Minister of St. Ethelbert’s, London, also one of the ejected clergy, accused of being “schismatical and heretical,”—but who seems to have been a man of high character, and of a catholic spirit,—published, in 1657, a translation of a work by Arminius, under the title of “The Just Man’s Defence, or the Royal Conquest.”[533] Of George Lawson, Rector of More, in Shropshire, who animadverted upon Baxter’s Aphorisms of Justification, Baxter himself remarks,—after eulogizing him as almost the ablest man whom he knew in England,—“He was himself near the Arminians, differing from them only in the point of perseverance as to the confirmed, and some little matters more.” He published (1659) an excellent sum of divinity, called Theopolitica.[534]

JOHN GOODWIN.

The position of these Divines, especially of John Goodwin, amongst the religious thinkers of that age, is remarkable and significant, and deserves much more attention than it has ever received. The common notion is that the Puritan movement, in its theological character, was essentially Calvinistic, that Calvinism constituted its life and soul; and, moreover, that evangelical opinions in general,—understanding by them those views of the Gospel which rest on a keen appreciation of its precious and saving character,—necessarily involve ideas of Divine predestination, akin to those which were entertained by the great Genevan Reformer. Both the disciples and the opponents of that illustrious man have, in many cases, adopted or countenanced this conception. But the writers we have just described show us that it is a mistake. Here were men Puritan in spirit, Puritan in their characteristic religiousness, Puritan in their habits and modes of life, who, so far from being imbued with the distinctive sentiments of John Calvin on the subject of the Divine purposes and decrees, utterly repudiated them, and spent an immense amount of time and thought upon their confutation. They believed in justification by faith, in conversion to God, in the gracious work of the Holy Spirit upon the human soul, and in the riches of Divine mercy manifested throughout the salvation of men, as firmly and deeply as did any of those who most fervently proclaimed the doctrines of election, effectual calling, and perseverance. Neither their philosophy, nor their logic, nor their religion, led them to identify the one class of ideas with the other. And, if the discussion were proper in a work like this, it would not be difficult to show, that the motive power in Puritanism—that which made it such a well-spring of life and energy to multitudes of Englishmen—consisted not in high notions of predestination, where such notions were entertained, but in those articles of evangelical belief which can unite devout Calvinists and devout Arminians in the bonds of a common experience, and in the inheritance of the same hope. And, if anything further were needful to prove that the Puritan spirit can exist and thrive apart from Calvinistic theology, it is sufficient to point to the Wesleyans of the present day, than whom none are more decided in their opposition to predestinarianism, none are more zealous in preaching salvation by grace, and none are more inspired with the life and glow of a warm-hearted piety.

Anti-Calvinistic zeal, however, often took an anti-Puritanical form, and by assaults which were made upon predestinarian principles, the interests of evangelical religion were very seriously compromised.

“FUR PRÆDESTINATUS.”

A Latin tract, entitled Fur Prædestinatus, made some noise at the time of its publication, and has received the commendation of literary and theological critics. The Fur Prædestinatus was printed in London in 1651. D’Oyley, simply on the ground of general rumour, ascribes the tract to Sancroft, and prints it in his life. Hallam accepts the rumour, adding, “It is much the best proof of ability that the worthy Archbishop ever gave.” Birch says, in his Memoirs of Tillotson, that Sancroft joined with Mr. George Davenport, and another of his friends, in composing this satire upon Calvinism. But Jackson, in his Life of John Goodwin, affirms that the tract was in existence many years before Sancroft was capable of such a production. He adds, it was circulated in Holland, at the early part of the seventeenth century, and was thought to have been written by Henry Slatius. It is a dialogue between a condemned thief and a Calvinistic minister, in which it is attempted to be shown, that not only the doctrine of predestination but also the doctrine of justification by faith is marked by an immoral tendency, and several quotations from Luther and Zwingle, as well as from Calvin, Beza, and others, are pressed into the service. It exhibits, no doubt, some cleverness, and from the narrow view of the Atonement which is introduced, as held by some distinguished evangelical Divines, consequences are drawn which it would be difficult logically to repel. Yet most persons will acknowledge, that conducting controversy, dialogue fashion, is more easy for an author than it is satisfactory to a reader; and that, in this controversy especially, allusions to all sorts of authors can with ease be unfairly brought together, so as to impart a specious appearance to allegations which on a thorough scrutiny are found to be perfectly untrue. Certainly, Luther and Calvin never dreamt of entertaining such views as are put into the lips of the criminal and of his spiritual adviser—and they would have crushed, with a force of logic too much for a stronger man than the writer now under review, whoever he might be, the sophisms which are employed in the Fur Prædestinatus, to the discredit of that which Reformers held to be the scriptural doctrines of Divine grace.

Two eminent Puritans remain for consideration, and they may be regarded as maintaining an intermediate position between High Calvinists and Evangelical Arminians.

CHAPTER XX.

BAXTER.

Few persons could have been subjected in early life to a greater variety of influence than Richard Baxter. His father having been a gambler, became, before the birth of his illustrious son, a pious man, and trained up his offspring in godly discipline. Whilst over his home a religious atmosphere diffused itself, the people in the village spent the greater part of most Sundays in dancing round the Maypole. After four successive curates of worthless character, there followed a grave and eminent man who expected to be made a Bishop. Having been placed under each of them at school, Richard afterwards had for his tutor a Royalist chaplain, who did all in his power to make the youth hate Puritanism. Baxter’s religious impressions were deepened by reading the works of a Jesuit, which an evangelical Protestant had revised, and by the perusal of evangelical books from the pens of Sibbs and Perkins. The youth’s first associations in life were with the Episcopal Church, and he was then a Conformist in practice and principle. He studied Richard Hooker, and did not come in contact with Nonconformists, until just before he attained his majority. He spent, as a young man, a month at Whitehall, with the chance of becoming a courtier. Accident brought him within an inch of the grave, and he suffered so much from illness, that at twenty he had the symptoms of fourscore. No classic, no mathematician, he plunged into the study of logic and metaphysics, and soon formed an intimate acquaintance with Aquinas and Scotus, Durandus and Ockham. He had omnivorous habits of reading, and it is curious to notice the variety of authors whom he cites or enumerates. He was a self-taught man, and when Anthony Wood inquired of him by letter, whether he had been educated at Oxford, Baxter replied, “As to myself, my faults are no disgrace to any University, for I was of none: I have little but what I had out of books, and inconsiderable helps of country tutors. Weakness and pain helped me to study how to die: that set me on studying how to live; and that set me on studying the doctrine from which I must fetch my motives and comforts; and beginning with necessaries, I proceeded to the lesser integrals by degrees, and now am going to see that which I have lived and studied for.”[535]

By bearing in mind these remarkable facts, we shall be assisted in accounting for some peculiarities of opinions in this remarkable man. There was a manifold character in his theology corresponding with the manifold influences which moulded his religion, and we may trace the effects of his education in both the excellencies and defects of his numerous writings. In a literary point of view, they are strikingly different from those of Thomas Goodwin and John Owen. He is, in his doctrinal discussions, often as tedious as they, and sometimes more provoking with his endless distinctions, but, in the practical application of his theological principles, he exerts a charm which neither of those contemporaries could ever rival. His masculine style, just the outgrowth of his thought, just the natural skin, pure and transparent, which covers it, has been the admiration of popular readers and practised critics. It has been praised by Addison and Johnson; it has been felt and appreciated by thousands of unlettered people. We detect in Baxter, no rhetorical tricks, no striving to shine for the sake of shining, no waving of the scarlet flag, no “taking out his vocabulary for an airing:” and yet for fullness of expression, for a rich flow of words, for occasional felicity of diction, for poetry in prose, he surpasses all his compeers, except Jeremy Taylor: and in directness, force, and genuine fervour, as to a glowing heat of the affections, which is more intense than the eloquence of the imagination, as to words which come rolling out like balls of white fire, the great Church orator must give place to the Nonconformist Divine. If immense popularity, if the possession of a spell which can hold fast minds of all orders, be a test of genius, then Baxter must be allowed to have possessed it in a high degree. In activity of thought and in keenness of perception, in the grasp of his knowledge and in the retentiveness of his memory, in dialectic skill and in logical fencing, Baxter is acknowledged to have had no superior, if any equal, in his own day, and he would have been worthy of a lot amongst the mediæval schoolmen, to whose list of doctors his might have added another characteristic name. But such qualities have their disadvantages. In this instance, they led their possessor to travel over such an immense field of inquiry, to meddle with so many topics, to dispute with so many men, to make so many distinctions without any difference, at least such as less acute minds can discern, that it is difficult to gather together and harmonize his opinions, and to say on certain points what he believed, and what he did not. It is easy for a man of one-sided views to be consistent; but who that loves truth for the truth’s sake, and wishes to see as much of it as is possible in this world of imperfect knowledge, will value consistency of that kind? Baxter was not one-sided, but strove to look at every subject on its many sides, if it has many; and to reconcile aspects of truth which to hasty and prejudiced thinkers seem contradictory. Hence he has given occasion to the charge of inconsistency. His opinions have been a battle-ground for critics ever since he left the world; and in this respect he has attained a position honourable in one point of view, dubious in another—like that of Origen. A great thinker, a great debater, an eloquent expounder of his own convictions, he has been pronounced a heretic by some members of his own Church, and his orthodoxy has been endorsed by members of Churches not his own. It is a curious illustration of the difficulty of deciding what were Baxter’s sentiments on some intricate subjects, that his most copious and intelligent biographer should first say, that he was neither a Calvinist, nor an Arminian—should next assert his claims to be considered a faithful follower of the Synod of Dort,—and should finally pronounce this verdict: “Baxter was probably such an Arminian as Richard Watson, and as much a Calvinist as the late Dr. Edward Williams.”

BAXTER.

After such a verdict, I cannot hope successfully to thread the mazes of Baxter’s theology. Yet there are a few conclusions which appear to me undeniable. He took a Calvinistic view of the Divine decrees. Several passages, probably, might be found in his writings apparently inconsistent with the Genevan doctrine, but what convinces me that he held it substantially, is not so much his confession, that he accepted the decisions of the Synod of Dort (upon which his biographer just mentioned insists), for Baxter sometimes interpreted statements after a manner of his own,—as the fact that in his treatise On Conversion, when dealing with such as say, “Those that God will save shall be saved, whatsoever they be, and those that He will damn, shall be damned,”—instead of cutting the matter short, as an Arminian would do, by denying the Calvinistic dogma altogether, our Divine goes on to guard against the abuses of that dogma; and to argue that people should act in relation to the decrees of Grace, as they do respecting the decrees of Providence. He finishes by saying just what Calvinists say,—“God hath not ordinarily decreed the end without the means, and if you will neglect the means of salvation it is a certain mark that God hath not decreed you to salvation.”[536]

Baxter’s opinions of the efficacy of Christ’s death resemble those of John Goodwin, rather than those of Thomas Goodwin. For he remarks, “God hath made a universal deed of gift of Christ and life to all the world, on condition that they will but accept the offer. In this testament or promise, or act of oblivion, the sins of all the world are conditionally pardoned, and they are conditionally justified, and reconciled to God.”[537]

BAXTER.

Baxter seems to have believed that whilst those who are ultimately saved, are saved by the sovereign and gracious purpose of the Almighty—in other words, by Divine election—there is a provision made by the mediation of Christ, sufficient for the wants of all men, and of which all men, if they pleased, could avail themselves; and in this respect his views do not materially differ from those expressed by Dr. Edward Williams, in his treatise on The Divine Equity and Sovereignty; or from those taught by Andrew Fuller in several of his publications. A somewhat similar via media was pursued by Amyraut, the French Divine. Yet it is, I believe, not an uncommon impression that Baxter went beyond this, and supposed that whilst some are elected to eternal life by a special Divine decree, others are saved through a general provision of Divine grace. I do not pretend to have read all Baxter’s works: but in those with which I am acquainted, I find no trace of such an opinion, neither does it appear in Orme’s careful summary of Baxter’s theological writings. It is a curious fact, however, that an idea of the kind attributed to the Puritan was expressed, at the Council of Trent, by a Papist, Ambrosius Catarinus, of Siena,[538] and that a similar idea is exhibited in the writings of Fowler, the Latitudinarian.[539]

Baxter did not adopt the doctrine of imputation held by Thomas Goodwin and John Owen. He remarks:—

“Most of our ordinary Divines say, that Christ did as properly obey in our room or stead, as He did suffer in our stead, and that in God’s esteem, and in point of law, we were in Christ’s obeying and suffering, and so, in Him we did both perfectly fulfil the commands of the law by obedience, and the threatenings of it by bearing the penalty; and thus (say they) is Christ’s righteousness imputed to us (viz.)—His passive righteousness for the pardon of our sins and delivering us from the penalty, His active righteousness for the making of us righteous, and giving us a title to the Kingdom—and some say the habitual righteousness of His human nature, instead of our own habitual righteousness—yea, some add the righteousness of the Divine nature also. This opinion (in my judgment) containeth a great many of mistakes.”[540]

Faith, Baxter explains as “both a general trust in God’s revelations and grace, and a special trust in Jesus Christ,” adding, “I have oft proved this justifying faith to be no less than our unfeigned taking Christ for our Saviour, and becoming true Christians according to the tenour of the baptismal covenant.” The characteristic nature of Christian faith he further represents as consisting of trust in a personal Saviour, inclusive of an assenting trust by the understanding; a consenting trust by the will; and a practical trust by the executive powers.[541] The linking of the exercises of faith upon three faculties in human nature may be observed both in Goodwin and in Owen; but Baxter seems to have proceeded further than they in carrying out the practical relations of faith, and in this respect to have occupied ground not unlike that of Thorndike.[542]

HOWE.

Howe’s Puritanism might almost be said to have reached him by descent; but his extraordinary thoughtfulness, and his singular originality, require us to believe, that far from blindly accepting the inheritance, he carefully investigated the whole subject, and became a Puritan from conviction. His father, appointed to the incumbency of Loughborough by Archbishop Laud, afterwards displeased his patron, by refusing to comply with his requirements, and was consequently ejected. The father took the son to Ireland, whence he was driven back by the rebellion; after which, John Howe, before he proceeded to Oxford, went to Cambridge, and there, from the “Platonic tincture” of his mind, became associated with Cudworth, More, and John Smith, from whom his Platonic tastes received the highest culture. The great Pagan theologue, however, exerted a more powerful influence upon his sympathizing disciple, than did any of these under-masters; for Howe carefully read Plato for himself. He had “conversed closely with the heathen moralists and philosophers; had perused many of the writings of the schoolmen, and several systems and common places of the Reformers. Above all, he had compiled for himself a system of theology, from the Sacred Scriptures alone: a system which, as he was afterwards heard to say, he had seldom seen occasion to alter.”[543]

His defects of style have robbed him of that meed of honour to which as a theologian he is entitled. He exhibits an utter neglect of the art of composition, like a man of great wealth, thoroughly careless about his attire, and falls into a habit of writing most inharmonious periods, perhaps for want of a musical ear. His frequent poverty of expression, and his numerous and intricate subdivisions, are failings in their effect vastly heightened by the unaccountably strange method of punctuation which he adopted himself, or left his printer to adopt for him.[544] Yet his works present, in numerous instances, the most felicitous phrases and the choicest epithets, and only less frequently does he, under the inspiration of his genius, pour forth sonorous sentences, with an organ-like swell, in keeping with the magnificent ideas which they were employed to convey. After all Howe’s drawbacks, I have often risen from the perusal of his works with feelings similar to those of a traveller, who, at the end of his journey, charmed with the remembrance of the scenes he has visited, forgets the ruggedness of the road, and the inconvenience of his conveyance, however unpleasant they might have been at the moment they were experienced. The originality and compass of Howe’s mind, and the calmness and moderation of his temper, must ever inspire sympathy, and awaken admiration in reflective readers: his Platonic and Alexandrian culture commends him to the philosophical student, and the practical tendency of his religious thinking endears him to all Christians. His works contain no treatises on Faith, on Justification, on Election, or Particular Redemption. Though essentially evangelical, Howe’s writings are pervaded by a tone of thought which varies from that which is predominant in Puritan literature: and I may add that, as in Baxter, so in Howe, yet not from exactly the same cause, or in the same measure, heresy hunters, if their scent be keen, may discover passages open to exception.

HOWE.

In the Blessedness of the Righteous, when describing those who bear that character, instead of dwelling upon justification by the imputed righteousness of Christ, after the manner of Goodwin or Owen, Howe exhibits chiefly the moral view of religion, that “it can be understood to be nothing but the impress of the Gospel upon a man’s heart and life; a conformity in spirit and practice to the revelation of the will of God in Jesus Christ; a collection of graces exerting themselves in suitable actions and deportments towards God and man.” Calamy justly says that Howe “did not consider religion so much a system of doctrines, as a Divine discipline to reform the heart and life.” He carries out the idea of Christianity being a law, “with evangelical mitigations and indulgences.” He speaks of the law of faith, and insists upon that part of the Gospel revelation which contains and discovers our duty—what we are to be and do, in order to our blessedness.[545] Some of his expressions would scarcely have been used by the two Divines we have just mentioned; yet, without going into a theological discussion on the question, I may observe, that Howe certainly believed most firmly in all which is essential to the doctrine of justification by faith, and disposed of the opposite doctrine in a summary way by saying, “To suppose the law of works, in its own proper form and tenor, to be still obliging, is to suppose all under hopeless condemnation, inasmuch as all have sinned.” The spirit of his teaching throughout must be remembered, in order that we may qualify, somewhat, certain expressions which seem to look favourably towards such schemes as were advocated by Thorndike and Bull. The drift of Howe’s theology was different from theirs, notwithstanding an occasional resemblance of phraseology; and whilst I admit that some of his passages on this subject require to be carefully guarded, and others are open to exception, I must say that he did immense service to the cause of Gospel truth, first, by insisting upon the present dispensation of the Divine will as a form of moral and righteous government for men in general, not simply an expedient for gathering together the elect; and, next, by insisting upon the responsibility of man, as well as upon the freeness of the grace of God. In my opinion, Howe brought out—and Baxter did the same—phases of truth in relation to man as a responsible being, as a subject morally accountable to the universal Governor of the world, too much neglected by many of their Puritan brethren.

HOWE.

The comprehensiveness of Howe’s mind, the harmony of his own spiritual life, and the essentially practical character of his instructions, appear in his Carnality of Religious Contention, especially in the following passage relative to the two great blessings of the Gospel which he distinguishes whilst he unites them:—In fine, therefore, the Apostle “makes it his business to evidence to them that both their justification and their sanctification must be conjoined, and arise together out of one and the same root,—Christ Himself,—and by faith in Him, without the works of the law, as that which must vitally unite them with Him; and that thereby they should become actually interested in all His fulness—that fulness of righteousness which was to be found only in Him, and nowhere but in Him; and withal, in that fulness of spirit and life and holy influence, which also was only in Him; so as that the soul, being united by this faith with Christ, must presently die to sin and live to God. And at the same time, when He delivered a man from the law as dead to it, He became to him a continual living spring of all the duty which God did by His holy rule require and call for, and render the whole life of such a man a life of devotedness to God.”[546]

The Popish theory of justification, which confounds it with personal righteousness, and the approaches made in that direction by Anglican Divines, drove the Puritans to an opposite extreme; and the distinction they sometimes make between justification and sanctification amounts almost to a separation; but Howe—following St. Paul, who seems never to have thought of the one without having in his mind at the same time the thought of the other—whilst distinguishing between them, justly presents the two as conjoint blessings, “arising together out of one and the same root,” or as being, in reality, two harmonious aspects of one simple salvation.

Howe nowhere maintains the doctrine of particular redemption, but he exhibits the expiatory sacrifice of Christ with great clearness, and introduces an argument to the effect “that to account for the sufferings of the perfectly holy and innocent Messiah is made abundantly more difficult by denying the Atonement.”[547]

In his Redeemer’s Tears wept over Lost Souls, he does not enter at all into the Predestinarian controversy—a circumstance which distinguishes him from High Calvinistic theologians, who would not have failed largely to discuss the question of the Divine decrees, together with the Divine foreknowledge. But Howe rigorously confines himself to a solution of that broad difficulty which presses equally upon Arminians and Calvinists, supposing that both believe, as they generally do, that God is omniscient, and that man is responsible. The author’s simple purpose is to vindicate the Divine sincerity and wisdom, in employing methods of moral persuasion with His intelligent and accountable creatures, when He discerns beforehand that they will prove of no avail, in offering invitations of mercy which He knows will never be accepted, and in urging admonitions and rebukes to which He foresees many will turn an unlistening ear and an obdurate heart. The reticence of Howe, in this and in other parts of his writings, upon subjects which present a fascinating attraction to speculative minds, however incapable they may be of grappling with the objects towards which they are so irresistibly drawn, is worthy of special notice, and indicates a resemblance between him, in this respect, and Robert Hall, who regarded Howe with intense admiration.

One of the characteristic imperfections of that age in relation to theology is found in the endeavour to define and explain many things which are utterly beyond the reach of human comprehension. Anglican and Puritan, in almost equal degrees, boldly ventured into regions of speculation, and mistook for solid ground what really is but cloud-land. Metaphysical conclusions of their own were by their imagination transformed into Divine verities; and they often overlooked the grand distinction between what revelation plainly teaches, and what can be only inferred from its teaching. John Howe is singularly free from all presumptuous intermeddling with subjects which lie beyond the ken of mortals; and, although versed in the highest philosophy, beyond many of his contemporaries—and, indeed, because he was thoroughly imbued with the purest spirit of philosophy—he knew when to stop in his path of inquiry, and how to distinguish between the wisdom of God and the reasonings of man.

BAXTER AND HOWE.

Both Baxter and Howe were pre-eminently earnest in their endeavours to promote the moral righteousness of Christians, and to exhibit its production in human character and human life as the grand aim of the Gospel of Jesus. Other Puritans, more Calvinistic in their modes of thinking, inculcated holiness with emphasis and effect, and might imply, throughout their instructions, that pardon and justification were means to an end, that end being the conformity of the saints to the will of God and the image of Christ; but no teacher of that class impresses my mind with the positive conviction of such being the true order of the great redemptive process, to the same extent, and with the same depth, as do the two theologians now under review. They most effectually relieve at least their part in Puritan Divinity from the charge, and from the suspicion, of subordinating that which is moral in religion to that which is speculative, that which is personal to that which is relative, that which is practical to that which is emotional. They give the true perspective in theology, and place subjects of belief in their position one towards another, more accurately perhaps than any of their contemporaries. They exhibit the sinner’s forgiveness and acceptance with God, and his adoption into the Divine family of the Church, and his heirship of celestial felicities, not as the ultimatum of Christian object and desire, but as spiritual conditions and circumstances essential to the growth and maturity of that moral and God-like life which is begotten in the human soul at the hour of the new birth by the Holy Spirit. No one, who reflects upon a scheme of theology constructed after this type, can regard it as defective in moral power, or as betraying the interests of perfect righteousness. To place righteousness in the position of an end, rather than in the relation of means to an end, must be to exalt and glorify it. Those who impugn the whole system of evangelical belief as derogatory to the moral character of religion, and who therefore insist upon moral duties as the means of attaining eternal life, do really dethrone Christian righteousness from its Divine supremacy, and turn it into a prudential expedient for promoting one’s own advantage, by making it a series of stepping-stones or a flight of stairs by which men may climb from the borders of perdition to the threshold of heaven. It is they who dishonour—of course unintentionally—the nature and claims of Gospel righteousness, not teachers like Baxter and Howe, who, refusing to look at that righteousness merely or mainly as means to an end, as price paid for a treasure, or as service done for reward, represent it as the goal of all endeavour, the prize of the Christian race, the richest gift of Divine love, and the brightest diamond in the crown of salvation.

BAXTER AND HOWE.

A word may be added indicative of the literary and intellectual niche which the names of these distinguished men deserve to occupy. Dr. Arnold said of the Church Divines of the seventeenth century, “I cannot find in any of them a really great man.”[548] Without adopting the opinion so expressed, I am constrained to say that we can find little of what may be called genius in some of the most renowned. No one could ascribe that high gift to Thorndike, with all his stores of learning and powers of reflection. No one would think of ascribing it to Bull or Pearson. Nor, if we include Puritans, can it be attributed in any high degree to Goodwin or Owen. Perhaps not one of the whole class of theological writers at the time, able as they were, could be justly esteemed the equal of that magnificent moral philosopher and theologian in the days of Queen Elizabeth, Richard Hooker, or the compeer even of Thomas Jackson, whose power, learning, and eloquence so brightly adorned the Church in the reign of James I. Jeremy Taylor, no doubt, had received Heaven’s gift of genius in the form of imagination, and a power of musical expression in prose such as no one else could rival, not even John Milton; but, in my opinion, the two theologians of that age who possessed most of original power were Richard Baxter and John Howe.

Moreover, there was in both of these men a breadth of human sympathy—always closely allied to the highest order of intellect—which redeemed them from the narrowness of some of their contemporaries. Baxter and Howe evinced none of the restricted Churchmanship which blinded the Anglicans to all goodness not seen in their own communion; and none of the exclusive Calvinism which made some Puritans virtually shut up God’s love to a few like themselves, and hand over to reprobation the remainder of the race. Baxter, although not an accomplished scholar, was a man of wide and varied reading, and had a decided taste for history, politics, and especially metaphysics, as well as for theology; and Howe, who seems to have known much more of Greek than his friend, was at home amongst the ancient masters of philosophy, and perhaps with none of his brethren, except Theophilus Gale, was Plato such an intimate acquaintance, and such a thorough favourite. It has been justly remarked that the man who is only a theological scholar is a very poor one.[549] The remark may detract from the reputation of some of the Puritans, but not from the reputation of the two Divines we have last described.

Before I close this imperfect survey of the theology of the Puritans, it is desirable to bring together, in some distinct form, the characteristics of their teaching in reference to certain points which have not been noticed in the foregoing detailed account of their opinions.

Here we notice first what they say upon the nature of sacraments.

Goodwin and Owen refer to the subject of baptism incidentally, the former speaking of it as the sign of salvation, and as the sealing of our calling, our justification, our renewal, and our union with Christ; the latter alluding to it chiefly for the purpose of denying that it has the regenerating or purifying power ascribed to it by Catholics. But he says a cleansing in profession and signification accompanies baptism, when it is rightly administered.[550]

PURITAN VIEWS OF SACRAMENTS.

Baxter enters at large upon the subject, and discusses, in reference to it, such questions as are particularly interesting to Catholics; and one question at least—“Is baptism by laymen or women lawful in cases of necessity?”—he answers after a manner resembling that of the highest Anglican. He denies that there can be such necessity, yet he does not absolutely pronounce lay baptism a nullity; although he adds, If the baptizer “were in no possession or pretence of the office, I would be baptized again if it were my case; because I should fear that what is done in Christ’s name by one that notoriously had no authority from Him to do it, is not owned by Christ as His deed, and so is a nullity.”[551] Again, he remarks, “All that the minister warrantably baptizeth are sacramentally regenerate, and are, in foro ecclesiæ, members of Christ, and children of God, and heirs of heaven.” “Therefore it is not unfit that the minister call the baptized regenerate and pardoned members of Christ, and children of God, and heirs of heaven, supposing that in foro ecclesiæ they were the due subjects of baptism.” What so subtle a dialectician exactly meant by some things he said upon this subject, I do not undertake to say; but certainly Baxter showed, like Thorndike, a strong disposition to connect the functions of faith with a baptismal covenant. Baxter’s theory was one which, upon a comparison of his theology in general with that of Thorndike, must have materially differed from it; and the qualifications introduced by the former in immediate connection with the sentences quoted—which qualifications I have deferred citing until now, in order that their force may be more clearly seen—must be considered, if we would avoid misapprehending the drift of his sentiments. “It is only those that are sincerely delivered up in covenant to God in Christ, that are spiritually and really regenerate, and are such as shall be owned for members of Christ and children of God in foro cœli.”[552] Those readers who are familiar with the controversy on baptismal regeneration will see at once that Baxter’s statements, with his qualifications, may be so explained as to point to a condition of Divine privilege, possibilities, and opportunities, rather than to anything else. He further made a distinction between some baptized children and others; a distinction which seems to shift the conveyance of spiritual benefit from the rite itself to the relation sustained by the child to a godly parent. “Not,” he says, “that all the baptized, but that all the baptized seed of true Christians are pardoned, justified, adopted, and have a title to the Spirit and salvation.”[553] And in his Now or Never (published in 1663), there occurs a very strong passage against baptismal regeneration as held by some Episcopalians.[554]

Howe touches upon the subject of baptism in his Living Temple, and speaks of it as a taking on of Christ’s badge and cognizance, as the fit and enjoined sign and token of becoming Christians, and as a federal rite by which remission of sin is openly confirmed and sealed.[555]

Dr. Jacomb, in his treatise on Holy Dedication, uses, as already noticed, very strong expressions relative to the nature and effects of the ordinance; and I may observe that generally the writings of the Puritans on the whole subject are pervaded by a mystic and sacramental tone such as would not evoke the sympathies of their religious descendants.

PURITAN VIEWS OF SACRAMENTS.

The Lord’s Supper, Dr. Goodwin exhibits, in opposition to the Catholic view, not as a commemorative sacrifice to God, but as a remembrance of His sacrifice to men; and he says that by it the intention on God’s part is to represent the whole work of Christ; and the intention on our part is to show it forth, and to signify our personal interest in the benefits of His death.[556] Neither in Owen nor in Howe, so far as I can find, is there anything indicative of their opinions on the nature of the Lord’s Supper; but Baxter writes copiously upon this theme. According to him, the consecration of the sacrament respects God the Father, and makes it the representative body and blood of Christ, whilst, in such consecration, the Church offers the elements to be accepted of God for this sacred use; the commemoration of the sacrament respects God the Son, and He is in it, “in effigy,” still crucified before the Church’s eyes, and by it the faithful show the Father that sacrifice in which they trust; and the communication of the sacrament respects God the Holy Ghost, as being that Spirit given in the flesh and blood for the quickening of the soul.[557] The same author, in his Dying Thoughts, remarks, with reference to the Real Presence, “When we dispute against them that hold transubstantiation and the ubiquity of Christ’s body, we do assuredly conclude that sense is judge, whether there be real bread and wine present or not; but it is no judge, whether Christ’s spiritual body be present or not, no more than whether an angel be present. And we conclude that Christ’s body is not infinite or immense, as is His Godhead; but, what are its dimensions, limits or extent, and where it is absent, far be it from us to determine, when we cannot tell how far the sun extendeth, its secondary substance, or emanant beams; nor well what locality is as to Christ’s soul, or any spirit, if to a spiritual body.”[558] It is strange indeed to hear a Puritan speaking thus; his language has almost a patristic and Anglican sound. Some mysterious presence of the body of Christ in the material elements on the altar was believed by the orthodox Fathers; and Origen regarded that body as being ethereal and ubiquitous, and capable of assuming different forms: even the judicious Hooker supposed that the human substance of Christ is universally present “after a sort, by being nowhere severed from that which everywhere is present.” It is easier to employ definite expressions on this subject, and others of a similar kind, than to form definite notions corresponding with the expressions; and it appears to me very hard to say exactly what either Origen or Hooker meant by the language which they employed on this subject. Certainly Baxter expresses no decided opinion as to the presence of Christ’s body in the sacrament; but he admits such a presence to be not impossible, and thus opens the door for such unsatisfactory speculations as those in which Origen and Hooker indulged. Baxter, from his scholastic habits of thought, and from his familiarity with Catholic as well as Protestant theologians, was led, on the subject of baptism and the Lord’s Supper—especially the latter—to adopt a much more mystical form of belief than his Puritan brethren were wont to entertain.[559]

PURITAN CONTROVERSY WITH POPERY.

In connection with the subject of sacraments, it is pertinent to inquire what were the opinions of these Divines in reference to the ministry and ordination. Baxter, as might be expected, discusses the question in his usual scholastic manner. His views on baptism, as just stated, indicate that he attached much importance to clerical order; and he alludes to the power conveyed from Christ to the individual minister, of which power he says neither the electors nor the ordainers are the donors; they are only the instruments of designing an apt recipient, and of delivering the possession of office. This position involves a denial of the High Church doctrine of orders, and this doctrine Baxter still farther denies, when he concludes that imposition of hands is not essential to ordination, but is simply a decent, apt, and significant sign. Ordination, however, he holds to be needful; for, without this key, the office of the ministry and the doors of the Church would be thrown open to heretics and self-conceited persons. The power of ordination he believes to be vested in the senior pastors of the Church, and the people’s call, or consent, he does not regard as necessary to the minister’s reception of office in general, but only to his pastoral relation. He admits that laymen may preach, as did Origen and Constantine, but he cautiously restricts their preaching to their families, or within “proper bounds.” What he had witnessed in the army had given the good man a great horror of the license claimed by lay orators on religious subjects; and, no doubt, recollections of some of his military antagonists came before his mind when he laid down the law, that lay teachers must not presume to go beyond their abilities, especially in matters dark and difficult. He also forbids them to thrust themselves into public meetings, and proudly and schismatically to set themselves up against their lawful pastors.[560] Baxter’s Presbyterianism appears throughout his treatment of these subjects—subjects respecting which Goodwin, Owen, and Howe are silent. But it is not to be inferred from this circumstance that they were indifferent to order in the ministry and the Church. What the Independents determined respecting these matters, in the Savoy Declaration, we have seen in a previous chapter.

Next to the Puritan treatment of the sacraments and the ministry comes the Puritan share in the anti-Popish controversy. Although none of the Divines now under consideration took so prominent a part in it as did Cosin, Bramhall, and Barrow,—although none of them, on this subject, published books which have become so famous as some written by their brethren,—yet of their intense opposition to Romanism there is not the shadow of a doubt. They might not have the same reasons for wielding anti-Papal weapons which their Anglican contemporaries had, who, by the charges of Romanizing tendencies brought against them, were compelled to stand up in self-defence.[561] Still, expressions of horror at the very thought of Rome are numerous enough in the works of the Puritans, and some of them couched their thoughts on the subject in the strongest phraseology. Nor were there wanting treatises expressly upon the errors of Romanism from Puritan hands. Owen, at the suggestion of Lord Clarendon, it is said, wrote his Animadversions on Fiat Lux; a work which so pleased His Lordship that he declared the writer had more merit than any English Protestant of that period, and offered him preferment if he would conform. Baxter went beyond Owen in the laborious defence of the Reformed against the Tridentine Church; for he published altogether nearly twenty books and pamphlets in this department of polemical literature, leaving “no one point in the extensive field untouched,” and supplying “a complete library on Popery.”[562]

PURITAN ECCLESIASTICAL CONTROVERSY.

In addition to what has been said on the subject in other portions of this History, a passing notice must be taken of the ecclesiastical controversies carried on by the Puritans against the High Church party. During the Civil Wars, and under the Protectorate, unsparing attacks were made upon Prelacy, modified schemes of Episcopacy were proposed, Presbyterianism was upheld in books and pamphlets almost innumerable, and between that system of Church government and Congregationalism the warfare continued fierce and incessant. The Presbyterian contended against the Prelatist for the original identity of Bishops and elders, and for the scriptural authority of their own scheme of rule and discipline. He contended against the Congregationalist for the right and the duty of reducing England to a state of ecclesiastical uniformity, based upon the decisions of the Westminster Assembly, and defended by the employment of magisterial power. The Congregationalist contended against the Presbyterian for the liberty of gathering Independent Churches, and of maintaining Independent discipline—and for the toleration, within certain limits, of all Christian sects. Of course, after the Restoration, although the main differences continued as before, and ecclesiastical disputes, essentially the same, were carried on—differences in the treatment of these questions necessarily arose, and changes in polemics on all sides became inevitable. When the garrison within the castle walls are mastered and turned out by the besiegers—when those who were besiegers become the garrison, and those who formed the garrison become besiegers, the tactics of each party will undergo alteration. Whilst Presbyterians or Independents, or both, were in the ascendant, Episcopalians had to assume an offensive attitude. They were, in fact, for the time being, Dissenters from the Established religion of the country, and had, as such, to make good their position as best they might. But when Prelacy had been reestablished, its friends no longer needed the kind of battering-rams which they had used very uncomfortably for about twenty years, they would simply buckle on their defensive armour, and fence with their weapons as in days of old. The other party had now to attack those who were in power, and to draw their lines of circumvallation around the fortress of intolerance, whilst they steadily defended themselves against the charge of schism, and earnestly contended for liberty and the rights of conscience. Baxter, in his Plea for Peace, argued against Conformity on the ground of its unjust impositions,—such as the expression of “assent and consent” to all things contained in the Prayer Book, canonical subscription, re-ordination in the case of Presbyterians, and the oath against seeking any change in Church or State.

The right of imposing things indifferent was a point which met with much consideration in books as well as in the Savoy discussions. Respecting this subject, the reader cannot do better than ponder an extract from Sanderson, in favour of imposing such things, and another from Baxter, against all impositions of the kind.

“The liberty of a Christian,” says the Anglican, “to all indifferent things, is in the mind and conscience, and is then infringed, when the conscience is bound and straightened, by imposing upon it an opinion of doctrinal necessity. But it is no wrong to the liberty of a Christian man’s conscience, to bind him to outward observance for order’s sake, and to impose upon him a necessity of obedience. Which one distinction of doctrinal and obediential necessity well weighed, and rightly applied, is of itself sufficient to clear all doubts on this point. For, to make all restraint of the outward man in matters indifferent, an impeachment of Christian liberty, what were it else, but even to bring flat Anabaptism and anarchy into the Church; and to overthrow all bond of subjection and obedience to lawful authority? I beseech you consider, wherein can the immediate power and authority of fathers, masters, and other rulers over their inferiors consist; or the due obedience of inferiors be shown towards them, if not in these indifferent and arbitrary things. For, things absolutely necessary, as commanded by God, we are bound to do, whether human authority require them or no; and things absolutely unlawful, as prohibited by God, we are bound not to do, whether human authority forbid them or no. There are none other things left then, wherein to express properly the obedience due to superior authority than these indifferent things.”[563]

PURITAN ECCLESIASTICAL CONTROVERSY.

Turn from the Anglican to the Puritan:—“I confess,” he says, “it is lawful for me to wear a helmet on my head in preaching; but it were not well if you would institute the wearing of a helmet, to signify our spiritual militia, and then resolve that all shall be silenced and imprisoned during life that will not wear it. It is lawful for me to use spectacles, or to go on crutches; but will you therefore ordain that all men shall read with spectacles, to signify our want of spiritual sight, and that no man shall go to church but on crutches, to signify our disability to come to God of ourselves. So, in circumstantials, it is lawful for me to wear a feather in my hat, and a hay-rope for a girdle, and a hair-cloth for a cloak: but if you should ordain that if any man serve God in any other habit, he shall be banished, or perpetually imprisoned, or hanged; in my opinion, you did not well: especially, if you add that he that disobeyeth you must also incur everlasting damnation. It is in itself lawful to kneel when we hear the Scriptures read, or when we sing psalms; but yet it is not lawful to drive all from hearing and singing, and lay them in prison that do it not kneeling. And why men should have no communion in the Lord’s Supper that receive it not kneeling, or in any one commanded posture, and why men should be forbidden to preach the Gospel that wear not a linen surplice, I cannot imagine any such reason as will hold weight at the bar of God.”[564]

Owen was particularly active and vigorous in defending Nonconformity, in pleading its rights, and in expounding his own views of Church polity. In the year 1667, he published several tracts, the design of which was to promote peaceable obedience to the civil enactments of government; to show the injustice and impolicy of subjecting conscientious and useful men to suffering, on account of their religious sentiments; to expose the unconstitutional nature of the proceedings against them by informers and secret emissaries; to unfold his ideas of the nature and benefits of toleration in former ages, and in other lands; to vindicate it from various charges; and to point out the folly of attempting to settle the peace of the country on the basis of religious conformity.[565]

At a later period, in 1681, Owen published his Enquiry into the Original, Nature, Institution, Power, Order, and Communion of Evangelical Churches, in which he maintains that “unless men by their voluntary choice, and consent, out of a sense of their duty unto the authority of Christ, in His institutions, do enter into a Church-state, they cannot, by any other ways or means, be so framed into it, as to find acceptance with God therein.”

PURITAN ECCLESIASTICAL CONTROVERSY.

A Church he defines to be—“An especial society or congregation of professed believers, joined together according unto his mind, with their officers, guides, or rulers whom he hath appointed; which do or may meet together for the celebration of all the ordinances of Divine worship, the professing and authoritatively proposing the doctrine of the Gospel, with the exercise of the discipline prescribed by himself, unto their own mutual edification, with the glory of Christ, in the preservation and propagation of His kingdom in the world.”[566]

But with all this zeal in defence of particular forms of government, the great Puritan Divines expressed the utmost charity towards all Reformed Churches at home and abroad. The schismatical sentiments of Anglicans, who cut off Presbyterians and Independents from communion, and expressed hopes of their salvation in only cautious, faltering terms, find no echo in the writings of their antagonists. It was the main business of Baxter’s life to unite together Christians of all kinds; for this he wrote numerous books, to this he devoted his best years; and if Owen came behind him in this respect, he has, as in a nut-shell, summed up most truly the cause of all disunion:—

“Men fall to judging and censuring each other as to their interest in Christ, or their eternal condition. By what rule? The Everlasting Gospel? The Covenant of Grace? No, but of the disciples: ‘Master, they follow not with us.’ They that believe not our opinion, we are apt to think believe not in Jesus Christ; and because we delight not in them, that Christ does not delight in them. This digs up the roots of love; weakens prayer; increases evil surmises; which are of the works of the flesh, genders strife and contempt, things that the soul of Christ abhors.”[567]

Able as the Puritans might be in controversy, they appear to much greater advantage in their experimental and practical instructions. And here it ought to be noticed, that whilst the conforming Puritans did not number amongst them any great scientific Divines, they included well-known names of another class. Bishop Hall, by no means an ecclesiastical Puritan, sympathized a good deal with the doctrinal Puritans in their distinctive views, and still more in their evangelical spirit; and this British Seneca, as he is called, always wrote upon moral and practical subjects with the unction characteristic of the best kind of Puritanism. Thomas Fuller, chiefly known as an Historian, employed his matchless wit in the enforcement of religious duties, after a manner which bore much of a Puritan stamp, whilst it fascinated and edified all parties. Dr. Reynolds, the Puritan Bishop of Norwich, wrote books which were once of considerable celebrity, and which contain a great deal of evangelical sentiment and practical piety. The Christian Armour, by Gurnal, the Puritan Incumbent of Framlingham, is perhaps as popular as ever—exhibiting as it does, amidst much perverted ingenuity of arrangement and a vitiated style of expression, a surprising amount of spiritual truth and of genuine wisdom. The Nonconformists, however, outpeer their brethren in this department of literature. John Bunyan has a niche of his own in the temple of literary fame, where the image of his genius has been crowned with chaplets woven by the noblest hands. Other Puritan authors of that age have contributed to the wealth of our spiritual literature. In proof of which I need only mention Owen’s ideal of Christian character, in his Mortification of Sin, and his Spiritual Mindedness; Baxter’s encouragement for believers, in his Saint’s Everlasting Rest; his warnings to the ungodly, in his Now or Never; and Howe’s solace for mourners, in The Redeemer’s Dominion over the Invisible World.

PRACTICAL PURITAN THEOLOGY.

Alleine’s Alarm to the Unconverted—of which it was stated in 1775 that 20,000 copies had been sold, and 50,000 more under the title of The Sure Guide to Heaven—is one of those books which are eminently adapted to awaken deep spiritual convictions. Bates’ Spiritual Perfection Unfolded and Enforced—to mention no other book by this estimable author—is written in his characteristic silvery style: and, if there be sometimes an “abrupt dismissal of a train of thought,” “these breaks in the veins of valuable ore do not appear to be ever very material, and are rarely perceptible except to the eye of a closely-reflecting and examining reader.” But the religious excellencies of the volume surpass those which are literary, and if Alleine’s Alarm be calculated to arrest the godless, Bates’ Spiritual Perfection is equally fitted to guide and edify the godly. The titles of Brooks’ Treatises indicate the quaint kind of talent which he possessed:—“A Box of Precious Ointment”—“An Ark for God’s Noahs”—“A Golden Key to open hidden Treasures”—“Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver.” “Many of his sentences are proverbs newly coined, shrewd, humorous, and Saxon; and they are provided with an alliterative jingle, which, like a sheep-bell, keeps a good saying from being lost in the wilderness.” It is impossible to read his writings without respecting his character as well as admiring his ingenuity; and whilst he exhibits more originality than Bates, like him he is a teacher fitted to instruct Christian people and to comfort their hearts under the troubles of life.

Flavel is entitled to occupy a niche, not far from that which is filled by John Bunyan; not that he possessed the inventiveness of the Great Dreamer, yet, like him, he delighted to use similitudes, and did it successfully. His Husbandry Spiritualized—suggested by his walks through pleasant farms in Dorset and Devon; and his Navigation Spiritualized, arising from observations on sea-faring life, whilst he resided in the picturesque town of Dartmouth, are full of sweet and healthy allegories.

Less known than Flavel, but somewhat akin to him in natural and spiritual taste, was Isaac Ambrose, whose work, entitled Looking to Jesus, is full of pleasant illustrations, drawn from the scenes of nature amidst which he delighted to ramble, especially “the sweet woods of Widdicre,” on the banks of the Darwen, where in a little hut, to which he annually repaired, this Puritan hermit, for the time, spent hour after hour in meditation and prayer.

John Spencer, in his Things New and Old; Robert Cawdray, in his Treasury of Similes; and Benjamin Keach, in his Key to open Scripture Metaphors;—also belong to the same class of authors as Flavel.[568]

PRACTICAL PURITAN THEOLOGY.

Many of the practical treatises published in the seventeenth century consisted of courses of sermons, and partook largely of the diffuse style proper to the pulpit; also many of the sermons of that day are in fact practical treatises. We see this fashion of treating Divinity in the works of Taylor and Barrow, and still more strikingly in the works of Owen, Baxter, and Howe. Casuistry, now neglected by Protestants, was then much studied by theologians of all schools. Taylor’s Ductor Dubitantium, and Baxter’s Christian Directory, are worthy of a chief place on the shelf of a library appropriated to works of this description. The characters of the men, and the peculiarities of the different schools of theological thought to which they belonged, may be traced in these volumes, and there is truth in the remark of one well read in all kinds of theological literature,—“Both may be consulted occasionally with profit and advantage; but if resorted to as oracles, they will frequently be found as unsatisfactory as the responses of the Delphic tripod.”[569]

As, in common with devoted Conformists, Dissenting preachers “watched for souls,” the means they pursued for the accomplishment of their end bore a stamp indicating their distinctive theological principles. One peculiarity in the mode of preaching adopted by the Anglican, and an opposite peculiarity in the mode of preaching adopted by the Puritan, grew—as differences always must—out of different systems of Divinity maintained by the two parties. The first, regarding the ordinance of baptism as lying at the root of Christianity, and looking upon all who had undergone the holy rite, as regenerated Christians, addressed their congregations at large—those congregations being composed almost entirely of the baptized—as members of the mystical body of Christ, as people already in fellowship with the Redeemer, and as needing only to be awakened to a sense of their privileges, and of their responsibility, and to be stimulated to the discharge of their duties. The Puritan, on the contrary, regarding spiritual consciousness as at the bottom of all spiritual life, and looking upon those who were destitute of such consciousness, as dead in trespasses and sins, laboured at making people feel the need of that new birth which our Lord inculcated upon Nicodemus. The tone of the Anglican harp is heard sweetly in Jeremy Taylor’s Rule and Exercises of Holy Living and Dying. The Puritan trumpet waxes loud in Baxter’s Call to the Unconverted.

The office of expositor was necessarily, to some extent, combined with that of preacher. Puritan homilies were chiefly expository, and Puritan expositions were chiefly homiletic. Biblical criticism, in the precise sense of the word, was not studied then so thoroughly as it is in the present day; but looking at the critical literature produced by Puritans, in comparison with that which was produced by other scholars, those who come in the line of succession after the former have no reason to be ashamed of their predecessors. Thomas Gataker the younger, Incumbent of Rotherhithe, who died in 1654, was one of the first scholars of his age, and applied his extensive and profound learning to Biblical investigations. He was somewhat erratic in certain of his conclusions, but in the defence of them he displayed both erudition and ingenuity. In his work on the style of the New Testament, he overthrew the positions of Sebastian Pfochenius, who maintained the classical purity of the Scripture Greek; and in establishing the fact of Hebraistic peculiarities in apostolic writings, he anticipated the opinions of modern scholars, and also entered upon original inquiries respecting the origin of languages.[570] Pool’s Synopsis, published between 1669 and 1674, with the Annotations, which appeared in 1683, present, in an accurate and well-digested form, the principal results of all the learning which had then been applied to the investigation of the Old and New Testament. And Owen’s Exposition of the Epistles to the Hebrews is a rare monument of erudition:—considering the age in which it was written, it is equal if not superior to anything on the same subject which has been composed since. Still, its value as a series of devout and practical meditations far surpasses its exegetical worth, and that which is a pre-eminent quality in Owen is a pre-eminent quality in his brethren. Thomas Goodwin, if not equal in Biblical scholarship to John Owen, does not come very far behind him. His exposition of a part of the Epistle to the Ephesians is a noble production; but the chief excellence of Goodwin, like that of the other “Atlas of Independency,” lies in his clearness, sagacity, comprehensiveness, and point, as a practical and experimental expositor. Burroughs on Hosea; Caryl on Job; Greenhill on Ezekiel; Manton on James, Jude, the 119th Psalm, the Lord’s Prayer, and the 53rd chapter of Isaiah,—and the list could be easily enlarged,—are commentaries, in which the critical element appears faint, when compared with the theological and hortatory characteristics.

PURITAN EXPOSITORS.

As Divines, as expositors, and preachers, the Puritans showed a wonderful acquaintance with the Bible and with the human heart, for they apply the one to the other with singular skill, force, and pathos. No doubt they were deficient in taste, and sometimes worried their metaphors to death, and handled their flowers till they dropped to pieces, and are open to all kinds of criticism from modern masters of science. No doubt, also, we in our day have many advantages over them in reading the Bible; for, owing to helps now familiar, we acquire a keener insight into ancient Eastern life than any of these worthies could ever attain. They had no works in those days like that of Conybeare and Howson; yet they had a pre-eminent gift in bringing to bear, for spiritual and practical purposes, the daily life of patriarchs and Apostles upon the daily life of the people to whom they preached, and for whom they wrote. Travellers often gaze with interest upon those frescoes in the churches of Florence and other Italian cities, in which the stories of Scripture are rendered into landscapes and figures, derived from streets and gardens, and costumes and faces, with which the artist happened to be familiar in the place where he dwelt. And who that has seen them has not been struck with the stained glass windows in Germany, grotesquely portraying Scripture scenes and incidents under forms borrowed from German dwellings and German people? So at times, when reading the homely applications of Bible stories in Puritan writers, are we not reminded of these works of art; do we not feel that amidst a great deal which provokes criticism, and which may make one smile, there is in the Puritan writer, as in the mediæval painter, an instinct of truth, and an insight into the connection between the Bible and common life, most profound, most keen, most admirable? As the wickedness of old is still reproduced, and as the enemies of Christ are the same in spirit whether dressed like Jewish priests or as Saxon burgomasters,—so the devotion and piety of ancient and sacred times may transmigrate into the souls, and be embodied in the habits of modern citizens. But of all the excellencies of Puritan divinity, this is the chief,—that it exhibits clearly, and with warmth and love, with light and fire, the distinctive doctrines of Christianity—the Fatherhood of God, the Divinity, the mediation, the priesthood, and the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ, the agency of the Holy Spirit, the freeness of salvation, the way of acceptance with God through faith, and the new birth and sanctification of the human soul, through the efficacious operations of Divine grace.

COMPARISON.

Thus I have attempted to give an outline of the opinions which divided the English Christendom of the latter half of the seventeenth century. In citing passages from various authors I am fully aware how fallacious quotations are when taken by themselves; at the best they are insufficient for the formation of a judgment. The old illustration of a brick taken out of a house as a specimen of the structure scarcely applies to the subject; yet no judicious student of literature will rely upon passages extracted from an author, detached from their connection and separated from the leading idea and spirit of his work. Those which are employed in these pages have been chosen on account of their being not mere blocks lying upon the surface, but the croppings up of characteristic strata, penetrating deeply, and spreading far beneath the surface of the ground upon which they appear.

How do we acquire a correct knowledge of the opinions of the Fathers? Not by looking at quotations alone, but by analyzing their writings, by tracing out their trains of thought, by measuring the space which they devote to particular topics, by arranging together their favourite texts, by examining their references to tradition and the Church, as well as to Scripture, and by endeavouring to detect their sympathies and predilections; it is in the same way that I have endeavoured, not so well as I could wish, to read the Divines of the seventeenth century, and the result is such as the reader finds imperfectly stated in the pages of this volume.

What was indicated at the beginning of our survey may, in other words, be expressed at the close. In the Anglican teaching we find what is doctrinal, what is ethical, and what is emotional; we see the orthodox dogmas of Christianity, the indisputable morals of Christianity, and the spiritual experience of Christianity; but these are introduced in different proportions, the third less than the second, perhaps the second less than the first. Yet not in any of these do we detect the characteristic stamp of Anglican sentiment so much as in the belief of one catholic Church preserving this truth, inculcating this morality, and cultivating this experience, and in the idea of an organized unity, with its ministers, sacraments, and ordinances, receiving, enjoying, and dispensing God’s gifts of grace. In the Latitudinarian teaching, there is not much which can be called experimental, there is more of what is theological, but the principal feature is undoubtedly moral. Quakerism has its exposition of dogmas and its enforcement of duties; it has its creed and its forms as have other systems of Christianity; but it is in its mystical element that we discover the key to unlock the secrets of its power. Puritanism has its Church organizations, Presbyterian, and Independent,—it has its moral teaching, for it is decidedly practical, yet in neither of these do we reach its most prominent distinction. That consists both in its doctrinal zeal, and in its experimental tone, and in the last more than the first; for the dogmatical difference between John Goodwin[571] and Thomas Goodwin, between the Arminian and the Calvinist, seems lost when we ponder the fellowship of these souls in the same peculiar kind of emotional ardour, which glows with a coloured light, easily distinguishable from such fires as burn in Anglican, in Latitudinarian, or in Mystic lamps before the altar of the one God, in the one temple of His redeemed Church.

CHAPTER XXI.

Doctrinal, expository, and homiletic literatures exhibit the divergent theological opinions of Christian men; but psalms, hymns and spiritual songs reveal the sensibilities of the devout, as they converge towards the common centre of all religious trust and hope and love. More of unity is possible in the worship of praise than in any other kind of worship. What on one side is deemed superstition, what on another is regarded as sectarianism, may sometimes taint the expression of pious thought and feeling in verse; but an immense number of compositions in English hymnology are altogether free from defects of either of these kinds, and are fitted to convey, with propriety, the sentiments of people who differ widely from each other whenever they enter the region of polemics. Broad Church and Low Church, the Anglican, the Evangelical, and the Nonconformist, on some occasions find it easy to combine in the service of song, and to adopt with common joy and love, the same strains of sweetness and purity which form a consentaneous Cardiphonia, a blended utterance of many hearts.[572]

Before approaching the subject of hymnology proper, a few words may be introduced in relation to a kind of poetry which closely resembles it. It would be foreign to my purpose to say anything critical of the grand religious epics of John Milton, known by every one: they belong to the realms of imagination, and scarcely come, except in some of the songs which they include, within those precincts of Christian affection where the humble hymn-writer makes his home. Nor can I take up Joseph Beaumont’s Pysche or Love’s Mystery, displaying the intercourse betwixt Christ and the Soul, which was published in 1648, and is known by very few; since its length, extending to 40,000 lines, baffles all attempts at description, and its blending of Pagan fables with Bible facts, often takes it out of the circle of religious poetry altogether. Benlowes’ poem, entitled Theophila, or Love’s Sacrifice, published in 1652, is of a different character: his verses come more within the range of modern sympathies, whilst their quaintness of style leave no doubt as to the age in which they were written. Such compositions can scarcely be called devotional; but verses flowed from certain pens, at the time I speak of, which, although not meant for public or private worship, did very charmingly embody the aspirations of Christian men. Some of them, it is true, had a tinge of peculiarity, derived from ecclesiastical or theological preferences, but the general stamp of these compositions was such as to commend them to many outside the circle to which they particularly belonged. For instance: Richard Crashaw, a clergyman, who had been Master of the Temple, and who died in 1652, wrote An Ode prefixed to a Prayer Book, in which, imbued with an Anglican admiration of that volume, he beautifully says:—

POETRY.

“It is an armory of light,

Let constant use but keep it bright,

You’ll find it yields

To holy hands and humble hearts,

More swords and shields

Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts.

Only be sure,

The hands are pure,

That hold these weapons, and the eyes,

Those of Christians, meek, and true,

Wakeful, wise;

Here is a friend shall fight for you;

Hold but this book before your heart,

Let prayer alone to play its part.

O, but the heart

That studies this high art,

Must be a sure housekeeper,

And yet no sleeper.

Of all this store

Of blessings, and ten thousand more,

(If, when He come

He find the heart from home),

Doubtless He will unload

Himself some other where,