Chapter I: Part 1

THE

Picture Gallery

EXPLORED.

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London: Published by Harvey & Darton, Mar. 1, 1825.]

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THE

PICTURE GALLERY

Explored;

OR,

AN ACCOUNT OF VARIOUS ANCIENT CUSTOMS AND MANNERS:

INTERSPERSED WITH

ANECDOTES AND BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES

OF

EMINENT PERSONS.

London:

PUBLISHED BY HARVEY AND DARTON,
GRACECHURCH STREET.

1825.

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PREFACE.

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ALTHOUGH nothing is original in the following little work, except the dialogue, which was necessary as a connecting link; yet the compiler trusts, that it will be found to contain, in a small compass, much useful and interesting information. In selecting the anecdotes from writers of acknowledged merit and veracity, she has endeavoured to avoid, as much as possible, the beaten track, and to introduce names and points of character, not usually presented to the notice of children. She still remembers, with pleasure, the avidity with which, when quite young, she perused _true_ stories, and how anxiously she sought for further particulars of those illustrious individuals, who either gained her affectionate admiration by their exemplary virtues, or elated her young imagination by the brilliancy of their talents or their achievements.

Such biographical sketches are introduced, as were thought likely to awaken emulation, or to lead forward in the path of piety and knowledge.

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THE

PICTURE GALLERY.

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CHAPTER I.

“WELL, Ann,” said Susan Spencer, “it really is fixed for us to visit cousin Robert; for mamma has given orders to Hayward to prepare our clothes, and we are to set out next Monday.”

“I cannot think what can induce mamma to visit him just now,” answered Susan: “he is such an oddity, I hear, and lives so very retired. Mary Morgan told me, (and Mary knows him well,) that he rarely goes into parties; and she laughed immoderately, when she said that the heavy little windows, and massy doors of the old mansion, always reminded her of a monastery; and, for her part, she thought it would be better to turn it into one, people it with monks, and make Mr. Wilmot superior of the order. I cannot tell you half that she said; but it was so droll, that we all laughed with her.”

“I dare say you did,” replied Susan; “and I think it excessively provoking to be immured there, when the Drummonds, and the Williams’s, and the Grovenors are going to the seaside. It vexes me to think how Miss Drummond will boast, when she returns, of the company she has been introduced to, the new fashions she has seen, and how often her music and dancing were praised; whilst you and I must sit by, without having a word to say, or being able to relate any thing but the histories of the old rooks, that perched in the high trees close to the house, or——or——” But here they were interrupted by the entrance of their mother; and as they well knew that observations of this kind would be displeasing to her, they turned the conversation to some indifferent subject.

Susan and Ann Spencer were the daughters of a military officer, whose delicate state of health had obliged his wife to accompany him abroad; leaving, with reluctance, her two little daughters to the care of their paternal grandmother. They were good-tempered, affectionate, and animated; but the mistaken fondness of the old lady, had not only indulged their weaknesses, and forbade any correction of their errors, but had introduced them into all her parties; so that their little heads were filled with the love of dress and visiting.

The death of their father in India, and the return of their mother, after an absence of six years, suddenly put a stop to these injudicious plans; and Susan and Ann had been under their mother’s care about three months, when the preceding dialogue took place.

Mrs. Spencer was a woman of too sincere piety, and too good an understanding, to allow her grief, deep as it was, for her departed husband, to interfere with her duties towards her children. She knew that the best test she could give of affection to his memory, was to render them worthy of his name, and, if possible, inheritors of his virtues. She loved them with the tenderest affection, but she was not blind to their faults; and whilst she strove to gain their confidence, she endeavoured, by gentle means, to counteract their foibles.

Whilst she was endeavouring to arrange her plans, she received an invitation from her cousin, Mr. Wilmot, an elderly gentleman, and the guardian of her children, to pay him a visit of some months; and knowing that she should receive from him that advice and co-operation, which long experience, a sound judgment, and a well-informed mind could bestow, she hesitated not to accept so desirable a proposal.

On the following morning the party left Brook-street, and in a few days reached the place of their destination, without the occurrence of any material incident on the road. They were received with the hospitality and politeness inseparable from benevolence and good-breeding; and even Susan and Ann, prejudiced as they were, could not help silently allowing, that he was neither quite so ugly, nor so old-fashioned, as they expected.

The evening passed cheerfully in detailing the little events of their journey; and when, as their cousin took them by the hand, in bidding them good night, he kindly said, “I have known both your parents from infancy, and hope that I shall find, on further acquaintance, that you, my dear girls, are equally worthy of my love,” they involuntarily dropped their best curtseys, and returned his salutation with their most good-humoured smiles.

Mr. Wilmot was fond of children, and he devised many schemes for Susan’s and Ann’s amusement. “When we are become better known to each other,” said he to Mrs. Spencer, “I shall submit some plans for their instruction; till then, allow me to dissipate the gloomy ideas that, I dare say, have crept into their minds, from the notion of visiting a recluse old man.” And so completely did he succeed, that, in a few weeks, the two girls wondered that they could ever have imagined such an agreeable visit could be a dull one.

The summer was now in its beauty, and a party was proposed for an excursion on the water. Mr. Wilmot, who had entered into more company since the arrival of his relations, readily acquiesced in the invitation of a neighbouring family, that he and the ladies should partake of the proposed pleasure. The little girls anticipated with youthful impatience the happy morning; and scarcely had day-light entered their chamber, when, jumping out of bed, they drew aside their curtains, in the hope of beholding a resplendent day; and their disappointment was extreme, in finding it pouring with rain, without the slightest prospect of its cessation.

With heavy hearts they descended to the breakfast-table; and after watching for some time the continued pattering of the rain, Susan at last exclaimed, “How mortifying! I cannot think what we shall do with ourselves to-day.” Mr. Wilmot smiled, and said, “I hope, my dear, all our stores of amusement are not exhausted, even though the elements are unpropitious to our excursion. When you have finished your bread and butter, I fancy this key (drawing at the same time one from his pocket,) will unlock some little store of entertainment.”

“Oh, Sir, we will be ready in a few minutes,” said the girls, brightening up at this intelligence; and eagerly dispatching the remains of their meal, they followed their kind cousin through the hall, till he stopped at an oaken door, to which he applied the key; and in an instant they found themselves within a spacious and handsome PICTURE GALLERY.

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CHAP. II.

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“STOP, stop, my dears,” cried Mr. Wilmot, in answer to the girls’ repeated enquiries: “one question, if you please, at a time. What did you say, Ann?”

“I was wondering, Sir,” answered Ann, “that you should have, amongst this beautiful collection of paintings, an engraving of London Bridge: I have passed over it repeatedly, and never saw any thing remarkable in it.”

“Perhaps not, my dear,” said Mr. Wilmot; “but might not this proceed from your ignorance of the events connected with it. For my own part, I never cross it without musing on the ‘mighty past,’ and contrasting the eventful scenes that have taken place either upon it, or in its immediate vicinity, with the present happy state of commercial bustle and national peace.”

“And pray, Sir, what were those events?” asked Ann: “when did they take place, and when was the bridge built? If it is not too much trouble, perhaps you will have the kindness to relate to us a few of these particular circumstances.”

“Certainly, my love,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “and in endeavouring to give you the information you desire, I trust you will find it not only a detail of dates, but a chain of interesting anecdotes; which have, moreover, for you, Susan, the additional charm of being all _true_. And now, without any further preface, I shall inform you, that the first notice of the existence of a bridge occurs in the laws of Ethelred, which fix the tolls of vessels coming to Billingsgate _ad pontem_. Pennant remarks that it could not be prior to 993, when Unlaf the Dane sailed up the river as high as Staines, without interruption; nor yet subsequent to the year 1016, in which Ethelred died, and the great Canute, king of Denmark, when he besieged London, was impeded in his operations by a bridge, which even at that time must have been strongly fortified, to oblige him to have recourse to the vast expedient I shall tell you of. He caused a prodigious ditch to be cut on the south side of the Thames, at Rotherhithe or Redriff, a little to the east of Southwark; which he continued at the south end of the bridge, in the form of a semicircle, opening into the western part of the river. Through this he drew his ships, and effectually completed the blockade of the city. Evidences of this great work were found in the place called Dock Head, near Redriff. In digging this dock, in 1694, fascines (or faggots) of hazel and other brush-wood, fastened down with stakes, were discovered; and large oaken planks, and numbers of piles, have been met with in ditching, in other adjacent parts.

“Previous to the erection of the bridge, a ferry had long been established, on or near the site. Some historians assert, that the first stone bridge was built or commenced in the reign of the empress Maude; but during the boisterous era of her brief dominion, and her incessant struggle for power with king Stephen, it may be supposed that she had little time for beautifying the city.

“Pennant and other antiquarians inform us, that the first stone bridge was built in the reign of John, by Peter, curate of St. Mary Cole Church, a celebrated architect of that period: it proved the work of thirty-three years; and Peter dying in the interim, was buried in the chapel, which he had constructed in one of the piers, in honour of St. Thomas.

“Solidity appears to have been the chief object of the artist; and to accomplish this object, all other considerations were disregarded or sacrificed. It would be superfluous to descant on the well-known defects of the foundation of London Bridge: they survive to this day, though not to the same extent as formerly. You will be surprised to hear, that the bridge was crowded with houses, badly constructed, which leaned in a terrific manner, and were obliged to be propped with timber, which crossed in arches from the roofs, to keep the buildings together, and to prevent them from falling into the river. Dismal confined residences, immersed in dirt and dissonance, for ever assailed by the din of carts and rumbling over the narrow pavement; the clamours of watermen, the rush of falling waters, and the frequent shrieks of drowning wretches, whelmed in the cataract below: to these horrors, were added, at intervals, the calamities of fire and pestilence.

“A conflagration burst out on the south-west side: the bridge was instantly covered with multitudes, who rushed out of the city to extinguish the flames. Whilst engaged in this charitable office, the fire seized the other end, and hemmed in the crowd. Above three thousand persons perished: those who escaped the flames, were swallowed by the waves; and the fire above was only less insatiable than the deluge beneath. Originally there were three openings on each side of the street, decorated with balustrades, to give the passengers a view of the water and the shipping.

“In one of these a draw-bridge was contrived, useful either by way of defence, or for the admission of vessels into the upper part of the river. This was protected by a strong tower, which being well armed and manned, occasioned the repulse of Fauconbridge, in 1471, in his wild attempt upon the city, at the head of a lawless banditti, under pretence of rescuing the unfortunate Henry the Sixth, at that time a prisoner in the Tower in London. Sixty houses on the bridge were burnt in the desperate attack, and no less desperate defence. A second conflict took place during the ill-conducted insurrection of Sir Thomas Wyatt, in the reign of Queen Mary; and the check which that rash adventurer received, in endeavouring to force the bridge, brought on a series of disasters which ended in the total annihilation of his disorganized force. He, and about sixty of his followers, were executed, and their heads gibbeted in the most public parts of the city. So late as the year 1598, Hentner, the German traveller, enumerated above thirty heads, which he had counted with a pathetical accuracy; and the old map of the city, 1597, represents them in horrible clusters.”

“How dreadful such exhibitions must have been!” said Susan.

“Yes, my dear, it must have been revolting to every humane mind: and I gladly turn your attention from the contemplation of this frightful spectacle, to the romantic exploits of Edward Osborne, apprentice to Sir William Hewit, cloth-worker, who, about the year 1536, was an inhabitant of one of the perilous houses on the bridge. A maid-servant, playing with his only daughter in her arms, at a window over the water, dropped the child: death seemed inevitable; for few escaped the whirlpools below, and still fewer were daring enough to hazard their own lives, in the fearful chance of saving another’s; but young Osborne lost not a moment in considering the risk, but plunged gallantly into the torrent, and brought the rescued infant safely to land. His intrepid valour met its due reward: when the young lady attained womanhood, she paid her preserver with her heart. Several persons of rank asked her hand in marriage; and the earl of Shrewsbury, representative of the noble family of Talbot, became a suitor to the merchant’s heiress. But, undazzled by the title which courted her acceptance, with the tender devotedness to her first affection, that renders woman’s love so pure and holy, she kept her faith to her more humble lover; and Sir William, grateful for the precious blessing of a daughter endued with one of the sweetest attributes of feminine virtue, generously gave her to him who best deserved the boon. Edward Osborne proved no common man: he took the tide of fortune at the flood, and became the founder of a family destined to obtain the highest honours in the state. The duke of Leeds sprung from this auspicious union.”

“I am glad this brave young man succeeded so well,” said Ann. “Have you any more anecdotes to tell us, Sir?”

“A melancholy tale,” continued Mr. Wilmot, “is connected with the annals of London Bridge. Amidst the multitudes who have found a grave in the dangerous abyss which yawns beneath, one voluntarily sought in it a resting-place, and oblivion for a spirit deeply wounded by the ingratitude of a friend. The son of Sir William Temple, the bosom counsellor of William of Nassau, yet the honest adviser of his ill-starred master, James the Second, when his father declined to take a share in the new government, accepted the office of secretary of war. His interest procured the release of captain Hamilton, confined in the Tower for high treason, under his promise that he would repair to Tyrconnel, then in arms for king James in Ireland, and persuade him to submit. When arrived in that country, this faithless friend immediately joined the rebels, and led on a regiment to the attack of king William’s troops. The taunts of rival courtiers, the unfortunate termination of his endeavours to serve his sovereign; and, above all, the sting of that barbed arrow, winged by the hand of one whom he had so loved and trusted, threw him into a profound melancholy; and though the king was fully convinced of his innocence, he possessed not fortitude to sustain the mental pang. On the 14th of April, 1689, he hired a boat on the Thames, and directed the waterman to shoot the bridge: at that instant he flung himself into the cataract; and having filled his pockets with stones, to prevent all chance of safety, instantly sunk.

“He left a note in the boat, in explanation of the motives which led to the fatal resolution, to this effect: ‘My folly in undertaking what I was unable to perform, has done the king and kingdom a great deal of prejudice. I wish him all happiness, and abler servants than John Temple.’

“Deeply as we must lament the wrongs and sufferings of this unfortunate gentleman, we cannot help deploring still more his melancholy end. ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ is a sacred and imperative command, equally involving self-destruction with murder. And, although the spirit may be goaded to agony, yet insanity can alone apologize for suicide. Let us hope, that in this instance, it was temporary mental aberration that led to the fatal act.

“But to return to the narrative of London Bridge. The church of St. Magnus, at the bottom of Fish-street Hill, is a memorial of the foresight and sagacity of Sir Christopher Wren. The houses on the bridge, at the time that this building was erected, projected beyond it, and reached the church, when they became too great a nuisance to be tolerated, and were taken down. The foot-path to the bridge was obstructed by the tower of St. Magnus, so that travellers were obliged to traverse the carriage-road. Unwilling to endure the continuance of this inconvenience, a meeting was held to consult on the propriety of cutting a passage through the wall. This expedient was considered to be extremely hazardous; but no other being practicable, it was determined to try it. The workmen, on commencing their operations, found a complete and perfect arch, which this great architect, foreseeing the alterations which time would render necessary on the bridge, had provided for the convenience of posterity. When the present bridge shall be taken down, passengers will have to rejoice at the increased convenience and comfort that a new erection may afford; but the antiquary will sometimes heave a sigh over the destruction of this silent memorial of days long passed away.”

“Pray, Sir,” said Susan, when Mr. Wilmot paused, “who was Sir Thomas Wyatt, of whom you spoke in the early part of your account?”

“Sir Thomas Wyatt, of Allingham Castle in Kent,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “was the son of the poet, wit, and courtier of that name. He was once distinguished for his zealous loyalty, and is said to have been also a catholic, a peculiarly acceptable circumstance in the reign of queen Mary, herself a rigid Papist. Though allied in blood to the Dudleys, not only had he refused, to Northumberland, his concurrence in the nomination of Jane Grey, but without waiting to see which party would prevail, he had proclaimed queen Mary in the market-place at Maidstone; for which instance of attachment he had received her thanks. But Wyatt had been employed, for several years, on embassies to Spain; and the intimate acquaintance he had acquired of the principles and practices of its court, filled him with such horror, that, on the intended marriage of Mary with Philip, he incited his friends and neighbours to rebellion. For this unguarded and very wrong step, he justly suffered the punishment of the laws. Other charges were adduced; and it was said, (how truly cannot now be ascertained,) that it was the intention of the conspirators to dethrone Mary, and place her sister Elizabeth on the throne, having first married her to the earl of Devonshire. These latter accusations might be groundless; but when a man permits himself to take up arms against his sovereign, he cannot say, ‘So far will I go, and no further.’”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Susan, when Mr. Wilmot concluded: “I hope all your anecdotes are not finished.”

“Amongst the names that I have enumerated,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “I forgot to mention Sir William Wallace, who was hanged and quartered in Smithfield, in 1305, and his head stuck upon a pole fixed upon London Bridge.”

“Dear Sir,” said Susan, “what crime had he committed? and who was he?”

“His only crime, my dear,” answered the old gentleman, “was magnanimously defending his country against the ambitious designs of our king Edward the First. But to answer to your second question fully, I must enter first into a few particulars.

“One of the enterprises that presented itself to the ambition of the martial Edward, was the conquest of Scotland; a country which he was desirous of annexing to his hereditary dominions, as Ireland and Wales had already been; or, at least, of reducing it to a state of dependance on the English crown. A dispute arose about this time, between the competitors for the crown of Scotland, John Baliol and Robert Bruce, whose claims were nearly equal, and whose parties were almost of equal strength.

“To avoid the horrors of a civil war, the chiefs determined that the question should be referred to the king of England, for arbitration.

“This appeal furnished Edward with the occasion he had long desired, of laying claim to the sovereignty of Scotland. He endeavoured, in vain, to establish his right by precedents, arguments, and diplomatic reasonings. None of these availed to produce conviction in the minds of the Scotch, till they were backed by a powerful army! Judgment was at last given in favour of Baliol, though clogged with the condition, that he should take the oath of allegiance to the king of England. But this unhappy prince soon found, that, instead of being a sovereign, he was really a slave. To remind him of his dependance on the crown of England, Edward cited him, on every trifling occasion, to his court, and required him to renew his homage continually. This royal vassal was summoned six times in the course of the year, to appear before the king in parliament, and answer to complaints lodged against him; and, on some of these occasions, he was treated with the greatest indignity. Averse as was this prince from war, he could not submit to such degradation, but secretly prepared to shake off a yoke which had proved so galling. An open rupture would probably have immediately ensued, had not the attention of Edward been withdrawn from the affairs of Scotland, by a war with France, in which he found himself suddenly involved. A scuffle which had taken place between the crew of a Norman and English vessel, involved the nations to which they belonged in a destructive war, which raged with great fury for a considerable time, and in which torrents of human blood were wantonly shed.

“In order to avert the storm of war from his own dominions, the French king made common cause with Baliol of Scotland, and encouraged him to assert his independence; and Edward immediately suspended his continental operations, that he might lend his whole strength to the conquest of Scotland, and the subjection or expulsion of its sovereign.

“The Scottish chiefs, who had witnessed with indignation the degradation of their king and country, gathered all their forces; and every thing indicated the approach of a tremendous conflict. But as yet they wanted a leader of sufficient courage and patriotism, around whose banner they might rally with confidence. Baliol made a feeble effort to preserve his crown; but was at length utterly defeated by the earl of Warienne, in the battle of Dunbar, after which he surrendered himself to Edward, who committed him to the Tower of London, where the unfortunate prince languished several years in solitary confinement.

“Nor was the severity of the king confined to the person of the fallen monarch. Many of the nobility of Scotland were sent into England, and immured in different castles; the ensigns of royalty were carried off, with all the contents of the Scottish treasury; and the most important affairs, both civil and military, confided to Englishmen.

“Thus Scotland wore, for a time, the appearance of a conquered country; and it is not improbable that Edward flattered himself, that these hardy sons of the north were completely brought into subjection. If such, however, were his expectations, he was soon undeceived; for whilst the king was carrying on the continental war, for the recovery of those possessions which had formerly belonged to the English crown, a revolution suddenly broke out in Scotland, which was stirred up by a chief of great intrepidity and inflexible patriotism. This celebrated chieftain was Sir William Wallace, whose virtues and heroic deeds make so conspicuous a figure in the annals of Scotland, and whose name well deserves to be enrolled amongst the patriots and martyrs of former generations.

“This generous chief, feeling yet more acutely for the oppressed state of his country, than for his personal wrongs, gathered around him a small but valiant band, which harassed the English army in all its movements, and not unfrequently attacked, with success, detachments of the army, far superior in number to themselves. The reputation, and consequently the followers of Wallace, increased daily; until, at length, he was able to give battle to the earl of Surry, who commanded an army of forty thousand veteran soldiers, and he defeated him, with great loss, in the celebrated battle of Stirling. Following the tide of success, which had set in so strongly in his favour, Wallace drove the English before him, out of Scotland, penetrated into the border counties, took possession of several English fortresses of great strength, and returned laden with the spoils of victory. Edward was informed of these disasters, while prosecuting a war in Flanders, and lost no time in repairing to the north of England, with all the troops he could collect. In a short time he found himself at the head of an army, containing upwards of eighty thousand infantry and seven thousand cavalry. Thus powerfully reinforced, he marched forward to meet the enemy, who were encamped near Falkirk. A tremendous battle ensued, in which, after prodigies of valour performed on both sides, the English were completely victorious. But notwithstanding the overwhelming forces of the English monarch, and the divided state of their own country, the Scottish patriots were not deterred from persisting in the attempt to regain their independence, however hopeless it might appear. They rallied again and again, after repeated defeats and losses, until, at length, the principal nobility of Scotland, moved by jealousy of each other, and corrupted by the flatteries of Edward, deserted, and finally betrayed, their gallant leader. The satisfaction of Edward was too great to be concealed, when he learned that Wallace had been delivered into his hands, by the treachery of Sir John Monteith, one of his own countrymen: unmindful of the generosity which had distinguished his youth, he now breathed revenge against his fallen adversary, and ordered him to be conducted to London, where he was publicly executed as a traitor, though he had never been a subject of the English crown.”

“Oh, how unjust,” said Susan. “Do tell us some more anecdotes.” “Oh, pray do,” said Ann.

“I am sorry to refuse you,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “but it is two o’clock, and it is time to join your mamma. Besides,” continued he, smiling, “we should even use our rational pleasures with moderation, if we mean to continue the enjoyment of them.”

“Well, then, dear Mr. Wilmot, you will let us come soon again,” cried the girls.

“Yes, my dears,” he replied. “But see, the sun is shining: we can take a little walk before dinner: it will refresh you.”

The party then left the gallery.

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CHAP. III.

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AS it is not my intention to enter so fully into the history of Susan and Ann, as it is to relate the _true stories_ they heard from Mr. Wilmot, I shall only just tell my young readers, that the following day proving fine, they enjoyed the promised excursion on the water. The weather now becoming very sultry, and the children unable to take their morning walks, their mother and Mr. Wilmot, who sought to mingle instruction with amusement, proposed that they should spend an hour or two, in the middle of every day, in the picture gallery.

The two little girls were delighted with this proposition, and followed with alacrity their good-humoured conductor, as he kindly led the way.

When they had entered the room, Mr. Wilmot stopped before a fine sketch of an entrance into Oxford; and whilst pointing out to the children the college at which he had been educated, he enquired whether they had ever been told who were the first founders of the university.

The children answering in the negative, Mr. Wilmot proceeded to tell them that it was founded in the year 886[1], in the second year after St. Grimbald’s coming over to England. Its first regents and readers in divinity were, St. Neot, an abbot and eminent professor of theology; and St. Grimbald, an eloquent and most excellent interpreter of the Holy Scriptures; grammar and rhetoric were taught by Asser, a monk of extraordinary learning; logic, music, and arithmetic, by John, a monk of St. David’s; and geometry and astronomy by another John, a monk and a colleague of St. Grimbald, a man of acute wit and immense erudition. “These lectures,” says the annalist, “were often honoured with the presence of the most illustrious and invincible king Alfred, whose memory, to every judicious taste, shall be sweeter than honey.” From this small beginning arose this now celebrated university, which is at once the ornament and pride of the land.

Footnote 1:

See Camden’s Britannica.

A few observations made by Mrs. Spencer, who had joined the party, led Mr. Wilmot to give the following sketch of the progress of Christianity, from its first introduction into this country, together with the origin and establishment of the protestant religion.

“Various are the opinions,” said he, “entertained respecting the precise period when, or by whom, Christianity was first introduced into this happy island. Nor can it tend to our improvement, though it might gratify our curiosity, to know, whether St. Paul, when he visited the ‘western isles,’ included England; or whether his immediate predecessors, or followers, preached the ‘glad tidings of salvation’ to the natives. It is sufficient for us to know, that the gospel found its way hither some time in the _first_ century; since, in the persecution of the Christians, by the cruel and tyrannical Nero, in the year 64, many of them fled hither for an asylum. Its progress in Great Britain, during the _three_ first centuries, is certainly involved in some obscurity; though it probably increased during the _fourth_ century, as we find three English bishops present, at the council held at Arminium, respecting the Arian controversy.

“About this period the Saxons, having subdued the country, pursued, with unrelenting cruelty, the Christians: multitudes of whom were put to death, and thousands sought and found a refuge in the mountains of Wales. History has stamped the character of our countrymen in this age with infamy. From the sovereign to the meanest of his subjects, licentiousness and gross immorality abounded; and it is cheering to turn from this darkened era, to the labours of the celebrated St. Augustine, and forty other monks, who, having been sent from Rome, for the purpose of converting our island to the faith, succeeded in persuading the Anglo Saxons to embrace Christianity, about the year 590. On Christmas-day, king Ethelbert and ten thousand of his subjects were baptized; and though, amongst this crowd of professed converts, there is reason to fear that few possessed more than the name of Christian, we may yet believe there were some on whom the ‘day-star’ had not risen in vain.

“In the _seventh_ century our island had almost universally received the Christian religion: popish superstition had, however, unhappily mixed itself with the pure faith, and increased rapidly. One great source of corruption in the clergy, was the practice that now prevailed of persuading people to relinquish their property to them, and go on pilgrimage.

“On the death of Augustine, who had been consecrated the first archbishop of Canterbury, Laurentius succeeded to the vacant see; and, through his instrumentality, king Edbald was not only converted, but promoted the gospel by every means in his power.

“The first Saxon king who completely cast _all_ his ‘idols to the moles and to the bats,’ was Ercombert, the son of Edbald, who reigned in 640.

“It is impossible to contemplate this era of our national history, without regretting the superstitious, and even idolatrous rites, which were interwoven with the profession of the gospel made by our forefathers: yet there is no doubt that genuine religion was possessed by many, and Great Britain, at this period, was allowed the honour of enlightening several of the neighbouring northern nations.

“In the _eighth_ century, the pope had obtained such influence, that he exalted himself not only above every created being, but laid claim to prerogatives and powers which belong to Omnipotence alone. The distinguishing doctrines of the gospel were hid under a mass of ceremonious observances: pardon for sin was to be purchased at the hands of the priests; and immense sums were raised, by paying for masses, to deliver the souls of the dead from purgatory.

“Still more lamentable was the state of religion in the _ninth_ century. But Divine Providence, at this melancholy season, raised up a ‘nursing-father’ to the English church, in the person of king Alfred, who seems to have ‘feared the Lord from his youth,’ having early habituated himself to prayer. He was remarkable for his learning, as I have before told you. He died in the year 900, and was buried at Hyde Abbey in Winchester.

“Historians are all agreed that, in the _tenth_ century, scarcely a vestige of true piety could be found. It was called ‘an iron age, barren of all goodness—a leaden age, abounding in all wickedness.’ ‘Christianity,’ to borrow the words of Melancthon, ‘during the middle ages, was become a mere compound of philosophy and superstition.’ ‘What religion did survive,’ says an admirable author, ‘was confined to a few—was immured in cloisters—was exhausted in quibbles—was wasted in unprofitable subtleties—was exhibited with little speculative clearness, and less practical clearness.’ Yet, even in this dreary age, one faint spark of light is discoverable. Bernard and Guthebald, two of the natives of Britain, went as missionaries to Norway, where they successfully preached the gospel, which extended itself from thence to the Orkneys, Greenland, and Iceland.

“Religion and literature both rather improved in the _eleventh_ century. The celebrated speech of William the Conqueror, after he became king of England, has been often repeated. This dauntless monarch refused to be considered as the vassal of the pope. ‘I hold my kingdom,’ said he, ‘from none but God and my sword.’ This king was a great encourager of learning.

“In the _twelfth_ century Oxford became celebrated as the seat of learning. The clergy now boldly claimed exemption from civil jurisdiction, and their _right_ to appeal on all occasions to the pope. To these extravagant pretensions king Stephen readily assented; but they were resisted by his successor, Henry the Second. In spiritual affairs _he_ was, however, enslaved to the popedom; and instances of his persecutions are recorded, towards thirty men and women, who fled into this country, from Germany, to avoid similar cruelties.

“In this century Richard the First engaged in the Crusades, to recover the Holy Land from the Turks, but failed in his enterprise. His brother John, who succeeded him, not only ignominiously swore fealty to the pope, but stipulated for himself and his successors to pay an annual tribute to Rome for ever, on pain of forfeiture of his kingdom. Some idea may be formed of the thraldom in which this monarch was held, from the following anecdote, recorded with feelings of just indignation, by Holinshed, in his Chronicles.

“‘When,’ says he, ‘John, upon just occasion, had received some grudge against the ambitious behaviour of the Cistercian monks, in the second year of his reign; and, upon denial to pay such sums of money as was allotted unto them, had caused seizure to be made of such horses, swine, cows, and other things of theirs, which were maintained in his forests, they denounced him as fast among themselves, with bell, book, and candle, to be accursed and excommunicated. Thereto they so handled the matter with the pope and their friends, that the king was fain to yield to their good graces: insomuch that a meeting for pacification was appointed between them, at Lincoln, by means of the archbishop of Canterbury, who went often between him and the Cistercian commissioners, before the matter could be settled. In the end, the king himself came also unto the said commissioners, as they sat in their chapterhouse, and _fell down at their feet_; craving pardon for his offences unto them, and heartily requiring that they would, from thenceforth, commend him and his realm, in their prayers, unto the protection of the Almighty, and receive him into their fraternity: promising, moreover, full satisfaction of their damages sustained, and to build a house of their order, in whatsoever place of England it should please them to assign; and this he confirmed by charter.’

“The _thirteenth_ century commenced with the persecution of the Waldenses, one million of whom are said to have perished in France; and the duke of Alva boasted that he destroyed thirty-six thousand of these pious people in the Netherlands.

“The Dominican and Franciscan Friars arose about this time, and were in great repute amongst the people, on account of their sanctity. But their rapacity was unlimited; and the cloak of religion alone disguised their exactions. Such was the superstition of the age, that our countryman, Roger Bacon, was accused of magic, on account of his extraordinary literary attainments, and confined in prison a long time, for no other crime. He appears to have been a man not only of vast learning, but of a philosophical and inventive genius.

“In the _fourteenth_ century, true religion was scarcely to be recognized. The king and people of England were reduced to a state of almost complete vassalage to the pope. In the reign of Henry the Fifth, a law was passed against the perusal of the Scriptures in England. It was enacted, ‘That whatsoever they were, that should read the Scriptures in the mother tongue, they should forfeit land, cattle, life, and goods, from their heirs for ever; and so be condemned for heretics to God, enemies to the crown, and most errant traitors to the land.’

“In this century arose the order of Jesuits; an order which obtained a political influence almost unparalleled. Their founder, Ignatius Loyola, was born at the castle of Loyola, in the province of Guipuscoa, in Spain, in 1391: he was first page to Ferdinand the Fifth, king of Spain, and then an officer in his army; in which he signalized himself by his valour, and was wounded in both legs, at the siege of Pampeluna, in 1421.

“To this circumstance the Jesuits owe their origin; for, whilst he was under care of his wounds, a life of the Saints was put into his hands, which determined him to forsake the military for the ecclesiastical profession. His first devout exercise was to devote himself to the Virgin Mary, as her knight: he then went a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; and, on his return to Europe, he continued his theological studies in the universities of Spain, though he was then thirty-three years of age. After this he went to Paris; and in France laid the foundation of this new order, the Institutes of which he presented to pope Paul the Third, who made many objections to them; but Ignatius, adding to his three vows, of Chastity, Poverty, and Obedience, a fourth of implicit submission to the Holy See, the institution was at length confirmed; and its founder expired the following year, _viz._ in 1450.

“Whilst we cannot but consider Ignatius Loyola in error, and must most fully allow that the influence his followers obtained, was dangerous and destructive; ‘yet, perhaps, of all the remarkable men whose lives have been recorded, no one has displayed more ability in discovering his own deficiencies, and more perseverance in correcting them. By the rare union of unwearied patience and consummate prudence, with perfect enthusiasm, he accomplished the object of his ambition; and lived to see a wider range of success than his boldest hopes could have anticipated[2].’

Footnote 2:

Quarterly Review.

“But to return to my narration. No punishment appears to have been more frequently inflicted by the clergy, than that of public penance; and as a curious instance of it occurs in this century, in the reign of Henry the Fifth, I shall give you the particulars.

“In the afternoon of Easter day, a time which required devotion, at a sermon in the east of London, a great fray arose in the said church, between the Lord Strange and Sir John Trussel, on account of some misunderstanding subsisting between their wives. Many of the spectators interfering, in order to appease, if possible, the tumult, they were not only several of them badly wounded, but one man, named Thomas Petwardine, killed on the spot. The gentlemen were in consequence apprehended and committed to the Tower, and the service suspended.

“When information reached the archbishop of Canterbury respecting this outrageous profanation of the church, he caused the offenders to be excommunicated in St. Paul’s, and all other churches in London; and shortly after he sat at St. Magnus, in order to enquire into the authors of the offence, who were principally discovered to be Strange and his wife. On the following first of May, the offenders submitted themselves to do penance, and swore to do it agreeably as was enjoined, which was as follows: That, immediately, all their servants should, in their shirts, go before the parson of St. Dunstan’s, from St. Paul’s to the said St. Dunstan’s seat, and the Lord Strange and his lady bare-footed; Reginald Henwood, archdeacon of London, following them. Also it was appointed, at the consecrating or hallowing the said church, which they had profaned, the lady should fill all the vessels with water, and offer likewise to the altar an ornament of ten pounds; and the lord, her husband, a pix (or chest in which the Host is kept) of silver, value of five pounds: which done, by way of satisfactory expiation, they were absolved; but Lord Strange had first made the wife of the said Petwardine, killed in the fray, large amends.

“But, in the midst of this papal tyranny, loud complaints began to be heard; and, towards the latter end of this century, attempts were made to reform them. Thomas Bradwardine, archbishop of Canterbury, who devoted himself to the study of the Holy Scriptures, and whose writings display the soundness of his doctrines, flourished in this age. He may be justly termed one of the morning stars of the Reformation.

“About the year 1440, the art of printing was introduced; and this, under the divine blessing, opened the way for the promulgation of the sacred volume, with a rapidity unknown to manuscript editions. The first printed book with _moveable_ types, was a copy of the Bible, which made its appearance between the years 1450 and 1452. This discovery is certainly to be attributed to the Germans, whether it consisted in printing with blocks of wood, or types moveable at pleasure. John Guttenburgh, of Mentz, has the best claim to the honour of this invention. The introduction of this invaluable art into this country, in 1447, is justly ascribed to William Caxton, a merchant of London, who acquired a knowledge of it in his travels abroad. He is said to have been a native of Caxton, a village near Cambridge, towards the latter end of the reign of Edward the Fourth. The first book printed in the English tongue was ‘The Recuyell of the History of Troy;’ and is dated September the nineteenth, 1471, at Cologne. The ‘Game of Chess,’ dated in 1474, is allowed, by all typographical antiquaries, to have been the first specimen of the art among us. Mr. Caxton died in 1486, or, according to other accounts, in 1491.

“In this century, _viz._ in 1428, the bones of John Wickliffe, the rising sun of the Reformation, were taken up and burnt, by an order of the council of Constance; and his works were thrown publicly into the flames, at Oxford.

“This great man was born at Richmond in Yorkshire, in the year 1324. He was presented to the rectory of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, through the influence of his friend the duke of Lancaster; and, in spite of the machinations of the priests, he not only preached with great success, but his doctrines became extremely popular, and he expired in peace, on his living, in the year 1384.

“The event of his death was hailed with triumph by the popish faction. But in vain did tyranny or artifice strive to stop the progress of truth: his followers rapidly increased; and, under the name of Lollards, we find them enduring, in the fifteenth century, a furious persecution. Yet, in spite of all that cruelty could devise, the doctrines of Wickliffe were not only maintained, but, one hundred and fifty years afterwards, we find that they had made great progress through all ranks in the nation.

“It was at this period that the Reformation from popery and its errors commenced, under the reign of Henry the Eighth; and it was instigated, in a great measure, by the resistance of the pope to the divorce of this monarch, from the widow of his brother Arthur, to whom he had been married several years, and by whom he had one daughter, afterwards queen Mary. Religious scruples respecting the validity of this union, were the ostensible motives given by the capricious king; whilst a passion for Ann Boleyn, a celebrated and accomplished beauty, was the real motive which led to a step so wonderfully over-ruled for good.

“That Henry, previous to this time, had been a devoted papist, may be inferred from a book which he wrote in defence of popery, against Martin Luther, the celebrated Saxon reformer; for which the pope had bestowed on him the title of ‘Defender of the Faith,’ still retained by our monarchs. During this period many persons suffered persecution; and though it is far from my intention to enter into an account of many of the ‘noble army of martyrs,’ yet, to render you thankful for the mercies _you_ enjoy in this privileged land, I will just mention, that, in 1519, six men and a woman were _burnt_ at Coventry, for teaching the Lord’s prayer, the creed, and the ten commandments, in the _vulgar tongue_.

“On the 14th of November, 1532, Henry was secretly united to Ann Boleyn. On the second of May, 1534, the sentence of divorce was formally pronounced by Cranmer, between the king and Catherine of Arragon; and, on the twenty-eighth of the same month, his marriage with Ann Boleyn (who afterwards became the mother of our celebrated queen Elizabeth) was publicly confirmed. The pope’s excommunication followed this step immediately; and Henry was so enraged, that he resolved to break entirely with the see of Rome, and to abolish the papal authority for ever.

“The parliament confirmed his proceedings, and thus were our forefathers delivered from the tyranny of Rome.

“But, strange as it may appear to you, persecution still raged, and many sufferers might be named, who, about this period, underwent martyrdom; for Henry, though he had indignantly renounced the temporal authority of the pope, was still zealously devoted, in all spiritual matters, to the Romish forms. Neither party, consequently, escaped his wrath. The reformers, who, by their preaching and writings, attacked the doctrinal errors, and exposed the superstitious and burdensome ceremonies of papacy, were equally liable to punishment with the Romish priests and laymen, who denied his supremacy. Whilst the lesser abbeys, to the number of three hundred and seventy-six, were suppressed, and, not long after, the greater ones shared the same fate; yet, with an inconsistency peculiar to Henry’s character, he caused several eminent protestants, among whom was the excellent lady Ann Askew, to be burnt to death in Smithfield.

“One great act was achieved in this reign—the translation of the Bible into English; and, in the month of September, 1538, Thomas Cromwell, lord privy-seal, viceregent to the king’s highness, sent forth instruction to all bishops and curates throughout the realm; charging them to see, that in every parish-church, the Bible of the largest volume printed in English, should be placed for all men to read in: and a book of register was also provided and kept in every parish-church, wherein was to be written every wedding, christening, and burying, within the same parish for ever. Crosses and images in many places were taken down: one image in particular is mentioned, as exposed at St. Paul’s cross, by the bishop of Rochester, and afterwards broken and plucked in pieces. This piece of machinery seems to have been curiously contrived, so as to move the eyes and lips.

“But the death of Henry put an end to the dangerous versatility of his opinions; and the short reign of Edward the Sixth, who succeeded his father when but nine years of age, was marked by signal benefits to the protestant cause. Not only were sundry injunctions issued for the removing of images out of all churches, and measures taken for the suppression of idolatry and superstition within his realms and dominions, but the Homilies (which are still in use in the church) were composed by many of the most pious and learned men of the age, and directed to be read generally for the edification of the lower classes:—the Lord’s supper was ordered to be administered to the laity:—the Catechism was compiled for the use of children, by Cranmer:—the Liturgy was established by law; and the Articles were drawn up, explanatory of the doctrines of the Church of England, and which, in the main, appear, under the name of the thirty-nine articles, in the Prayer-book.

“The apparel of the clergy, after the reformation, underwent a change, and was restricted to sable garments. Previous to this, the graduates went either in a variety of colours, or in garments of light hue, as yellow, red, green, &c. with their shoes piked, their hair crisped, their girdles armed with silver; their shoes, spurs, bridles, &c. buckled with light metal; their apparel, for the most part, of silk and richly furred; their caps laced and buttoned with gold: so that a priest of those days would not now be recognized as belonging to the order.

“But the hopes of the Reformers were clouded by the premature death of the young king, who expired at Greenwich, the sixth of July, 1553.

“He possessed undoubted piety; and his talents appear to have been very great. It is related of him, that he knew not only the name and style of living of his great officers and judges, but in what estimation their religion and conversation were held. He had a singular respect for justice; and was particularly assiduous in the dispatch of business. Charitable and humane in an extraordinary degree, this exemplary prince just “sparkled” for a time, then was “exhaled,” and “went,” undoubtedly, “to Heaven.”

“The gloomy era which followed, on Mary’s accession to the throne, is marked, in the memory of every Englishman, with sentiments of horror and detestation. The queen, a zealous catholic, was anxious to restore the popish forms of worship; and a statute was passed, abolishing all the laws relative to religion, which had been enacted in Edward’s reign.

“Mass was again celebrated, images and crosses erected, and punishments followed any affront to the priests: reconciliation with the pope followed.

“Married clergy were dispossessed of their preferments; and reading the sacred volume, in the vulgar tongue, not only forbidden, under pain of death; but, in the year 1557, the papists actually burnt all the English Bibles they could seize.

“Persecution raged with accumulated violence; and amongst the excellent men who preferred a good conscience to life itself, I shall only enumerate Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, and Hooper.

“Others, equally valiant for truth, perished also in the flames; but their numbers were too great to allow of my enumerating them. In one year alone, eighty-five persons were burnt for their religious opinions; and the joy and holy triumph, with which many of them expired, under the excruciating torment of the flames, served to confirm the more wavering, and strengthen the surrounding crowd.