Chapter XI: Part 11

It is very probable, that the devoted followers--the wholesale admirers--of William Penn, who have presented their conceptions of his character, and their constructions of his conduct, to the world, from time to time, have been led into some little excesses, by the force of habitual idolatry. On the other hand, few readers, I believe, have failed to be surprised, by some of the statements and opinions, in regard to Penn, which are presented, on the pages of Mr. Macaulay's History of England.

In my last number, I alluded to the persecution of the Quakers in Massachusetts. It is my purpose, to say something more of these "_cursed_" Quakers, and, particularly, of William Penn. My remarks may extend over several consecutive numbers of these Dealings with the Dead; and, I flatter myself, that, from the nature of the subject, they will not be wholly uninteresting to the reader.

I have always cherished a feeling of regard and respect, for these "cursed" Quakers, originating in early impressions, and increased, by some personal intercourse, with certain members of the Society of Friends.

It appears, by the Salem Records, that John Kitchen was fined thirty pence, for "unworthy and malignant carriages and speeches, in open court, Sept. 25, 1662." I was very much chagrined, when I first glanced at this record; for he was my great, great, great-grandfather, by the mother's side; and grandfather of the Hon. Col. John Turner, of Salem, who commanded, at the battle of Haverhill. Great was my satisfaction, when I discovered, that John Kitchen's offence was neither more nor less, than an absolute refusal to take off his hat, in presence of the magistrate. For the luxury of keeping it on, and absenting themselves from the ordinances, he appears to have paid L40 stirling, in fines, for himself and Elizabeth, his wife. The "_cursed_" Quakers appear to have had a hard time of it, about the middle of the seventeenth century. Felt tells us, in his Annals, p. 204, that Robinson and Stevenson were hung in 1659, for returning from banishment; and, on p. 206, that Mary Dyer, of the Friends, was hung, June 1, 1660.

The deposition of John Ward and Thomas Mekens, is still of record, taken in that very month and year, showing that they saw Mrs. Kitchen pulled off her horse, and heard one Batter tell her, she was "_a base, quaking slut_," and had been "_a powowing_."

Now, John Kitchen was a good Quaker, doubtless, so far as regarded the essential qualification of obstinately wearing his hat, and refusing to take an oath. But he was made of flesh and blood, like all other Quakers; and this outrage, in pulling my gr. gr. gr. grandmother down from her horse, was more than flesh and blood could bear. A copy of the deposition of Giles Corey is now before me, showing, that John, upon other occasions, was not so pacific, as he might have been--and that, upon one occasion, "_he struck up Mr. Edward Norris his heels_"--and, upon another, he beat Giles Corey himself, "_till he was all blody_." He seems to have been moved, by the spirit, to thrash them both. I take this Giles Corey to be the man, or the father of the man, who, as Felt says, p. 308, was pressed to death, in Salem, for standing mute, during the witch mania, September 19, 1692.

William Penn was, for many years, engaged in controversy, chiefly in defence of the peculiar, religious opinions of the Quakers. Wood, in his Athenae Oxonienses, iv. p. 647, Lond. 1820, gives the titles of fifty-two tracts and pamphlets, published by Penn, between 1668 and 1690. In the heat of controversy, his character was rudely assailed, and his conduct grossly misrepresented. The familiar relation, subsisting between him and James II., gave color, with some persons, to the report, that Penn, at heart, was a Papist and a Jesuit. These groundless imputations have, long ago, been swallowed up, in their own absurdity. So strong, however, was the hold, which these ridiculous fancies had taken of the public mind, that, after the revolution of 1688, he was examined before the Council, and obliged to give bond, for his appearance, from time to time; till, at last, he obtained a hearing before King William, and effectually established his innocence.

Among the few men, of elevated standing, who gave, or pretended to give credit to the rumor, that Penn was a Papist, Burnet appears in the foremost rank. He, who could speak of Prior, as "_one Prior_," might be expected to speak of William Penn, as "_Penn the Quaker_." The appearance of Penn, at the Court of the Prince of Orange, could, on no account, have been agreeable to a Bishop, and, least of all Bishops, to Burnet; who saw, in the new comer, the confidential agent of his bitterest enemy, King James the Second; and who might, on other scores, have been jealous of the influence, even of "_Penn the Quaker_." Burnet's words are these, vol. ii. p. 318, Lond., 1818--"Many suspected that he was a concealed Papist; it is certain he was much with father Peter, and was particularly trusted by the Earl of Sunderland." On the preceding page Burnet thus describes the Quaker--"He was a talking vain man, who had been long in the King's favor, he being the Vice Admiral's son. He had such an opinion of his own faculty of persuading, that he thought none could stand before it; though he was singular in that opinion; for he had a tedious, luscious way, that was not apt to overcome a man's reason, though it might tire his patience." It is impossible not to perceive, in this description, some touches, which, historians have told us, were singularly applicable to Burnet himself.

William, who perfectly comprehended the character of Halifax and Burnet, perceived the propriety of keeping them apart, when the former came to Hungerford, as a commissioner from the King, Dec. 8, 1688. How far I judge rightly, in applying a part of Burnet's description of Penn, to Burnet himself, may appear, in the following passage from Macaulay, vol. ii. p. 538: "Almost all those, who were admitted to his (William's) confidence, were men, taciturn and impenetrable as himself. Burnet was the only exception. He was notoriously garrulous and indiscreet. Yet circumstances had made it necessary to trust him; and he would, doubtless, under the dexterous management of Halifax, have poured put secrets, as fast as words. William knew this well; and, when he was informed, that Halifax was asking for the Doctor, could not refrain from exclaiming, '_If they get together, there will be fine tattling_.'"

Mr. Macaulay remarks, that--"_To speak the whole truth, concerning Penn, is a task, which requires some courage_." He then, vol. i. page 505, delivers himself as follows--"The integrity of Penn had stood firm against obloquy and persecution. But now, attacked by royal wiles, by female blandishments, by the insinuating eloquence and delicate flattery of veteran diplomatists and courtiers, his resolution began to give way. Titles and phrases, against which he had often borne his testimony, dropped occasionally from his lips and his pen. It would be well, if he had been guilty of nothing worse than such compliances with the fashions of the world. Unhappily it cannot be concealed, that he bore a chief part in some transactions, condemned, not merely by the rigid code of the society, to which he belonged, but by the general sense of all honest men. He afterwards solemnly protested that his hands were pure from illicit gain, and that he had never received any gratuity from those, whom he had obliged, though he might easily, while his interest at court lasted, have made a hundred and twenty thousand pounds. To this assertion full credit is due. But bribes may be offered to vanity, as well as to cupidity; and it is impossible to deny that Penn was cajoled into bearing a part, in some unjustifiable transactions of which others enjoyed the profits."

This passage will tend, in the ratio of Mr. Macaulay's influence, to disturb the popular opinion of William Penn. It is very carefully written, and will not always be so carefully read. It is, perhaps, unfortunate for Penn, that Mr. Macaulay felt obliged, in pursuing the course of his history, to postpone the presentation of the facts, upon which his opinions rest, until they arise, in their chronological order. Thus the impression, instead of being removed, qualified, or confirmed, by instant examination, is suffered to become imbedded in the mind. Having carefully collated this passage, with every other passage, relative to Penn, in Mr. Macaulay's work, I must confess, that the exceedingly painful impression, produced by the paragraph, presented above, has been materially relieved, by a careful consideration of all the evidence, subsequently offered, by Mr. Macaulay himself, and by the testimony of other writers. Perhaps the reader will consent to go along with me, in the examination of this question.

No. LXIV.

Mr. Macaulay's second mention of William Penn may be found, vol. i. page 650. A number of young girls, acting under the direction of their school-mistress, had walked in procession, and presented a standard to Monmouth, at Taunton, in 1635. Some of them had expiated their offence already. That hell-hound of a judge, Jeffreys, had literally frightened one of them to death. It was determined, under menace of the gibbet, to extort a ransom from the parents of _all_ these innocent girls. Who does not apply those lines of Shakspeare to this infernal judge!

"Did you say all? What, all? Oh, hell-kite, all?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam,
At one fell swoop?"

"The Queen's maids of honor," says Mr. Macaulay, "asked the royal permission, to wring money out of the parents of the poor children; and the permission was granted." They demanded L7000, and applied to Sir Francis Warre, to exact the ransom. "He was charged to declare, in strong language, that the maids of honor would not endure delay," &c.

Warre excused himself. Mr. Macaulay proceeds as follows: "The maids of honor then requested William Penn to act for them, and Penn accepted the commission. Yet it should seem that a little of the pertinacious scrupulosity, which he had often shown, about taking off his hat, would not have been altogether out of place on this occasion. He probably silenced the remonstrances of his conscience, by repeating to himself, that none of the money, which he extorted, would go into his own pocket; that, if he refused to be the agent of the ladies, they would find agents less humane; that by complying he should increase his influence at the court; and that his influence at the court had already enabled him, and might still enable him to render greater services to his oppressed brethren. The maids of honor were at last forced to content themselves with less than a third part of what they had demanded."

Now it seems to me, that no clear-headed, whole-hearted, _impartial_ reader will draw the inference, from this passage, which Mr. Macaulay would manifestly have him draw. Penn well understood the resolute brutality of Jeffreys, the never-dying obstinacy and vindictive malevolence of James, and the heartless greediness of these maids of honor. He knew, as Mr. Macaulay says, that "_if he refused to be the agent of the ladies they would find agents less humane_." There was no secrecy here--this thing was not done in a corner. Mr. Macaulay says, "they _charged_ Sir Francis Warre," &c.: and after he refused, they "_requested_ William Penn," &c. Penn acted as a peacemaker. He stood between these she wolves--these shameless maids of honor--and the Taunton lambs; and, instead of L7000, he persuaded those vampyres, who, under the royal grant, had full power in their hands to do their wicked will--to receive less than L2300. Mr. Macaulay admits, that Penn received not a farthing; and, that, had he refused, matters might have been worse for the oppressed.

The known character of Penn demands of us the presumption, in his favor, that he entered upon this business conscientiously, and not as an _extortioner_--and that he made, as the result leads us to believe he did, the very best terms for the parents. Wherein was ever the sin or the shame of negotiating, between the buccaneers of the Tortugas, and the parents of captive children, for their ransom? Does not Mr. Macaulay present the reign of James II. before us, as blotted all over, with official piracy and judicial murder? If the adjustment of this odious business increased the influence of Penn, at court, and thereby enabled him to "_render great services to his oppressed brethren_"--these were the natural consequences of the act; without them, there was enough of just and honorable motive, for a mediator, to step between the oppressor and the oppressed, and lessen, as much as possible, the weight of the oppression.

If the conduct of William Penn, upon this occasion, was the humane and Christian thing, which it certainly appears to have been, "_the pertinacious scrupulosity, which he had often shown, about taking off his hat_" would have been wholly out of place. And if so, what justification can be found for Mr. Macaulay's expressions--"_the remonstrances of his conscience_," and "_the money, which he extorted_."

It is proverbially hard, for an old dog to learn new tricks. He, to whose hand the hatchet is familiar, when he substitutes the rapier, will still hack and hew with it, as though it were a hatchet. It may well be doubted, if an impartial history, especially those parts of it, wherein the writer deals with character and motive, can ever be trustworthily and impartially written, by a veteran, professional reviewer, of the tomahawk school, however splendid his talents may be.

Upon this occasion, Penn, doubtless, persuaded the maids of honor to moderate their demands; at the same time, representing to the parents the uncompromising character of those, with whom they had to deal, and the unavoidable necessity of making terms. It is impossible to judge of the transaction aright, without taking into view the character of those dark days of tyranny and misrule, and the little security, then enjoyed by the subject.

On page 659, ibid., Mr. Macaulay, once more, introduces Penn to his readers--"William Penn, for whom exhibitions, which humane men generally avoid, seem to have had a strong attraction, hastened from Cheapside, where he had seen Cornish hanged, to Tyburn, in order to see Elizabeth Gaunt burned. He afterwards related that, when she calmly disposed the straw about her, in such a manner, as to shorten her sufferings, all the bystanders burst into tears." Here is another attempt to lower the Quaker, in public estimation.

That Penn ever, from the cradle to the grave, gazed, unsympathizingly, upon human suffering, nobody, but a madman, will credit, for a moment. Nor would Mr. Macaulay, notwithstanding the rather peculiar construction of the paragraph, venture _directly_ so to represent him. It has been my fortune to know several men, of kind and warm affections, who have confessed, without reserve, a strong desire to witness the execution of criminals. Cornish and Gaunt were executed on the same day, and their fate excited universal attention. Penn's account of the last moments of both was very minute; and shows him to have been a deeply interested observer. I am not aware, that he ever attended any other execution. And if he did not, the remark of Mr. Macaulay, which is _general_, can never be justified, in relation to Penn; though it would fairly apply to the celebrated George Selwyn, who, though remarkable for the keenness of his sensibility, and the kindness of his heart, was in the habit of attending every execution in London; and who, upon one remarkable occasion of this kind, actually embarked for the Continent.

Why could not Mr. Macaulay, who often refers to Clarkson, have adopted some of his charitable and gentlemanly constructions of Penn's conduct, upon this occasion? Clarkson says--"Men of the most noted benevolence have felt and indulged a curiosity of this sort. They have been worked upon, by different motives; some, perhaps, by a desire of seeing what human nature would be, at such an awful crisis; what would be its struggles; what would be the effects of innocence or guilt; what would be the power of religion on the mind." * * * * "I should say that he consented to witness the scenes in question, with a view to do good; with a view of being able to make an impression on the King's mind, by his own relation," &c.

In vol. ii. page 222, 1687, Mr. Macaulay says--"Penn had never been a strong-headed man: the life which he had been leading, during two years, had not a little impaired his moral sensibility; and, if his conscience ever reproached him, he comforted himself by repeating, that he had a good and noble end in view, and that he was not paid for his services in money."

Again, ibid., page 227, referring to the effort of the King, to propitiate William Kiffen, a great man, among the Baptists, no phraseology would suit Mr. Macaulay, but this--"_Penn was employed in the work of seduction_." What _seduction_? Indeed, whenever a good chance presents itself to reach the Quaker, anywhere and anyhow, through the joints of the harness, the phylactery of Mr. Macaulay seems to have been--_semper paratus_.

It was enough, that Penn was, in some sense, the confidant, and, occasionally, the _unconstrained and perfectly conscientious_ agent of this most miserable King.

That posterity will sanction these politico-historical flings, at the character of William Penn, I cannot believe.

Tillotson knew him well. He had once expressed a suspicion that Penn was a Papist. A correspondence ensued. "In conclusion," says Chalmers, "Tillotson declared himself fully satisfied, and, as in that case he had promised, he heartily begs pardon of Penn."

Chalmers himself, who had no sympathy with the "_cursed Quakers_," closes his account of Penn, as follows--"_It must be evident from his works, that he was a man of abilities; and from his conduct through life, that he was a man of the purest conscience. This, without acceding to his opinions in religion, we are perfectly willing to allow and to declare_."

No. LXV.

There was a couple of unamiable, maiden ladies, who had cherished, for a long time, an unkindly feeling to the son of their married sister; and, whenever her temporary absence afforded a fitting opportunity, one of them would inquire of the other, if it was not _a good time to lick Billy_. Mr. Macaulay suffers no convenient occasion to pass, without exhibiting a practical illustration of this opinion, that it is _a good time to lick Billy_.

In vol. ii. page 292, Mr. Macaulay says--"Penn was at Chester (in 1687,) on a pastoral tour. His popularity and authority among his brethren had greatly declined since he had become a tool of the King and the Jesuits." In proof of this assertion Mr. Macaulay refers to a letter, from Bonrepaux to Seignelay, and to Gerard Croese's Quaker History. Let us see, for ourselves, what Bonrepaux says--"Penn, chef des Quakers, qu'on sait etre dans les interets du Roi d'Angleterre, est si fort decrie parmi ceux de son parti qu'ils n'ont plus aucune confiance en lui."

Now I ask, in the name of historical truth, if Mr. Macaulay is sustained in his assertion, by Bonrepaux? Is there a jot or tittle of evidence, in this reference, that Penn "_had become a tool of the King and of the Jesuits_;" or that Bonrepaux was himself of any such opinion?

Let us next present the passage from Croese--"Etiam Quakeri Pennum non amplius, ut ante, ita amabant ac magnifaciebant, quidam aversabantur ac fugiebant."

I ask, in reference to this quotation from Croese, the same question? No possible version of these passages into English will go farther, than to show, that the Quakers were dissatisfied with Penn, about that time: in neither is there the slightest reference to Penn, as "_a tool of the King and of the Jesuits_." Mr. Macaulay's passage is so constructed, that his citation of authorities goes, not only to the fact of Penn's unpopularity, for a time, but to the cause of it, as assigned by Mr. Macaulay himself, namely, that Penn "_had become a tool of the King and of the Jesuits_."

Now it is well known, that Penn, in 1687, was in bad odor with some of the Quakers. He was _suspected_, by some persons, of being a Jesuit--George Keith, the Quaker renegade, called him a deist--he was said by others to be a Papist. Even Tillotson had given countenance to this foolish story, which Penn's intimacy with King James tended to corroborate. How far Tillotston believed Penn to be a _Papist_, or a _tool_ of the King, or of the _Jesuits_, will appear, upon the perusal of a few lines from Tillotson to Penn, written in 1686, the year before that, of which Mr. Macaulay is writing--"I am very sorry that the suspicion I had entertained concerning you, of which I gave you the true account in my former letter, hath occasioned so much trouble and inconvenience to you: and I do now declare with great joy, that I am fully satisfied, that there was no just ground for that suspicion, and therefore do heartily beg your pardon for it." Clarkson's Memoirs, vol. i. chap. 22.

If the authorities, cited, sustained the statement of Mr. Macaulay, their credibility would still form a serious question. In vol. ii. pages 305-7-8, Mr. Macaulay refers to Bonrepaux's "complicity with the Jesuits." It would have been quite agreeable to that crafty emissary of Lewis, to have had it believed, that Penn was of their fraternity. As for Gerard Croese, Chalmers speaks of him and his history, with very little respect; and states, that it dissatisfied the Quakers. However this may have been, there is not a syllable in Gerard Croese's Historia Quakeriana, giving color to Mr. Macaulay's assertion, that Penn "_had become a tool of the King and of the Jesuits_." On the contrary, Croese, as I shall show hereafter, speaks of Penn, with great respect, on several occasions.

In the same paragraph, of which a part is quoted, at the commencement of this article, Mr. Macaulay, after stating, that, when the King and Penn met at Chester, in 1687, Penn preached, or, to use Mr. Macaulay's word, _harangued_, in the tennis court, he says--"_It is said indeed, that his Majesty deigned to look into the tennis court, and to listen, with decency, to his friend's melodious eloquence_." What does Mr. Macaulay mean?--that the King did not laugh outright?--that he made some little exertion, to suppress a disposition to make a mock of Penn and his preaching? No intelligent reader, though he may not catch the invidious spirit of this remark, can fail to perceive the writer's design, to speak disparagingly of Penn.

Well: what is Mr. Macaulay's authority for this? He quotes "Cartwright's Diary, Aug. 30, 1687, and Clarkson's Life of William Penn"--but without any indication of volume, chapter, or page. This loose and unsatisfactory kind of reference is quite common with Mr. Macaulay; and one might almost as well indicate the route to the pyramids, by setting up a finger post in Edinburgh, pointing in the direction of Cairo. No eminent historian, English or Scotch, has ever been thus regardless of his reader's comfort; neither Rapin nor Tindal, Smollett nor Hume, nor Henry, nor Robertson, nor Guthrie, nor any other. Of this the reader may well complain. This may all be well enough, in a historical romance--but in a matter, pretending to be true and impartial history, no good reader will walk by faith, altogether, and upon the staff of a single narrator; and he will too often find, that the spirit of the context, in the authority, is very different, from that of the citation.

He, who imparts to any historical fact the coloring of his own prejudice, and _dresses up_ a statement, after his own fancy, has no right to vouch in, as his authority, for the _whole thing_, however grotesque he may have made it--the writer, who has stated the _naked fact_. If Clarkson said simply, that the King had listened to Penn's preaching, Mr. Macaulay has no right to quote Clarkson, as having said so, in a manner to lower Penn, the tithe of a hair, in the estimation of the world. _A fortiori_, if Clarkson has said, that the King listened to Penn's preaching, _on several occasion, with respect_, Mr. Macaulay had no right to quote Clarkson, as his authority, for the sneering and ill-natured statement, to which I have referred. This is not history, it is gross misrepresentation; and, the more forcibly and ingeniously it is fabricated, the more unjust and the more ungenerous the libel, upon the dead.

The reader, if he will, may judge of Mr. Macaulay's impartiality, by comparing his words with the _only words_ uttered by Clarkson, on this point. They may be found, vol. i. chap. 23--"Among the places he (Penn) visited, in Cheshire, was Chester itself. The King, who was then travelling, arriving there at the same time, went to the meeting-house of the Quakers, to hear him preach. This mark of respect the King showed him also, at two or three other places where they fell in with each other, in the course of their respective tours."

This is the only passage, which can be referred to, in Clarkson, by Mr. Macaulay, to sustain his ill-natured remark, whose evil spirit is entirely neutralized, by the very authority he cites. But there will be many, who will rather give Mr. Macaulay credit, for stating the point impartially; and few, I apprehend, who will take the trouble to look, through two octavo volumes, for a passage, thus vaguely referred to, without any indication of the volume, chapter, or page.

This rude assault, upon the character and motives of William Penn, Mr. Macaulay commences, by saying--"_To speak the whole truths concerning Penn, is a task, which requires some courage_." It is becoming, in every historian, to speak the truth, the whole truth, and _nothing but the truth_. It certainly requires some courage--audacity, perhaps, is the better word--to present citations, in French and Latin, to sustain an assertion, which those citations do not sustain; and to refer to a highly respectable author, as having stated that, which he has nowhere stated.

It may not be amiss, to present my views of Mr. Macaulay's injustice, more plainly than I have done. It is obvious to all, that a fact--the same fact--may, by the very manner of stating it, raise or lower the character of him, in regard to whom it is related. The _manner_ of representing it may become _material_, or, substantially, part and parcel of the fact, as completely, as the coloring is part and parcel of a picture. No man has a right to take the sketch or outline of an angel, and, having given it the sable complexion of a devil, ascribe the entire thing, such as he has made it, to the author of the original sketch. No man, surely, has a right to seize a wreath, respectfully designed for the brows of his neighbor; distort it into the shape of a fool's cap; clap it upon that neighbor's head; and then charge the responsibility upon him, who prepared the original chaplet, as a token of respect.

Mr. Macaulay represents King James, as listening to the preaching of Penn, with concealed contempt--such are the force and meaning of his words; and he quotes Clarkson, as authority for this, who says precisely the contrary.

Every reader, who is uninstructed in the French and Latin languages, will view the quotations from Bonrepaux and Croese, as authorities for Mr. Macaulay's assertion, that Penn had "_become the tool of the King and the Jesuits_"--for, whether carelessly, or cunningly, contrived, the sentence will certainly be understood to mean precisely this. A large number, even of those, who understand the languages, will take these quotations, as evidence, upon Mr. Macaulay's word, without examination. Now, as I have stated, there is not the slightest authority, in these passages, for Mr. Macaulay's assertion.

No. LXVI.

Mr. Macaulay's last attack upon William Penn will be found, in vol. ii., pages 295-6-7. The Fellows of Magdalen College had been most abominably treated, by James II., in 1687. The detail is too long for my limits, and is, withal, unnecessary here, since there is neither doubt nor denial of the fact. The mediatorial agency of Penn was employed. The King was enraged, and resolved to have his way. His obstinacy was a proverb. There were three courses for Penn--right, left, and medial--to side with the King--to side with the Fellows--or to act as a mediator. Mr. Macaulay is pleased, in his Index, to speak of the transaction, as "_Penn's mediation_."

Had he sided with the Fellows entirely, he would have lost his influence utterly, to serve them, with the King. Had he sided with the King entirely, he would have lost all confidence with the Fellows. Mr. Macaulay, here, as elsewhere, is evidently bent upon showing up Penn, as the "_tool of the King_:" and, if there is anything more unjust, upon historical record, I know not where to look for it.

[1]With manifest effort, and in stinted measure, Mr. Macaulay lets down a few drops of the milk of human kindness, in the outset, and says of Penn--"_He had too much good feeling to approve of the violent and unjust proceedings of the government, and even ventured to express part of what he thought_." Here, that which proceeded from _fixed and lofty principle_, is ascribed to a less honorable motive--"_good feeling_," or _bonhommie_; and the "_part of what he thought_," was neither more nor less, than a bold and frank remonstrance, committed to writing, and sent to the King, by Penn.

[1] The palpable reluctance of Mr. Macaulay to deal in liberal
construction, and to award the smallest praise, on such occasions, is
not confined to Penn. A writer in Blackwood's Magazine, for October,
1849, page 509, after referring to the glorious defeat of the Dutch
fleet, off Harwich, when the Duke of York, afterwards James II.,
commanded in person, remarks--"Mr. Macaulay, in his late published
_History of England_, has not deigned even to notice this
engagement--a remarkable omission, the reason of which omission it is
foreign to our purpose to inquire. This much we may be allowed to say,
that no historian, who intends to form an accurate estimate of the
character of James II., or to compile a complete register of his
deeds, can justly accomplish his task, without giving that unfortunate
monarch the credit for his conduct and intrepidity, in one of the most
important and successful naval actions, which stands recorded, in our
annals."

Other English historians have related it. Hume, Oxford ed. 1826, vol.
vii. page 355--Smollett, Lond. ed. 1759, vol. viii. page 31.--Rapin,
Lond. ed. 1760, vol. xi. page 272. "The Duke of York," says Smollett,
"was in the hottest part of the battle, and behaved with great spirit
and composure, even when the Earl of Falmouth, the Lord Muskerry, and
Mr. Boyle, were killed at his side, by one cannon ball, which covered
him with the blood and brains of these three gallant gentlemen."

When they met at Oxford, says Clarkson, vol. i. chap. 23, "William Penn had an opportunity of showing not only his courage, but his consistency in those principles of religious liberty, which he had defended, during his whole life." After giving an account of the Prince's injustice, Clarkson says--"Next morning William Penn was on horseback, ready to leave Oxford, but knowing what had taken place, he rode up to Magdalen College, and conversed with the Fellows, on the subject. After this conversation, he wrote a letter, and desired them to present it to the King." * * * * "Dr. Sykes, in relating this anecdote of William Penn, by letter to Dr. Chazlett, who was then absent, mentions that Penn, after some discourse with the Fellows of Magdalen College, wrote a short letter, directed to the King. He wrote to this purpose--that their case was hard, and that, in their circumstances, they could not yield obedience."

This was confirmed by Mr. Creech, as Clarkson states, and by Sewell, who states, in his History of the Rise and Progress of the Quakers, that Penn told the King the act "_could not in justice be defended, since the general liberty of conscience did not allow of depriving any of their property, who did what they ought to do, as the Fellows of the said College appeared to have done_." This is the "_part of what he thought_," referred to by Mr. Macaulay, who has not found it convenient, upon this occasion, to quote a syllable from Clarkson, nor from Sewell, of whose work Chalmers and others have spoken with respect.

I know of no better mode of presenting this matter fairly, than by laying before the reader contrasted passages, from Mr. Macaulay, and from Clarkson, relating to the conduct of Penn, upon this occasion. Mr. Macaulay shall lead off--"James, was as usual, obstinate in the wrong. The courtly Quaker, therefore, did his best to seduce the college from the path of right."--Therefore!--Wherefore? Penn did his best to _seduce_ the college from the path of right, _because_ James was, as usual, obstinate in the wrong! This is based, of course, upon Mr. Macaulay's favorite hypothesis, that Penn was "_the tool of the King and the Jesuits_."--"He tried first intimidation. Ruin, he said, impended over the society. The King was highly incensed. The case might be a hard one. Most people thought it so. But every child knew that his Majesty loved to have his own way, and could not bear to be thwarted. Penn, therefore, exhorted the Fellows not to rely on the goodness of their cause, but to submit, or at least to temporize. Such counsel came strangely from one, who had been expelled from the University for raising a riot about the surplice, who had run the risk of being disinherited, rather than take off his hat to the princes of the blood, and who had been more than once sent to prison, for haranguing in conventicles. He did not succeed in frightening the Magdalen men."

It may be thought scarcely worth while, to charge a Quaker, at the age of _forty-three_, with inconsistency, because his views had somewhat altered, since he was a wild young man, at _twenty-one_.

It is also clear, that Penn viewed the Magdalen question, as one quite as much of _property_ as of _conscience_; and that he could see no good reason, with his eyes of toleration wide open, why all the great educational institutions should be forever, in the hands of one denomination.

Mr. Macaulay again--"Then Penn tried a gentler tone. He had an interview with Hough and some of the Fellows, and after many professions of sympathy and friendship, began to hint at a compromise. The King could not bear to be crossed. The college must give way. Parker must be admitted. But he was in very bad health. All his preferments would soon be vacant. 'Dr. Hough,' said Penn, 'may then be Bishop of Oxford. How should you like that, gentlemen?' Penn had passed his life in declaiming against a hireling ministry. He held, that he was bound to refuse the payment of tithes, and this even when he had bought lands, chargeable with tithes, and had been allowed the value of the tithes in the purchase money. According to his own principles, he would have committed a great sin, if he had interfered, for the purpose of obtaining a benefice, on the most honorable terms, for the most pious divine. Yet to such a degree had his manners been corrupted by evil communications, and his understanding obscured by inordinate zeal for a single object, that he did not scruple to become a broker in simony of a peculiarly discreditable kind, and to use a bishopric as a bait to tempt a divine to perjury."

Are these the words of truth and soberness? I rather think they are not. In the sacred name of common sense--did Penn become a _broker in simony of a peculiarly discreditable kind, and use a bishopric, as a bait to tempt a divine to perjury_, by stating, that Parker was very infirm, and, that, should he die, Hough might be his successor! If this is history, give us fiction, for Heaven's sake, which is said to be less marvellous than fact. There is not the least pretence, that he offered, or was authorized to offer, any such "_bait_." He spoke of a mere contingency; and did the best he could to mediate, between the King and the Fellows, both of whom were highly incensed.

As to the matter of tithes, Penn was mediating, between men, _who had no scruples about tithes_. He recognized, _pro hac vice_, the usages of the parties; and a Christian judge may, as shrewdly, be charged with infidelity, for conforming to the established law of evidence, and permitting a disciple of Mahomet to be sworn, upon the Koran.

When Hough replied, that the Papists had robbed them of University College, and Christ Church, and were now after Magdalen, and would have all the rest, "Penn," says Mr. Macaulay, "was foolish enough to answer, that he believed the Papists would now be content. 'University,' he said, 'is a pleasant college. Christ Church is a noble place. Magdalen is a fine building. The situation is convenient. The walks by the river are delightful. If the Roman Catholics are reasonable, they will be satisfied with these.'"

And now I will present Clarkson's just and sensible view of this transaction. Mr. Macaulay has said, vol. ii. page 295, that "_the agency of Penn was employed_," meaning, as the context shows, employed _by the King_. Clarkson, vol. i. chap. 23, says expressly, that, Oct. 3, 1687, Dr. Bailey wrote to Penn, "stated the merits of the case, and solicited his mediation." Penn told the Fellows, as appears from _Dr. Hough's own letter, written the evening after their last interview_, that he "feared they had come too late. He would use, however, his endeavors; and, if they were unsuccessful, they must attribute it to want of power in him, and not of good will to serve them." The mediation came to nothing. The Fellows grew dissatisfied with Penn; falling, doubtless, into the very common error of parties, highly excited, and differing so widely, that all, who are not _for them; in toto, are against them_. They seem to have been specially offended, by the following liberal remark of Penn's--"For my part, I have always declared my opinion, that the preferments of the Church should not be put into any other hands but such as they at present are in; but I hope you would not have the two Universities such invincible bulwarks of the Church of England, that none but they must be capable of giving their children a learned education."

In the same volume and chapter, Clarkson remarks--"They (the delegates from Magdalen) thought, strange to relate, that Penn had been rambling; and because he spoke doubtfully, about the success of his intended efforts, and of the superior capacity of the established clergy, that they alone should monopolize education, that his language was not to be depended upon as sincere. How this could have come into their heads, except from the terror, into which the situation of the College had thrown them, it is not easy to conceive; for certainly William Penn was as explicit, as any man could have been, under similar circumstances. He informed them, that, after repeated efforts with the King, he feared they had come too late. This was plain language. He informed them again, that he would make another trial with the King; that he would read their papers to him, unless peremptorily commanded to forbear; but that, if he failed, they must attribute his want of success not to his want of will, but want of power."

"This, though expressive of his doubts and fears, was but a necessary caution, when his exertions had already failed; and it was still more necessary, when there was reason to suppose, that, though the King had a regard for him, and was glad to employ him, as an instrument, in forwarding his public views, yet that he would not gratify him, where his solicitations directly opposed them. That William Penn did afterwards make a trial with the King, to serve the College, there can be no doubt, because no instance can be produced, wherein he ever forfeited his word or broke his promise. But all trials with this view must of necessity have been ineffectual. The King and his ministers had already determined the point in question."

Such were the sentiments of Clarkson.

No. LXVII.

Charles I. was King, when William Penn was born; and, when he died, George I. was on the throne. Penn therefore lived in the reins of nine rulers of the realm--Charles I.--the Cromwells, Oliver and Richard--Charles II.--James II.--William and Mary as joint sovereigns--William alone--Anne--and George I.

He was the son of Admiral, Sir William Penn, and was born on Tower Hill, London, Oct. 4, 1644. The spirit and the flesh strove hard for the mastery, before young William came forth a Quaker, fully developed. He was remarkable at Oxford, for his fine scholarship, and athletic performances.

Penn believed, that the Lord appeared to him, when he was very young. The devil seems to have made him a short visit afterwards, if we may rely upon the testimony of Penn's biographers. Wood, in his Athenae, iv. 645, gives this brief account of the Lord's visit--Penn was "educated in puerile learning, at Chigwell in Essex, where, at eleven years of age, being retired in a chamber alone, he was so suddenly surprised with an inward comfort, and, as he thought, an external glory in the room, that he has, many times, said that, from that time, he had the seal of divinity and immortality, that there was also a God, and that the soul of man was capable of enjoying his divine communications."

His biographer, Clarkson, says, that Penn, at the age of sixteen, was led to a sense of the corruptions of the established faith, by the preaching of Thomas Loe, a Quaker; and broke off at the chapel, and began to hold prayer meetings. For this he was fined and admonished. It is remarkable, that Wood, though he states, that Penn, after he became a Quaker, in good earnest, was imprisoned, once in Ireland, once in the Tower, and three times in Newgate, does not even allude, in his Athenae, to the expulsion from Oxford, which is related, by Chalmers, Clarkson, and others.

It seems, that, after he had become impressed, by Loe's preaching, an order came down from court, that the students should wear surplices. This so irritated Penn, that, instead of letting his yea be yea, and his nay nay--in company with others, says Clarkson, "he fell upon those students, who appeared in surplices, and tore them everywhere over their heads." On the subject of his conversion, Wood says--"If you'll believe a satirical pamphlet--'_The history of Will Penn's conversion from a gentleman to a Quaker_,' printed at London, in 1682--you'll find, that the reason of his turning Quaker was the loss of his mistress, a delicate young lady, that then lived in Dublin; or, as others say, because he refused to fight a duel."

For two, good and sufficient reasons, this statement, contained in the "_satirical pamphlet_," and referred to by Wood, is unworthy of the slightest credit. In the first place, though Penn met Loe, in Dublin, after the expulsion from Oxford, and became more fully impressed, yet his first meeting with Loe was at Oxford, before the expulsion, and the serious impression, produced by his preaching, led, albeit rather oddly, to the affair of the surplices.

In the second place, the notion, that Penn would put on Quakerism, to avoid a duel, is still more incredible. Nothing could be more unfortunate, than any imputation upon Penn's courage, moral or physical. We have seen, that he was famous for his athletic exercises. Strange, though it may seem, to such as have contemplated Penn, as the quiet non-combatant, he was an accomplished swordsman, and, upon one occasion, was actually engaged in an affair, which had all the aspect, and all the peril, of the _duellium_, however it may have lacked the preliminary forms and ceremonies. "During his residence in Paris," says Chalmers, "he was assaulted in the street, one evening, by a person with a drawn sword, on account of a supposed affront; but among other accomplishments of a gay man, he had become so good a swordsman, as to disarm his antagonist."

After his expulsion from Oxford, in 1662, he returned home. His father, the Admiral, was greatly provoked, to see his son resorting to the company of religious people, who were, of all, the least likely, in the licentious reign of Charles II., to advance his worldly interest. The old gentleman tried severity, and finally, as Penn himself relates, gave the Quaker neophyte a thrashing, and turned him out of doors.

Ere long, the father got the better of the admiral. He relented: and, probably, supposing there was as little vitality in Paris, for a Quaker, as some of the old philosophers fancied there might be, in a vacuum, for an angel, he sent young William thither, as one of a fashionable travelling party.

After his return, he was admitted of Lincoln's Inn, and continued there, till the year of the plague, 1665. The following year, his father sent him to Ireland, to take charge of an estate. At Cork, he met Loe once more--attended his meetings, became an unalterable Quaker, preached in conventicles--was committed to prison--released upon application to the Earl of Orrery--and summoned home, by his indignant father. The old Admiral loved his accomplished son, then twenty-three years old--but abhorred his Quakerish airs and manners. In all points, save one--the point of conscience--William was unexceptionably dutiful. At length, the Admiral agreed to compound, on conditions, which seem not to have been very oppressive: in short, he consented to waive all objections, and let William do as he pleased, in regard to his religion, provided he would yield, in one particular--doff his broad brim--take off his hat--in presence of the King, the Duke of York, and his own father, the Admiral. Young William demanded time for consideration. It was granted; and he earnestly sought the Lord, on an empty stomach, as he says himself, with prayer. He finally informed his father, that he _could not do it_; and, once again, the Admiral, in a paroxysm of wrath, turned the rebellious young Quaker out of doors, broad brim and all.

William Penn now began to figure, as a preacher, at the Quaker meetings. The _friends_, and the fond mother, ever on hand, in such emergencies, supplied his temporal necessities. Even the old Admiral, becoming satisfied of William's perfect sincerity, although too proud to tack about, hoisted private signals, for his release, when imprisoned, for attending Quaker meetings; and evidently lay by, ready to bear down, in the event of serious difficulty.

In 1668, Penn's brim grew broader and broader, and his coat became buttonless behind. He was a writer and a preacher, and a powerful defender of the "_cursed and depised_" Quakers. The titles of his various works may be found in Clarkson, and in Wood's Athenae. They conformed to the fashion of the age, and were, necessarily, quaint and extended. I have room for one only, as a specimen,--the title of his first tract--"_Truth exalted, in a short but sure testimony, against all those religious faiths and worships, that have been formed and followed in the darkness of apostacy; and for that glorious light, which is now risen, and shines forth in the life and doctrine of the despised Quakers, as the alone good old way of life and salvation; presented to princes, priests, and people, that they may repent, believe, and obey. By William Penn; whom Divine love constrains, in an holy contempt, to trample on Egypt's glory, not fearing the King's wrath, having beheld the majesty of Him, who is invisible._" In this same year 1668, he was imprisoned in the Tower, for publishing his SANDY FOUNDATION SHAKEN. There he was confined seven months, doing infinitely more mischief, for the cause of lawn sleeves and white frocks, forms, ceremonies, and hat-worship, as he calls it, than if he had been loose. For, then and there, he wrote his most able pamphlets, especially, NO CROSS NO CROWN, which gained him great praise, far beyond the pale of Quakerdom. His treatise has been often reprinted, and translated into foreign tongues.

In 1670, his influence was so great, that he obtained an order in Council, for the release of the Quakers then in prison. At a later day, he again assumed the office of St. Peter's angel, and set three thousand captives free. In 1685, says Mr. Macaulay, "he strongly represented the sufferings of the Quakers to the new King," &c. "In this way, about fifteen hundred Quakers, and a still greater number of Roman Catholics regained their liberty." No wonder he was mistaken for a Papist, by those, who adopt that bastard principle, that charity begins at home, and ends there; whose religious circle forms the exclusive line of demarcation, for the exercise of that celestial principle; and who look, with the eye of a Chinaman, upon all beyond the holy sectarian wall, as outside barbarians. I was delighted and rather surprised, that Mr. Macaulay suffered the statement of this fact to pass, without some ill-natured expression, in regard to Penn--who, I say it reverentially, was less the TOOL of the King, than of Jesus Christ.

No. LXVIII.

In 1670, William Penn was, for the third time, committed to Newgate, for preaching. His fines were paid by his father, who died this year, entirely reconciled to his son; and, upon his bed of death, pronounced these comforting words--"_Son William, let nothing in this world tempt you to wrong your conscience: I charge you, do nothing against your conscience. So will you keep peace at home, which will be a feast to you in a day of trouble_."

Penn inherited from his father an estate, yielding about L1500 per annum. About this time he wrote his "_Seasonable caveat against Popery_;" though he knew it was the faith of the Queen and his good friend, the Duke of York. Shortly after, he travelled in Holland and Germany. In 1672, he married Gulielma Maria Springett. In 1675, he held his famous dispute with Richard Baxter; and, in 1677, he again visited the continent, in company with George Cox and Robert Barclay, constantly preaching, and writing, and importuning, in behalf of his despised and oppressed brethren. About this period, and soon after his return to England, we find him petitioning Parliament, in their behalf. Twice, he was permitted to address the committee of the House of Commons, upon this subject.

Whoever coveted the honor of being the creditor of royalty found a willing customer, in Charles the Second. In 1681, that monarch, in consideration of L16,000 due from him to the estate of Admiral Penn, conveyed to William the district, now called Pennsylvania. He himself would have given it the name of Sylvania, but the King insisted, on prefixing the name of the grantee. Full powers of legislation and government were bestowed upon the proprietor. The only limitation was a power, reserved to the Privy Council, to rescind his laws, within six months, after they were laid before that body. The charter bears date March 4, 1681. He first designed to call his domain "New Wales," and nothing saved the Philadelphians from being Welchmen, but an objection, from the under-secretary of state, who was himself a Welchman, and was offended at the Quaker's presumption.

He encouraged emigrants, judiciously selected, to embark for his Province; and followed, himself, with about a hundred Quakers, in September, 1682. His arrival in the Delaware, his beneficent administration, and the whole story of his negotiation, with the Indians, are full of interest, and overflowing. It is a long story withal, too long, altogether, for our narrow boundaries. I have indicated the sources of information, and this is all my limits will allow.

After two years, he returned to England, and became a greater favorite than ever, with James II.--was calumniated, of course--pursued by the unholy alliance of churchmen, and sectaries, and apostate Quakers--grossly insulted--"chastened but not killed"--and finally deprived of his government. Justice, at length, prevailed. Penn's rights were restored, by William III. Having lost his wife and son, he went again, upon his travels, and again married. In 1699, he returned to Pennsylvania, and remained there, for the term of two years. He then went home to England; and, after continuing to employ his tongue and his pen, as freely as ever, for several years, he died, July 30, 1718, at the age of seventy-two years, at Jordan, near Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire.

Such is the mere _skeleton_ of this good man's life; and it is my purpose to _flesh it up_, with some few of those highly interesting, and well authenticated, incidents, which may be found, on the pages of trust worthy writers.