Mr. Macaulay’s second mention of William Penn may be found, vol. i. page 650. A number of young girls, acting under the direction of their school-mistress, had walked in procession, and presented a standard to Monmouth, at Taunton, in 1635. Some of them had expiated their offence already. That hell-hound of a judge, Jeffreys, had literally frightened one of them to death. It was determined, under menace of the gibbet, to extort a ransom from the parents ofallthese innocent girls. Who does not apply those lines of Shakspeare to this infernal judge!
“Did you say all? What, all? Oh, hell-kite, all?What, all my pretty chickens and their dam,At one fell swoop?”
“The Queen’s maids of honor,” says Mr. Macaulay, “asked the royal permission, to wring money out of the parents of the poor children; and the permission was granted.” They demanded £7000, and applied to Sir Francis Warre, to exact the ransom. “He was charged to declare, in strong language, that the maids of honor would not endure delay,” &c.
Warre excused himself. Mr. Macaulay proceeds as follows: “The maids of honor then requested William Penn to act for them, and Penn accepted the commission. Yet it should seem that a little of the pertinacious scrupulosity, which he had often shown, about taking off his hat, would not have been altogether out of place on this occasion. He probably silenced the remonstrances of his conscience, by repeating to himself, that none of the money, which he extorted, would go into his own pocket; that, if he refused to be the agent of the ladies, they would find agents less humane; that by complying he should increase his influence at the court; and that his influence at the court had already enabled him, and might still enable him to render greater services to his oppressed brethren. The maids of honor were at last forced to content themselves with less than a third part of what they had demanded.”
Now it seems to me, that no clear-headed, whole-hearted,impartialreader will draw the inference, from this passage, which Mr. Macaulay would manifestly have him draw. Penn well understood the resolute brutality of Jeffreys, thenever-dying obstinacy and vindictive malevolence of James, and the heartless greediness of these maids of honor. He knew, as Mr. Macaulay says, that “if he refused to be the agent of the ladies they would find agents less humane.” There was no secrecy here—this thing was not done in a corner. Mr. Macaulay says, “theychargedSir Francis Warre,” &c.: and after he refused, they “requestedWilliam Penn,” &c. Penn acted as a peacemaker. He stood between these she wolves—these shameless maids of honor—and the Taunton lambs; and, instead of £7000, he persuaded those vampyres, who, under the royal grant, had full power in their hands to do their wicked will—to receive less than £2300. Mr. Macaulay admits, that Penn received not a farthing; and, that, had he refused, matters might have been worse for the oppressed.
The known character of Penn demands of us the presumption, in his favor, that he entered upon this business conscientiously, and not as anextortioner—and that he made, as the result leads us to believe he did, the very best terms for the parents. Wherein was ever the sin or the shame of negotiating, between the buccaneers of the Tortugas, and the parents of captive children, for their ransom? Does not Mr. Macaulay present the reign of James II. before us, as blotted all over, with official piracy and judicial murder? If the adjustment of this odious business increased the influence of Penn, at court, and thereby enabled him to “render great services to his oppressed brethren”—these were the natural consequences of the act; without them, there was enough of just and honorable motive, for a mediator, to step between the oppressor and the oppressed, and lessen, as much as possible, the weight of the oppression.
If the conduct of William Penn, upon this occasion, was the humane and Christian thing, which it certainly appears to have been, “the pertinacious scrupulosity, which he had often shown, about taking off his hat” would have been wholly out of place. And if so, what justification can be found for Mr. Macaulay’s expressions—“the remonstrances of his conscience,” and “the money, which he extorted.”
It is proverbially hard, for an old dog to learn new tricks. He, to whose hand the hatchet is familiar, when he substitutes the rapier, will still hack and hew with it, as though it were a hatchet. It may well be doubted, if an impartial history,especially those parts of it, wherein the writer deals with character and motive, can ever be trustworthily and impartially written, by a veteran, professional reviewer, of the tomahawk school, however splendid his talents may be.
Upon this occasion, Penn, doubtless, persuaded the maids of honor to moderate their demands; at the same time, representing to the parents the uncompromising character of those, with whom they had to deal, and the unavoidable necessity of making terms. It is impossible to judge of the transaction aright, without taking into view the character of those dark days of tyranny and misrule, and the little security, then enjoyed by the subject.
On page 659, ibid., Mr. Macaulay, once more, introduces Penn to his readers—“William Penn, for whom exhibitions, which humane men generally avoid, seem to have had a strong attraction, hastened from Cheapside, where he had seen Cornish hanged, to Tyburn, in order to see Elizabeth Gaunt burned. He afterwards related that, when she calmly disposed the straw about her, in such a manner, as to shorten her sufferings, all the bystanders burst into tears.” Here is another attempt to lower the Quaker, in public estimation.
That Penn ever, from the cradle to the grave, gazed, unsympathizingly, upon human suffering, nobody, but a madman, will credit, for a moment. Nor would Mr. Macaulay, notwithstanding the rather peculiar construction of the paragraph, venturedirectlyso to represent him. It has been my fortune to know several men, of kind and warm affections, who have confessed, without reserve, a strong desire to witness the execution of criminals. Cornish and Gaunt were executed on the same day, and their fate excited universal attention. Penn’s account of the last moments of both was very minute; and shows him to have been a deeply interested observer. I am not aware, that he ever attended any other execution. And if he did not, the remark of Mr. Macaulay, which isgeneral, can never be justified, in relation to Penn; though it would fairly apply to the celebrated George Selwyn, who, though remarkable for the keenness of his sensibility, and the kindness of his heart, was in the habit of attending every execution in London; and who, upon one remarkable occasion of this kind, actually embarked for the Continent.
Why could not Mr. Macaulay, who often refers to Clarkson,have adopted some of his charitable and gentlemanly constructions of Penn’s conduct, upon this occasion? Clarkson says—“Men of the most noted benevolence have felt and indulged a curiosity of this sort. They have been worked upon, by different motives; some, perhaps, by a desire of seeing what human nature would be, at such an awful crisis; what would be its struggles; what would be the effects of innocence or guilt; what would be the power of religion on the mind.” * * * * “I should say that he consented to witness the scenes in question, with a view to do good; with a view of being able to make an impression on the King’s mind, by his own relation,” &c.
In vol. ii. page 222, 1687, Mr. Macaulay says—“Penn had never been a strong-headed man: the life which he had been leading, during two years, had not a little impaired his moral sensibility; and, if his conscience ever reproached him, he comforted himself by repeating, that he had a good and noble end in view, and that he was not paid for his services in money.”
Again, ibid., page 227, referring to the effort of the King, to propitiate William Kiffen, a great man, among the Baptists, no phraseology would suit Mr. Macaulay, but this—“Penn was employed in the work of seduction.” Whatseduction? Indeed, whenever a good chance presents itself to reach the Quaker, anywhere and anyhow, through the joints of the harness, the phylactery of Mr. Macaulay seems to have been—semper paratus.
It was enough, that Penn was, in some sense, the confidant, and, occasionally, theunconstrained and perfectly conscientiousagent of this most miserable King.
That posterity will sanction these politico-historical flings, at the character of William Penn, I cannot believe.
Tillotson knew him well. He had once expressed a suspicion that Penn was a Papist. A correspondence ensued. “In conclusion,” says Chalmers, “Tillotson declared himself fully satisfied, and, as in that case he had promised, he heartily begs pardon of Penn.”
Chalmers himself, who had no sympathy with the “cursed Quakers,” closes his account of Penn, as follows—“It must be evident from his works, that he was a man of abilities; and from his conduct through life, that he was a man of the purest conscience. This, without acceding to his opinions in religion, we are perfectly willing to allow and to declare.”
There was a couple of unamiable, maiden ladies, who had cherished, for a long time, an unkindly feeling to the son of their married sister; and, whenever her temporary absence afforded a fitting opportunity, one of them would inquire of the other, if it was nota good time to lick Billy. Mr. Macaulay suffers no convenient occasion to pass, without exhibiting a practical illustration of this opinion, that it isa good time to lick Billy.
In vol. ii. page 292, Mr. Macaulay says—“Penn was at Chester (in 1687,) on a pastoral tour. His popularity and authority among his brethren had greatly declined since he had become a tool of the King and the Jesuits.” In proof of this assertion Mr. Macaulay refers to a letter, from Bonrepaux to Seignelay, and to Gerard Croese’s Quaker History. Let us see, for ourselves, what Bonrepaux says—“Penn, chef des Quakers, qu’on sait être dans les intérêts du Roi d’Angleterre, est si fort décrié parmi ceux de son parti qu’ils n’ont plus aucune confiance en lui.”
Now I ask, in the name of historical truth, if Mr. Macaulay is sustained in his assertion, by Bonrepaux? Is there a jot or tittle of evidence, in this reference, that Penn “had become a tool of the King and of the Jesuits;” or that Bonrepaux was himself of any such opinion?
Let us next present the passage from Croese—“Etiam Quakeri Pennum non amplius, ut ante, ita amabant ac magnifaciebant, quidam aversabantur ac fugiebant.”
I ask, in reference to this quotation from Croese, the same question? No possible version of these passages into English will go farther, than to show, that the Quakers were dissatisfied with Penn, about that time: in neither is there the slightest reference to Penn, as “a tool of the King and of the Jesuits.” Mr. Macaulay’s passage is so constructed, that his citation of authorities goes, not only to the fact of Penn’s unpopularity, for a time, but to the cause of it, as assigned by Mr. Macaulay himself, namely, that Penn “had become a tool of the King and of the Jesuits.”
Now it is well known, that Penn, in 1687, was in bad odor with some of the Quakers. He wassuspected, by some persons, of being a Jesuit—George Keith, the Quaker renegade,called him a deist—he was said by others to be a Papist. Even Tillotson had given countenance to this foolish story, which Penn’s intimacy with King James tended to corroborate. How far Tillotston believed Penn to be aPapist, or atoolof the King, or of theJesuits, will appear, upon the perusal of a few lines from Tillotson to Penn, written in 1686, the year before that, of which Mr. Macaulay is writing—“I am very sorry that the suspicion I had entertained concerning you, of which I gave you the true account in my former letter, hath occasioned so much trouble and inconvenience to you: and I do now declare with great joy, that I am fully satisfied, that there was no just ground for that suspicion, and therefore do heartily beg your pardon for it.” Clarkson’s Memoirs, vol. i. chap. 22.
If the authorities, cited, sustained the statement of Mr. Macaulay, their credibility would still form a serious question. In vol. ii. pages 305-7-8, Mr. Macaulay refers to Bonrepaux’s “complicity with the Jesuits.” It would have been quite agreeable to that crafty emissary of Lewis, to have had it believed, that Penn was of their fraternity. As for Gerard Croese, Chalmers speaks of him and his history, with very little respect; and states, that it dissatisfied the Quakers. However this may have been, there is not a syllable in Gerard Croese’s Historia Quakeriana, giving color to Mr. Macaulay’s assertion, that Penn “had become a tool of the King and of the Jesuits.” On the contrary, Croese, as I shall show hereafter, speaks of Penn, with great respect, on several occasions.
In the same paragraph, of which a part is quoted, at the commencement of this article, Mr. Macaulay, after stating, that, when the King and Penn met at Chester, in 1687, Penn preached, or, to use Mr. Macaulay’s word,harangued, in the tennis court, he says—“It is said indeed, that his Majesty deigned to look into the tennis court, and to listen, with decency, to his friend’s melodious eloquence.” What does Mr. Macaulay mean?—that the King did not laugh outright?—that he made some little exertion, to suppress a disposition to make a mock of Penn and his preaching? No intelligent reader, though he may not catch the invidious spirit of this remark, can fail to perceive the writer’s design, to speak disparagingly of Penn.
Well: what is Mr. Macaulay’s authority for this? He quotes “Cartwright’s Diary, Aug. 30, 1687, and Clarkson’s Life of William Penn”—but without any indication of volume, chapter, orpage. This loose and unsatisfactory kind of reference is quite common with Mr. Macaulay; and one might almost as well indicate the route to the pyramids, by setting up a finger post in Edinburgh, pointing in the direction of Cairo. No eminent historian, English or Scotch, has ever been thus regardless of his reader’s comfort; neither Rapin nor Tindal, Smollett nor Hume, nor Henry, nor Robertson, nor Guthrie, nor any other. Of this the reader may well complain. This may all be well enough, in a historical romance—but in a matter, pretending to be true and impartial history, no good reader will walk by faith, altogether, and upon the staff of a single narrator; and he will too often find, that the spirit of the context, in the authority, is very different, from that of the citation.
He, who imparts to any historical fact the coloring of his own prejudice, anddresses upa statement, after his own fancy, has no right to vouch in, as his authority, for thewhole thing, however grotesque he may have made it—the writer, who has stated thenaked fact. If Clarkson said simply, that the King had listened to Penn’s preaching, Mr. Macaulay has no right to quote Clarkson, as having said so, in a manner to lower Penn, the tithe of a hair, in the estimation of the world.A fortiori, if Clarkson has said, that the King listened to Penn’s preaching,on several occasion, with respect, Mr. Macaulay had no right to quote Clarkson, as his authority, for the sneering and ill-natured statement, to which I have referred. This is not history, it is gross misrepresentation; and, the more forcibly and ingeniously it is fabricated, the more unjust and the more ungenerous the libel, upon the dead.
The reader, if he will, may judge of Mr. Macaulay’s impartiality, by comparing his words with theonly wordsuttered by Clarkson, on this point. They may be found, vol. i. chap. 23—“Among the places he (Penn) visited, in Cheshire, was Chester itself. The King, who was then travelling, arriving there at the same time, went to the meeting-house of the Quakers, to hear him preach. This mark of respect the King showed him also, at two or three other places where they fell in with each other, in the course of their respective tours.”
This is the only passage, which can be referred to, in Clarkson, by Mr. Macaulay, to sustain his ill-natured remark, whose evil spirit is entirely neutralized, by the very authority he cites. But there will be many, who will rather give Mr. Macaulay credit,for stating the point impartially; and few, I apprehend, who will take the trouble to look, through two octavo volumes, for a passage, thus vaguely referred to, without any indication of the volume, chapter, or page.
This rude assault, upon the character and motives of William Penn, Mr. Macaulay commences, by saying—“To speak the whole truths concerning Penn, is a task, which requires some courage.” It is becoming, in every historian, to speak the truth, the whole truth, andnothing but the truth. It certainly requires some courage—audacity, perhaps, is the better word—to present citations, in French and Latin, to sustain an assertion, which those citations do not sustain; and to refer to a highly respectable author, as having stated that, which he has nowhere stated.
It may not be amiss, to present my views of Mr. Macaulay’s injustice, more plainly than I have done. It is obvious to all, that a fact—the same fact—may, by the very manner of stating it, raise or lower the character of him, in regard to whom it is related. Themannerof representing it may becomematerial, or, substantially, part and parcel of the fact, as completely, as the coloring is part and parcel of a picture. No man has a right to take the sketch or outline of an angel, and, having given it the sable complexion of a devil, ascribe the entire thing, such as he has made it, to the author of the original sketch. No man, surely, has a right to seize a wreath, respectfully designed for the brows of his neighbor; distort it into the shape of a fool’s cap; clap it upon that neighbor’s head; and then charge the responsibility upon him, who prepared the original chaplet, as a token of respect.
Mr. Macaulay represents King James, as listening to the preaching of Penn, with concealed contempt—such are the force and meaning of his words; and he quotes Clarkson, as authority for this, who says precisely the contrary.
Every reader, who is uninstructed in the French and Latin languages, will view the quotations from Bonrepaux and Croese, as authorities for Mr. Macaulay’s assertion, that Penn had “become the tool of the King and the Jesuits”—for, whether carelessly, or cunningly, contrived, the sentence will certainly be understood to mean precisely this. A large number, even of those, who understand the languages, will take these quotations, as evidence, upon Mr. Macaulay’s word, without examination. Now, as I have stated, there is not the slightest authority, in these passages, for Mr. Macaulay’s assertion.
Mr. Macaulay’s last attack upon William Penn will be found, in vol. ii., pages 295-6-7. The Fellows of Magdalen College had been most abominably treated, by James II., in 1687. The detail is too long for my limits, and is, withal, unnecessary here, since there is neither doubt nor denial of the fact. The mediatorial agency of Penn was employed. The King was enraged, and resolved to have his way. His obstinacy was a proverb. There were three courses for Penn—right, left, and medial—to side with the King—to side with the Fellows—or to act as a mediator. Mr. Macaulay is pleased, in his Index, to speak of the transaction, as “Penn’s mediation.”
Had he sided with the Fellows entirely, he would have lost his influence utterly, to serve them, with the King. Had he sided with the King entirely, he would have lost all confidence with the Fellows. Mr. Macaulay, here, as elsewhere, is evidently bent upon showing up Penn, as the “tool of the King:” and, if there is anything more unjust, upon historical record, I know not where to look for it.
[1]With manifest effort, and in stinted measure, Mr. Macaulay lets down a few drops of the milk of human kindness, in the outset, and says of Penn—“He had too much good feeling to approve of the violent and unjust proceedings of the government, and even ventured to express part of what he thought.” Here, that which proceeded fromfixed and lofty principle, is ascribed to a less honorable motive—“good feeling,” orbonhommie; and the “part of what he thought,” was neither more nor less, than a bold and frank remonstrance, committed to writing, and sent to the King, by Penn.
When they met at Oxford, says Clarkson, vol. i. chap. 23, “William Penn had an opportunity of showing not only his courage, but his consistency in those principles of religious liberty, which he had defended, during his whole life.” After giving an account of the Prince’s injustice, Clarkson says—“Next morning William Penn was on horseback, ready to leave Oxford, but knowing what had taken place, he rode up to Magdalen College, and conversed with the Fellows, on the subject. After this conversation, he wrote a letter, and desired them to present it to the King.” * * * * “Dr. Sykes, in relating this anecdote of William Penn, by letter to Dr. Chazlett, who was then absent, mentions that Penn, after some discourse with the Fellows of Magdalen College, wrote a short letter, directed to the King. He wrote to this purpose—that their case was hard, and that, in their circumstances, they could not yield obedience.”
This was confirmed by Mr. Creech, as Clarkson states, and by Sewell, who states, in his History of the Rise and Progress of the Quakers, that Penn told the King the act “could not in justice be defended, since the general liberty of conscience did not allow of depriving any of their property, who did what they ought to do, as the Fellows of the said College appeared to have done.” This is the “part of what he thought,” referred to by Mr. Macaulay, who has not found it convenient, upon this occasion, to quote a syllable from Clarkson, nor from Sewell, of whose work Chalmers and others have spoken with respect.
I know of no better mode of presenting this matter fairly, than by laying before the reader contrasted passages, from Mr. Macaulay, and from Clarkson, relating to the conduct of Penn, upon this occasion. Mr. Macaulay shall lead off—“James, was as usual, obstinate in the wrong. The courtly Quaker, therefore, did his best to seduce the college from the path of right.”—Therefore!—Wherefore? Penn did his best toseducethe college from the path of right,becauseJames was, as usual, obstinate in the wrong! This is based, of course, upon Mr. Macaulay’s favorite hypothesis, that Penn was “the tool of the King andthe Jesuits.”—“He tried first intimidation. Ruin, he said, impended over the society. The King was highly incensed. The case might be a hard one. Most people thought it so. But every child knew that his Majesty loved to have his own way, and could not bear to be thwarted. Penn, therefore, exhorted the Fellows not to rely on the goodness of their cause, but to submit, or at least to temporize. Such counsel came strangely from one, who had been expelled from the University for raising a riot about the surplice, who had run the risk of being disinherited, rather than take off his hat to the princes of the blood, and who had been more than once sent to prison, for haranguing in conventicles. He did not succeed in frightening the Magdalen men.”
It may be thought scarcely worth while, to charge a Quaker, at the age offorty-three, with inconsistency, because his views had somewhat altered, since he was a wild young man, attwenty-one.
It is also clear, that Penn viewed the Magdalen question, as one quite as much ofpropertyas ofconscience; and that he could see no good reason, with his eyes of toleration wide open, why all the great educational institutions should be forever, in the hands of one denomination.
Mr. Macaulay again—“Then Penn tried a gentler tone. He had an interview with Hough and some of the Fellows, and after many professions of sympathy and friendship, began to hint at a compromise. The King could not bear to be crossed. The college must give way. Parker must be admitted. But he was in very bad health. All his preferments would soon be vacant. ‘Dr. Hough,’ said Penn, ‘may then be Bishop of Oxford. How should you like that, gentlemen?’ Penn had passed his life in declaiming against a hireling ministry. He held, that he was bound to refuse the payment of tithes, and this even when he had bought lands, chargeable with tithes, and had been allowed the value of the tithes in the purchase money. According to his own principles, he would have committed a great sin, if he had interfered, for the purpose of obtaining a benefice, on the most honorable terms, for the most pious divine. Yet to such a degree had his manners been corrupted by evil communications, and his understanding obscured by inordinate zeal for a single object, that he did not scruple to become a broker in simony of a peculiarlydiscreditable kind, and to use a bishopric as a bait to tempt a divine to perjury.”
Are these the words of truth and soberness? I rather think they are not. In the sacred name of common sense—did Penn become abroker in simony of a peculiarly discreditable kind, and use a bishopric, as a bait to tempt a divine to perjury, by stating, that Parker was very infirm, and, that, should he die, Hough might be his successor! If this is history, give us fiction, for Heaven’s sake, which is said to be less marvellous than fact. There is not the least pretence, that he offered, or was authorized to offer, any such “bait.” He spoke of a mere contingency; and did the best he could to mediate, between the King and the Fellows, both of whom were highly incensed.
As to the matter of tithes, Penn was mediating, between men,who had no scruples about tithes. He recognized,pro hac vice, the usages of the parties; and a Christian judge may, as shrewdly, be charged with infidelity, for conforming to the established law of evidence, and permitting a disciple of Mahomet to be sworn, upon the Koran.
When Hough replied, that the Papists had robbed them of University College, and Christ Church, and were now after Magdalen, and would have all the rest, “Penn,” says Mr. Macaulay, “was foolish enough to answer, that he believed the Papists would now be content. ‘University,’ he said, ‘is a pleasant college. Christ Church is a noble place. Magdalen is a fine building. The situation is convenient. The walks by the river are delightful. If the Roman Catholics are reasonable, they will be satisfied with these.’”
And now I will present Clarkson’s just and sensible view of this transaction. Mr. Macaulay has said, vol. ii. page 295, that “the agency of Penn was employed,” meaning, as the context shows, employedby the King. Clarkson, vol. i. chap. 23, says expressly, that, Oct. 3, 1687, Dr. Bailey wrote to Penn, “stated the merits of the case, and solicited his mediation.” Penn told the Fellows, as appears fromDr. Hough’s own letter, written the evening after their last interview, that he “feared they had come too late. He would use, however, his endeavors; and, if they were unsuccessful, they must attribute it to want of power in him, and not of good will to serve them.” The mediation came to nothing. The Fellows grew dissatisfied with Penn; falling, doubtless, into the very common error of parties,highly excited, and differing so widely, that all, who are notfor them; in toto, are against them. They seem to have been specially offended, by the following liberal remark of Penn’s—“For my part, I have always declared my opinion, that the preferments of the Church should not be put into any other hands but such as they at present are in; but I hope you would not have the two Universities such invincible bulwarks of the Church of England, that none but they must be capable of giving their children a learned education.”
In the same volume and chapter, Clarkson remarks—“They (the delegates from Magdalen) thought, strange to relate, that Penn had been rambling; and because he spoke doubtfully, about the success of his intended efforts, and of the superior capacity of the established clergy, that they alone should monopolize education, that his language was not to be depended upon as sincere. How this could have come into their heads, except from the terror, into which the situation of the College had thrown them, it is not easy to conceive; for certainly William Penn was as explicit, as any man could have been, under similar circumstances. He informed them, that, after repeated efforts with the King, he feared they had come too late. This was plain language. He informed them again, that he would make another trial with the King; that he would read their papers to him, unless peremptorily commanded to forbear; but that, if he failed, they must attribute his want of success not to his want of will, but want of power.”
“This, though expressive of his doubts and fears, was but a necessary caution, when his exertions had already failed; and it was still more necessary, when there was reason to suppose, that, though the King had a regard for him, and was glad to employ him, as an instrument, in forwarding his public views, yet that he would not gratify him, where his solicitations directly opposed them. That William Penn did afterwards make a trial with the King, to serve the College, there can be no doubt, because no instance can be produced, wherein he ever forfeited his word or broke his promise. But all trials with this view must of necessity have been ineffectual. The King and his ministers had already determined the point in question.”
Such were the sentiments of Clarkson.
Charles I. was King, when William Penn was born; and, when he died, George I. was on the throne. Penn therefore lived in the reins of nine rulers of the realm—Charles I.—the Cromwells, Oliver and Richard—Charles II.—James II.—William and Mary as joint sovereigns—William alone—Anne—and George I.
He was the son of Admiral, Sir William Penn, and was born on Tower Hill, London, Oct. 4, 1644. The spirit and the flesh strove hard for the mastery, before young William came forth a Quaker, fully developed. He was remarkable at Oxford, for his fine scholarship, and athletic performances.
Penn believed, that the Lord appeared to him, when he was very young. The devil seems to have made him a short visit afterwards, if we may rely upon the testimony of Penn’s biographers. Wood, in his Athenæ, iv. 645, gives this brief account of the Lord’s visit—Penn was “educated in puerile learning, at Chigwell in Essex, where, at eleven years of age, being retired in a chamber alone, he was so suddenly surprised with an inward comfort, and, as he thought, an external glory in the room, that he has, many times, said that, from that time, he had the seal of divinity and immortality, that there was also a God, and that the soul of man was capable of enjoying his divine communications.”
His biographer, Clarkson, says, that Penn, at the age of sixteen, was led to a sense of the corruptions of the established faith, by the preaching of Thomas Loe, a Quaker; and broke off at the chapel, and began to hold prayer meetings. For this he was fined and admonished. It is remarkable, that Wood, though he states, that Penn, after he became a Quaker, in good earnest, was imprisoned, once in Ireland, once in the Tower, and three times in Newgate, does not even allude, in his Athenæ, to the expulsion from Oxford, which is related, by Chalmers, Clarkson, and others.
It seems, that, after he had become impressed, by Loe’s preaching, an order came down from court, that the students should wear surplices. This so irritated Penn, that, instead of letting his yea be yea, and his nay nay—in company with others, says Clarkson, “he fell upon those students, who appeared insurplices, and tore them everywhere over their heads.” On the subject of his conversion, Wood says—“If you’ll believe a satirical pamphlet—‘The history of Will Penn’s conversion from a gentleman to a Quaker,’ printed at London, in 1682—you’ll find, that the reason of his turning Quaker was the loss of his mistress, a delicate young lady, that then lived in Dublin; or, as others say, because he refused to fight a duel.”
For two, good and sufficient reasons, this statement, contained in the “satirical pamphlet,” and referred to by Wood, is unworthy of the slightest credit. In the first place, though Penn met Loe, in Dublin, after the expulsion from Oxford, and became more fully impressed, yet his first meeting with Loe was at Oxford, before the expulsion, and the serious impression, produced by his preaching, led, albeit rather oddly, to the affair of the surplices.
In the second place, the notion, that Penn would put on Quakerism, to avoid a duel, is still more incredible. Nothing could be more unfortunate, than any imputation upon Penn’s courage, moral or physical. We have seen, that he was famous for his athletic exercises. Strange, though it may seem, to such as have contemplated Penn, as the quiet non-combatant, he was an accomplished swordsman, and, upon one occasion, was actually engaged in an affair, which had all the aspect, and all the peril, of theduellium, however it may have lacked the preliminary forms and ceremonies. “During his residence in Paris,” says Chalmers, “he was assaulted in the street, one evening, by a person with a drawn sword, on account of a supposed affront; but among other accomplishments of a gay man, he had become so good a swordsman, as to disarm his antagonist.”
After his expulsion from Oxford, in 1662, he returned home. His father, the Admiral, was greatly provoked, to see his son resorting to the company of religious people, who were, of all, the least likely, in the licentious reign of Charles II., to advance his worldly interest. The old gentleman tried severity, and finally, as Penn himself relates, gave the Quaker neophyte a thrashing, and turned him out of doors.
Ere long, the father got the better of the admiral. He relented: and, probably, supposing there was as little vitality in Paris, for a Quaker, as some of the old philosophersfancied there might be, in a vacuum, for an angel, he sent young William thither, as one of a fashionable travelling party.
After his return, he was admitted of Lincoln’s Inn, and continued there, till the year of the plague, 1665. The following year, his father sent him to Ireland, to take charge of an estate. At Cork, he met Loe once more—attended his meetings, became an unalterable Quaker, preached in conventicles—was committed to prison—released upon application to the Earl of Orrery—and summoned home, by his indignant father. The old Admiral loved his accomplished son, then twenty-three years old—but abhorred his Quakerish airs and manners. In all points, save one—the point of conscience—William was unexceptionably dutiful. At length, the Admiral agreed to compound, on conditions, which seem not to have been very oppressive: in short, he consented to waive all objections, and let William do as he pleased, in regard to his religion, provided he would yield, in one particular—doff his broad brim—take off his hat—in presence of the King, the Duke of York, and his own father, the Admiral. Young William demanded time for consideration. It was granted; and he earnestly sought the Lord, on an empty stomach, as he says himself, with prayer. He finally informed his father, that hecould not do it; and, once again, the Admiral, in a paroxysm of wrath, turned the rebellious young Quaker out of doors, broad brim and all.
William Penn now began to figure, as a preacher, at the Quaker meetings. Thefriends, and the fond mother, ever on hand, in such emergencies, supplied his temporal necessities. Even the old Admiral, becoming satisfied of William’s perfect sincerity, although too proud to tack about, hoisted private signals, for his release, when imprisoned, for attending Quaker meetings; and evidently lay by, ready to bear down, in the event of serious difficulty.
In 1668, Penn’s brim grew broader and broader, and his coat became buttonless behind. He was a writer and a preacher, and a powerful defender of the “cursed and depised” Quakers. The titles of his various works may be found in Clarkson, and in Wood’s Athenæ. They conformed to the fashion of the age, and were, necessarily, quaint and extended. I have room for one only, as a specimen,—the title of his first tract—“Truth exalted, in a short but sure testimony, against all those religious faiths and worships, that have been formed and followedin the darkness of apostacy; and for that glorious light, which is now risen, and shines forth in the life and doctrine of the despised Quakers, as the alone good old way of life and salvation; presented to princes, priests, and people, that they may repent, believe, and obey. By William Penn; whom Divine love constrains, in an holy contempt, to trample on Egypt’s glory, not fearing the King’s wrath, having beheld the majesty of Him, who is invisible.” In this same year 1668, he was imprisoned in the Tower, for publishing hisSandy Foundation Shaken. There he was confined seven months, doing infinitely more mischief, for the cause of lawn sleeves and white frocks, forms, ceremonies, and hat-worship, as he calls it, than if he had been loose. For, then and there, he wrote his most able pamphlets, especially,No Cross no Crown, which gained him great praise, far beyond the pale of Quakerdom. His treatise has been often reprinted, and translated into foreign tongues.
In 1670, his influence was so great, that he obtained an order in Council, for the release of the Quakers then in prison. At a later day, he again assumed the office of St. Peter’s angel, and set three thousand captives free. In 1685, says Mr. Macaulay, “he strongly represented the sufferings of the Quakers to the new King,” &c. “In this way, about fifteen hundred Quakers, and a still greater number of Roman Catholics regained their liberty.” No wonder he was mistaken for a Papist, by those, who adopt that bastard principle, that charity begins at home, and ends there; whose religious circle forms the exclusive line of demarcation, for the exercise of that celestial principle; and who look, with the eye of a Chinaman, upon all beyond the holy sectarian wall, as outside barbarians. I was delighted and rather surprised, that Mr. Macaulay suffered the statement of this fact to pass, without some ill-natured expression, in regard to Penn—who, I say it reverentially, was less theTOOLof the King, than of Jesus Christ.
In 1670, William Penn was, for the third time, committed to Newgate, for preaching. His fines were paid by his father, who died this year, entirely reconciled to his son; and, upon his bed of death, pronounced these comforting words—“Son William, let nothing in this world tempt you to wrong your conscience: I charge you, do nothing against your conscience. So will you keep peace at home, which will be a feast to you in a day of trouble.”
Penn inherited from his father an estate, yielding about £1500 per annum. About this time he wrote his “Seasonable caveat against Popery;” though he knew it was the faith of the Queen and his good friend, the Duke of York. Shortly after, he travelled in Holland and Germany. In 1672, he married Gulielma Maria Springett. In 1675, he held his famous dispute with Richard Baxter; and, in 1677, he again visited the continent, in company with George Cox and Robert Barclay, constantly preaching, and writing, and importuning, in behalf of his despised and oppressed brethren. About this period, and soon after his return to England, we find him petitioning Parliament, in their behalf. Twice, he was permitted to address the committee of the House of Commons, upon this subject.
Whoever coveted the honor of being the creditor of royalty found a willing customer, in Charles the Second. In 1681, that monarch, in consideration of £16,000 due from him to the estate of Admiral Penn, conveyed to William the district, now called Pennsylvania. He himself would have given it the name of Sylvania, but the King insisted, on prefixing the name of the grantee. Full powers of legislation and government were bestowed upon the proprietor. The only limitation was a power, reserved to the Privy Council, to rescind his laws, within six months, after they were laid before that body. The charter bears date March 4, 1681. He first designed to call his domain “New Wales,” and nothing saved the Philadelphians from being Welchmen, but an objection, from the under-secretary of state, who was himself a Welchman, and was offended at the Quaker’s presumption.
He encouraged emigrants, judiciously selected, to embark for his Province; and followed, himself, with about a hundred Quakers, in September, 1682. His arrival in the Delaware,his beneficent administration, and the whole story of his negotiation, with the Indians, are full of interest, and overflowing. It is a long story withal, too long, altogether, for our narrow boundaries. I have indicated the sources of information, and this is all my limits will allow.
After two years, he returned to England, and became a greater favorite than ever, with James II.—was calumniated, of course—pursued by the unholy alliance of churchmen, and sectaries, and apostate Quakers—grossly insulted—“chastened but not killed”—and finally deprived of his government. Justice, at length, prevailed. Penn’s rights were restored, by William III. Having lost his wife and son, he went again, upon his travels, and again married. In 1699, he returned to Pennsylvania, and remained there, for the term of two years. He then went home to England; and, after continuing to employ his tongue and his pen, as freely as ever, for several years, he died, July 30, 1718, at the age of seventy-two years, at Jordan, near Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire.
Such is the mereskeletonof this good man’s life; and it is my purpose toflesh it up, with some few of those highly interesting, and well authenticated, incidents, which may be found, on the pages of trust worthy writers.
I do not believe, that the pen of any past, present, or future historian, or biographer, however masterly the hand that holds it—however bitter and pungent the gall of bigotry or political venom, in which it may dipped—will ever be able, very grievously, or lastingly, to soil the character of William Penn. The world’s opinion has settled down, upon firm convictions. If new facts can be produced, then, indeed, a writer may justly move, for a reconsideration of the public sentiment—but Mr. Macaulay does not presenta single fact, in relation to William Penn, not known before—he gives aconstructionof his own, so manifestly tinctured with ill nature, as, at once, to excite the suspicion of his reader.
I wear a narrow brim, and have buttons behind—I am no Quaker—and, indeed, have a quarrel with them all—chiefly grammatical—though I esteem and respect the principles of that moral and religious people—but I simply describe the impulse of my own heart, when I say, that Mr. Macaulay’s ill natured treatment of William Penn painfully disturbed my confidence, in his impartiality; and constrained me to “read, mark, learnand inwardly digest,” the highly seasonedprovant, which he has furnished—cum grano salis; and with great care, not to swallow theflummery. Scotchmen have not always written thus of William Penn; and the sentiments of mankind, now and hereafter, if I do not strangely err, will be found, embodied in the concluding passage of an article in the Edinburgh Review, vol. xxi. page 462.
“We shall not stop to examine what dregs of ambition, or what hankerings after worldly prosperity may have mixed themselves with the pious and philanthropic principles, that were undoubtedly his chief guides in forming, that great settlement, which still bears his name, and profits by his example. Human virtue does not challenge nor admit of such a scrutiny: and it should be sufficient for the glory of William Penn, that he stands upon record, as the most humane, the most moderate, and most pacific of all governors.” All this may be enough for hisglory. But there are some simple, touching truths, to be told of William Penn, and some highly interesting personal details; which, though they may have little about them, in accordance with the ordinary estimate ofglory, will long continue to envelop the memory of this extraordinary man, with a purer and a milder light.
I know no better mode of concluding the present article, than by presenting a few extracts, from the valedictory letter of William Penn to his wife and children, written on the eve of his first visit to Pennsylvania, September, 1682. If thesaintswrite such admirable love letters, it would greatly benefit thesinners—the men of this world—to follow the example, and surpass it, if they can.
“My dear wife and children. My love, which neither sea, nor land, nor death itself can extinguish nor lessen towards you, most endearingly visits you, with eternal embraces, and will abide with you forever. My dear wife! remember thou wast the love of my youth, and much the joy of my life; the most beloved, as well as most worthy of all my earthly comforts; and the reason of that love was more thy inward than thy outward excellencies, which yet were many. God knows, and thou knowest it, I can say it was a match of Providence’s making; and God’s image in us both was the first thing, and the most amiable and engaging ornament in our eyes. Now I am to leave thee, and that, without knowing whether I shallever see thee more in this world. Take my counsel into thy bosom, and let it dwell with thee, in my stead, while thou livest.”
Here follows some domestic advice. Penn then proceeds—“And now, my dearest, let me recommend to thy care, my dear children, abundantly beloved of me, as the Lord’s blessings, and the sweet pledges of our mutual and endeared affection. Above all things, endeavor to breed them up, in the knowledge and love of virtue, and that holy plain way of it, which we have lived in, that the world, in no part of it, get into my family. * * *
“For their learning, be liberal. Spare no cost. For by such parsimony all is lost, that is saved: but let it be useful knowledge, such as is consistent with truth and godliness, not cherishing a vain conversation, or idle mind. * * * I recommend the useful parts of mathematics, &c., but agriculture is especially in my eye: let my children be husbandmen and housewives: it is industrious, healthy, honest and of good example. * * * Be sure to observe their genius, and do not cross it as to learning. * * * I choose not they should be married to earthly, covetous kindred; and of cities and towns of concourse, beware. The world is apt to stick close to those, who have lived and got wealth there. A country life and estate, I like best for my children. I prefer a decent mansion, of an hundred pounds per annum, before ten thousand pounds, in London, or such like place, in a way of trade.”
He then addresses his children, and finally his elder boys, in the following admirable strain, honorable alike to his understanding and his heart.
“And, as for you, who are likely to be concerned, in the government of Pennsylvania, I do charge you, before the Lord God and his holy angels, that you be lowly, diligent and tender, fearing God, loving the people, and hating covetousness. Let justice have its impartial course, and the law free passage. Though to your loss, protect no man against it—for you are not above the law, but the law above you. Live therefore the lives, yourselves, you would have the people live; and then you have right and boldness to punish the transgressor. Keep upon the square, for God sees you: therefore do your duty, and be sure you see with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears. Entertain no lurchers; cherish no informers for gain or revenge; use no tricks; fly to no devices, to support or cover injustice but letyour heart be upright before the Lord, trusting in him, above the contrivances of men, and none shall be able to hurt or supplant.”
The letter, from which I have made these few extracts, concludes—“So farewell to my thrice dearly beloved wife and children! Yours as God pleaseth, in that, which no waters can quench, no time forget, nor distance wear away.”
It is truly pleasant to get behind the curtain of form and ceremony, and look at these eminent men, in their night-gowns and slippers, and listen to them thus, while talking to their wives and their children.
It is remarkable, that such a genuine Quaker, as William Penn, should have sprung from such a belligerent stock. His father, as I have stated, was a British admiral; and his grandfather, Giles, was a captain in the navy. William Penn may, nevertheless, have derived, from this origin, and from his Dutch mother, Margaret Jasper, of Rotterdam—a certain quality, eminently characteristic of the Quaker—that resolute determination, which the coarser man of the world callspluck, and the Quaker,constancy.
This constancy of purpose, in William Penn, seems never to have been shaken. It appeared, in his refusal to doff his brim, before his father, the Duke of York, and the King. It was manifested, when, being imprisoned in the Tower, for printing hisSandy Foundation Shaken, and hearing, that the Bishop of London had declared the offender should publicly recant, or remain there, for life; he replied, “he would weary out the malice of his enemies by his patience, and that his prison should be his grave, before he would renounce his just opinions, for he owed his conscience to no man.”
This same constancy was signally exhibited, during the disputation, between himself and George Whitehead, for the Quakers, and Thomas Vincent and others, for the Presbyterians. Vincent had a parish, in Spitalfields. Two of his parishioners went to listen, perhaps to laugh, at the Quakers. Like Goldsmith’sscoffers, who came to laugh, and remained to pray—they went in, Presbyterians, and came out, Quakers. They were converted. At this, Vincent lost his patience; and seems to have become a persecutor of thecursed Quakers; and, as Clarkson states, said all manner of “unhandsome” things of them, and theirdamnabledoctrines. Penn and Whitehead invited Vincent to a public discussion. After much delay and evasion, Vincent consented. As every fowl is bravest on his ownstercorium, Vincent selected his own Presbyterian meeting-house, as the place for the discussion; and, before the appointed hour, filled it with his own people, so completely, that the disputants themselves, Penn and Whitehead, could scarcely gain admittance. They were instantly insulted, by a charge, suddenly made, that the Quakers held “damnable doctrines.” Whitehead began a reply; Vincent interrupted him, and proposed, as the proper course, that he should put questions to the Quakers. He put the motion, and, as almost all present were of his party, it was agreed to, of course. He then put a question concerning the Godhead, which he knew the Quakers would answer in the negative. Whitehead and Penn attempted to explain. Several rose on the other side. Whitehead desired to put a question to Vincent. This the Presbyterians refused. They proceeded to laugh, hiss and stigmatize. Penn they called a Jesuit. Upon an answer from Whitehead, to a question from Vincent, uproar ensued, and Vincent “went instantly to prayer,” that the Lord wouldcome shortwith heretics and blasphemers.
When he had, by this manœuvre, discharged his battery upon the Quakers, effectually securing himself from interruption—for no one would presume to interrupt a minister at prayer—he cut off all power of reply, by telling the people to go home immediately, at the same moment setting them the example.
The closing part, which especially exhibits that constancy, for which the Quakers have ever been remarkable, cannot be more happily related, than in the language of Mr. Clarkson himself.
“The congregation was leaving the meeting-house, and they had not yet been heard. Finding they would soon be left to themselves, some of them, at length, ventured to speak; but they were pulled down, and the candles, for the controversy had lasted till midnight, were put out. They were not, however, prevented by this usage, from going on: for, rising up, they continued their defence in the dark; and what was extraordinary,many staid to hear it. This brought Vincent among them with a candle. Addressing himself to the Quakers, he desired them to disperse. To this, at length, they consented, but only, on the promise, that another meeting should be granted them, for the same purpose, in the same place.”
Vincent did not keep his promise. He was, doubtless, fearful that more of his parishioners would be converted. Penn and Whitehead, at last, went to Vincent’s meeting-house, on a lecture day; and, when the lecture was finished, rose and begged an audience: but Vincent went off, as fast as possible; and the congregation, as speedily, followed. Finding no other mode before him, Penn wrote and published his celebratedSandy Foundation Shaken, which caused his imprisonment in the Tower, as already related.
Another remarkable example of the constancy of Penn is recorded, in the history of his trial, before the Lord Mayor, for a breach of the conventicle act, in 1670. Mr. Macaulay is pleased to say, Penn had never been “a strong-headed man.” This is one of those sliding phrases, that may mean anything, or nothing. It may mean, that not being astrong-headed man, he necessarily belonged to the other category, and was aweak-headed man. Or, it may mean, that he was not as strong-headed as Lord Verulam, or Mr. Macaulay. I wish the reader would decide this question for himself; and, for that end, read the history of this interesting trial, as given by Clarkson, in the first volume, and sixth chapter of his Memoirs of Penn. If the evidences of a strong head and a strong heart were not abundantly exhibited, by the accused, upon that occasion, I know not where to look for them.
The jury returned a verdict ofguilty of speaking in Grace Street Church. Sir Samuel Starling, the Mayor, and the whole court abused the jurors, after the example of Jeffreys, and sent them back to their room. After half an hour, they returned the same verdict, in writing, signed with their names. The court were more enraged than before; and, Mr. Clarkson says, the Recorder addressed them thus—“You shall not be dismissed, till we have a verdict, such as the court will accept; and you shall be locked up without meat, drink, fire, and tobacco; you shall not think thus to abuse the court; we will have a verdict, by the help of God, or you shall starve for it.” After being out all night, the jury returned the same verdict, for the third time.They were severely abused by the court, after the fashion of that day, and sent to their room, once more. A fourth time, they returned the same verdict. Penn addressed the jury, and the court ordered the jailor to stop his mouth, and bring fetters, and stake him to the ground. Friend William, for an instant, merged the Quaker in the Englishman, and exclaimed—“Do your pleasure, I matter not your fetters.”
On the fifth of September, the jury, who had received no refreshment, for two days and two nights, returned a verdict ofnot guilty. Such was the condition of things, at that day, that, for the rendition of that verdict, the jury were fined forty marks apiece, and imprisoned in Newgate. Penn was, at this time, five-and-twenty years of age.
The peculiar position of William Penn, at the court of Charles and James the Second, may be explained, without laying, at his door, the imputation of being a time-server, and a man of the world. Between the latter monarch and the Quaker, there existed a relation, akin to friendship. Penn, in keeping with his Quaker principles, was forgetful of injuries, and mindful of benefits. It is impossible to say, how long he would have remained in the tower, when imprisoned there, through the agency of the Bishop of London, had he not been released, upon the unsolicited importunity of James II., when Duke of York. When the Admiral, his father, was near his end, “he sent one of his friends,” says Mr. Clarkson, “to the Duke of York, to desire of him, as a death-bed request, that he would endeavor to protect his son, as far as he consistently could, and to ask the King to do the same, in case of future persecution. The answer was gratifying, both of them promising their services, upon a fit occasion.”
Perhaps it would not be going too far—with Mr. Macaulay’s permission, of course—to ascribe that personal consideration, which Penn exhibited, for Charles and James—a part of it, at least—to a grateful recollection of their favors, to his father and himself.
“Titles and phrases,” says Mr. Macaulay, “against which he had often borne his testimony, dropped occasionally from his lips and his pen.” I rather doubt, if the recording angel, who will never “set down aught in malice,” has noted the unquakerish sins of William Penn, in doing grammatical justice to personal pronouns. This, truly, is a mighty small matter. If Penn wasnot so particular, in these little things, as some others of his brotherhood, his birth and education may be well considered. He was not a Quaker born. His residence in France may also be taken into the account. “He had contracted,” says Clarkson, “a sort of polished or courtly demeanor, which he had insensibly taken from the customs of the people, among whom he had lately lived.”
In the matter of the hat, even Mr. Macaulay will never charge William Penn with inconsistency. In Granger’s Biographical History of England, iv. 16, I find the following anecdote—“We are credibly informed, that he sat with his hat on before Charles II., and that the King, as a gentle rebuke for his ill manners, put off his own: upon which Penn said to him—‘Friend Charles, why dost thou not put on thy hat?’ The King answered, ‘’Tis the custom of this place, that never above one person should be covered at a time.’” This tale is told also, in a note to Grey’s Hudibras, on canto ii. v. 225, and elsewhere.
The pride of life—that omnipresent frailty—that universal mark of man’s congenital naughtiness—in William Penn, seemed scarcely an earthly leaven, springing, as it did, from a comforting consciousness of the purity of his own.The pride of life, with him, was essentiallyhumility; for, when compelled to rest his defence, in any degree, upon his individual character, he vaunted not himself, but gave all the glory to the Giver.
No man, however, more keenly felt the assaults, which were made upon his character, by the tongue and the pen of envy and hatred, ignorance and bigotry, because he knew, that the shaft, though aimed, ostensibly, at him, was frequently designed, for that body, whose prominent leader he was.
In the very year of his father’s death, and shortly after that event, he was seized, by a file of soldiers, sent purposely, for his apprehension, while preaching, in a Quaker meeting-house, and carried before Sir John Robinson, who treated him roughly, and sent him, for six months, to Newgate. In the course of the trial, Robinson said to Penn—“You have been as bad as otherfolks”—to which Penn replied—“When and where? I charge thee to tell the company to my face.” Robinson rejoined—“Abroad, and at home too.” This was so notoriously false and absurd, that an ingenuous member of the court, Sir John Shelden, exclaimed—“No, no, Sir John, that’s too much.” Penn, turning to the assembly, and with all the chastened indignation of an insulted Christian—Quaker as he was—delivered himself, with a strength and simplicity, which would have done honor to Paul, in the presence of Agrippa; and which must forever, so long as the precious record shall remain, touch a responsive chord—even in the bosoms of those, whose practice it is, upon ordinary occasions, to let their yea be yea, and their nay—nay.
I am sure it would have cheered the old Admiral’s heart, and elevated his respect for the broad brim, to have heard the manly language of his Quaker son, that day.
“I make this bold challenge to all men, women, and children upon earth, justly to accuse me, with having seen me drunk, heard me swear, utter a curse, or speak one obscene word, much less that I ever made it my practice. I speak this to God’s glory, who has ever preserved me from the power of these pollutions, and who, from a child, begot an hatred in me, towards them.”
“But there is nothing more common, than, when men are of a more severe life than ordinary, for loose persons to comfort themselves with the conceit, that these were once as they themselves are; as if there were no collateral or oblique line of the compass or globe, by which men might be said to come to the Arctic pole, but directly and immediately from the Antarctic. Thy words shall be thy burden, and I trample thy slanders, as dirt, under my feet.”
Mr. Clarkson is quoted, as good authority, by Mr. Macaulay. Such he has ever been esteemed. A brief quotation may not be amiss, in regard to Penn’s relation to James II. Having referred to the Admiral’s dying request to Charles and James, to have a regard for his Quaker son, Clarkson says—“From this period a more regular acquaintance grew up between them (William Penn and James II.) and intimacy followed. During this intimacy, however William Penn might have disapproved, as he did, of the King’s religious opinions, he was attached to him, from a belief, that he was a friend to liberty of conscience. Entertaining this opinion concerning him, he conceived it to be hisduty, now that he had become King, to renew this intimacy with him, and that, in a stronger manner than ever, that he might forward the great object, for which he had crossed the Atlantic, namely, the relief of those unhappy persons, who were then suffering, on account of their religion. * * * * He used his influence with the King solely in doing good.”
The relation, between William Penn and the Papist King, was indeed remarkable. Gerard Croese published his Historia Quakeriana, at Amsterdam, in 1695, which was translated into English, in the following year. It was greatly disliked, by the Quakers; and, in 1696, drew forth an answer from one of the society. The testimony of Croese, in relation to Penn, may therefore be deemed impartial. He says—“The king loved him, as a singular and entire friend, and imparted to him many of his secrets and counsels. He often honored him with his company in private, discoursing with him of various affairs, and that not for one but many hours together.”
When a peer, who had been long kept waiting for Penn to come forth, ventured to complain, the King simply said—“Penn always talked ingeniously and he heard him willingly.” Croese says, that Penn was unwearied, as the suitor on behalf of his oppressed people, making constant efforts for their liberation, and paying their legal expenses, from his private purse. The King’s remark certainly does not quadrate with Burnet’s statement, that Penn “had a tedious luscious way of talking.” With Queen Anne he was a great favorite; and Clarkson says, vol. ii. chap. 15, “she received him always in a friendly manner, and was pleased with his conversation.” So was Tillotson. So was a better judge than Queen Anne, Tillotson, or Burnet. In Noble’s continuation of Granger, Swift is stated to have said—“Penn talked very agreeably and with much spirit.”
Somewhat of Penn’s relation to King James may be gathered, from Penn’s answer, when examined, in 1690, before King William, in regard to an intercepted letter from King James to Penn. In that letter, James desired Penn to “come to his assistance and express to him the resentments of his favor and benevolence.” When asked whatresentmentswere intended, he replied that “he did not know, but he supposed the King meant he should compass his restoration. Though, however he could not avoid the suspicion of such an attempt, he could avoid the guilt of it. He confessed he had loved King James; and, as he had loved him,in his prosperity, he could not hate him, in his adversity—yes, he loved him yet, for the many favors he had conferred on him, though he could not join with him, in what concerned the state or kingdom.” This answer, says Pickart, “was noble, generous, and wise.”
One of the most able and eloquent compositions of William Penn is his justly celebrated letter of October 24, 1688, to William Popple. Mr. Popple was secretary to the Lords Commissioners, for the affairs of trade and plantations, and a particular friend of Penn and of his schoolfellow, John Locke. Had Mr. Macaulay flourished then, he would have had readier listeners to these cavils, than he has at present. Penn, in 1688, was excessively unpopular. He was not onlythe tool of the King and the Jesuits, but a rankPapistandJesuithimself—thefriend of arbitrary power,—bred at St. Omers in the Jesuits College—he had taken orders at Rome—married under a dispensation—officiated as a priest at Whitehall—no charge against William Penn was too absurd, to gain credit with the people, at the period of the Revolution.
Upon this occasion, Mr. Popple addressed to Penn a letter, eminently beautiful, in point of style, and containing a most forcible appeal to Penn’s sense of duty to himself, to the society of Friends, to his children, and the world, to put down these atrocious calumnies, by some public written declaration. His letter will be found, in Clarkson’s Memoirs, vol. ii. chap. i. I truly regret, that I have space only, for some brief disconnected extracts, from William Penn’s reply.
“Worthy Friend; it is now above twenty years, I thank God, that I have not been very solicitous what the world thought of me, &c. The business, chiefly insisted on, is my Popery and endeavors to promote it. I do say then, and that, with all simplicity, that I am not only no Jesuit, but no Papist; and which is more, I never had any temptation upon me to be so, either from doubts in my own mind, about the way I profess, or from the discourses or writings of any of that religion. And in the presence of Almighty God I do declare, that the King did never once directly or indirectly, attack me or tempt me upon that subject.” * * * * “I say then solemnly, that so far from having been bred at St. Omers, and having received orders at Rome, I never was at either place; nor do I know anybody there, nor had I ever a correspondence with anybody in those places.” Afteralluding to the absurdity of charging him with having officiated as a Catholic Priest, he adverts to his opinion of the views of King James, on the subject of toleration—“And in his honor, as well as in my own defence, I am obliged in conscience to say, that he has ever declared to me it was his opinion; and on all occasions, when Duke, he never refused me the repeated proof of it, as often as I had any poor sufferers for conscience’ sake to solicit his help for.” * * * * “To this let me add the relation my father had to this King’s service; his particular favor in getting me released out of the Tower of London in 1669, my father’s humble request to him, upon his death-bed, to protect me from the inconveniences and troubles my persuasion might expose me to, and his friendly promise to do it, and exact performance of it, from the moment I addressed myself to him. I say, when all this is considered, anybody, that has the least pretence to good nature, gratitude, or generosity, must needs know how to interpret my access to the King.”
This letter contains sentiments, on the subject of religious toleration, which would be highly ornamental, if placed in golden characters, upon the walls of all our churches—“Our fault is, we are apt to be mighty hot upon speculative errors, and break all bounds in our resentments; but we let practical ones pass without remark, if not without repentance! as if a mistake about an obscure proposition of faith were a greater evil, than the breach of an undoubted precept. Such a religion the devils themselves are not without, for they have both faith and knowledge; but their faith doth not work by love, nor their knowledge by obedience.” * * * “Let us not think religion a litigious thing; nor that Christ came only to make us disputants.” * * * * “It is charity that deservedly excels in the Christian religion.” * * * * “He that suffers his difference with his neighbor, about the other world, to carry him beyond the line of moderation in this, is the worse for his opinion, even if it be true. It is too little considered by Christians, that men may hold the truth in unrighteousness; that they may be orthodox, and not know what spirit they are of.”
Verily, this “courtly Quaker”—this “tool of the King and the Jesuits,” who was “never a strong-headed man”—was quite a Christian gentleman after all.