Chapter II: Part 2

When Charles II. ascended the throne he proved even more friendly than Cromwell had been. Dr. Stoughton says, "Charles had a sort of liking to the Quakers for their harmlessness and their oddity. He was not afraid of their taking up arms against the throne, and to quiz them in their queer dresses and with their quaint speech, was to him a piece of good fun." It suited the merry Monarch to have pretty Quakeresses like Sarah Fell coming with their petitions, enduring his bantering demurely, and going away delighted with the clemency he so often showed. In 1666 he granted the release of George Fox from the sentence of premunire. He had once before set him at liberty, only to fall again into the clutches of the law. In March, 1664, Fox had been brought before Justice Twisden, and after a sham trial that was an outrage on both law and humanity, the extreme sentence of the law in such cases, the sentence of premunire, was passed, and he languished in Lancaster gaol and Scarborough Castle for nearly three years. But at last the royal ear was gained, and Fox, ill with hard treatment in the foul cells at Scarborough, was restored to his liberty, his property, and his civil rights. In prison he had been busy writing in exposition of the views of Friends. After his release, for some time he was principally engaged in modelling the discipline and church government of the Society.

Before passing on to consider the organisation of the Quaker community into a compact and well regulated church, we must notice their conduct in the question of marriage. "Marriage," said Fox, "is God's ordinance," believing literally the common saying that marriages are made in heaven. But the solemn compact ought to be publicly ratified, and what more fitting than that public worship should attend that celebration. If Fox denied that ministers could marry, if he insisted that the ceremony should consist simply of a mutual pledge publicly given, he was very careful that all should be done in good order. The marriage customs which obtain amongst Quakers to-day represent his views. The young people must show that they are clear of other marriage engagements, and have the consent of their parents or guardians to their union. Sufficient public notice must be given of the coming event, so as to prevent all scandal and disorder. Then the marriage is celebrated during a week-day service. In the early days of the Society the publication of the intended marriage was no easy matter. "Many a joke must have passed through the merry crowd, when, from the market-cross of a country town, the expecting bridegroom proclaimed his forthcoming nuptials--but no arrangements of a loose or evasive character, would have saved the marriages of Friends from the double brand of public opinion and of national law." In 1661 the legality of Quaker marriages was tested in Nottingham before Justice Archer, and the point was forever set at rest.

Now let us turn to the work of Fox in the organisation of the Society. That the organisation was principally planned and carried out by him is past all doubt. We will quote two out of numberless authorities. Marsden says--

"To understand Quakerism the reader must comprehend the character of George Fox; for no institution ever carried more thoroughly impressed upon it the features of its chief."--_Marsden's Christian Churches_, p. 424.[5]

[5] For this quotation and other valuable matter the writer is indebted to the writings of Alderman Rowntree, of York, whose "Two Lectures on George Fox" and prize essay on "Quakerism, Past and Present" are standard works on Quakerism.

T. Hancock says, in his prize essay on the causes of the decline of Quakerism--

"The master spirit and chief builder of Quakerism was undoubtedly George Fox.... When we come to the second period, to the modelling of the Quaker constitution and discipline to the Society of Friends, to Quakerism as an _ism_, the hand of George Fox is still more evident."--_The Peculium_, pp. 68, 69.

The views of Fox as to the church polity were exceedingly simple. He had no intention of forming a sect; he only met the needs of his friends, as the exigences of the hour dictated. The less machinery the better; the simpler the arrangements the more they commended themselves to his judgment. His mind was not hampered by theories. His aim was to recognize the gifts of all, and not to have the life bound by man's rules.

But there must be discipline in the church. The disorderly must be dealt with. The weak must be helped. Many were thrown into prison or even banished; they must be relieved or cared for in the best way their circumstances allowed. Many had lost all for conscience sake; they must not be allowed to want. None so full of pity for these sufferers, as he who suffered so readily himself. Almost his last words were, "Remember poor Friends in Ireland."

The New Testament was his only conscious rule, prayerful waiting upon God for light his only expositor of it. He might ask his learned friends for side-lights from church history, might ask them about the practice of the early church, or the history of the corrupting influence of certain false doctrines. But he was emphatically a man of one book, and he read that book with his heart, more than with his penetrating mind.

That competent authority in all matters concerning Quakerism, Mr. J. S. Rowntree, thus describes the origin and progress of the Quaker discipline. "With the rapid growth of the Society, George Fox increasingly perceived the necessity for taking steps to repress the outbursts of fanatical and misguided zeal, and for placing the government of the church on a more systematic basis. This decision was undoubtedly expedited by the occurrence of a heresy fomented by John Perrott.... He had the satisfaction of seeing most of Perrott's adherents make a public acknowledgment of their error, and immediately afterwards, he initiated a national system of disciplinary meetings, to be held monthly. They consisted of the most experienced Friends within a given district; and had the charge of the affairs of the body within such district. The Quarterly Meetings (many of which we have seen were already in existence) were gradually put on a different basis, and consisted henceforth of representatives from a number of associated Monthly Meetings, whose decisions in some cases were liable to revision by the superior meeting. It was not till a somewhat later date that a central body--the 'Yearly Meeting' of London--consisting of representatives from all the Quarterly Meetings in the country, was established as the top stone of this elaborate disciplinary system.... To the settlement of these Monthly Meetings, George Fox most assiduously devoted himself in 1667-68; and ere long, wherever meetings for the worship of God were held after the manner of Friends, little church synods were also held, ministering to the wants of the poor, alleviating the sorrows of the prisoners, seeking to reclaim disorderly walkers, and when failing in this, disuniting them from the body." ("Two Lectures on Macaulay's Portraiture of George Fox," pp. 40-42.) It speaks volumes for the sagacity of Fox that so little has needed to be added to or altered in the Quaker polity since his day.

In 1666 the Barclays joined the society, and in the next year William Penn was added to their number. The learning of Robert Barclay, and social position and administrative ability of William Penn, were soon appreciated by the leader with whom they worked so loyally.

In 1669 Fox visited Ireland, and in the same year he was married to Margaret, widow of Judge Fell, of Swarthmoor Hall. She had been one of his early converts, and was one of his most vigorous helpers. She wrote almost as many letters, and printed almost as many appeals as her husband; she visited the imprisoned, and sent relief to their families. Her house was the home of all Quakers visiting the neighborhood, and her purse was at the service of all who needed money to serve the cause. Her judgment was reliable and her energy untiring; she was the Countess of Huntingdon of the Society. She even endured long imprisonments, and risked, and for a time endured, the loss of all her property by premunire for the truth's sake. She was therefore a fitting help-meet for George Fox. She had four daughters who were ministers in the Society, and the whole family regarded him with reverence, except the scapegrace elder son. He not only opposed the marriage, but with the basest ingratitude, he endeavoured, after it was accomplished, to turn his mother out of her own home; and he rests under at least grave suspicion of being a party to the plot to have her sentenced to premunire.[6]

[6] The penalties of this sentence were, to be put out of the King's protection, to forfeit lands and goods to the King, and to be liable to imprisonment for life or at the King's pleasure.

Fox acted throughout this affair with the greatest prudence and magnanimity. He would not even be suspected of seeking worldly gain, but carefully secured to his wife and her family, the property which was hers before their marriage. No wedding could be more simple than his own. "Afterwards," he says in his journal, "a meeting being appointed on purpose for the accomplishing thereof, in the public meeting-house at Broadmead in Bristol, [the site cannot now be certainly determined,] we took each other in marriage.... Then was a certificate, relating both the proceedings and the marriage, openly read and signed by the relations, and by most of the ancient Friends of that city, besides many other Friends from divers parts of the nation." Evidently the ceremony caused considerable excitement. His wife was ten years his senior.

But of home life they had little enough; in little more than a week they parted, that the husband might continue his labours, and soon after, the wife was cast into prison, where she remained until 1671. Then through the intercession of her daughters with the king she was released, and the premunire, which had rested on her for ten years, was removed. They had a few days together before Fox sailed for the West Indies, and again on his return, and so on.

Men and women who give their most intense and sustained sympathies to Christian enterprises, often have to suffer for it in their home relations. "We were very willing both of us," says Mrs. Fox after her husband's death, "to live apart for some years upon God's account and His truth's service, and to deny ourselves of that comfort which we might have in being together, for the sake of the service of the Lord and His truth; and if any took occasion, or judged hard of us because of that, the Lord will judge them, for we were innocent."

In the summer of 1671, George Fox and some other Friends visited the West Indies and the continent of America, to push the work of evangelisation and of organising the societies there. They landed in Barbadoes, after a voyage enlivened by constant dangers from the leakiness of the vessel, and once by an almost miraculous escape from capture by a Sallee man-of-war. Fox's son-in-law, John Rous, was in the company, and on landing he was at once taken to the house of Mr. Rous, senior, who was a wealthy sugar planter. Fox's health had been so injured by the ill-usage which he had endured at different times, and he suffered so keenly from the climate, that he had to remain at Mr. Rous's, whilst his friends held meetings all around. But though crippled in body his mind was vigorous. The marriage regulations and discipline of the Society, and the duty of giving Christian instruction to the negroes, engrossed his attention. The question of slavery stirred his heart to its depths; and his vigorous language and action not only did good then, but laid a right foundation for the future action of the society. When the time came that Friends had to consider the question of the abolition of slavery, few things exerted so much influence in the right direction, as Fox's clear statement of the issues involved. His words were quoted, his reasonings were expanded and enforced, and it was largely through his influence that abolitionist principles became identified with Quakerism.

Here, as elsewhere, the doctrines of the society had been greatly misrepresented, so the famous letter to the governor of Barbadoes was drawn up to explain them. It is still often quoted as an admirable statement of the views of the society. It is as near an approach to a creed as anything can be, which originated from a society which recognises only the Bible as authoritative, and which objects to all human formularies.

The society in Barbadoes gained greatly in numbers and strength by this visit. Jamaica, Maryland, North Carolina and Virginia were next visited in the same manner and with similar results. Large numbers were won to a christian life. The Indians and negroes were recognised as having a claim to christian sympathy and religious instruction. The societies were weeded of unworthy members, and their organisation successfully accomplished. Then the party returned in safety to England after an absence of a year and a half.

In 1677 Fox carried these operations into Holland, having with him his illustrious friends, Penn and Barclay. "This visit of the three great apostles of Quakerism," says Hepworth Dixon, "seems to have made a great sensation; scholars, merchants, government officers, and the general public crowded to hear them preach, and the houses of the most noble and learned men in the city of Van der Werf and Erasmus were thrown open to them freely.... Their journey through the country was like a prolonged ovation." The interesting episode of the interview with the enlightened and large-hearted Princess Elizabeth, granddaughter of James I., scarcely belongs to this sketch, as Fox did not join in it. But he wrote a lengthy epistle of Christian counsel, and sent it by his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Yeamans, and the Princess returned him this brief but kindly reply:--

"Dear Friend, I cannot but have a tender love to those that
love the Lord Jesus Christ, and to whom it is given, not only
to believe in Him, but also to suffer for Him; therefore your
letter, and your friend's visit, have been both very welcome
to me. I shall follow their and your counsel as far as God
will afford me light and unction; remaining still your loving
friend, Elizabeth."

He spent some time in Amsterdam "writing in truth's account," and then returned home by Harwich. In 1684 he paid another visit to Holland, the last of his longer missionary journeys.

After this, finding his health shattered by his long imprisonment and arduous labours, he settled down in London, quietly, though not uselessly, awaiting the end. His correspondence was most extensive, and he wrote many tracts and pamphlets as was his habit. One of his last letters was written to the lately-bereaved widow of Barclay, the Apologist, and is a model of Christian consolation. He tells her:--"Thou and thy family may rejoice that thou hadst such an offering to offer up unto the Lord as thy dear husband; who, I know is well in the Lord in whom he died, and is at rest from his labours, and his works do follow him." He signs himself one "who had a great love and respect for thy dear husband, for his work and service in the Lord, who is content in the will of God, and all things that he doeth--and so thou must be." But besides this literary work, he laboured zealously in the pastoral work, visiting the sick and afflicted, and endeavouring to "bring into the way of truth such as had erred."

He watched the passing of the Toleration Act with the deepest interest. It was a most welcome relief to Friends, especially those in Ireland. The losses sustained by the Irish Quakers were enormous. In one year (1689) they were estimated at £100,000, many being stripped of all they had (see Besse's Sufferings). George Fox not only collected such facts as these for publication, but, even in his last days of suffering and prostration, attended at the House of Commons to interest the members in the sufferings of his brethren, and to see that the Toleration Act was "done comprehensively and effectually."

He was equally zealous in his attendance on public worship. When so infirm that he could hardly sit through a service, he would not desist, and often afterwards had to lie down on a bed until recruited. He was determined, if possible, to die in harness, and God gave him his heart's desire.

He was especially anxious lest spiritual religion should decline, now that persecution had ceased, and Friends began to prosper in business. He wrote them an epistle of loving, but earnest expostulation, warning the young against the fashions of the world, and the old against the deceitfulness of riches. To the latter he pointedly says, "Take heed that you are not _making your graves_ while you are alive outwardly." To some ministers who had gone to America he writes similar stirring words of counsel:--"And all grow in the faith and grace of Christ, _that ye may not be like dwarfs_; for a dwarf shall not come near to offer upon God's altar, though he may eat of God's bread that he may grow by it."

On the Sunday preceding his death, he preached with great power at the meeting in Gracechurch Street, but soon afterwards had to take to bed, complaining of cold and weakness. His wife had been to see him some little time before, and finding him enjoying better health than usual, was unprepared for his death, so that no near relative seems to have been with him at the time of his decease. It was indeed a consecrated chamber. Those who stood round him were struck with the triumph of faith over bodily weakness. He exulted in the power of Christ. "All is well--the Seed of God reigns over all, and over death itself." His thoughts were calmly fixed on the arrangement of Society affairs; his mind was clear, his habitual disregard of his bodily sufferings still marked him. Towards the last all pain left him. Feeling death coming, he closed his own eyes and extended his limbs; and in sweet composure, resting on Christ his Saviour, his spirit entered into rest on Tuesday, 13th December, 1690 (o.s.)

Three days after, some 2000 persons (one witness says 4000) gathered to lay him in his grave. For two hours they worshipped in that same meeting-house in Gracechurch Street, in which he had preached only on the previous sabbath. William Penn, George Whitehead, Stephen Crisp, and other leaders amongst them, thanked God for the gifts and services of their departed leader, and exhorted and encouraged each other to faith in that Lord, who raised him up and sustained him in his work. Then the body was conveyed to Bunhill-fields, and interred in the Friends' Burial Ground there.

On the day of his death, William Penn wrote to Swarthmoor to tell the news of his decease. His letter reminds us of the inscription of the Carthaginians on the tomb of Hannibal. "We vehemently desired him in the day of battle." He sadly says to Mrs. Fox, "I am to be the teller to thee of sorrowful tidings, which are these:--that thy dear husband and my beloved friend, George Fox, finished his glorious testimony this night about half-an-hour after 9 o'clock, being sensible to the last breath. Oh! he is gone, and has left us with a storm over our heads. Surely in mercy to Him, but an evidence to us of sorrows coming.... My soul is deeply affected with this sudden great loss. Surely it portends to us evils to come. A prince indeed is fallen in Israel to-day!" and in a postscript he adds, "He died as he lived, minding the things of God and His church to the last, in a universal spirit."

Fox's Journal was published soon after his death, with a lengthy preface by his friend William Penn, containing a warm tribute to his personal worth and Christian labors. The Journal gives us a better and more vivid idea of the man than any biography that has been written. An intelligent and liberal-minded Baptist minister thus describes the impressions it left on his mind:--

Rev. Wm. Rhodes to his wife:

"'My dear heart in the truth and the life which are immortal
and change not;'

"So George Fox usually addressed his wife. I have finished
his life of 650 folio pages since you have been gone. It
afforded me much amusement, but its chief impression is
that of the highest veneration and delight, for so holy and
noble a servant of Christ. I have hitherto regarded Penn as
the most beautiful character which that sect has produced,
and perhaps it is the most beautiful, because his mind was
more polished and cultivated than that of his friend; but
Fox's character is by far the most venerable and magnificent.
He reminds me of the inspired Tishbite in his stern majesty
and fidelity, but he seems to have surpassed him in all the
patient, gentle, compassionate, suffering, laborious virtues.
If inspiration has been granted since the apostles departed
from the world, I think he possessed it. I have read few
things more truly sublime than some of his letters to Charles
II."--_Memoir of W. Rhodes, Jackson and Walford, p. 179._

Ellwood, the friend of Milton, has left us a glowing testimony to the value of George Fox's Life and Work. But the eulogies of William Penn and Thomas Ellwood are not portraits. One of the best estimates of his character ever given to the world is that by J. C. Colquhoun in "Short Studies of some Notable Lives." In it he says (p. 88-90):--

"The truth is that Fox's character had, like that of many others, two sides; and the contrast between these is so great that one can hardly believe them to belong to the same man. On the one side we have strange thoughts and words, fanciful imaginations, the illusions of an unlettered mind. But such things are not unusual. Dr. Johnson believed in second sight, in dreams and ghosts; and his case presents to us the credulity of a child, with the intellect of a giant.

"But if we turn to the other side of Fox's character, we find this man of fancies and visions confronted with controversialists, Jesuits, and lawyers, puzzling them with his subtlety, and with his logic beating down their fence. Now in a court of justice he confronts the judge, defies the bar, picks flaws in the indictment, quotes against them adverse statutes, and wrings from baffled judges a reluctant acquittal. Then he is in the Protector's court, to meet a man hard to dupe. There he plants himself, his hat on his head, at Oliver's dressing table, engages him in long discourse, sets before him his duty, presses on him the policy of toleration, till the iron-hearted soldier, first surprised, then attentive, at length interested, extends his hand to the Quaker, bids him repeat the visit, and tells him if they could meet oftener they would be firmer friends.

"No less remarkable are his courage and skill. As storms thicken, he is always in the front of the battle; wherever the strife is vehement there he is; now in Lancashire, now in Leicester, in Westmoreland or Cornwall; meeting magistrates and judges, braving them at Quarter Sessions, vanquishing officers, governors of castles, and judges. Then he sits down calmly to organise, with a forecast equal to that of Wesley, the scheme of Quaker polity which has lasted to our times. And if we smile at the oddity of his language, at the curious missives which he hurls at mayors and magistrates, jailors and judges, we find at times a caustic style worthy of Hudibras or Cobbett, in which he lashes the frippery of the court, or meets the casuistry of the Jesuits or Ultra-Calvinists; and as we dwell on those words of wisdom in which he tells us of his faith, and cheers the heart of Cromwell's daughter, we perceive that he is no common man, but one who, with strange training and singular notions, rose by the strength of genius and piety to a wide command over men."

But though honoured by the Society which he founded, Fox has not received his due from the religious world in general, nor from the friends of civil and religious liberty. It is significant that whilst his friend, William Penn, has found at least three respectable biographers outside his own sect, Fox has found but one; and whilst Penn has been defended again and again from Macaulay's charges, the only defence of George Fox against his groundless sneers that is well-known, is from the vigorous pen of Mr. J. S. Rowntree. Fox has received scant justice from all but "Friends;" _their_ loyalty, as we have seen, has been beautiful, unfaltering and enthusiastic. Most writers seem to have been too much afraid of his peculiar views, and repelled by his uncouth style, to be just to his large heart and mind, and to his wonderful services as an evangelist. The man who advocated general education, who was anxious that Philadelphia should have a botanical garden, who battled for perfect religious liberty, who pleaded for the rights of the negro and for the reform of prison discipline, who organised the polity of Quakerism, and associated philanthropy inseparably with its system, was a remarkable man, far in advance of his age, and worthy of more regard from the country that has been so greatly blessed by his labours.

Lord Macaulay has thought fit to speak of George Fox as not mad enough for Bedlam, but too mad for liberty, as "not morally or intellectually superior to Ludovic Muggleton or Joanna Southcote," he has termed his journal "absurd" and his letters "crazy." Unfortunately, Hepworth Dixon, whilst correcting Macaulay's gross misrepresentations of Penn, has confirmed those concerning Fox. He speaks of his spiritual struggles with a sneer, credits him with "imperious instincts," and is evidently ashamed that Penn was in any way allied with him. It will, therefore, be simple justice to Fox, to ask the reader who may be prejudiced against him, by the vigorous epithets and dashing portraiture of the historian, to set against his caricature some opinions of men less biassed, and well worthy of confidence. Let him remember that if Macaulay speaks with unmeasured contempt, Kingsley, Carlyle, and a host of others speak of Fox with respect.

And first, as to his Journal, listen to the words of Coleridge and Sir James Mackintosh. Coleridge in his _Biographia Literaria_ observes:--"There exist folios on the human understanding and the nature of man which would have a far juster claim to the high rank and celebrity if in the whole huge volume there could be found as much fulness of heart and intellect as bursts forth in many a simple page of George Fox."

Sir James Mackintosh describes his "absurd" book as "one of the most extraordinary and instructive narratives in the world, which no reader of competent judgment can peruse without revering the virtue of the writer, pardoning his self-delusion, and ceasing to smile at his peculiarities."--_Miscell's Works_, vol. II. p. 182.

Is not the testimony of these witnesses preferable to the manifest prejudice of Macaulay?

Now as to George Fox's powers of mind and high moral character, place against Macaulay's sarcasm the good opinion of other competent judges. We will not quote the elaborate eulogy of Ellwood, the friend of Milton; of William Penn's warm tribute we will only quote the saying that he had never seen him "out of his place, or not a match for every service or occasion." But these were personal friends. Let us hear others. Marsden in his "Later Puritans," speaks of his "penetrating intellect." The accomplished Alfred Vaughan speaks thus of Fox, in what Charles Kingsley calls his "fair and liberal chapters on Fox and the early Quakers," in his "Hours with the Mystics:"--

"Oppression and imprisonment awakened the benevolent, never the malevolent impulses of his nature,--only adding fervour to his plea for the captive and the oppressed. His tender conscience could know no fellowship with the pleasures of the world; his tender heart could know no weariness in seeking to make less its sum of suffering. He is a Cato Howard.... In the prison experiences of George Fox are to be found the germs of that modern philanthropy in which his followers have distinguished themselves so nobly. In Derby gaol he is 'exceedingly exercised' about the proceedings of the judges and magistrates, concerning their putting men to death for cattle, money, and small matters,--and is moved to write to them, showing the sin of such severity, and, moreover, what a hurtful thing it was that prisoners should lie so long in gaol; how that they learned badness one of another in talking of their bad deeds; and therefore speedy justice should be done.... As to doctrine again, consider how much religious extravagance was then afloat, and let us set it down to the credit of Fox that his mystical excesses were no greater."

The historian Bancroft says:--"His fame increased; crowds gathered like flocks of pigeons to hear him. His frame in prayer is described as the most awful, living, and reverent ever felt or seen; and his vigorous understanding, soon disciplined by clear convictions to natural dialectics, made him powerful in the public discussions to which he defied the world.... The mind of George Fox had the highest systematic sagacity."--_Bancroft's History of the U. S._, Vol. II. pp. 508-9.

But finally let us appeal to the high authority of Carlyle, who estimated truly the spirit and aim of Fox's life. There was much in common between them in their sturdy love of truth and reality, leading to a hearty hatred of empty forms and mere conventionalities. Both had a striking directness of thought and purpose, going right to the heart of things; an intense earnestness that did not stop nicely to weigh words, but hit hard at all unrighteousness. There was in both a strong sense of personal responsibility that made them indifferent what others might think or do. Carlyle gives us in "Sartor Resartus" (Popular edition, pp. 144, 5) a striking eulogium on George Fox, from which we will select the following characteristic passage:--"Perhaps the most remarkable incident in modern history is not the diet of Worms, still less the Battle of Austerlitz, Waterloo, Peterloo, or any other battle; but an incident passed carelessly over by most historians, and treated with some degree of ridicule by others; namely, George Fox making to himself a suit of leather. This man, the first of the Quakers, and by trade a shoemaker, was one of those to whom, under ruder or purer form, the divine idea of the universe is pleased to manifest itself; and across all the hulls of ignorance and earthly degradation, shine through in unspeakable awfulness, unspeakable beauty on their souls; who therefore are rightly accounted prophets, God-possessed, or even Gods, as in some periods it has chanced."

The length of these quotations needs some apology; but the influence of the vigor and cleverness of Macaulay's caricature needs to be counteracted; and the confidence with which he pronounces judgment will doubtless lead many unwary readers to accept his opinion. It should at least be known that men equally able, and more competent to estimate a nature like Fox's, have admired his character and valued his work. But after all the best testimony to his worth is contained in the devoted life which we have been endeavouring to sketch.

WILLIAM PENN,

THE

FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA.

PREFACE.

The story of William Penn has been told so often and so well that it is impossible to introduce novelty into it without introducing falsehood. This Macaulay found out to his cost, his representations doing more to expose his liability to prejudice than to damage the stable reputation of Penn. No wonder such a beautiful and eventful life has attracted many biographers. If Clarkson did not possess all the information that is now in existence, he is accurate and sympathetic. Hepworth Dixon is brilliant but not always accurate, and he fails altogether in the religious portion of his story from utter want of sympathy and insight. In Dr. Stoughton both these qualities are joined to that broad acquaintance with the religious history of the age which is so essential to the just portraiture of such a man. He has added to the biography many interesting details. Dixon complained that the memoirs of Quakers are transcendental and lacking in human interest. No book can deserve the censure less than Dr. Stoughton's life of Penn.

WILLIAM PENN,

THE

FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA.

William Penn was born in London, in 1644. His father was the famous but time-serving admiral Sir William Penn; his mother, Margaret Jasper, the beautiful and intelligent daughter of a Rotterdam merchant. His father's ambition was high. He had gained wealth and the royal favour by his daring and ability; his son should work out a grand career, and should be a peer, Viscount Weymouth. But man proposes, God disposes. The stout Admiral lived to find the strong, handsome, quick-witted child, on whom he built so much, a very sword in his soul, the last stroke that brought down his proud self-willed nature to the very dust before God, and made him at last think seriously of that religion which he had despised when in health and gaiety.

The child of such hopes received a careful training. First, he was sent to Chigwell School in Essex, which was near the home of his childhood at Wanstead. After that, he entered Christchurch College, Oxford, where he met some of the friends of his after years, including Robert Spencer, afterwards Earl of Sunderland, and John Locke. Already, signs of strong religious feeling had manifested themselves in the boy. When a child at Shangarry Castle, a Quaker preacher--Thomas Loe, destined to play such a prominent part in his history--came to Cork. His father, little suspecting the results that would follow, invited him to the Castle, and gathered the neighbours to hear him. His preaching deeply impressed the whole gathering; it made Sir William weep freely, and left an impression on the mind of his child-hearer which was never effaced. That impression was deepened by a singular vision which he had at Chigwell School. "Alone in his chamber, being then eleven years old, he was suddenly surprised with an inward comfort, and, as he thought, an external glory in the room, which gave rise to religious emotions, during which he had the strongest convictions of the being of a God, and that the soul of man was capable of communication with Him. He believed also, that the seal of Divinity had been placed upon him at this moment, or that he had been awakened, or called upon to a holy life." Again at Oxford, he was greatly influenced by Dr. Owen, with whom Penn corresponded when he was removed from his position as Dean, to make way for a more pliable instrument of the schemes of the court.

Penn's attainments were already considerable for his years, yet his College course was doomed to be a failure. The most noteworthy occurrences in it were, his again hearing the Quaker preacher, Thomas Loe, and his vigorous opposition to the Ritualistic innovations of the Stuarts. The authorities insisted on the gown being worn by all under-graduates. Penn and others, recognising this as the thin end of the Popish wedge, not only would not wear it themselves, but tore it from the backs of those who did. This led to his expulsion for rioting.[7] His father was most annoyed at the disgrace attending the punishment, until he found that his son's conduct resulted from settled convictions, already firmly rooted. Then the Admiral at once understood the serious issues involved. He must vanquish these conscientious scruples or his ambitious plans would be ruined. He never planned a sea-fight more carefully. In the first moment of anger he had soundly whipped his son, and turned him out of doors; now he tried gentler and more insinuating means. Like a true man of the world, he had full confidence in the power of a gay life to cast out such thoughts, and he sent his son to Paris. The most interesting incident of the trip is his treatment of a French gallant, who insisted on fighting him over some supposed insult. In vain did Penn politely explain that no insult had been offered. They must fight. Penn not only excelled in athletics, but was a skillful fencer. He soon disarmed the man, but instead of then punishing him for his quarrelsomeness, he only returned him his sword with a polite bow.

[7] He tells us that his expulsion resulted from his writing a book, which "the priests and masters did not like." Probably both reasons were combined.

Sir William Penn, delighted with what he heard of the success of this expedient, determined that his son should finish his education in France, after which he destined him for the army. But in God's providence, the chosen tutor, the learned divine Moses Amyrault, if he did not deepen the gracious impressions already received, grounded him thoroughly in theological studies, which were very useful to him afterwards. Leaving him, Penn travelled for some time, and returned home, says Pepys, "a fine gentleman." He then studied law awhile in Lincoln's Inn, and to good purpose, as we shall see.

The great plague of 1665 drove him from London, and probably revived his serious thoughts, which were further strengthened by intercourse with serious people and the reading of serious books. His father again remarked the dreaded relapse, and again tried what change would do. This time he sent his son to Ireland, to the sprightly court of the Lord Lieutenant, the Duke of Ormond. Again, he reckoned without his host. There were Quakers in Ireland, and the very plan to which the astute Admiral trusted to get his son out of danger, led to his joining their Society. At first, indeed, nothing seemed less likely than such a result. He was beginning to despair of finding "the Primitive Spirit and Church upon Earth," and was ready recklessly to give himself up to the glory of the world. He was so flattered by the cordial recognition of the spirit and the success with which he assisted in quelling a petty insurrection, that he was inclined to fall in with his father's plan, and adopt the profession of arms. He even went so far as to apply for a captaincy. But God had other things in store for him. Happening to hear that Thomas Loe, the Quaker by whom he had been so impressed in Oxford, was visiting in Cork, he went to hear him. His ministry is said to have been singularly lively and convincing. The sermon was wonderfully suited to Penn's case, and made him weep much. The opening sentence cut him to the quick: "There is a faith that overcomes the world, and there is a faith that is overcome by the world." From that night he determined that, by God's grace, his faith should not be overcome by the world. He began to attend Quaker meetings regularly. At one of these, in November 1667, a soldier came in, and made a great disturbance. Penn, like Phineas in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," not having yet thoroughly subdued the old nature, took him by the collar, and would have thrown him down stairs, had not Friends interfered. The soldier went away, and gave information to the authorities, who came and broke up the meeting, haling several, including Penn, before the magistrates.

His cavalier dress, so unlike that of his companions,[8] led the mayor, before whom the party was taken, to offer to release him upon bond for his good behaviour. Penn denied his right to demand such bond, and challenged the legality of the arrest. When committed, he appealed to his friend the Earl of Orrery, Lord President of Munster, by whom he was speedily set at liberty. But that gentleman wrote the news to his father, who at once summoned him home. He reasoned, he stormed, then, proud and haughty as he was, he condescended to plead. Finally, finding his son still unyielding, and hearing complaints of his preaching at different meetings in town and country, he turned him out of doors, telling him also that he should leave his estates to those that pleased him better. He was then twenty-three years of age.

[8] He did not at once adopt the Quaker dress, and continued for some time to wear a sword. When this non-compliance with Quaker customs was reported to George Fox, it is said that he simply replied, "let him wear it as long as he can." He mentioned years afterwards how the peculiar garb was a stumbling-block to some, "It telleth tales, it is blowing a trumpet and visibly crossing the world; and this the fear of man cannot abide" (_Travels_, p. 121). Probably this very fact commended the peculiarity to his bold and decided spirit.

Henceforth William Penn's time and strength were given to Quakerism. There was neither hesitation nor half-heartedness. The welfare, work, and sufferings of Friends he made his own. He wrote and preached with untiring energy, and suffered, counting it joy.

Though turned out of doors by his father, he was not allowed to want. His mother privately supplied his needs to the utmost of her ability, and what she could not do was made up by several kind friends. The situation was painful in the extreme; separated from home and parents, his father grieved and mortified at his conduct. He tells pathetically afterwards of "the bitter mockings and scornings that fell upon me, the displeasure of my parents, the invectiveness and cruelty of the priests, the strangeness of all my companions, what a sign and wonder they made of me." But his conscience approved of the line he had adopted, and his resolute nature was troubled by no waverings. He set himself earnestly to do his duty. He united himself closely to the Friends, and took up his pen on their behalf. His first work was entitled "Truth exalted."

"The Guide Mistaken," soon followed. It was a reply to "A Guide to the true Religion," in which the Quakers were treated with great severity.

Shortly afterwards he was drawn into a public discussion with the Rev. Thomas Vincent, a Presbyterian minister in Spitalfields. Some of his congregation having become converts to Quakerism, Vincent said some slanderous things about the Friends. So George Whitehead and Wm. Penn waited upon him, and insisted that as he had publicly misrepresented them, he was bound in fairness to give them an opportunity publicly to set themselves right. After some demur, Vincent agreed to meet them in his own chapel on a certain day. The discussion lasted until midnight, and turned principally upon the question of the Trinity. Friends have always asserted that the doctrine, as taught by the orthodox, is an attempt to explain the inexplicable, and goes beyond what is revealed in the Scriptures. This contention in their early days cost them much reproach; now the chief remnant of it is the annoyance of having their authors, especially Penn, quoted as believers in the Unitarianism of to-day.

The debate was one-sided and bitter, and the Friends only retired at last on condition of having another opportunity to vindicate themselves. But as Vincent plainly showed that he had no intention of redeeming his promise, the only satisfaction left was the press. In "The Sandy Foundation Shaken," Penn gave the public his view of the matter. But he did not stop with the doctrine of the Trinity, he went on to the Atonement. He advanced such arguments against "Imputed Righteousness" as Barclay has elaborated in his Apology. He also produced arguments against the method in which in those days the necessity of a satisfaction to the Divine justice was taught. His expressions unfortunately resemble those of modern Unitarians, but his position is vitally different. Penn believed the death of Our Saviour on the cross a real Sacrifice, that "Jesus Christ was our holy sacrifice, atonement and propitiation, that he bore our iniquities," but that Christ is not the cause but the effect of God's love. (See his "Primitive Christianity revived.")

This book brought down on Penn the anger of Dr. Sanderson, Bishop of London, and led to his being sent to the Tower. But that only "added one more glorious book to the literature of the Tower," "No Cross, No Crown," of which Hepworth Dixon, more trustworthy in literature than in religion, says, "Had the style been more condensed, it would have been well entitled to claim a high place in literature." Whilst there he also replied in a treatise entitled "Innocency with her open face," to many strictures on the "Sandy Foundation Shaken."

This imprisonment revealed in two ways the stuff of which William Penn was made. First severity was tried, and one day his servant brought him the report that the bishop was determined he should recant or die in prison. He only smiled and said, "They are mistaken in me; I value not their threats. I will weary out their malice. Neither great nor good things were ever attained without loss and hardship." Then they sent Stillingfleet, the future bishop, to try his powers of persuasion, but they, too, utterly failed. "Tell my father, who I know will ask thee, that my prison shall be my grave before I will budge a jot, for I owe my conscience to no mortal man." Such spirit, combined with the ability his books were revealing, revived the admiral's pride in his son. The court, too, began to take interest in him, and shortly after Stillingfleet's visit he was released, having been in the Tower more than eight months.

He at once resumed his preaching, and having been partially reconciled to his father, was employed by him to attend to his Irish estates. On his return home, his father received him fully into his favour, to the great delight of his mother's heart.

But soon trouble again overtook him, though only again to place him on a pedestal where his virtues and power would be more manifest, and where his voice would reach a larger audience. Going to the meeting-house in Gracechurch Street, London, he found it closed and guarded by soldiers. However the Friends held their service in the street, and for this W. Penn and W. Meade were indicted under the Conventicle Act. Hepworth Dixon regards this as "perhaps the most important trial that ever took place in England," and speaks of Penn as the great vindicator of the old charters and of trial by jury. He met the browbeating of the city magistrates with spirit and dignity, and encouraged the jury to do the right manfully. After twice returning an evasive verdict, and being locked up for forty-eight hours, the jury finally acquitted the prisoners. The court was greatly annoyed, and vindictively fined the jury for contempt. They refused to pay the fine and were sent to prison. Penn encouraged them to test the legality of this imprisonment, and the highest legal authority in the land decided against it and released the gallant jury.[9] A full account of the whole proceedings was published, and helped materially to encourage resistance to illegal interference with liberty.

[9] In his second trial "Lord Chief Justice Vaughan pronounced his noble vindication of the right of jurors to deliver a free verdict, which by giving independence to juries, made the institution so effectual a protection to the liberty of the subject."--W. E. FORSTER.

But important as this trial undoubtedly was, the full benefit of it was only secured by long years of bitter sufferings endured by the whole Quaker community. (See sketch of Fox.) Let us who enjoy the spoils remember gratefully those who fought the battle.

We have spoken of the marked individuality in William Penn's character which led him to continue to wear the court costume after he became a Friend, until his own conscience demanded that he should adopt the Quaker garb. The same individuality led him to diverge from the ordinary type of Friend in another and more important matter. They were bent on fighting out the battle of religious liberty by religious, rather than by political weapons. They might, when on trial, quote a statute or plead a precedent as a sort of argumentum ad hominem, but in political and constitutional affairs, as such, they as a class took no delight. Penn was an exception. He felt a keen interest in the political affairs of his country. He saw that it was a mistake to lose the benefit of the old charters and statutes which secured the liberty of the subject, and he appealed to them on all occasions. This appeal served two purposes. It acknowledged the civil duties of Christians, which some Christians are slow to recognise. It also secured the sympathies of many in their struggles to whom the religious aim was incomprehensible. Both these objects seemed to Penn of the highest importance; they influenced his whole career. In the words of W. E. Forster, "the form of his religion, his feelings as a Quaker, did not seem to him to interfere with the fulfilment of his duties as a citizen. Had it done so, that form would have been changed rather than the work left undone, for he was not a man to make one duty an excuse for shirking another; within his conscience there was no conflict between religion and patriotism; he did not fly from the world, but faced it with true words and true deeds."

Admiral Penn was lying on his death-bed whilst this trial was in progress, and it added greatly to the sufferings of his son, that he could not be with his father at such a time. But on his release he hastened home, and very touching was the final converse between father and son. The high spirit was humbled; the worldly heart had learnt the emptiness of earthly honours. "Son William," he said only a day or two before his death, "I am weary of the world. I would not live my days over again if I could command them with a wish, for the snares of life are more than the fears of death. This troubles me that I have offended a gracious God. The thought of this has followed me to this day. Oh, have a care of sin! It is that which is the sting both of life and death." We can imagine with what feelings the Christian son would hear this tardy confession, and would endeavour to point such a father to the source of his own hopes and consolation. The old sailor was buried with due honours in the fine old church of St. Mary's, Redcliff, Bristol. He left the bulk of his property, some £1500 a year--a great sum in those days--to his eldest son, who thus found himself in spite of the risks he had run for conscience sake, a wealthy man, able to devote money as well as time and strength to the cause of his adoption. The king and his brother, the Duke of York, afterwards James II., had promised the dying man to be guardians to his son--a promise sought by him because he foresaw the many troubles into which that son's conscientious scruples would lead him in such an age. This fact is the key to the relations in which William Penn and the royal brothers often stood to each other--relations otherwise puzzling, but creditable to both sides when thus explained. The Stuarts were faithful to this promise when interest pointed another way. Penn was true to James especially, in spite of faults which greatly tried him; true, even when his throne tottered, and finally fell.