Memoirs of the

Lives and Persecutions

of the

Primitive Quakers,

Exemplifying the Obedience of Faith

In Some of the Early Members of the Society.

By

Mary Ann Kelty

—————

Introductory Chapter.

“We walk by faith,” says the apostle, “and not by sight;” (2 Cor. v. 7.) Now, the obedience which results from the walk of faith, differs from that which merely springs from attention to an external rule, in the same way as the motions of an automaton differ from those of a living man.

For, as the automaton, by means of certain springs, may imitate some of the actions of a living man; so, by adhering to certain religious precepts, may the obedience which is required from the creature to the Creator, be partially represented also. But, as in the case of the automaton, the nature of the living man cannot possibly in any measure be obtained by the means used; so neither in that of the obedience which is produced only by the sight of a rule, can the least degree of the love of a child of God exist; and it can require but little reasoning to demonstrate, that it is love alone which can give life, power, and acceptableness, to any act of duty. That husband, or father, or master of a family, whose will was obeyed by wife, children, or servants, not because they loved him, but because it was their interest to yield him obedience, and who gave it according to the measure and kind, which written regulations from him, stipulated as his right; such a one, we say, would have small occasion to congratulate himself upon their services; seeing how devoid they were of the lovely and endearing nature which can alone give value to any obedience.

“Love is the fulfilling of the law;” and love to God is no natural feeling; assuredly it is not born with us; neither is it a thing to be acquired, “If a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned,” (Sol. Song, viii. 7.) Love, in short, is a living thing—“God is love”—and God is life— eternal life—and it is by this living principle of love, that such an obedience as is acceptable to the Creator, and profitable to the creature, can alone be wrought out.

We must have the divine life then, before we can perform the functions of it. The natural will not reach to the super-natural. We may love our friends and kindred with such a love as fallen humanity is capable of; but to love God, we must have a new and a divine nature, since like can only have affinity with like; and hence the indispensable necessity of our being born again. “Except a man be born again,” says the Saviour, “he cannot see the kingdom of God.” The question is not whether he wishes it or not; he cannot—his present condition, as an unregenerated man, renders it impossible.

Now, as it is clear to demonstration, that life wherever it exists, is always evolved out of its own proper germ, are we to suppose that the divine life, (of which we must be born, and of which our Lord speaks, in John, iii.) is an exception to this universal law?—Is it said, “We must be born again, not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible,” (1 Pet. i. 23,) and yet that there exists not in our fallen nature any portion of this incorruptible seed?

The scriptures do not warrant such an assumption; on the contrary, they repeatedly testify to its presence in the soul. Various names they give to it: such as “the word of the kingdom;” the “word nigh in the heart;” “the ingrafted word which is able to save the soul;” “the voice of the good Shepherd,” etc.—but that by which its full sufficiency and appointed office is the most frequently exhibited, appears to be that of light.

“That was the true light which enlightens every man that comes into the world.” (John, i. 9.)

“But all things that are reproved are made manifest by the light; for whatsoever does make manifest is light.”

“Therefore he says, awake you that sleep, and arise from the dead; and Christ shall give you light.” (Eph. v. 13, 14.)

And who is there, it may be confidently asked, that has not, at times, been made deeply sensible of the presence of this “true light” in his soul, manifesting there the darkness and disorder of the passions, and with “a still small voice,” calling upon him to renounce their Egyptian slavery?

Who is there that can be considered as serious in thought or feeling, that has not had cause to rejoice in obeying the call of this inward illuminator? and who, that has faithfully followed as far as it has pleased to lead him, but has found it to be a deliverer from sin, and a “guide into all truth?”

Let all those who question its power in this respect, first answer to their own consciences, how often and how sincerely they have submitted to its yoke, and borne its burden, before they venture to decide upon its not being that incorruptible seed of the kingdom of God, of which, and into which, they are to be born again.

“I am come a light into the world,” says the Redeemer thereof, “that whosoever believes on me should not abide in darkness.” Again he says, “if you believe not that I am he, you shall die in your sins.”

Now, dear reader, what is it to believe in Jesus Christ? a question which may be answered by another: What is it to believe in anything spiritual? What is it to believe in love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance? Is it not to be sensible, and feelingly conscious of the blessed nature of these heavenly fruits? Can these divine qualities be even understood, unless the affections are in some degree partakers of their character? And how, or where, is their power to be felt, but in the heart, that desert land, which their presence makes to “blossom as the rose?”

The fact then is, that we can no otherwise have faith in Jesus Christ, “the light of the world,” but as we know the power of his life-giving spirit revealed in our own souls. We may read descriptions of this divine life, and we may desire to possess it; but if we seek for it in this or the other “outward observation,” we are but wandering from the point, and spending ourselves in taking profitless steps, which all must be retraced, and our fugitive souls brought home, to sweep the house of the heart, and look for the lost piece of silver there—or it never will be found.

In no other way can that obedience which befits a child, be born; for, in no other way can the “obedience of faith” result. We must know in whom we have believed; we must have proved the nature of that Being to whom we can unhesitatingly, and with loving confidence, resign ourselves. “Therefore thus says the Lord God, behold I lay in Zion for a foundation, a stone, a tried stone, a precious corner-stone, a sure foundation:” and everlastingly true is it, that those who have built their house upon this rock, have found, upon their own experience, that the stone which the builders in every age of the church have rejected, is nevertheless, “the head of the corner.”

But as living illustrations offer the most forcible of all arguments in support of truth, I have been induced to compile the following narrations; of which I shall only say, that, if the reader receives from the perusal, as much valuable enjoyment as it has been permitted me to experience in the writing of them, he will rise from his occupation with feelings of no ordinary esteem for the principles of the individuals herein recorded.

Yet, although I cannot doubt of obtaining the sympathy of many sincere Christians, in the tender and grateful interest with which I myself contemplate the memory of these departed saints; I am nevertheless prepared to find some doubts here and there entertained, as to their having been called by the will of God, into many things to which they believed themselves so called, seeing that they were thereby often led into circumstances, which, in human estimation, appeared as unnecessary, as they were strange.

But to the pious and humble minded (and it is chiefly to such that a work of this kind can be acceptable) it will surely be enough to say, that God requires obedience of his creatures, and not reasonings. Besides, that it ill becomes beings of our limited capacity, to say what is, or is not strange; seeing that since, if we would even understand the simplest fact in its origin, such for instance as the means whereby we are enabled to lift our hand to our head, we come in contact with something too strange for us to comprehend, and of which we are constrained to say, “such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it;”—we also find, and that almost invariably, that when it pleases the Most High to manifest his mighty power, and “make bare his arm in the midst of the nations,” He does it in a way to confound the pride of reason. “I will overturn—overturn—overturn”—this is his language, and this his mode of action.

What could exceed in strangeness to human comprehension, the requirements that were laid upon Abraham, Moses, the prophets, and many others too numerous to mention?

The submission of the heart was what these holy men concerned themselves with; not the strangeness of the mode in which that noble and God-glorifying principle of obedience was outwardly to be exhibited. They were used to strange things,—to terrible things to flesh and blood, when they came to deal with the Father of Spirits.

They found it to be God's way to break, and bruise, and batter and confound “the wisdom of the wise, and bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent,” by requiring them to submit to strange and humbling proceedings. How often do they testify to this!

“By terrible things will you answer us, O God of our salvation,” says the psalmist. (Ps. lxv. 5.)

Again, “You have showed your people hard things; you have made us to drink the wine of astonishment.” (Ps. lx. 3.) “He breaks me with breach upon breach,” says the patriarch Job; “he runs upon me like a giant.” (Job, xvi. 14.)

“He has enclosed my ways with hewn stone; he has made my paths crooked. He was unto me as a bear lying in wait, and as a lion in secret places,” says Jeremiah. (Lam. iii. 9,10.)

In fact, it is generally through obedience to some strange thing, that the very stroke is given, whereby the stiff-necked, stiff-willed, old Adam-nature is to be crucified and slain.

Certainly, it never did, nor ever will please God to accept of such a righteousness, and such a conformity to the image of his self-denying and suffering Son, as can be wrought out according to the conceptions of reason, which, at the very onset, and as a necessary consequence of its own nature, can see nothing but strangeness, and irrationality, in the need of a self-denying or suffering Saviour at all.

No; we must cast down “reasonings,” with every other high imagination that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, and bring every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ, before we are in any capacity to judge of the fit or the unfit, in these deeply spiritual matters. Every thing is fit, that makes the heart a fit habitation for the Spirit of God; and obedience, when it is the result of the “faith which works by love,” is eminently powerful to cleanse and purify and prepare this living temple, for its appointed and legitimate sovereign.

That there have been instances, in which persons, acting under a profession of the principles here advocated, have assumed to have done so in obedience to the will of God, when they have been manifestly in error, is not to be denied. But it will generally be found on examination, that such individuals were possessed of hasty and forward spirits; and being too bold and confident to abide in the meekness and fear of the true teacher, they have made “shipwreck of the faith,” just as they would, in their unhumbled condition, have made shipwreck of their talents, their opportunities, or any other precious thing entrusted to their keeping.

Nothing is safe from the assaults of evil, however exalted may be its own nature, while humanity is what it is, and the enemy of humanity has any power to practise upon its frailty. But because there are hypocrites who pretend to be virtuous, shall we doubt whether any man is conscientiously honest and true? And because Satan has always endeavoured to overturn a real work of the Spirit of God, as soon as it appears upon earth, by inviting his own ministers to imitate it; shall we say there never was such a thing since the apostles' days, as a ministration of the Holy Ghost, and that the case of the persons herein recorded, was one of delusion and imposture?

Assuredly, if they had not well known in whom they had believed, they had been of all men, not only the most miserable, but also the most foolish and besotted; seeing how great a sacrifice, not only of those things which the world esteems, but even of such as it is considered amiable and wise to respect, they were well contented to make, in order to preserve inviolate their principles of faith.

A man may endure much in the service of error, when his sufferings tend to aggrandize him in the eyes of his fellow-creatures; but willingly “to become a fool, and to be made the off-scouring of all things” can only be the result of a sincere fellowship in the Spirit, and in the sufferings of a lowly-minded Lord and Saviour.

Away, then—and forever away, with that cold, comfortless, death-like unbelief, which questions and criticizes, the thought of a God so near to us, and which would send us out of ourselves, for our king and our kingdom. No! let the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, that same who said, “I am your shield, and your exceeding great reward!”—that same who still says, “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world!”—let Him be known as the Christian's glorious dwelling-place; and let all his loving children say, “This God is our God forever and ever, he will be our guide even unto death!”

M. A. K.

—————

The Obedience of Faith.

Chapter I.

In observing the dealings of Providence towards the human race, we generally discover that the most important consequences have resulted from what, in common estimation, are considered as very inefficient causes; and that material revolutions have been effected in the moral and religious condition of mankind, by the instrumentality of persons whom the greater part of their fellow creatures account to be mean and insignificant.

Perhaps there are few instances in which this is more obvious, than in the rise and progress of the Society of Friends: a community, which devoid of any advantages on the side of worldly power, were enabled, under the severest pressure of the persecuting spirit of the times, not merely to stand their ground, but to substantiate themselves into a body, which, as to its principles, may justly challenge the world to produce any more truly in accordance with the pure and meek religion of the holy Jesus. The chief instrument in the organization of this society, was George Fox, a man of humble birth, and of little or no education; but manifestly endowed with extraordinary powers of mind, both as to intellectual and moral qualities.

The portion of his history which in the course of this narration it may be desirable to give, cannot be more appropriately presented to the reader, than in his own words, which I therefore use, abbreviating them when not material to the subject.

“I was born,” he says, “in the month called July, in the year 1624, at Drayton in the Clay, in Leicestershire. My father's name was Christopher Fox: he was by profession a weaver; an honest man—the neighbours called him 'Righteous Christer.' My mother was an upright woman, and of the stock of the martyrs.”[1]

Then, proceeding to speak of his nature and disposition, “in my very young years,” he says, “I had a gravity and stayedness of mind and spirit, not usual in children. While I was a child, I was taught how to walk to be kept pure. The Lord taught me to be faithful in all things, and to act faithfully two ways; namely, inwardly to God, and outwardly to man; and to keep to yes and no in all things.”

It seems to have been the intention of his parents to bring him up to the church; or, as he expresses it, “my relations thought to have made me a priest, but others persuaded to the contrary. Whereupon, I was put to a man that was a shoemaker by trade, and that dealt in wool, and used grazing, and sold cattle, and a great deal went through my hands. I never wronged man or woman,” he observes, “in all that time, for the Lord's power was with me, and over me, to preserve me. While I was in that service, I used in my dealings the word verily: and it was a common saying among people that knew me, 'If George says verily, there is no altering him.' When boys and rude people would laugh at me, I let them alone and went my way. But people had generally a love to me for my innocency and honesty.”

In this way he appears to have passed his time, till the nineteenth year of his age, when a revolution of such importance occurred in his habits of life, as gave the colour not only to his own destiny, but to that of thousands besides. Before, however, we enter upon this part of our narration, it will be desirable to take a brief review of the situation of public affairs at that period.

A variety of mistakes, and worse than mistakes, on the part of that unhappy monarch, Charles I. and his advisers, had, about this time, issued in the beginning of a civil war, in which religion had a share—the people disliking, and the well-principled clergy resisting, the many indications of a return to Roman Catholicism, which most of the bishops evinced. In Scotland, endeavours were made to bring in Episcopacy, which caused so great a ferment among the people, as to amount to an insurrection. But not to involve myself, or my reader, in the wars between Charles and his parliament, I would merely say, that in order to sympathize with the feelings of George Fox, and others similarly affected with himself, we must contemplate them as not merely actuated by religious zeal in the abstract, but religious zeal awakened in times of oppression and darkness, when a mighty struggle for truth and moral liberty was to be made by every valiant soldier of Jesus Christ. Much indeed had been done in the preceding century, by those faithful reformers who sealed their honest testimony with their blood; but much yet remained to do:—they had, as it were, but secured the pass; “the sword of the Lord and of Gideon” had yet the battle to fight. It was a great and glorious victory which they indeed had accomplished, in asserting and maintaining the right of every individual to follow the dictates of his own conscience, and in liberating their country, in so great a degree, from the insupportable yoke of religious fraud and superstition; but still further advances into a pure and spiritual worship were yet required by that Great Being, who, as a Spirit, can only be acceptably worshipped “in spirit and in truth.” (John, iv. 24.)

It was about the period when the contest was warmest between the king and the parliament, and when, as yet, neither side had prevailed, that George Fox, guided by that invisible hand which “shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will,” was led, in the course of events, to abandon his occupation, and enter upon the work which occupied his whole future life.

The immediate occasion of his throwing up his employment, was the disgust he received from the conduct of some persons who made a profession of religion, and whom he accidentally met at a fair, where he was transacting his master's business.

“When I came towards nineteen years of age,” he says, “being upon business at a fair, one of my cousins, whose name was Bradford, (being a professor, and having another professor with him,) came to me, and asked me to drink part of a jug of beer with them; and I, being thirsty, went in with them, for I loved any that had a sense of good, or that did seek after the Lord; and when we had drunk a glass a-piece they began to drink healths, and called for more drink; agreeing together, that he that would not drink should pay for all. I was grieved that any that made profession of religion should offer to do so: wherefore I rose up to be gone, and putting my hand into my pocket I took out a groat, and laid it down upon the table before them, and said, 'If it be so I will leave you:' so I went away, and when I had done what business I had to do, I returned home, but did not go to bed that night, but sometimes walked up and down, and sometimes prayed, and cried to the Lord, who said to me, 'You see how young people go together into vanity, and old people into the earth, [earthly things,] and you must forsake all, both young and old, and keep out of all, and be as a stranger unto all.'”

This secret admonition, which he believed to come from God, so deeply affected him, that he resolved to separate himself from all his connection, to renounce familiar interaction either with young or old, and to leave his dwelling-place; which resolution he fulfilled, by departing first to Lutterworth, from there to Newport Pagnell, in Buckinghamshire, and finally to Barnet, where he arrived in June 1644, being then near twenty years of age.

Here he led a solitary life, walking frequently in the open fields, in great conflicts of mind, with his Bible only for his companion. He also fasted often, and manifested so much seriousness of deportment, that many religious people took notice of it, and desired his acquaintance; but not finding them in practice what they professed in sentiment, he was shy of entangling himself in any connection with them; and, in the hope of meeting with those who were more in accordance with his expectations, he proceeded, in much distress of mind, to London, where he had an uncle who had joined the Baptists.

The character of the parliament being religious, it gave the tone of religion to most of the restless spirits of those disordered times, especially in the metropolis, where a great variety of thinkers and talkers upon this subject, abounded; and where George Fox anticipated that he should obtain both the counsel and the sympathy which he had sought in vain in the country; but he found himself mistaken, discovering that, for the most part, the religious professors of the great city were like those he had encountered elsewhere; rich only in notions and doctrines, learned in the letter, but lifeless in the spirit, and totally incapable of affording him any comfort.

Having failed in the object of his wishes, and doubting whether he had not erred in quitting his relations, after some little time had elapsed, he returned home, where he continued about a year, in great anguish of mind, and suffering an increase of sorrow, from the impossibility of meeting with any person who understood, or could administer to his case.

He made several efforts to obtain spiritual counsel; visiting, as occasion offered, those persons whom he supposed likely to befriend him by their advice. Of some of these visits he speaks with amusing simplicity, especially of that to a person whom he describes as “an ancient priest, at Mansetter, in Warwickshire,” whom he “reasoned with upon the subject of despair and temptations.”

“But he was ignorant of my condition,” he says, “and he bid me take tobacco and sing psalms: tobacco was a thing I did not love, and psalms I was not in a state to sing. Then he bid me come again, and he would tell me many things; but when I came again he was angry and pettish, for my former words had displeased him.”

He was not more happy in his next application, as the following record testifies:

“Then I heard of a priest living about Tarnworth, who was accounted an experienced man; and I went seven miles to him; but I found him but like an empty hollow cask. Then I heard of one called Dr. Cradock, of Coventry, and I went to him, and I asked him the ground of temptations and despair, and how troubles came to be wrought in man. He asked me who was Christ's father and mother? I told him Mary was his mother, and that he was supposed to be the son of Joseph, but he was the Son of God.

“Now, as we were walking together in his garden, the alley being narrow, I chanced, in turning, to set my foot on the side of a bed, at which the man was in such a rage, as if his house had been on fire; and thus all our discourse was lost, and I went away in sorrow, worse than I was when I came.”

About the year 1646, being at Coventry, he appears to have received some new and strong impressions respecting the work of a Christian minister; and which inclined him totally to separate himself from the national mode of worship, in which he had been educated, and to which, up to this period, he seems to have adhered.

The chief result of these impressions was a fixed belief that “God, who made the world, did not dwell in temples made with hands,” and that consequently not the place, but the spirit in which men met to worship the Most High, was the important point. He also was led to believe, that there was an unction from the holy one, in every man who was called of God to minister in holy things, of which the apostle John makes mention, when he says, “but you have an unction from the Holy One, and you know all things;” (1 John, ii. 20,) and to which he also refers when he reminds them of its abiding in them, (ver. 27,) “but the anointing which you have received of him,” he says, “abides in you, and you need not that any man teach you; but as the same anointing teaches you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even as it has taught you, you shall abide in it.”

Nor was it merely to those who were called of the Lord to take the office of the priesthood, that he saw this anointing to be peculiar, but that it extended to all believers; such being the character of those to whom the apostle was writing. He was taught indeed to see that there was a divine principle, or holy seed, in the hearts of the whole human race, even a spark of that “light which enlightens every man that comes into the world;” (John, i. 9;) and although this “light shines in darkness, and the darkness comprehends it not,” yet still it was there; and, as from the power of that light the true minister of God was enabled to exercise his ministration, so to the power of that light in the hearts of his hearers, those ministrations were intended to appeal.

It is obvious that the inward and spiritual nature of such views, would meet with continual and fierce opposition from those religious professors who moulded their opinions upon the different creeds and formularies of their respective parties; which creeds and systems being, for the most part, founded upon the various expositions which this and the other man had made of the letter of Scripture, had provided a set of notions and dogmas for their different partisans to defend, rather than had helped to turn them from the cry of “lo here! and lo there!” to the living spirit in their own hearts.

Under such impressions as he believed to be the work of the Spirit of God, George went forth upon his travels. “Having forsaken all evil company,” he says, “and taken leave of father and mother, and all other relations, I travelled up and down as a stranger in the earth, which way the Lord inclined my heart. Taking a chamber to myself, in the town where I came, and tarrying sometimes a month, sometimes more, sometimes less in a place; for I dared not stay long in any place, being afraid both of professor and profane. I kept myself much as a stranger, seeking heavenly wisdom, and getting knowledge from the Lord; and was brought off from outward things to rely wholly on the Lord alone: and though my exercises and troubles were very great, yet were they not so continual but that I had some intermissions, and was sometimes brought into such a heavenly joy, that I thought I had been in Abraham's bosom. Oh, the everlasting love of God to my soul, when I was in great distress! When my troubles and torments were great, then was his love exceeding great. You, Lord, make a fruitful field a barren wilderness, and a barren wilderness a fruitful field! You bring down and set up! You kill and make alive! All honour and glory be to you, O Lord of glory! The knowledge of you in the spirit, is life; but that knowledge which is fleshly, works death.”

One of the strongest of the new impressions which his mind had received, he thus somewhat quaintly describes: “As I was walking in afield, on a first-day morning, the Lord opened unto me, that being bred at Oxford, or Cambridge, was not enough to fit and qualify men to be ministers of Christ; and I wondered at it, because it was the common belief of people; but I saw it clearly as the Lord opened it to me, and was satisfied.”

He therefore, in reverting to the subject, observes, “Now, after I had received that opening from the Lord, I regarded the priests less, and looked more after the dissenting people.”

Yet here he met with disappointment; finding none that could, as he expresses it, “speak to his condition.”

“And when all my hopes in them, and in all men were gone,” he says, “so that I had nothing outwardly to help me, nor could tell what to do, then, oh, then, I heard a voice which said, 'There is one, even Christ Jesus, that can speak to your condition:' and when I heard it, my heart did leap for joy.”

He then relates, that he was permitted to see why he had been unable to obtain the comfort of human sympathy, in the deep and trying exercises of soul through which he was passing; namely, that Jesus Christ might have the pre-eminence, who alone enlightens and gives grace, and faith, and power; and that he might come to an experimental acquaintance with his Saviour, without, as he observes, “the help of any man, book, or writing.”

“For though I read the Scriptures,” he says, “that speak of Christ and of God, yet I knew him not, but as he who has the key did open, and as the Father of life drew me to his Son by the Spirit; and then the Lord did gently lead me along, and did let me see his love, which is eternal, and surpasses all the knowledge that men have in the natural state, or can get by history or books.”

“And when at any time,” he continues, “that my condition was veiled, [or depressed] my secret belief was stayed firm, and hope underneath, held me as an anchor in the bottom of the sea, and anchored my immortal soul to its bishop, causing it to swim above the world, where all the raging waves, foul weather, tempests, and temptations are.”

Thus simply yielding himself up to the instruction and guidance of God, this faithful man was silently and secretly receiving in his own experience, a realization of the promise, “they shall not teach every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, know the Lord, for all shall know me, from the least to the greatest;” and being able, from a sure and certain acquaintance with the living teacher in his own heart, to point others to the same, he set forth upon his work, which, like that assigned to the apostle Paul, was to open the eyes of men's understandings, and “turn them from darkness unto light, and from the power of Satan unto God.”

The situation of public affairs at this time, (1647) was rather favourable to such religious views as he advocated, being of a kind to solemnize and deeply affect every thoughtful mind; for the king, now drawing near the close of his unhappy career, had withdrawn to the Isle of Wight, where he was kept in close custody, and no more regarded as a sovereign to whom obedience was due; and, as such extreme measures necessarily excited strong and conflicting feelings in the public mind, they tended to pave the way for the reception of doctrines so eminently calculated to promote peace and true piety, as those of which George Fox was the minister.

It happened also, that, amidst the variety of sects and parties which the contest upon religious questions had brought forth, there were several persons, who, wearied with the doubt and discord they everywhere encountered while seeking the right Teacher without, were well disposed to listen to that preaching which pointed them to an infallible Guide within, where they knew that help and direction was most needed. These persons, therefore, entered into fellowship with him; and thus united, they began to have meetings in Nottinghamshire, which were visited by many people.

Of the peculiar scope of his ministry, we have his own definition:—“With, and by the divine Spirit of God, and the light of Jesus,” he says, “I was to bring people off from all their own ways, to Christ, the new and living way; and from their churches, which men had made and gathered, to the church in God, the general assembly written in heaven, which Christ is the head of; and off from the world's teachers made by men, to learn of Christ, who is the way, the truth, and the life; of whom the Father said, 'This is my beloved Son, hear you him;' and off from all the World's worships, to know the spirit of truth in the inward parts, and to be led thereby; that in it they might worship the Father of spirits, who seeks such to worship him. Moreover, when the Lord sent me forth into the world, he forbade me to put off my hat to any, high or low; and I was required to thee and thou all men and women, without any respect to rich or poor. And as I travelled up and down, I was not to bid people 'good morrow,' or 'good evening;' neither might I bow, or scrape with my leg to anyone.”

With respect to these last peculiarities which distinguished George Fox and his followers, and which, at the first glance, might appear too trivial to cause them much trouble, it may not be too much to say, that they involved them in nearly as much persecution as the profession of any other of their principles; for their using the plain language of thee and thou, and abstaining from the usual unmeaning ceremonies of society, was, as William Penn observes, “a close and distinguishing test upon the spirits of those they came among; showing what predominated in their interior, notwithstanding their high and great profession of religion” And, speaking of their mode of address, he says, “This, among the rest, sounded so harsh to many of them, and they took it so ill, that they would say, 'thou me!—thou my dog! If thou thouest me, I'll thou your teeth down your throat.”[2]

“Oh, the storm, heat, and fury that arose,” says George, speaking of the treatment they encountered for the circumstance of keeping on their hats, or, what he calls, the “hat honour;” “Oh, the blows, punchings, beatings, and imprisonments that we underwent, for not putting off our hats to men! Some had their hats violently plucked off, and thrown away, so that they quite lost them. The bad language and evil usage we received on this account, is hard to be expressed; besides the danger we were sometimes in of losing our lives for this matter.”

Nevertheless, having entered upon the work which, assuredly, he believed to be assigned to him from God, he unflinchingly pursued it; and, as was to be expected, in times so unsettled, it was not long before he was taken notice of by persons in authority, and called to account for his proceedings.

The first instance of this kind, appears to have been at Nottingham, in the year 1648; and which arose from his controverting the mode in which he found the minister of what he calls “the great steeple-house,”[3] [church,] expounding a text. “As I went towards Nottingham,” he says, “on a first-day, in the morning, with Friends to a meeting there, when I came on the top of a hill in sight of the town, I espied the great steeplehouse; and the Lord said unto me, 'You must go cry against yonder great idol, and against the worshippers therein;'” which, after having attended his companions to the meeting-house, and remained there a certain time, he returned to do. The preacher seems just to have given out his text as he arrived, and the portion of Scripture lie had selected, were the words from the second epistle of Peter: “We have also a more sure word of prophecy,” etc.; which he informed his hearers was the Scriptures, by which they were to try all doctrines, religions, and opinions. Upon hearing this, he observes, “the Lord's power was so strong in me, that I could not hold; but was made to cry out, Oh no, it is not the Scriptures!” He then told them that “it was by the Holy Spirit, by which the holy men of God gave forth the Scriptures, that religions, opinions, etc. were to be tried; for that spirit led into all truth, and therefore gave the knowledge of truth. The Jews,” he said, “had the Scriptures, and yet resisted the Holy Ghost, and rejected Christ; persecuting both him and his apostles, and yet professing to try their doctrine by the Scriptures.”

In the midst of his address, he was taken into custody, and conveyed to a prison, of which, in a few words, he gives a very disgusting and, no doubt, faithful picture. Having been examined, and again sent back to prison, after some time, the head sheriff sent for him to his house; for having, with his wife and family, made part of the congregation on the day when George spoke in the church, both he and they were so much impressed by what he advanced, that a further acquaintance with him was desired; the wife even greeting him, on his entrance, with the words, “Salvation is come to our house!”

With this sheriff, whose name was John Reckless, George stayed some time, and had meetings in his house, to which many persons of some consideration came, who were, in general, much solemnized by the appeal he made to the witness in their consciences, Reckless himself being of this number; and feeling touched with a consciousness of some fraud, in conjunction with his brother sheriff, towards an individual with whom they had had dealings, he sent for the person in question, and also for his colleague, acknowledging to the party his own share of the fault, and calling upon the other sheriff to do the same, which he was not so willing to submit to.

Nor was it merely in this instance, that the power of his preaching influenced Reckless; for, on the following market-day, the sheriff felt himself impelled to go into the streets to preach repentance to the people; in which measure he was accompanied by some others in the town, who were induced in like manner to address religious counsel to the mayor and other magistrates.

“Hereupon,” says Fox, “the magistrates grew very angry; sent for me from the sheriff's house, and committed me to the common prison.” Here he was kept till the court sessions came round; and then the sheriff's man being somewhat dilatory in bringing him, the judge had risen before he arrived at the sessions-house, and he was carried back again to prison, and having been kept there for some time, was at last set at liberty. He continued to travel from place to place, preaching as he felt himself internally guided, and not according to any purpose or plan of his own. Numerous were the instances in which a mighty and marvellous effect accompanied his addresses; though manifold also were those in which he was opposed, not only with resentment, but cruelty. A case of this kind occurred at Mansfield Woodhouse, where the people fell upon him while he was, as he says, “declaring the truth.” After being beaten and bruised till he was scarcely able to stand, “they put me,” he continues, “into the stocks, where I sat some hours; and they brought dog-whips and horsewhips, threatening to whip me. After some time they had me before the magistrates, at a knight's house, where were many great persons, who, seeing how evilly I had been used, after much threatening, set me at liberty; but the rude people stoned me out of the town for preaching the word of life to them.”

In these vicissitudes he passed his time till the year 1650, when he came to Derby, accompanied by a friend of two. Here he was received into the house of some person, whom he describes as “a doctor, whose wife was convinced,” and, as he adds, “several more in the town.”

As he was walking in his chamber in this town, he heard the church-bell ring; “the very hearing of which,” he says, “struck at my life. So I asked the woman of the house what the bell rung for. And she said there was to be a great lecture there that day; and many of the officers of the army, and priests and preachers were to be there, and a colonel that was a preacher. Then was I moved of the Lord to go up to them; and when they had done, I spoke to them what the Lord commanded me, and they were pretty quiet; but there came an officer, and took me by the hand, and said I must go before the magistrates, and the other two that were with me.”

His examination, which lasted several hours, and which consisted chiefly in questions relative to the doctrines he preached, was concluded about nine o'clock at night, by committing him and another man to prison for six months, on the charge of “uttering and broaching several blasphemous opinions, contrary to a late act of parliament.” It may be requisite to remind the reader, that the king, having at this period ended his life on the scaffold, and his son, an exile, being proscribed by a declaration which made it treason to promote him or any other person to the throne; the house of peers being also abolished, the parliament had assumed to themselves the government of the nation, with the title of “The Parliament of the Commonwealth of England;” and as the general character of this assembly was rigidly sectarian, they viewed with a jealous and severe scrutiny, such sentiments as were not in accordance with their own; and as the views of George Fox differed more manifestly than those of most others, so was the treatment which he and his adherents received at their hands, more severe than that with which they visited the like offences in others.

The person who was committed with Fox, not being as deeply convinced, or as sincere as his companion, recanted his opinions, and thus obtained his liberty. “But my spirit was strengthened,” says George, “when he was gone.”

He employed himself during his confinement, in writing, according as he felt impelled, to the priests, magistrates, and different authorities of the place; warning them to consider of what they were doing, in persecuting those who, like himself, were only desirous of promoting their best welfare.

It was in this place, and at this time, that he and his followers received the appellation of Quakers, of which he speaks in but few words. Relating that it had been reported to him that one of the justices remarked that they had been troubled for committing him to prison, he adds, “this was Justice Bennet, of Derby, who was the first that called us Quakers, because I bid them tremble at the word of the Lord.”

And, as by reason of his confinement, he was restrained from going amongst the small community he had gathered together, he visited them with an epistle, from which I shall make a few short extracts, in the belief that they may not prove unprofitable to the reader; premising, however, that some indulgence must be granted to the writer for the defects of his style, on the score of his very limited education, and also in regard to the inferior state of the times in literary advantages. He begins by reminding them that the Lord discovers unto man all the secret workings of the heart. “A man,” he says, “may be brought to see his evil thoughts, and running mind, and vain imaginations, and may strive to keep them down; but he cannot overcome them, nor keep his mind within to the Lord. Now, in this state, submit to the spirit of the Lord that shows them, [the vain imaginations, etc.,] and this,” he says, “will bring to wait upon the Lord; and he that has discovered, will destroy them.”

He strongly urges this point, and bids them to mind the anointing which is in them, and which is to teach them, and discover to them all the workings of their hearts. And as they were taught, “so obey and forsake,” he says, “else you will not grow up in the faith, nor in the life of Christ, where the love of God is received. Now love begets love, its own nature and image.”

He reminds them, that “that which cannot bear the world's judgment, is not the love of God; for love bears all things, and is above the world's judgment; for the world's judgment is but foolishness.”

He then points them to the diversity of modes in which the fallen nature manifests itself. “Some men,” he says, “have the nature of swine, wallowing in the mire; and some men have the nature of dogs, to bite both the sheep and one another; and some men have the nature of lions, to tear, devour, and destroy; and some men have the nature of the serpent, (that old adversary,) to sting, envenom, and poison. 'He that has an ear to hear, let him hear,' and learn these things within himself.”

After dilating a little more on these resemblances, “thus,” he says, “the evil is but one in all, but it works many ways; for whatsoever a man's nature is addicted to, the evil one will fit him with that, and will please his nature and appetite, to keep his mind in his inventions, and in the creatures, and from the Creator.

“O, therefore, let not the mind go forth from God; for if it do, it will be stained, and venomed, and corrupted; and if the mind go forth from the Lord, it is hard to bring it in again. Therefore mind that which is eternal and invisible, and him who is the Creator and mover of all things; 'for the things that are made, are not made of things that do appear.'”

And then, after a few words more of counsel, he breaks out into a strain of thanksgiving affectingly fervent. “To you, O God,” he says, “be all glory and honour, who are Lord of all visibles and invisibles; to you be all praise, who brings out of the deep to yourself, O powerful God, who are worthy of all glory! For the Lord who created all, and gives life and strength to all, is over all, and merciful to all. So you, who have made all, and are over all, to you be all glory! In you is my strength, refreshment and life, my joy and my gladness, my rejoicing and glorying forevermore!”

How vain are bonds and imprisonments, or any other human infliction, to the soul thus magnifying the Lord, and whose spirit thus rejoices in God its Saviour! To such, there is but one language, “It is well.”[4]

It was not for the lack of friends to effect his release, that George continued a prisoner; for his relations visited him, and went to the magistrate that committed him, offering to bail him in a security of two hundred pounds, (themselves in half the sum, and two inhabitants of Derby in the remainder,) that he should come there no more to preach.

But to this he would not consent; saying that he would have no man bound for him, as he was innocent from all ill-behaviour in speaking the word of truth and life. As this was spoken in the presence of the Justice Bennet above-mentioned, “he rose up,” says George, “in a rage; and as I was kneeling down to pray to the Lord to forgive him, he ran upon me, and struck me with both his hands, crying, 'Away with him, jailer;' whereupon I was had back again to prison, and there kept until the time of my commitment was expired.” But though remanded back to confinement, he had leave to take exercise beyond his prison walls. “I had the liberty,” he says, “of walking a mile by myself, which I made use of as I felt freedom; and sometimes I went into the market and streets, and warned the people to repent of their wickedness, and so returned to prison again; and there being persons of several sorts of religion in the prison, I sometimes went and visited them in their meetings on first-days.” Amongst those whom his preaching affected the most deeply, was the jailer of his prison. This person, although, after the fashion of the times, a high professor of religion, was nevertheless a very wicked man, and disposed, in the first instance, to exercise much cruelty towards his prisoner; but afterwards, being touched in conscience, he came and acknowledged to him what he suffered on account of his severity. “I have been like a lion against you,” he said; “but now I come like a lamb, and like the jailer that came to Paul and Silas, trembling.” He then opened to him the state of his mind, and confessed that, whenever he had been requested by George to let him go and preach to the people, and he refused him, he had experienced, subsequently, a distress, which rendered him for a time, inaccessible to all comfort.

But, besides George Fox, there were now some others of both sexes, holding the same views, and passing under the same denomination of Quakers, who were induced, under a sense of being divinely called, to go forth and preach.

The absence, therefore, of the individual who, as to external means, might be considered as their leader, was not any material hinderance to their progress. In communities where the influence of human power of any kind, was recognized, such a loss would, no doubt, have been deeply felt; and in the infancy of an association so constructed, would probably have been fatal to its continuance. But the ground-work of George Fox's doctrine, being to draw the mind away from all external dependencies, to a clear acquaintance with the spark or principle of eternal light and life within itself, and this acquaintance with interior and heavenly power, necessarily inspiring strong faith and unshaken confidence in the Divine Being, there was a secret unity in this little band of believers, which delivered them more than most other religious professors, from any fear or probability of being scattered, or brought to loss, under such a bereavement.

Chapter II.

The English nation, at this period, might be said to be wholly engrossed with the great subjects of religion and politics; for both were mingled together in strange conjunction. The chief rulers of the Commonwealth, (more especially Oliver Cromwell,) had contrived to interweave their own views on spiritual matters into the minds even of the soldiers, who, in those days, commonly united with the profession of arms, the profession also of Christianity; and, as the unsettled state of the kingdom caused them to be stationed in considerable numbers in most of the principal towns of the north, several of them had made acquaintance with George Fox during his imprisonment, and so much approved of him, that when the time of his emancipation drew nigh, they were desirous of engaging him to remain with them, in the capacity of their captain! The immediate cause of this desire arose from the circumstance of there being a commission issued to levy troops for the service of the parliament, and the commissioners probably wanting to get rid of Fox in some way that should prevent his return, proposed to constitute him captain over these recruits, a measure which the soldiers seconded, by declaring that “they would have none other.” “So the keeper of the house of correction,” says he, “was commanded to bring me up before the commissioners and soldiers, in the market-place; and there they proffered me that preferment (as they called it,) asking me if I would not take up arms for the commonwealth, against Charles Stuart?”

To this he replied, that he knew, from the doctrine of the apostle James, from where all wars did arise; and that he lived in the virtue of that life and power which took away the occasion of war. But still continuing to urge him, “I told them,” he continues, “that I was come into the covenant of peace, which was before wars and strife were. They said they offered it in love and kindness to me, because of my virtue, and such like flattering words they used. But I told them, if that was their love and kindness, I trampled it under my feet. Then their rage got up, and they said, 'Take him away, jailer, and put him into the prison amongst the rogues and felons.'” Upon which he was conveyed to a still worse place than before, being of the most loathsome description as to uncleanliness; his society about thirty felons, and, to increase his discomfort, he was without a bed to lie down upon. Here he was kept nearly another six months, having permission, at times, to walk in the garden, “for they had a belief of me,” he says, “that I would not go away.”

During his prolonged confinement, he wrote again to the authorities of the place, giving them religious counsel respecting many of their proceedings, especially in relation to the punishment of death for stealing; and, in one instance, his representations appear to have had some effect; for he mentions, that a young woman in the prison, who was condemned to death for robbing her master, and who was not only brought at the time appointed, to the place of execution, but actually had ascended the ladder, was nevertheless reprieved, brought back to prison, and made a recipient of Divine truth. He had written in her behalf to the judge and jury, showing them how contrary it was to the law of God, in old time, to put persons to death for stealing, and entreating them to be merciful to her. But he does not directly specify that it was upon this account that favour was extended to her, although it probably might be the case. In the interval of his confinement, he was again pressed to become a soldier; “the magistrates,” he says, “not being able to agree what to do with me. One while they would have sent me up to the parliament; another while they would have banished me to Ireland. At length they were made to turn me out of jail, about the beginning of winter 1651, after I had been a prisoner in Derby almost a year, whereof six months in the house of correction, and the rest of the time in the common jail and prison.”

Once more at liberty, he pursued his course through many of the northern counties, preaching with so much power, that he was instrumental in bringing an accession, not only of believers, but also of ministers to the society.

In one place that he visited, in Yorkshire, he mentions being well received by Justice Hotham, who was so much struck by the simple eloquence with which he advocated the cause of truth, that he much wished to have sent for some of the neighbouring ministers to discourse with him; but this George Fox would not agree to, preferring to follow, as he believed himself at the moment directed. A curious incident resulting from such an impression, is too characteristic of his mode of plain dealing, to be omitted. It occurred while staying with Justice Hotham, at Crantsick, in Yorkshire. “In the afternoon [on a first-day] I went to another steeple-house,” he says, “about three miles off, where preached a great high priest called a doctor, (being one of them whom Justice Hotham would have sent for to have spoken with me.) So I went into the steeplehouse, and stayed till the priest had done. Now the words which he took for his text were these; “Ho, everyone that thirsts, come to the waters, and he that has no money, come, buy and eat; yes come, buy wine and milk, without money and without price.” Then was I moved of the Lord God to say unto him 'Come down, you deceiver! Do you bid people come freely, and take of the water of life freely, and yet you take three hundred pounds a year of them? Should you not blush for shame? Did the prophet Isaiah, and Christ do so, who spoke the words, and gave them forth freely? Did not Christ say to his ministers whom he sent to preach, 'freely you have received, freely give?' So the priest, like a man amazed, hastened away, and after he was gone, and had left his flock, I had as much time as I could desire to speak to the people.”

In recording the memorial of some of the primitive Friends, the name of Francis Howgill must not be forgotten; his useful labours and patient sufferings, as a minister amongst them, appointing him a prominent place in their history.

He was born about the year 1618, and resided near Grayrigg, in Westmoreland. He had been educated at one of the universities, and had entered the church; but being dissatisfied with what he conceived to be corrupt in it, he separated therefrom, and joined a party of Independents, amongst whom he became a minister. But as he has left a record of his religious experience, we may obtain from his own statement, the best view of his feelings on this point.

“From twelve years old,” he says, “I set my heart to know that God whom the world professed, and whom I read of in the Scriptures; and I fell into the strictest worship that was, in that part wherein I lived, and often I desired to be alone, and attended much to reading and meditation.”[5]

After describing the various convictions of his conscience, and his sometimes obeying and sometimes resisting them, “when I turned within” he says, “I was judged for all my former iniquities, and my heart was still shown to me that it was corrupt; but, as I kept within to the light in my conscience, I was restrained from many actions that I had a will to do; and in the instant when I was doing any unrighteousness in actions or words, I was often stopped; and when I saw that I did it not, a great joy arose in me; but when I had done anything forwardly, or rashly, was judged.”

Surely we have, in this simple statement, a practical illustration of that allusion to the purifying nature of God's “judgments” with which the Scriptures, (and the Psalms especially,) abound! Indeed, it may be asked, how we are to understand this word judgment, (in the 119th Psalm for instance,) except in this sense of inward correction and instruction?—“I have chosen the way of truth; your judgments have I laid before me.” (30.) “Teach me good judgment and knowledge.” (65.) “I know, O Lord! that your judgments are right, and that you in faithfulness have afflicted me.” (75.) “I have not departed from your judgments, for you have taught me.” (102.) “My flesh trembles for fear of you, and I am afraid of your judgments.” (120.) These quotations might, from the same Psalm, be greatly extended; but I leave the subject for the thoughtful reader's serious, and I trust, profitable consideration, and return to the narrative of Francis Howgill.

“But this” he continues, (still speaking of the interior judgment upon his thoughts and ways, above alluded to; “but this, the teachers said, was a natural conscience, that kept from sin, and restrained it;) so I hearkened to their imaginations, and slighted the light, as too low a thing, that was but common grace that preserved me out of gross evils.”

“The saints,” these teachers assured him, “had a peculiar grace and faith, and believing in Christ, his righteousness was accounted to be theirs, and no sin was imputed to them.” But although he paid attention to their statements, he could find no comfort under the burden of sin, which he continued to feel. “I fasted and prayed,” he says, “and walked mournfully in sorrow, and thought none was like me, tempted on every hand. So I ran to this man and the other, and they applied promises to me, but it was only in words; for the witness of Christ showed me that the root of iniquity stood, and that the body of sin was whole. Then I told them there was guilt in me; and they said that sin was taken away by Christ, but the guilt would still remain while I lived; and brought me the saints' conditions to confirm it. But I said in myself, this was a miserable salvation, that the guilt and condemnation of sin should still stand in me. Thus I was tossed from mountain to hill, and heard them preach confusion; and therefore I mattered not for them, and said, 'Surely this is not the ministry of Christ!'” The conclusion he deduced from these conflicts was, “that none walked as the ministers of Christ; none that pretended to the ministry had any such gift, neither pastor nor teacher; nor were any of them such members as were in the apostles' time.”

Nevertheless, he was deeply impressed with a belief that better days were at hand; a hope which was not disappointed; for after being by these, and various other probations, prepared by the invisible hand of Providence for the place and work hereafter to be assigned him, he fell in with George Fox, who, in the course of his travels, came to Sedburgh, in the west of Yorkshire, where Francis Howgill happened to be also.

The account of the meeting at which he received the convictions that ever after remained with him, is preserved in George Fox's Journal.

“The next first-day, (1652,)” says Fox, “I came to Firbank chapel, in Westmoreland, where Francis Howgill and John Audland had been preaching in the morning. While others were gone to dinner, I went to a brook, got a little water, and then came and sat down on the top of a rock by the chapel.

“In the afternoon the people gathered about me, with several of their preachers. It was judged there were above a thousand people, to whom I declared God's everlasting truth, and word of life, freely and largely, for about the space of three hours; directing all to the Spirit of God in themselves, that they might be turned from darkness to light, and believe in it, that they might become children of it, and might be led into all truth, and sensibly understand the words of the prophets, of Christ, and of the apostles; and might all come to know Christ to be their teacher to instruct them, their counsellor to direct them, their shepherd to feed them, their bishop to oversee them, and their prophet to open divine mysteries to them, and might know their bodies to be prepared, sanctified, and made fit temples for God and Christ to dwell in. In the openings of heavenly life, I explained unto them the prophets, and the figures, and shadows, and directed them to Christ the substance. Then I opened the parables and sayings of Christ, and things that had long been hid; showing the intent and scope of the writings of the apostles. I showed also the state of the apostacy since the apostles' days—that the priests have got the Scriptures, but are not in the spirit which gave them forth, but make a trade of holy men's words, and are found in the steps of the false prophets, chief priests, scribes and pharisees of old, and are such as the true prophets, Christ and his apostles cried out against.”

If these remarks should seem somewhat harsh and unqualified, we must bear in mind, that one of the strongest features of this period, was a timeserving spirit amongst the priesthood; a trait in the characters of too many of them, which was curiously exhibited by the fact that several veered round with all the changes of those inconstant times; being Episcopalians with the first Charles and his bishops; Presbyterians with Oliver and the parliament; again on the side of the Episcopacy at the restoration; and probably would have been as ready to unite with the Catholics, if Charles the Second had established Catholicism instead of Protestantism.”[6]

A very great convincement accompanied the preaching of this sermon, and both Howgill and Audland, from that time, united with the Quakers, and became eminent ministers in the society. Of Howgill's services, George Fox has left a short record, wherein he observes, that he was one of the Lord's worthies, who preached the everlasting word of life, from about the year 1652 until 1668.

It was in the course of these travels in the north, and in this year, (1652,) that George Fox was made instrumental in convincing the mind of a person, who afterwards, also distinguished himself as a champion in the cause of truth. His name was Edward Burrough, at that time little more than a youth, but endued with a mind of extraordinary powers.

This young man was a native of Westmoreland, and, for the times in which he lived, pretty well educated, being trained up in such learning as his country afforded. Like many other thoughtful persons in that age, taking an interest in the subject of religion, he conversed frequently with those who were in esteem for their piety. He had been educated in the Episcopal worship, but preferring the mode of the Presbyterians, he joined that sect, although dissatisfied, in many respects, with what he saw in them; perceiving that, in general, they were not in possession of the principles which they advocated. In this state of mind, he heard George Fox, who, in the course of his travels, coming to Kendal, had a meeting in the town-hall, which Burrough attended; and which, without absolutely convincing, made such an impression upon him, that he came afterwards to Fox, to reason with him upon what he had advanced; and received so much illumination from his replies, that doubting no more respecting his doctrines, he himself henceforth became a preacher of them.

And now we approach some circumstances in the life of George Fox, which had a material and lasting influence upon his history, and also upon that of the society. These circumstances were, his acquaintance, intimacy, and, many years afterwards, his marriage with Margaret Fell, the wife of Judge Fell, of Swarthmore, in Lancashire. An account of his first introduction to her, I transcribe, as recorded by herself.[7] “And in the year 1652,” she says, “it pleased the Lord to draw him towards us; so he came on from Sedburgh, etc. and John Blakeling came with him. My then husband, Thomas Fell, was not at home at that time, but gone the Welsh circuit, being one of the judges of court; and our house being a place open to entertain ministers and religious people at, one of George Fox's friends brought him here, where he stayed all night; and the next day, being a lecture, or a fast-day, he went to Ulverstone steeple-house, but came not in till the people were gathered. I and my children had been there a long time before. When they were singing before the sermon, he came in, and when they had done singing, he stood upon a seat or form,and desired that he might have liberty to speak, and he that was in the pulpit said he might.[8]

She goes on to relate, that the first words that he spoke, were as follows: “'He is not a Jew that is one outwardly; neither is that circumcision which is outward; but he is a Jew that is one inwardly; and that is circumcision which is of the heart.'

“And so he went on, and said, that Christ was the light of the world, and enlightens every man that comes into the world, and that by this light they might be gathered to God, etc. I stood up in my pew and wondered at his doctrine, for I had never heard such before. And then he went on and opened the Scriptures, and said, the Scriptures were the prophets’ words, and Christ's and the apostles’ words, and what, as they spoke, they enjoyed and possessed, and had from the Lord.— Then, what had any to do with the Scriptures, but as they came to the Spirit that gave them forth? You will say, Christ says this, and the apostles say this; but what can you say? Are you a child of light, and have walked in the light? and what you speak, is it inwardly from God?” etc.

She then describes, in much simplicity, the effect which his address produced upon her mind. “It cut me to the heart,” she says, “and I saw clearly, that we were all wrong; so I sat down in my pew again, and cried bitterly; and I cried in my spirit to the Lord, 'We are all thieves—we are all thieves![9] We have taken the Scriptures in words, and know nothing of them in ourselves!”

But although permitted to begin his address, it seems that he was not allowed to conclude it without opposition; for she goes on to relate, that while he was declaring against the false prophets, deceivers of the people, etc., one John Sawrey, a justice of peace, and a religious professor, desired the churchwarden to take him away.

It does not, however, appear, but that George concluded what he had to say; for she adds, that “after awhile, he gave over, and came to our house again that night, and he spoke in the family amongst the servants, and they were all generally convinced.”

She speaks of her own impressions as very strong and clear; “I saw it was the truth,” she says, “and I could not deny it; and I did as the apostle says, I received the truth in the love of it.”

Nevertheless, her husband being from home, and apparently, the utmost harmony subsisting between them, she could not but feel anxious till she knew how her change of sentiment would be received by him. “I was stricken into such a sadness,” she says, “I knew not what to do, my husband being from home.”

In this state she received some comfort by a visit from two ministers of the society, James Nayler and Richard Farnsworth, who being in quest of George Fox, came to Swarthmore, about two weeks after this period. “They stayed awhile,” she says, “at our house, and did me much good, for I was under great heaviness and judgment.” In about three weeks, Judge Fell returned from his circuit; and as there are seldom lacking busy spirits who delight in being on the alert to relate grievances, the good man was met on the way to his own house, by many of those whom Margaret calls “the great ones of the country;” who furnished him with no very pleasant intelligence, respecting what had been going on in his absence; and consequently disposed him to return home greatly offended. “He was very much troubled,” she says, “with us all, in the house and family, they had so prepossessed him against us. But James Nayler and Richard Farnsworth were both then at our house, and I desired them to come and speak to him, and so they did very moderately and wisely.” The result of the whole was, that he became pacified; and after some hours, George Fox, who seems to have been absent at the first return of Judge Fell, came back to the house.

“And then at night,” she says, “George Fox came; and after supper, my husband was sitting in the parlour, and I asked him if George Fox might come in? And he said, “Yes;” so George came in, without any compliment, and walked into the room, and began to speak presently; and the family, and James Nayler, and Richard Farnsworth came all in.”

George spoke so excellently, that, “if all in England had been there,” says Margaret, “I thought they would not have denied the truth of those things;” and Judge Fell, being a man of an impartial and temperate mind, received, with the attention they deserved, the deep and important truths which were thus unexpectedly, and unadornedly, set before him. “My husband,” she says, “came to see clearly the truth of what he spoke, and was very quiet that night, and said no more.” It was evident that his mind had received a strong impression in favour of what had been advanced; for, when the priest of Ulverstone, one Lampitt, called upon him the next day, for the purpose of engaging him to act against the Quakers, he found him indisposed to any such measures; and although Judge Fell did not himself unite with them, he not only offered no resistance to the union of his wife and family with the society, but hearing several friends speaking in his presence, of there being some difficulty in obtaining a place to meet in, there being a large increase of their numbers in that part of the country, “he said of his own accord,” as his wife relates, “you may meet here if you will.” And then notice was given that day and the next to Friends; and there was a good large meeting the first-day, which was the first meeting that was at Swarthmore.”

It is worthy of remark, that the meeting, thus set up in 1652, continued in its appointed order till 1690.

After this introduction to Judge Fell, George Fox was well received by him, in his future visits at his house; in one of which, in the same year, he held a conference with some of the clergy, or, as he expresses it, “with four or five of the priests. And coming to discourse,” he says, “I asked them 'whether anyone of them could say he ever had the word of the Lord to go and speak to such or such a people? None of them dared say he had; but one of them burst out into a passion, and said, 'he could speak his experiences as well as I.' I told him that experience was one thing; but to receive and go with a message, and to have a word from the Lord, as the apostles and prophets had and did, and as I had done to them, this was another thing; and therefore I put it to them again, could any of them say he had ever had a command or word from the Lord immediately at any time. But none of them could say so. Then I told them the false prophets and false apostles and antichrists, could use the words of the true prophets, and true apostles, and of Christ, and would speak of other men's experience, though they themselves never knew nor heard the voice of God and Christ.”

“At another time,” he says, “when I was discoursing with several priests, at Judge Fell's house, and he was by, I asked them the same question, whether any of them ever heard the voice of God or Christ, to bid him go to such or such a people, to declare his word or message unto them? for anyone, I told them, that could but read, might declare the experiences of the prophets and apostles, which were recorded in the Scriptures. Hereupon, one of them, whose name was Thomas Taylor, an ancient priest, did ingenuously confess before Judge Fell, that he had never heard the voice of God, nor of Christ, to send him to any people; but he spoke his experiences, and the experiences of the saints in former ages, etc. This very much confirmed Judge Fell in the persuasion he had, that the priests were wrong; for he had thought formerly, as the generality of the people then did, that they were sent from God.

“This Thomas Taylor,” he states, “was convinced at this time, and travelled with me into Westmoreland; where it appears that, though so newly converted from his former sentiments, he preached boldly in condemnation of his first errors; and,” says George, “like the good scribe that was converted to the kingdom, he brought forth things new and old to the people.”

And now that persons who were higher graduated in education, began to look at, and consider the doctrines of Friends, the persecution which attended them became more violent and general. James Nayler and Francis Howgill were committed to Appleby jail; the former, under a pretence of his having spoken blasphemy; and the latter for remarking that he had seen a good deal of tyranny and persecution in that day's actions; an observation to which the justice who was examining him, replied, by turning to the people, and saying, “Take notice, he says the law I act by, is tyranny and persecution;” to which the people assented. “Then,” said Francis, “you may give out to the people what you will; but I speak not of the law, but of your actions.” Upon that they made out a court order to send him to prison, etc.[10] After being, together with James Nayler, confined in Appleby jail for five months, he was released.

George Fox, in the meanwhile, was valiantly contending for the faith, in the northern counties, to which at present his labours were chiefly confined; and in the prosecution of which, he largely shared with his brethren in suffering and opposition. To relate all the instances which he himself has recorded, of his trials and provings in this respect, would be to exhibit a very degrading picture of human nature; and one that, in these happier days of religious toleration, could scarcely, perhaps, be received as a faithful representation; for in this age of diffusive education and more civilized feeling, we may indeed hope that it would be difficult to find the district whose inhabitants could unite in the display of such barbarity as that spoken of in the following narration.

“On a lecture-day,” he says, “I was moved to go to the steeple-house at Ulverstone, where were abundance of professors, priests, and people. I went up near to priest Lampitt, who was blustering on in his preaching; and after the Lord had opened my mouth to speak, John Sawrey, the justice, came to me and said, if I would speak according to the Scriptures, I should speak. I wondered at him for speaking so to me, for I did speak according to the Scriptures; and I told him I should speak according to the Scriptures, and bring the Scriptures to prove what I had to say; for I had something to speak to Lampitt and to them. Then he said I should not speak; contradicting himself, who had said just before, I should speak, if I would speak according to the Scriptures, which I did. Now the people were quiet, and heard me gladly, until this Justice Sawrey, (who was the first stirrer up of cruel persecution in the north,) incensed them against me, and set them on to hale, beat, and bruise me. Then, on a sudden, the people were in a rage, and they fell upon me in the steeplehouse, before his face, and knocked me down, and kicked me, and trampled upon me, he looking on; and so great was the uproar, that some people tumbled over their seats for fear. At last he came and took me from the people, and led me out of the steeple-house, and put me into the hands of the constables and other officers, bidding them ‘whip me and put me out of town.’ Then they led me about a quarter of a mile, some taking hold by my collar, and some by my arms and shoulders, and shook and dragged me along; and there being many friendly people come to the market, and some of them come to the steeplehouse to hear me, several of these they knocked down also, and broke their heads, so that the blood ran down from several of them; and Judge Fell's son, running after to see what they would do with me, they threw him into a ditch of water, some of them crying 'Knock the teeth out of his head.' Now, when they had haled me to the common moss-side, a multitude of people following, the constables and other officers gave me some blows over my back with their willow-rods, and thrust me among the rude multitude; who, having furnished themselves, some with staves, some with hedge-stakes, and others with holm or holly-bushes, fell upon me, and beat me on my head, arms, and shoulders, till they had amazed [stunned] me, so that I fell down upon the wet common; and when I recovered myself again, and saw myself lying on a watery common and the people standing about me, I lay still a little while; and the power of the Lord sprung through me, and the eternal refreshings refreshed me, so that I stood up again in the strengthening power of the eternal God, and stretching out my arms amongst them, I said with a loud voice, 'Strike again!—here are my arms—my head— and my cheeks!” an invitation which was not unheeded; for he proceeds to state that “there was in the company a mason, a professor, but a rude fellow; he, with his walking rule-staff, gave me a blow with all his might, just over the back of my hand, as it was stretched out; with which blow my hand was so bruised, and my arm so benumbed, that I could not draw it unto me again; so that some of the people cried out, 'he has spoiled his hand from having any use of it more.' But I looked at it in the love of God, (for I was in the love of God to them all that had persecuted me,) and the Lord's power sprung through me again, and through my hand and arm, so that in a moment I recovered strength in my hand and arm, in the sight of them all.”

I, unwillingly, contemplate the possibility, that this instantaneous supply of divine aid from the Creator to his helpless and oppressed creature, may be questioned; but if it should, I can only entreat of the querist to examine the spirit which suggests the doubt; and I think it will appear extremely difficult to allege any other reason for disputing the matter, than lack of faith; a deplorable lack, which keeps the professing church of Christ, and while it subsists, ever must keep it, in poverty and destitution; since we can only expect that the Divine Being should withdraw the manifestation of his glorious presence and power, wherever his willingness to bestow that manifestation is called in question.

So overpowering was the effect of this immediate restoration, that the people were astonished, and began to fall out amongst themselves; some of them offering, if he would give them money, to secure him from the fury of the rest; but, equally disdaining their protection or their persecution, he addressed them upon the subject of their state and condition; telling them they were more like heathens and Jews than true Christians, and showing to them the fruits they were bringing forth, from the ministry of those they were so zealously defending.

He then walked away to Ulverstone, and went through the market; in going to which place a soldier met him, and expressing grief to see him so ill-used as he had just been, offered to assist him; “but I told him,” says George, “the Lord's power was over all; so I walked through the people in the market, and none of them had power to touch me.” Having finished his service there, he went to Swarthmore, where he found his friends sufficiently employed in dressing the wounds of those who had been hurt in the day's proceedings; and in respect to himself, he says, “my body and arms were yellow, black, and blue, with the blows and bruises I received amongst them (i.e. the religious professors, etc.) that day.”

Nevertheless, in about two weeks after, in going with James Nayler to Walney island, and having a meeting at a little town called Cockan, he met with similar, and even worse treatment; so fearfully excited were the people against the subjugating doctrines which the quiet ministry of Friends exhibited. Nor is this extraordinary; since “they that are after the flesh, do mind the things of the flesh,” and nothing else, how can they bear to hear of that which preaches death to everything that makes their life and happiness. The fleshly mind loves words,—friends were very sparing of them; it seeks honour from man—friends disowned and denounced all worldly distinctions; it covets ease and indulgence—friends held up the cross of Christ to everything of the sort. Theirs was not the lip profession only of “Lord, you know that I love you”—or the mere say so, of “I am ready to go with you to prison or to death”—but it was the realization of Christ's meek and loving, and self-crucifying gospel, which they not merely preached but lived;—and this was the offence which the flesh never did, nor never can forgive; —for while the world continues, “the carnal mind is enmity against God,” and, if against God, against his ministers also.

I do not propose, however, to pain my reader or myself, by any further detail of the sufferings of this patient and persecuted people, than may be necessary for the true delineation of their primitive character; I shall therefore merely state, in reference to the cruelties exercised against George Fox, in the island of Walney, that having narrowly escaped with his life, he was so severely bruised, as to be scarcely able to bear the shaking of the horse on which he next day rode to Swarthmore. When he arrived there, the Justice Sawrey before spoken of, and another justice named Thompson, of Lancaster, issued a warrant to apprehend him; but Judge Fell (who had been absent during these atrocities) coming home, it was not served upon him; but on the contrary, the judge himself sent out warrants to apprehend the persons in the isle of Walney, who had behaved so barbarously towards George Fox. But George himself, so far from desiring this, could not be prevailed upon to make any relation of the matter to his friend the judge: saying, that “the people could do no otherwise, considering the spirit they were in.”

When the time of Lancaster Sessions came round, though not apprehended by the warrant above-mentioned, he chose to appear there; and being on the way there with Judge Fell, the latter observed to him, “that he had never had such a matter brought before him, [as that which was alleged against George,] and he could not well tell what to do in the business. Upon which, I told him,” says George, “that when Paul was brought before the rulers, and the Jews and priests came down to accuse him, and laid many false things to his charge, Paul stood still all that while; and when they had done, King Agrippa beckoned to him to speak for himself: which Paul did, and cleared himself of all those false accusations; and so he might do by me.”

The charge against him was, that he had depreciated the Scriptures, and in other respects had spoken blasphemy; to support which accusations, there appeared, as he states, “about forty priests.” But upon examination of these witnesses, it turned out, that one and another of them, could only say that they had heard he should speak so and so; insomuch that the justices observed to them, “it seems you did not hear these words spoken yourself, though you have sworn it!”

“There were then in court,” says George, “several people who had been at that meeting, wherein the witnesses swore I spoke those blasphemous words, which the priests accused me of; and these being men of integrity and reputation in the country, did declare and affirm in court, “that the oath which the witnesses had taken against me, was altogether false, and that no such words as they had sworn against me, were spoken by me at that meeting.”

So powerful an effect did their evidence in behalf of the simple truth, produce upon the mind of Colonel West, a justice then upon the bench, that being but infirm in health, he said, “the Lord had healed him that day;” adding that “he never saw so many sober people and good faces together, in all his life;” and then turning to George Fox, he said, “George, if you have anything to say to the people, you may freely declare it;” a permission of which George availed himself.

The substance of his address consisted in a declaration that the Holy Scriptures were given forth by the Spirit of God, and that therefore persons must, in the first place, know the Spirit of God in themselves, in order to know God and Christ, of whom the prophets and apostles learnt; and that, by the same Spirit also, they could alone know the Holy Scriptures; for, as the Spirit of God was in those persons who gave forth the Scriptures, so the Spirit of God must be in all those that come to know and understand the Scriptures; and by this Spirit also, they might have fellowship with the Son, and with the Father, and with the Scriptures, and with one another; and without this Spirit, they would neither know God nor Christ, nor the Scriptures, nor have right fellowship one with another. “I had no sooner spoken these words,” he says, “but about half-a-dozen priests that stood behind my back, burst out into a passion; and one of them whose name was Jackus, amongst other things that he spoke against the truth, said, “that the Spirit and the letter were inseparable.” I replied, “then every one that has the letter has the Spirit; and they might buy the Spirit with the letter of the Scriptures!”

So preposterous a statement as that of Jackus, occasioned Judge Fell and Colonel West to express their disapprobation; “according to such a position,” they said, “they might carry the Spirit in their pockets, as they did their Bibles!” a remark which caused a great deal of resentment amongst those to whom it was addressed. The result of the inquiry was, that George Fox was discharged, to the satisfaction of the greater part of the assembly; amongst which, were some who received deep and lasting impressions of divine truth, from the plain sincerity with which he had declared it; and those none of the lowest neither; one, Justice Benson, and the Mayor of Lancaster, whose name was Ripan, being of the number. A person of the name of Briggs, a parishioner or hearer of Jackus, and who had been a violent opposer of Friends, became also that day a convert to their religious views, and in due time, a faithful minister in the society; continuing such to the end of his life.

Thus honourably exonerated from the charge of blasphemy, George Fox continued, through the many persecutions of jangling opposers, and now and then a beating or stoning, etc., to pursue his course till the following year; when, finding his way to Carlisle, and preaching there, with his accustomed boldness, it was not long before he was again sent to prison, upon the old charge of being a blasphemer, etc.; a charge, of all others, which at first sight appears the most singular to be preferred against a man who was exhibiting a constant willingness to suffer, even to the hazard of his life, for the defence of the gospel. Yet, looking at the whole, unbroken, and easeful condition of his accusers, and at the false views of Christ's religion by which they pacified their consciences in such a state, we cannot much wonder that they stigmatized him with the character of a blasphemer; for, in preaching against their indulgences, or, in other words, against the “gods many, and lords many,” that were the real objects of their worship, he, no doubt, was guilty of sacrilege in their eyes. That this was the true foundation of such a charge, we may well infer, because experience proves, that there never has been a ministration of the Spirit, which has not drawn upon the minister thereof, this accusation of being a blasphemer, or a denier of some of the leading doctrines of Christianity. Not to mention the case of Fenelon, or that of Madame Guion, or of Molinos, on the continent, or that of the pious and blessed William Law, in our own country, and many more that might be spoken of, let us look at the testimony of Scripture to this point; and here we find the great apostle of the Gentiles, while a persecutor of the followers of Christ, and while zealous for the law or the letter,—in high acceptation with the Scribes and Pharisees, or the doctors of divinity of the Jewish church; but the same Paul, preaching Jesus and the resurrection, and stating that he had received an immediate revelation and command from his master, is greeted with, “Away with such a fellow from the earth, for it is not fit that he should live.”[11] But need we seek for further instances, to prove how inherent is this disposition in the unregenerate heart, to stigmatize with the worst epithets, the purest doctrine: seeing that it was levelled against the Fountain of Purity itself? “For a good work,” say the real blasphemers to the holy Jesus, when he meekly asks of his barbarous persecutors, for which of his good works were they about to stone him, “for a good work we stone you not; but for blasphemy!”[12]

Chapter III.

While he was in confinement at Carlisle, George Fox was visited by many different sorts of persons, both his name, principles, and increasing followers, having by this time rendered him an object of extensive fame and curiosity; a circumstance, which, added to a natural hatred of the kind of religion he taught and practised, so much incensed his adversaries, that efforts, it seems, were not lacking to consider the possibility of even taking his life.

“When the court sessions came,” he states, “all the talk and cry was that I was to be hanged, and the high-sheriff, whose name was Wilfred Lawson, stirred them much up to take away my life, and said he would guard me to my execution himself.” He also says, that “great ladies (as they were called) came to see the man that they said was to die.” As closely was he guarded as if his crime had been of the blackest dye, three musqueteers keeping watch upon him continually. Nevertheless, the project of getting rid of him by the hand of the executioner, was frustrated by some point of law, which, as he says, “confounded all their counsels;” and this difficulty, indisposing or incapacitating them for bringing him to trial, he was left in prison at the time of the court sessions; an act of cruelty which caused the Justice Pearson, whom he had so greatly impressed by his preaching at Lancaster, to address a letter to the judges and court in his behalf; and which, as manifesting the view that was taken of his case by a judicious and educated man, it may be desirable to give at length.

“To the judges of court sessions and jail-delivery for the northern parts, sitting at Carlisle.

“You are raised up to do righteousness and justice, and sent forth to punish him that does evil, and to encourage him that does well, and to set the oppressed free. I am therefore moved to lay before you the condition of him who is called George Fox, whom the magistrates of this city have cast into prison, for words that he is accused to have spoken, which they call blasphemy. He was sent to the jail till he should be delivered by due course of law; and it was expected he should have been proceeded against in the common law course at this court sessions. The informations against him were delivered into court, and the act allows and appoints that way of trial. How hardly and unchristianly he has been hitherto dealt with, I shall not now mention; but you may consider that nothing he is accused of has any bearing in the truth; and, to my knowledge, he utterly abhors and detests every particular which, by the act against blasphemous opinions, is appointed to be punished; and differs as much from those people, against whom the law was made, as light from darkness. Though he be committed, judgment is not given against him; nor have his accusers been face to face, to affirm before him, what they have informed against him; nor was he heard as to the particulars of their accusations; nor does it appear that any word they charge against him is within the act. But, indeed, I could not yet so much as see the information, no, not in court, though I desired it both of the clerk of the court sessions, and of the magistrates' clerk; nor has he had a copy of them. This is very hard; and that he should be so close restrained that his friends may not speak with him, I know no law nor reason for. I do, therefore, claim for him a due and lawful hearing, and that he may have a copy of his charge, and freedom to answer for himself; and that rather before you, than to be left to the rulers of this town, who are not competent judges of blasphemy, as by their court order appears, who have committed him upon an act of parliament, and mention words as spoken by him at his examination, which are not within the act, and which he utterly denies. The words mentioned in the court order he denies to have spoken, and has neither professed nor avowed them.[13]

“Anthony Pearson.”

But the friendly efforts of this gentleman were fruitless. It was resolved not to bring George Fox to trial; and he was left, at the close of the court sessions, to the jurisdiction of the magistrates of the town: who testified what sort of favour he was likely to receive from them, by ordering him into a still worse place of imprisonment than the jailer's house, where he had hitherto been confined, but from which he was now removed into the jail, amongst moss-troopers, thieves, and murderers; the painfulness of whose society was augmented by the accompaniment of every other sort of abomination, which the filthy and degraded condition of prisons, in that age, and of those that inhabited them, could exhibit.

“Yet, as bad as the place was,” he says, “the prisoners were all made very loving and subject to me, and some of them were convinced of the truth, as the publicans and harlots were of old.”

Amongst the persons who visited him, was one James Parnell, whom he describes as a “little lad of about sixteen years of age,” and who, though but a youth, received such deep convictions from the discourse of Fox, that he gave himself, from that time, entirely to the service of God. The displeasure, and even the renunciation of his relatives, could in no degree shake his determination to unite himself to the Quakers, amongst whom he became, in his eighteenth year, a valiant minister of the gospel. “Being imprisoned at Cambridge,” says Sewel, “for his zealous testimony, and afterwards turned out of town like a vagabond, he soon came back, and disputed with the scholars of the university, but met with rude and bad entertainment from them.”

This historian relates, that after preaching boldly at Colchester, and with so much power that many embraced the truth in consequence of hearing him declare it, he was induced to go to Coggeshall, in Essex, where a fast had been proclaimed to be held, for the express purpose of praying against the errors of the Quakers. James Parnell coming there at this time, went to the parish church, the minister of which was an Independent;[14] and having remained silent till the preacher came out of his pulpit, Parnell being of a society whose members had been just stigmatized as deceivers, conceived that he ought (as Sewel observes) “to say something to that.” He began his communication by observing, that “the order of the true church prescribed, that all may speak one by one, and if anything were revealed to him that stood by, the first was to hold his peace.”[15]

He then proceeded in defence of the doctrines of Friends, in the course of which, as usual, some jangling occurred on the side of his opponents; and amongst other objections, it was stated against him, “that he acknowledged no church;” which he denying to be true, and being asked what church he acknowledged, he said, “the church in God.”

A priest of the name of Willis then stood up, and said he spoke nothing but nonsense.

Parnell replied by desiring him to specify what nonsense he had spoken.

“For saying the church in God,” said Willis.

Upon this Parnell took out his Bible, and read 1 Thess. i. 1, where the apostle writes to “the church which is in God the Father;” and therefore he said, it was he, Willis, that was a blasphemer, in saying that, “the church in God” was nonsense.

The vanquished Willis was then reinforced by a minister of the name of Stellum, who having accused Parnell of uttering slanders and falsehood, without suffering him to justify himself, got up into the pulpit, and began to pray! But Parnell not taking off his hat, a commotion ensued, which he ended by quitting the church.

He had not proceeded far before a justice of the peace followed him, and striking him on the shoulder, said he arrested him in the name of the Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell; and after passing an examination, which, when it concerned the Quakers, was rather a matter of form than of equity, he was fined to the value of above forty pounds, on the ground of contempt for the magistracy and ministry, and in default of payment to be committed to prison; and as it was not the practice of the sufferers in this society, to acknowledge themselves delinquents, as they virtually would have done, by paying fines for misconduct, Parnell was carried to Colchester prison, where none of his friends were suffered to visit him.

The sequel of the narrative is more than commonly melancholy, even amidst the many painful details of the sufferings of the primitive Friends; for the jailer and his wife being both exceedingly bitter against persons of his persuasion, seemed to vie with one another which should torment him the most; the woman more particularly, by setting others to take away his food, refusing to let him have a bed to lie upon, even when his friends in the town would have brought him one, and in every possible way that she could devise, afflicting him. At last, because he did not seem to these barbarians to be sufficiently persecuted, he was put into a place called the Hole in the Wall, which Sewel says that he himself had seen, when he visited James Parnell’s prison at Colchester; and which prison he described as “an old ruinous castle, built, as it was reported, in the time of the ancient Romans.” The “Hole in the Wall,” he says, was “a room much like a baker's oven; for the walls of that building, which is indeed a direful nest, are of an excessive thickness, as I have seen myself, having been in the hole where this pious young man ended his days. Being confined in the said hole, which was, as I remember, about twelve feet high from the ground, and the ladder too short by six feet, he must climb up and down by a rope on a broken wall, to fetch his food, etc.; for though his friends would have given him a cord, and a basket to draw up his food in, yet such was the malice of his keepers that they would not allow it.”

He then states, that owing to the dampness of this wretched place, his limbs became benumbed; and thus it once happened, that as he was climbing up the ladder with his food in his hand, and catching at the rope by which he was to reach his dwelling, he missed it, and fell down upon the stones, exceedingly wounded in his head, and altogether so much hurt as to be taken up for dead. One might have hoped, that in this pitiable condition he would have been placed in a less miserable apartment; but his abode was only changed from an upper to a lower oven, there being two rows of them one over another; and that which he occupied after his fall, was, if possible, worse than the former; for, when the door was shut, there being no window or aperture to admit the air, he was almost suffocated; and although several of his friends in the town offered to pay down a sum of money for his reappearance after his recovery, if he might be permitted to come to the house of one of them, till he was restored from the effects of his accident, yet it was denied; no, so immovably were they set against him, that, according to Sewel, they would not permit him to walk out for the benefit of the air, even in the yard of the prison; and the jailer once finding him walking between two high walls, in a narrow yard, from which, had he been inclined, he could not have escaped, was nevertheless so incensed against him, that he locked up the hole he inhabited, and shut him out in the yard all night, though it was in the coldest time of the winter.

Such complicated hardships concluded, as might be expected, in the dissolution of the perishable part; but in that which is imperishable, this young and innocent sufferer was more than conqueror over the combined malice of his enemies.

After ten or eleven months' endurance of their cruelties, he fell sick; and then, it appears, that two of his friends, named Thomas Shortland and Ann Langley, were allowed to be with him.

During their attendance upon him, feeling his end approach, he turned his head to Thomas, and said, “This death I must die—I have seen great things—do not hold me!” meaning, “do not wish to keep me with you,” or “do not detain me by praying for my recovery.” He then said again, “Will you hold me?” To which Ann Langley replied, “No, dear heart, we will not hold you.” The last words he was heard to utter, were, “Now I go.” He then stretched himself out, and having fallen into a sleep which lasted about an hour, he breathed his last. The circumstance of his sleeping for an hour just before his decease, was thought remarkable by those about him, because he had often been heard to say during his sickness, that one hour's sleep would cure him of all.”

These particulars of the sufferings and death of James Parnell, Sewel states that he himself received from the mouth of eye-witnesses, who lived at Colchester at the time of his imprisonment.

Indeed, had they not been too truly attested, such instances of inhumanity as the above, (and they were fearfully numerous in the annals of the society,) could scarcely have been received as authentic. We do not immediately, nor very easily, detect the deep root from which the peculiar antipathy and consequent persecution of these persons arose. It has been touched upon, but it is not by a cursory glance that the aversion can be exhibited in its true colours; the philosophic mind must search for it in the deepest depths of the human heart. It may be said, perhaps, that their harsh, disrespectful mode of address, or the occasional criticism in their addresses, drew ill-usage upon the primitive Friends; but instances were frequent, in which their very silence was the means of their giving the greatest offence. A curious case of this kind is recorded respecting Miles Halhead, one of the ministers of the society. Coming, in the year 1653, to Furness, in Lancashire, he went to the house of a Captain Adam Sands, where a large meeting of religious professors had assembled, and where the minister Lampitt (already mentioned as being at Swarthmore, when George Fox first appeared there) was preaching; but immediately on the entrance of Halhead he became silent, which continuing, for a considerable time, the captain enquired if anything was the matter with him, fearing he might be suddenly taken ill; to which the minister replied, “I am well; but I shall speak no more, as long as this dumb devil is in the house.” “A dumb devil!” said the captain, “where is he?” “This is he,” said the minister, pointing with his hand to Halhead, “that stands there.” “This man is quiet,” said the captain, “and says nothing to you. I pray you, sir, go on, in the name of the Lord, and if he trouble or molest you, in my house, I will send him to Lancaster castle.”

But in vain was the request, the only answer he obtained was, “I shall not preach as long as this dumb devil is in the house.”

Thus unsuccessful with one preacher, the captain tried what he could do with another; and turning to one Camelford, who was also a minister, “I pray you, sir,” said he, “stand up and exercise your gift, and I will see that you be not disturbed.” But he met with the same reply; this one answering like the other, “I shall not speak as long as this dumb devil is in the house.”

So extraordinary an effect from the presence of a silent man, began to create an alarm in the assembly, and several of the people cried out, “The Lord rebuke you, Satan! The Lord rebuke you, Satan! What manner of spirit is this that stops our ministers' mouths!” and at length, as the only resource, the captain came to Halhead, and taking him by the hand, led him out of the house; in all which time the man had never spoken a single word.[16]

But it is time now to return to George Fox, whom we left in Carlisle prison, in very bad company, and with little prospect of being released from their society. However, it happened that a report of his case coming to the knowledge of the parliament, by whose authority the country was at that time governed, a letter was sent down to the sheriff and other magistrates concerning him, and not long after he was liberated. And now the society having much increased, not only in members, but also in able ministers, their doctrines began to be more generally known, and considered; and although the persecution they met with from hypocritical professors of religion, and profane deriders of it, was in no degree lessened; yet the general integrity and uprightness, not merely of their principles, but their practice, had gradually removed the prejudices which, in the first instance, threatened to impoverish them, by causing the different customers of such of them as were in trade, to cease from dealing with them.

“But afterwards,” says George, with his accustomed simplicity, “when people came to have experience of Friends' honesty and faithfulness, and found that their yes was yes, and their no was no, that they kept to a word in their dealings, and that they would not swindle and cheat them; but that if they sent a child to their shops for anything, they were as well used as if they had come themselves;—the lives and conduct of Friends did preach, and reached to the witness of God [in the conscience] of the people.”

“Then things altered so,” he goes on to say, “that all the enquiry was, where was a draper, or shop-keeper, or tailor, or shoe-maker, or any other tradesman that was a Quaker? Insomuch that Friends had more business than many of their neighbours,” etc.

In the same plain way, he afterwards speaks of the approbation which, when more duly organized, and their different meetings permanently established, their orderly mode of conducting the society's affairs, and their method of assisting the poor, extracted even from their enemies. “When they saw Friends' books,” he says, “and accounts of collections for the relief of the poor, how we took care, one county to help another, and to help our friends beyond sea, and provide for our poor, that none of them should be chargeable to their parishes, etc. the justices and officers confessed that we did their work, and would pass away peaceably and lovingly, commending Friends practice. Sometimes,” he proceeds, “there would come two hundred of the poor of other people, and wait till the meeting was done, (for all the country knew we met about the poor,) and after the meeting, Friends would send to the baker's for bread, and give every one of those poor people a loaf, how many soever there were of them; for we were taught to do good unto all, though especially to the household of faith.”

There being at this time (1654) above sixty ministers in the society, who were, for the most part, travelling in the service of truth, the fame and name of the Quakers began to spread in other parts of the kingdom, as well as in the northern counties, to which it had primarily been chiefly confined. But as it would exceed the limits proposed in this brief sketch, to enter into any minute detail of their proceedings, I am compelled to pass by the history of many in the society, whose eminent and faithful services deserve to be recorded by a far abler pen; and to confine the narrative to the labours of such of them as were more particularly prominent in the work of the ministry, amongst whom the name of George Whitehead must not be omitted.

This individual was a native of the north of England, and educated in the Presbyterian mode of faith, in which, finding many things that displeased him, and hearing of the newly-risen society of the Quakers, (so called,) he determined to attend one of their meetings, in which he was much affected by perceiving how greatly the spirits of most of those who were there assembled, seemed broken and contrited; more especially in the case of a young woman, who, on quitting the meeting, he observed to sit down upon the ground, “with her face towards the earth, as if,” he says, “she regarded nobody present, but, moaning bitterly, cried out, 'Lord, make me clean! O Lord, make me clean!' which,” he adds, “did far more tenderly and deeply affect my heart than what I had heard spoken, and more than all the preaching that ever I had heard from man or men; and was a certain testimony to me, (the Spirit of the Lord evidencing to my spirit,) that it was a real work of his power upon her heart, which also operated upon the hearts of others, causing both trembling, sorrow, and contrition.”[17]

Such is the result of the preaching which is not of man, but “in the demonstration of the Spirit, and of power.” It is not uncommon for persons gifted with intellectual advantages, to convince the understanding, and affect the feelings; but to wound the conscience, and prompt an earnest sympathy in the psalmist's prayer, “make me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me”—is the province only of that ministry, which stands not in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God. In consequence of his impressions, Whitehead quitted the Presbyterians, and joined the Quakers, in the earliest days of their society, and at a youthful period of his own life, being but eighteen years of age, when he felt himself called upon to go forth in the ministry. Bending his course on foot, towards the eastern parts of the kingdom, he arrived at Norwich, where Richard Hubberthorn, another minister of the society, was then imprisoned upon the usual plea of sedition and blasphemy.

In this city George Whitehead stayed some time, holding several meetings, and visiting his imprisoned friends, to their mutual strength and comfort: but it was not long before he himself shared the same fate; for on attempting to speak upon one occasion, at St. Peter's church, be was committed to the same jail where several more of his friends were also lodged.

In this place he underwent many hardships, of which he gives a curious statement. “In the said prison at Norwich,” he writes, “we were but hardly treated by the keeper, one Hunt, who demanded for one bed for three of us, four-pence a night of each: we thought it was hard measure to demand twelve-pence a night of prisoners, for one mean bed for three men to be crowded together in, and that in a cold room where another prisoner lodged in a bed to himself; so that not finding freedom to gratify the jailer in his oppression and covetousness, and afraid to bring any charge upon any of our friends, to procure us better accommodation, on these considerations we thought ourselves necessitated to lodge upon the bare boards on the floor, in our wearing clothes, and little covering besides; and thus we lodged for eight weeks together, in the cold winter; whereby, though we endured much cold, yet were we, through the Lord's mercy, generally preserved in health. Such kind of hardship,” he adds, “I might think the greater to me, having been tenderly brought up by my parents, and then so young as but about eighteen years old, that same winter, when thus imprisoned in 1654.”

In the month of March, 1655, he and James Lancaster, another Friend, were released from captivity; but Whitehead going to the jail a short time after, to visit a person, was apprehended; and on being taken before the mayor, was re-committed, and again imprisoned for three weeks. No record of oppression and grief can surpass, and few can equal, those of the primitive Friends, in the instances wherein their patience was proved and manifested, by unjust and long imprisonments; which, in many cases, were no sooner ended, than they began again; and we must remember, that lightly and amusingly as these things pass over the mind in reading of them, there are few sorrows of a more trying kind, than the incarceration of the body, accompanied with all that can molest and oppress the spirit.

Once more at large, George Whitehead proceeded from place to place in the counties of Norfolk and Suffolk, preaching as he travelled, and gathering many to more serious and solid views of divine things than they had before entertained; insomuch that numbers in these parts of the kingdom, were, at this time, induced to unite themselves to the society. In the early part of his ministry in these counties, he felt the lack of a suitable co-worker; his dear and highly-gifted friend, Richard Hubberthorn, being still detained in prison; but after Richard's release, he speaks with much satisfaction of the meetings they held as fellow-labourers in the cause.

Having, for the present, concluded his services, in the eastern counties, he turned his face towards London; but some circumstances occurred, which occasioned a delay in his travels there, and which will be best given in his own words:—

“After considerable labour and service in testimony for the truth and gospel of Christ Jesus,” he says, “in Norfolk and Suffolk, in the year 1654 and 1655, besides the imprisonment in Norwich before related, my dear friend Richard Clayton and I, meeting again in High Suffolk, in the fifth month, 1655, travelled into Essex to Colchester, where James Parnell (that early servant of Christ) was prisoner in the castle; he being committed but a little time before. We visited him in prison; he was given up to suffer for his faithful testimony, was comforted in our visit, and we were glad to see him so well, being under that confinement. So we travelled forward on foot towards London, being desirous to see our brethren and friends in that city, if the Lord had permitted. We went that day from the White Elm, near Ipswich, to near Chelmsford, on foot, being above thirty or near forty miles; and on the road, meeting with our dear friend and brother, George Fox, and Amos Stoddart,[18] coming from London into Essex, we were very glad to see them; insomuch that our desires of going forward, were in part answered for that time, and we were willing to stay with them at some meetings in Essex, which we did.”

He then speaks of having a good meeting in Essex, in which he found many who were favourably disposed to the truth, owing to the preparation for its reception, which the ministry of the youth, James Parnell, had effected on their hearts; for, as he observes, “James Parnell had been instrumental to convince many in those parts, that summer, before his imprisonment at Colchester; and by his testimony and living ministry, many professors were shaken, and at a loss in their professions and notions, which they had gathered in their heads, without experience of a true heart-work by the power of Christ. For profession and talk of religion and church, did greatly abound in those days, amongst many, as well as pride and self-conceit; which the Lord was about to stain and abase, as he manifestly did in a short time after; for those summer shows of religion, would not endure a stormy winter. I must confess to the glory of God in my own self-abasement, and his bearing sway over my will and affection, by his own power, wisdom, and providence, I was at that time prevented from going to London, to visit my brethren and friends there, according to my own desire and affection; the Lord having then more work and service, as well as suffering for me to go through, in the country; and particularly in the county of Suffolk, before I might obtain my desire of going to London. Having had blessed and effectual service, by the special assistance of the Lord's power, in Norfolk and in High Suffolk, I must now be a sufferer in Low Suffolk, and bear my testimony for him in a hard confinement, and inhuman treatment in prison.

“For in those days, among the exercises which befel many of us whom the Lord so early called, and sent forth to preach the gospel of repentance unto life and salvation, we were led, moved, and excited at one time to run to and fro, that knowledge might increase among people in the ways and dealings of the Lord; and at other times to be snapped up, taken and imprisoned, strictly confined and severely used, and many times inhumanly and barbarously treated, as the subsequent accounts may in part show; and also what manner of spirit did rule and act in some sorts of men, under high professions, and great pretensions of religion, and Christianity, and how unchristian under these, they were in practice.”

The circumstances of suffering to which the foregoing statements of George Whitehead refer, were his being apprehended, and again sent to prison, on the ground of his being “a disturber of the public peace.” His place of confinement, in this instance, was the common jail, at Bury St. Edmunds; where he was committed, with five others, who were also of the society, about the beginning of August, 1655.

His account of the usage they received in this prison, is as instructive as it is curious; conveying to the mind which is disposed to receive it, a simple and affecting lesson of trust in God, and submission to his holy will, under privations and oppressions, which, without religious aid, it would have been impossible for humanity to endure.

“After two of us,” he says, “were first sent to prison, we had a lodging in an upper room, for two or three weeks; and then, understanding that the jailer would exact upon us for rent, and expecting our confinement might be of long continuance, we desired a free prison; whereupon we were turned into the common ward among felons; where, after continuance a few weeks, a friend, (Samuel Duncan,) in compassion to us, privately gave the jailer some money to let us lodge above again, from the felons. But, when the time for that money was ended, the jailer insisted upon his old exaction of four-pence a night from each of us; which we were neither free to yield to, nor to allow any of our friends to be charged therewith, but again desired a free prison; and thereupon we were again turned into the common ward.”

“We now were settled in the common ward among felons, in a low dungeon-like place, under a market-house; our poor lodging being upon rye-straw, on a damp earthen floor; though we were therewith content, and the place sanctified to us. But not being willing to contribute to the jailer's avarice or extortion, nor free to buy any of his beer, (he keeping a tap-house, and many of his prisoners often drunk,) his anger and rage arose, and grew very much against us, after we were so many as five sent to prison successively, one after another, and all in the common ward, and in the time of our confinement drinking only water.” He then states, that his anger was increased, because George and his friends testified against the disorders and abuses which he occasioned by allowing excessive drinking among the prisoners. It may be thought that it was not without reason, that the preachers amongst friends, were led to testify against the general hypocrisy of the professors of that day, seeing that in many cases, as in the present one, their persecutors were those who made a claim to be called religious.

“The Lord stirred us up,” says Whitehead, “to cry aloud against the wickedness of the jailer, his servants, and prisoners, for these gross evils and disorders, because the jailer made a profession of religion and piety, (being a member of a Presbyterian church in Bury,) calling in the prisoners on first-days, towards evening, to instruct them; and because I told him of his hypocrisy therein, his fruits being so much contrary, his daughter was offended, saying, 'What! call my father a hypocrite, who has been a saint forty years!'”

And then, in evidence of his not having unjustly been accused of bringing forth fruits that were contrary to righteousness, George Whitehead proceeds to narrate some of the instances to which he alluded; of which it may suffice in general terms to say, that they evidenced a barbarity of heart towards the helpless and harmless Quakers under his care, which it is shocking to humanity to contemplate. Yet, in the midst of these atrocities, the spirits of the sufferers were exalted by the sustaining power of God, and enabled to soar above that region in which the persecution of men or devils had power to operate. On one occasion, George Whitehead, with three more Friends, were put into a dungeon, four yards under ground, by this inhuman jailer and his turnkey, because they would not desist from crying against the wickedness that surrounded them. He describes the place by saying, “it was very dark, and but a little compass at the bottom, and in the midst thereof an iron grate, with bars above a foot distant from each other, and under the same, a pit or hole, we knew not how deep; but being warned thereof by a woman that saw us put down, and pitied us, we kept near the sides of the dungeon, that we might not fall into the said pit, and there we were detained near four hours, singing praises to the Lord our God, in the sweet enjoyment and living sense of his glorious presence; being nothing terrified nor dismayed at their cruelties; but cheerfully resigned in the will of the Lord, to suffer for his name and truth's sake.”

Of the extent of their trials, not merely from the keeper of the prison, but from the wickedness of the prisoners, who were generally encouraged by him to molest these patient people, he relates a striking instance. After mentioning one of the culprits who was the most rude and abusive to them, (“being,” as he says, “one of the jailer's drunkards,”) and the circumstance of his throwing a knife fiercely at one of them, and as it missed inflicting a wound, his declaring that he would kill some of them, he relates, “the said most abusive prisoner, taking so much encouragement as he did from the example of the jailer, turnkey, and tapster, one night, being furiously drunk, he must needs kill some of us, after we were locked and bolted close in the common ward; whereupon,” he continues, “in faith in the name and power of the Lord, we stood over him, believing be should not have power to hurt any of us, though he attempted it by taking up a firebrand, etc.

“He had a boy,” he continues, “in the same ward, about ten years old, (as supposed,) and as the boy was kneeling by the wall, and frightened to see his father in such a rage, the father presently took up an earthen or stone bottle, and violently threw it at his own poor affrighted boy, but missed him, and broke it to pieces against the wall, the poor boy narrowly escaping with his life; for, if it had hit him on the head, he had probably been killed. Still the drunken, outrageous fool continued in his fury: he must needs kill somebody that night, either his poor boy, or some other, or else he would not be pacified. Seeing him thus murderously resolved, it immediately came upon me with great weight, as I believed from the Lord, 'let us not see murder committed in our presence;' whereupon, I said to my fellow-sufferers,' let us seize on him, and hold him hand and foot, till he will be quiet;' whereupon they presently laid hold upon him, laid him gently upon his back, and held him fast hand and foot, as I think, above an hour's time; in which he made a roaring noise, but to no purpose; for we were all closely warded up in a low, dark place, hard to be heard in other parts of the prison; no, I am persuaded, if any of us had cried out 'Murder!' we should scarcely have had one come to relieve any of us!”

“We glory in tribulation,” says the blessed apostle; and those that follow him “who was made perfect through sufferings, have ever poured forth the same triumphant acknowledgment, even in the midst of the purifying furnace. “I am still truly humbled and thankful,” says George Whitehead, when, many years afterwards, he reverted to these fiery trials; “I am still truly humbled and thankful to the Lord our God, in remembrance of his great kindness to us; how wonderfully he supported and comforted us, through and over all these our tribulations, strait confinement, and ill-usage, and preserved us in bodily health.” And speaking of the painfulness of the circumstances which attended their imprisonment, in regard to the filth and abominations of the place in which they were kept; “yet,” says he, “the Lord by his power, so sanctified the confinement to me, that I had great peace, comfort, and sweet solace; and was sometimes transported and wrapt up in spirit, as if in a pleasant field, having the fragrant scent, and sweet smell of flowers, and things growing therein.”

He says that the happiness enjoyed by him and his companions, surprised the prisoners. Speaking of the merciful support and consolations of God, “in the comfortable enjoyment of his glorious, divine power and presence,” he says “several of us have often been made to sing aloud in praise to his glorious name; yes, his high praises have been in our mouths, oftentimes to the great amazement and astonishment of the malefactors shut up in the same ward with us. When walking therein, our hearts have been lifted up in living praise to the Lord, often for several hours together, with voices of melody. Oh the sweet presence and power of the Lord our God, how precious to be enjoyed in prisons and dungeons! Oh, my soul, still bless the Lord, and forever praise his excellent name, for the true, inward sense and experience you have often, and long had, and still have, of his divine power, and unspeakable goodness! Glory and dominion be to our God, and to the Lamb that sits upon the throne forever and ever!”

Beautiful strains of Zion! which, when the King of sufferers hears, “he sees of the travail of his soul, and is satisfied!” who would exchange them for a thousand years of this world's empty joys! “Your joy no man takes from you,” was a promise, the sweet realization of which, the primitive Friends experienced as often and as truly, as most of the followers of Him who gave it. Nor were they ever backward in restoring the praise thereof to Him to whom it was due; as the above testimonials, and many more, abundantly show. But that all-wise Dispenser of what is needful for his servants, who says, “I will not contend forever, neither will I be always angry;” knowing, to a hair's breadth, what measure of purification we stand in need of, and can endure, now saw fit to grant a reviving interval to these sufferers, by making way, in the course of his providence, for their liberation from prison.

“When the barbarous treatment and hardships we endured in the said jail,” says Whitehead, “was much noised abroad, many of our friends at London were compassionately concerned for our relief; and thereupon, Oliver Cromwell was several times applied unto, and particularly by Mary Sanders, a friend of ours, who was a waiting-gentlewoman in Cromwell's family. She often took her opportunities to remind him of our suffering condition, and of other friends also being confined in various prisons, as she has often told me.”

The result of these or other intercessions, occasioned an order to be sent down for their discharge; of which he gives the following copy:—

“Thursday, the 16th of October, at the Council at Whitehall.

“Ordered by his Highness the Lord Protector and the council, that the Quakers imprisoned at Colchester, in the county of Essex, and Edmundsbury, and Ipswich, in the county of Suffolk, be forthwith released and set at liberty; and it is referred to Sir Francis Russell to take care that the same be done accordingly; as also to consider how the fines set upon them, or any of them (if any) may with most conveniency be taken off and discharged; and likewise to take order, that upon their being set at liberty, as aforesaid, they be forthwith sent to their respective homes.

“W. Jessop, clerk of the council.”

Being thus aided, George Whitehead and his friends were not long before they received their freedom; and “although,” he says, “our hardships in Bury prison were extreme, yet the Lord caused all to work together for good unto us. Our faith and strength in Christ came to be greatly increased; the blessed truth promoted; many convinced thereof, and added to the church, and gathered into our spiritual communion and society, through the great sufferings of those times, and our faithful testimony therein.”

One of the persons confined at this time with him, was another George Fox, who, though senior in point of age, always distinguished himself from the founder of the society, by humbly styling himself George Fox the younger. He was a faithful and gifted minister, and steadfast in bearing a powerful testimony against all iniquity.

It would occupy more time than we can spare, to narrate the many further persecutions which befel George Whitehead, in the course of his travels and ministerial labours, before he found his way back to his parents, whom, after three years' absence, he desired to visit. Compared with his long and hard imprisonment at Bury, his trials were unimportant; though, upon one occasion, his being ordered by a Justice Gusden to be whipped for a vagrant, and on another, his being put into the stocks for several hours, were not light exercises of his patience. At length, through “evil report and good report,” he was favoured to reach his native place, where he met with a welcome reception from his parents, who, as he says had esteemed him either lost or dead; and finding the great hardships and persecutions he had undergone, they received him with great joy and kindness, and with less prejudice than heretofore, against the principles he had adopted, and the society to which he had united himself.

Chapter IV.

While George Whitehead and others were labouring and suffering in the work of the ministry in the eastern counties, Francis Howgill and Edward Burrough were similarly occupied in London; where they arrived in 1654, accompanied by Anthony Pearson, the justice before mentioned, who had also become a preacher of righteousness. These persons are said to have been the first who publicly preached the doctrines of Friends in London.

There is a curious incident recorded by Sewel, relative to the service of Edward Burrough, at this time. He relates that, as he was passing, one summer's evening, near a place where some persons were amusing themselves by wrestling with each other, he observed a strong and dexterous man, who had thrown three opponents, to be in vain challenging a fourth to enter the lists with him, upon which Burrough himself stepped into the ring.

The wrestler, anticipating the usual light, airy countenance of one of his own stamp, was not a little surprised to see before him a young man, whose composed and solemn demeanour might tell him, at a glance, what kind of combat was about to take place.

Beginning to speak with much seriousness, his address was accompanied (as Sewel expresses it) “with such a heart-piercing power, that he was heard by this mixed multitude with no less attention than admiration;” for, as he describes E. B. “he was a breaker of stony hearts, and therefore, by a certain author, not unjustly called a son of thunder.” And again, in speaking of his powerful gift, “to thunder against sin and iniquity,” he says, “was his peculiar talent.”[19]

After various meetings in the metropolis, in most of which, though greatly opposed by Baptists and Ranters, their plain and powerful appeals reached to the conscience of most of their hearers, and awakened earnest desires of salvation, in the autumn of the year, Howgill and Burrough went to Bristol, and the first Sabbath following, had a meeting in the castle, which was attended by many hundreds of people, and on every successive meeting (of which they had several) an increase of numbers appeared.

It may be supposed that under these circumstances, they would soon attract attention and inquiry from the authorities of the place; and accordingly, the second week after their arrival, a sergeant was sent from the mayor, alderman, justices of the peace, etc., assembled in the townhall, desiring them to appear before the council. On first appearing there, having civilly informed the magistrates that they were come there, according to the request sent them, their not putting off their hats excited displeasure, the magistrates inquiring, “if they knew to whom they spoke?” They replied that they believed they were before the magistrates or rulers of the city; and the hat being objected to, they said that they did not omit putting it off in contempt of authority, but for conscience sake.

A variety of questions were then asked and answered, as to the reason of their coming to Bristol; and nothing being found against them, the magistrates concluded the examination by commanding them to depart out of the city; a mandate which they received, by stating, “that they neither came, nor stayed, in the will of man;” and after a few more words to the same effect, they left the court, but not the place, having several large meetings after this time, at one of which it is supposed there were about three thousand persons present.

In company with Edward Burrough, Francis Howgill again visited London, and other places, and also Ireland, where they spent three months in Dublin, without being disturbed; but before the close of their visit in Ireland, persecution was stirred up against them by the priesthood; who procured an order from government, for the apprehension of Francis Howgill, he being then in the country, preaching with much success in a garrison of soldiers, the governor of which garrison was kindly disposed towards him. These envious men sent him bound to Dublin, and from there he was dispatched to Cork; where the justices who examined him, perceiving that malice was the real ground of the accusations brought against him, set him at liberty. At Cork he was again joined by Edward Burrough, from whom he had been for a short time separated; but the priests of that nation obtained an order from Henry Cromwell, then Lord Deputy of Ireland, to banish them from that country; and a guard of soldiers was ordered to conduct them from place to place, till they were shipped off. These soldiers, however, were kind to them, and suffered them to hold meetings in their travels; by which means many received the knowledge of the truth.

After returning from Ireland, Francis Howgill and Edward Burrough, separating for a while, went through many counties of England, holding numerous meetings, and met again at Bristol, at the time of the fair, where they had a meeting one Sabbath, of about five thousand people.

The city of Bristol was, in particular, a scene of such strange and cruel persecution of the Quakers, that to narrate the circumstances of their different sufferings, in this place would of itself make a volume. But, besides that I may well hope to be forgiven for omitting to enter into so painful a detail,[20] I profess to confine myself in the present work, to sketch rather than portray the history of the primitive friends.

I do not therefore stop to relate the occurrences connected with them in this place; it may suffice to give the reader an idea how preposterous, oftentimes, were the pleas made use of to trouble these unoffending people, if I present him with the following warrant, which, on one occasion, was issued against them by the magistrates.

“City of Bristol.

“To the constables of the peace, of the ward of _______, and every of them.

“Forasmuch, as information has been given unto us upon oath, that certain persons of the Franciscan order, in Rome, have of late come over into England, and under the notion of Quakers, drawn together several multitudes of people in London. And whereas, certain strangers, going under the names of John Camm, John Audland, George Fox, James Nayler, and Edward Burrough, and others unknown, have lately resorted to this city, and in like manner, under the same notion of Quakers, drawn multitudes of people after them, and occasioned very great disturbances amongst us; and forasmuch, as by the same information, it appears to us to be very probable, and much to be suspected, that the said persons so lately come here, are some of those that came from Rome, as aforesaid. These are, therefore, in the name of his Highness the Lord Protector, to will and require you to make diligent search throughout your ward for the aforesaid strangers, or any of them, and all other suspected persons, and to apprehend or bring them before us, or some of us, to be dealt with according to law.

“Hereof fail not. Given the 25th of January, 1654.

“Signed, John Gunning, Mayor, and eight others have added their signatures.”

While at Bristol, on the occasion of the large meeting above mentioned, Edward Burrough was called to London, by hearing that some of their society had been deluded into erroneous views and notions, which threatened a loss of comfort and union amongst Friends; and shortly after his departure, he was joined by his faithful friend and coadjutor, Francis Howgill, who laboured with him for the restoration of these seceders.

But little is recorded of Francis Howgill, from about this period till the year 1661, when he was imprisoned in London, with many others, on suspicion of being concerned in the insurrection of the Fifth-monarchy-men. But being liberated from this charge, he travelled into various parts of the nation, preaching the gospel, in which service he was eminently blessed with success.

In the latter end of the year 1662, he was called to the melancholy task of bearing a last testimony to the memory of his dear friend and companion, Edward Burrough; who ended his short but valuable life in Newgate, dying there a prisoner for the truth's sake.

The convincement of this young man, through the ministry of George Fox, united him at a very early age with the society; in which his extraordinary endowments, both of nature and grace, rendered him so useful, that his premature death was more than commonly felt, as it was more than commonly regretted by the friends in general. George Fox, in his Journal, alludes to it, by saying, “passing from there to Sutton, and into Cambridgeshire, I heard of Edward Burrough's decease; and being sensible how great a grief and exercise it would be to friends to part with him, I wrote the following lines for the staying and settling of their minds.”

The lines alluded to are but few, and expressed in his own peculiar mode, which ever turned the soul to the divine seed, or holy germ of eternal life within it, for all it stood in need of. “Be still and quiet,” he says, “in your own conditions, and settled in the seed of God, that does not change; that in that you may feel dear E. B. among you;”[21] and with a few more words to the same effect, he concludes by reminding them that in doing so, they may continue to “enjoy him in the life that does not change, which is invisible.”

Nor was it merely as a preacher, that Edward Burrough laboured in the cause of truth: he was a diligent helper of the oppressed, by seeking at the fountain-head, for the origin of their griefs, and there endeavouring to remove them. For this purpose he not only wrote repeatedly to Oliver Cromwell, to represent the sufferings which, if not occasioned, were at least permitted, by his authority, especially in relation to the cruelties which were exercised towards Friends, touching their refusal to take oaths, and pay to the maintenance of a hired ministry; but he also obtained a personal hearing from him on these subjects; and as far as the wily Cromwell would speak intelligibly, he received from him an assurance that all persecution and cruelty was against his wishes; and that he was not guilty of conniving at that which had been practised towards the Quakers.

But it would seem that such concessions were without sincerity; for shortly after, Burrough, in a letter to him, says, “consider what the cause is, that what you desire not to be done, is yet done. Is it not that you may please men, by making it appear that you are more willing to do the false teachers of this nation and wicked men a pleasure, than to acknowledge the people of God, in relieving them, and easing them of their cruel burdens and oppressions, laid upon them by unjust men? For a word of your mouth, or a show of your countenance, in dislike of these cruel and unjust persecutions, would bind the hands of many blood-thirsty men,” etc. It would appear, however, upon the testimony of Sewel, that notwithstanding these reproofs, Edward Burrough (and indeed many other sincerely pious men of that time) had a latent feeling of affectionate interest in Cromwell; as believing that at one period of his history, he was certainly in earnest in his religious profession, though afterwards misled by ambition. A singular circumstance relative to his funeral, and connected with Edward Burrough, is thus mentioned in Sewel:—

“The funeral of Oliver Cromwell,” he says, “was solemnized with very great pomp. On the day of this pompous funeral, which was the 23rd of September, Edward Burrough came riding from Kingston into London, not knowing anything of what was done there. As he entered at Charing Cross, he beheld a great multitude of people thronging exceedingly, the streets being filled as far as he could see, and abundance gazing at the windows, and upon the balconies and housetops. There were also guards of horse and foot, that stopped his horse, and it was told him that he might not pass that way. Yet he did not know what was the matter; but at length, he perceived that Cromwell's image, richly adorned, was to be carried that way towards Westminster. The consideration of this was like an arrow that pierced his breast; and because of this idolatry, he felt such a fire kindled in him, that he was, as it were, filled with the indignation of the Lord.” So ardent was his zeal, as Sewel relates, that, regardless of his own life, had it been the will of God to require it, he could have rode through the guards and multitude, in order to have sounded the judgments of the Lord against such idolatry. “Alas for him! said he within himself,” [alluding to Oliver] “who was once a great instrument in the hand of the Lord to break down many idolatrous images! Did not the Lord once stir up his heart against all such things? And did not once his children, officers, soldiers, and army, pull down all the images and crosses, and all such like Catholic stuff, wherever they met with it? What grievous and abominable work is this! Have they now made a costly image of him, and are such as were once his soldiers, now guarding it and watching over it, and his children and officers following it, and multitudes of the inhabitants of London wondering and gazing after an image of him!”

“This zealous testimony,” continues the historian, “Edward Burrough caused to be printed; whereby he raised to himself a more lasting monument than by the erecting of a statue to his former friend Oliver Cromwell.”[22]

Nor was it only with Oliver as the ruling authority, that Edward pleaded in behalf of the oppressed; for in the year of King Charles the Second's restoration, he repaired to him in behalf of the suffering Friends in America; four of whom had at that time been actually put to death, by the sanguinary malice of their enemies in that country. Nor did he unsuccessfully appeal to the king in this matter; a mandamus being immediately granted to his pressing entreaties, that the relief in this emergency might be expedited; but as we shall probably hereafter have occasion to relate the circumstances of the case itself, we only briefly allude to Edward Burrough's share in it at the present.

In the exercise of his pen, also, he was very serviceable upon many occasions, wherein the interests of the society were concerned; more especially in the first year of the restoration of Charles the Second, when, in consequence of the insurrection of the Fifth-monarchy-men, a new act was made, which pressed heavily upon the Quakers, as it required from them a violation of one of their firmest principles in respect to oaths; and also forbade their assembling in their usual mode of religious worship.[23]

Whereupon Edward Burrough drew up a statement, which he called, “The Case of the People called Quakers,” etc. in which, though he failed of obtaining for his fellow-sufferers the redress he desired, he nevertheless helped their cause, and the cause of truth in general, by the plain, manly, and conscientious record he exhibited of Friends' principles, and of their undeserving hardships in consequence of faithfully abiding by them.

“What judgment,” says he, in speaking of their mode of meeting for religious worship, “what judgment do our neighbours give in this case? They say, concerning our meetings, that they have known us to meet together in such manner, for several years, in towns and villages, and never knew nor understood of any harm or danger therein, nor ever were any way prejudiced, either in their persons or estates, in our meetings.” “Enquire,” he continues, “and they will tell you they believe in their consciences, our meetings are for good, and have good effects, and are not evil, nor bring forth evil to any.”

“And as for the manner of our meeting and sitting together, it is orderly, and decently, and of good report among men; and for any doctrine that ever was there held, or heard by any, none can truly accuse it to be either error, heresy, or sedition; but on the contrary, they know it witnesses against all sin and iniquity, and tends to the turning of people from ungodliness to righteousness, to truth and holiness; and many can tell that this is effected by our doctrine, preached in our meetings; and our neighbours can witness that we part again in peace and good order, and in convenient time,” etc.

Speaking of the objections often urged against them as violating the laws of the land, by refusing to pay tithes, take oaths, etc., he says, “as to submitting to all known laws of the land, this is known to God and our neighbours, that our principle and practice is, and ever has been, to submit to every government, and to submit to all laws of men, either by doing or by suffering, as at this day. This is well known,” he continues, “to our neighbours and all people, that we are submissive to all laws of men, by patient suffering without resistance; even when any law requires anything of us which we cannot perform for conscience sake, that law we fulfil by patient suffering, resisting no man, nor rendering evil for evil to any. And the judgment of the Scriptures, which are according to both law and gospel, and the precedents of saints, justify us in this case; in choosing patiently to suffer the greatest penalties of the law, rather than to obey any such law, as requires things contrary to our pure consciences.”

He then specifies the examples from Scripture to which he alludes; as in the case of Daniel, etc. third chapter; also of Daniel again, chapter six; also of the apostles, Acts iv. 18.

“And as for our conduct among men,” he says, “in respect of our daily walking and converse with them in our dealing, in respect of honesty and faithfulness, and truth and justice, in works and words, our neighbours shall give witness for us. We will not justify ourselves; it is God that justifies us; and the law of God, the gospel of Christ, the Scriptures, the examples of holy men, our neighbours, and the witness of God in all men's consciences, shall bear witness to us; and all these do give judgment for us in these cases, to whom we do appeal for judgment.”

And then, with a beautiful outpouring of soul, the living witness within him springing up to seal the testimony he was giving, “O Lord God everlasting,” he says, “do you judge our cause! do you make it manifest in your due season to all the world, that we are your people; that we love you above all; that we fear your name more than all; that we love righteousness and hate iniquity, and that we now suffer for your holy name, and for your honour and justice, and for your truth and holiness! O Lord, you know we are resolved to perish, rather than to lose one grain hereof! Amen, amen!”[24] Much more is subjoined; but the foregoing extracts may suffice to show the simple integrity with which he pleaded the case; an integrity which he confirmed by his personal example upon all occasions, and for the maintenance of which he was cast into prison, under circumstances which, in all probability, occasioned the loss of his life.

In his addresses to the members of his own community, he was plain, but powerful in the wisdom which “is profitable to direct.” The severe pressure of these tribulating times (which pressure, as we have seen, more peculiarly weighed upon the Quakers) called for every aid of counsel or of comfort, which the strong could administer to the weak; and herein was he made “a succourer of many.” Several passages in proof of his possessing the gift of speaking a word in due season to all conditions of the soul, might be adduced from his different epistles to Friends; and I think, in the following extracts, a spiritual mind will find much to approve, and unite with.

“As for all the confusions, and distractions, and rumours of wars,” he says, in allusion to the broils and factions which at that time filled the kingdom, “what are they to us? What have we to do with them, and wherein are we concerned in these things? Is not our kingdom of another world, even that of peace and righteousness? And has not the Lord called us, and chosen us into the possession of that inheritance, wherein strife and enmity dwell not? Yes, he has broken down that part in us that is related thereunto; and being dead in that nature of strife, bloodshed, and wars, how can we live in strife and contention in the world, or have fellowship with any therein?” “Our kingdom is inward—and our weapons are spiritual—and our victory and peace are not of this world—and our war is against our soul's enemies, and against the power of darkness, even by the sword of the spirit, which God has given us, and called us to war therewith, and to convert people from sin and death, and from the very occasion of wars and contentions about the things that are earthly.”

“The fruits of the Spirit of God are of another nature, even peace and meekness towards all, and not enmity towards any; in which spirit let us live and walk; admonishing all hereunto, and praying for our enemies, and not hating them, but doing good for evil.” “And this is the true Christian life learned of Christ, and this life is blessed in this world, and in the world to come; and they that live here, are redeemed out of the world, wherein are troubles and confusion, war and strife.”

Of the nearness of his departure from this world, Edward Burrough seemed to have had some foreshadowing in his mind: for he said, a few months before, to his particular friends, on parting from them at Bristol, that, “he did not know he should see their faces any more, and therefore he exhorted them to be faithful to that wherein they had found rest to their souls.” And to his bosom friend, Francis Howgill, he said, “I can freely go to the city of London, and lay down my life for a testimony of that truth which I have declared through the power and Spirit of God.”

Thus “setting his face like a flint,” to suffer or to die, this faithful disciple of the King of martyrs, came to London, where, in consequence of the act to which allusion has just been made, persecution of the fiercest kind was raging against the poor Quakers. Soon after his arrival, Edward was found preaching at the meeting-house called the Bull and Mouth, and being violently pulled down by some soldiers, he was taken before Alderman Richard Brown, and committed to Newgate. Several weeks afterwards, he was examined at the sessions-house in the Old Bailey and was fined twenty-marks; which, judging it to be his duty not to pay, he was remanded back to prison, there to remain till payment was made. Here he was confined about eight months in company with about a hundred and forty prisoners besides; and in consequence of the crowding together of so many persons under the privation of air, cleanliness, and every common comfort which human existence requires, several of them sickened and died, of which number he was one. We must not, however, omit to state, that a special order for the release of Edward and of some others, was sent from the king; but whether it arrived too late for his removal, or, as it is said, the enmity of those who were concerned in his committal, frustrated the execution of it, certain it is, that he never received the benefit of it.

During the time of his weakness, he was very fervent in prayer, both for himself and his friends; and many consolatory and glorious expressions escaped him. The deep devotedness of soul, with which from his youth he had given himself up to the cause of Truth, not only permitted but prompted the holy boldness, with which at this trying hour, he proclaimed himself the servant of the Lord. “I have preached the gospel,” he said, “freely in this city, and have often given up my life, [as to will,] for the gospel's sake. And now, O Lord! rip open my heart, and see if it be not right before you!” Again, appealing in prayer to his Heavenly Father, “You have loved me when I was in the womb!” he said, “and I have loved you faithfully in my generation!”

To his friends who were about him, and who he, no doubt, anticipated would severely feel his absence, he addressed a few words of comfort, by reminding them, that the righteous were taken away from the evil to come; and of exhortation, by saying, “live in love and peace.”

Nor was this heavenly-minded man unmindful to supplicate for his enemies and persecutors, naming the most unrelenting of them, by saying, “Lord, forgive Richard Brown—if he may be forgiven!” “Being sensible,” says Sewel, “that death was approaching, he said, 'though this body of clay must turn into dust, yet I have a testimony that I have served God in my generation; and that spirit which has lived and acted, and ruled in me, shall yet break forth in thousands.'

“The morning before he departed this life, which was about the latter end of this year, [1662,] he said, 'Now my soul and spirit is centered into its own being with God! and this form of person must return from where it was taken!'

“This,” continues the historian, “was the exit of Edward Burrough! who, in his flourishing years, (about the age of twenty-eight,) in an unmarried state, changed this mortal life for an incorruptible!”

The testimony to his memory from his dear friend and companion, Francis Howgill, is very moving; and though too long for insertion, I cannot wholly pass it by, without offering a few extracts therefrom.

“Shall days, or months, or years, wear out your name, as though you had no being?” he says, affectionately apostrophizing his departed friend; and giving vent awhile, in this strain, to his emotions, “Oh, Edward Burrough!” he continues, “I cannot but mourn for you; yet not as one without hope or faith—knowing, and having a perfect testimony of your well-being, in my heart, by the Spirit of the Lord; yet your absence is great, and years to come shall feel your absence!

“When I think upon you, I am melted into tears of true sorrow, and because of the lack that the inheritance of the Lord has of you, my substance is even as dissolved. Shall I not say, as David said of Saul and Jonathan, when they were slain in Mount Gilboa, 'the beauty of Israel is slain upon the high places!' I am distressed for you, my brother: very pleasant have you been to me, and my love to you was wonderful, passing the love of women. Oh you, whose bow never turned back, neither sword empty from the blood of the slain, from the slaughter of the mighty, who made nations and multitudes shake with the word of life in your mouth, and were very dreadful to the enemies of the Lord; you were expert to handle your weapon, and by you the mighty have fallen, and the slain of the Lord have been many. Oh, how certain a sound did your trumpet give? You have put your hand to the hammer of the Lord, and have often fastened nails in the heads of the Lamb's enemies, as Jael did to Sisera; and many a rough stone have you polished, and squared, and made fit for the building of God; and much knotty wood have you hewn in your day, which was not fit for the building of God's house. Oh, you prophet of the Lord! you shall forever be recorded in the Lamb's book of life— among the Lamb's worthies, who have followed the Lamb through great tribulations, as many can witness for you, from the beginning; and at last have overcome, and have been found worthy to stand with the Lamb upon Mount Zion, the hill of God, as I have often seen you, with your heart well tuned as a harp to praise the Lord, and to sound forth his great salvation, which many a time made glad the hearts of them that did believe, and strengthened their faith and hope.”

“Well! you are at rest! and 'bound up in the bundle of life;' and I know tears were wiped away from your eyes, because there was no cause of sorrow in you! for I know you witnessed the old things done away; and there was no curse, but blessings were poured upon your head as rain, and peace as a mighty shower; and trouble was far from your dwelling, though in the outward man, trouble on every side; and you had a greater share in that for the gospel's sake, (though a youth,) in your time, than many besides. But now you are freed from that, and have obtained a name, through faith, with the saints in light.”

“Well, had you more to give up than your life, for the name of Jesus, in this world? No. And now you are freed from the temptations of him who has the power of death, and are freed from your outward enemies, who hated you because of the life that dwelt in you, and remain at the right hand of God, where there is joy and pleasure forevermore!”

Chapter V.

But a few months elapsed after the loss of his beloved friend thus tenderly lamented, when Francis Howgill was himself cast into prison. Being engaged in some business at Kendal in Westmoreland, about the latter end of May, 1668, he was summoned by the high-constable to appear before the justices of the peace then present at a tavern, for the purpose of taking the oath of allegiance and supremacy; but on the oath being tendered to him, declining it on conscientious grounds, he was forthwith committed to Appleby goal, where he was kept till the court sessions; and the same oath being then again tendered him, and he again declining it, he was indicted, but had liberty to answer to the indictment the next court sessions.

Appearing then in court, the judge, (whose name was Twisden,) observing, in his charge to the grand jury, that there was a sort of people, who, under pretence of conscience and religion, seemed to build upon the king's declaration from Breda,[25] and under colour of this, hatched treasons and rebellions, he recommended them to enquire after and present such, that the peace of the nation might be preserved.

The jury being empanneled, and Howgill called to the bar, the judge made nearly the same statement to him respecting the hatching of plots, under pretence of conscience. “Not,” says he, “that I have anything to charge you with; but seeing the oath of allegiance was tendered to you the last court sessions, and you refused to take it, it was looked upon that such persons were enemies to the king and government.” He then said, “I will not trouble you now to answer to your indictment, but I must do that the next court sessions; in the meantime you must enter into recognizance for good behaviour.”

This being declined, on the just and becoming ground of his not having violated the rules of good behaviour, and had therefore no need to be bound over to keep them; seeing also, that he was bound, by the love of the truth which he professed, not to misbehave himself; he was given till the next day to consider of it: but at that time, persevering in his intention of declining both the oath and the bond, he was committed to prison, where he was detained about five months, after which he was brought to a final trial.

That he might not seem obstinate, he drew up a paper containing the substance of the oath arranged under several heads, which he declared himself willing to subscribe, though for conscience sake he could not agree to swear. He also drew up another paper, addressed to the judge (Turner,) showing the court the cause of his first commitment, and the former proceedings against, him, and how unequal it was that they waived the other statutes lately made against nonconformists, and prosecuted him upon a statute formerly made against Catholic recusants [those who would not recongnize or submit to the Church of England] . He said, that it was merely upon a spiritual and conscientious account that he could not swear, seeing it was against the command of Christ, and the apostles' doctrine. He said also, that he was able to make it appear, that it was against the example of the primitive Christians for several hundred years, and therefore no new opinion. That it was neither in wilfulness nor obstinacy, that he refused it, being sensible of the damage that would ensue if they prosecuted him on that statute, he having a wife and children, and some small estate, which he knew lay at stake in the matter; but if it were his life also, he said he could not revolt from, or deny that which he had most certainly believed in. But if any persons could convince him that he was in error, either by Scripture or reason, he had an ear to hear.”

These papers were delivered in court, and read before he was called in. When he appeared and was permitted to speak, a great deal of discussion ensued respecting his determination to refuse the oath; and amongst other reasons that he gave in justification of it, he said, “that some of the principal pillars of the Church of England, as, for instance, Bishop Usher, sometime Primate of Ireland, had said in his works, that the Waldenses did deny all swearing in their age, from the command of Christ and the apostle James, and that it was a sufficient ground. “And Dr. Gauden,” said he, “late Bishop of Exeter, in a book of his I lately read, cited very many ancient fathers to show, that, for the first three hundred years, Christians did not swear; so that it is no new doctrine.”

But in vain were all his pleas! the business closed by the judge pronouncing the following sentence upon him;—“You are put out of the king's protection, and the benefit of the law: your lands are confiscated to the king during your life, and your goods and chattels forever, and you to be a prisoner during your life.”

“A hard sentence,” said Francis, “for my obedience to the law of Christ! The Lord forgive you all!”

So he turned from the bar, but the judge speaking, he turned again, and many more words passed to the same purpose as before, the judge saying, that if he would be subject to the law, the king would yet have mercy upon him.

“The Lord has showed mercy unto me,” said Howgill, “and I have done nothing against the king, nor government, nor any man; blessed be the Lord, therein stands my peace, for it is for Christ's sake I suffer, and not for evil doing.”

Being remanded back to a captivity which was to continue during his life, Francis Howgill did not sink into sloth or despondency. His prison labours breathe a sublime spirit which indicated that the thraldom of the outward man did but the more nobly enlarge the liberty of the hidden man of the heart.

He was chiefly occupied with his pen, writing many epistles to Friends, who, at that time, being severely persecuted, and from their faithful adherence to their testimony in respect to tithes and taking oaths, suffering more than those of other religious persuasions, stood in need of having their hands strengthened by the counsel and example of the elders of the church. How well and faithfully he helped to do this, may be seen in almost every letter he addressed to them, a few extracts from one of which is here subjoined.

He entitles it, “A visitation of love, peace, and good will to the whole flock of God, now in their day of trial and hour of temptation.” He commences by reminding them how graciously they had been visited of God with divine illumination, and exhorts them to be watchful that the adversary in these perilous times, get no advantage over their faith. “He is let loose,” he says, “for a season. Blessed are they that hide themselves under the shadow of the Almighty, and under the wings of Christ Jesus, who is given for a Redeemer, a Saviour, and a Preserver of men, that the wicked one touch them not.

“This is the day of the Lamb's war indeed, and a day of battle, though his weapons are not carnal but spiritual. And there is none that goes to war, and that has a purpose to hold out, and is resolved to continue with him in suffering, but will shake off those things that encumber, lest he should not obtain the victory, promise, or crown, which all that endure hardship to the end, shall receive. Oh, dear friends! look above all visible things, and stand out of them all, and loose from them, that the enemy do not ensnare you.”

Then reminding them of many examples from Scripture, as of Abraham, Daniel, Shadrach, etc. who held not their lives dear for the testimony of Jesus, he comes nearer home, and asks, respecting their own community, “Have not many died in prison with hard usage? Have not some been hanged, and died a shameful death,[26] and finished their course with joy and peace? Have not many endured great, hard, and long imprisonments for years, and are they yet weary? No, have not many suffered great spoil of their goods, and have they not a reward seven-fold into their bosom?

“Oh! let the consideration of these things dwell upon your hearts, and provoke you unto suffering with joyfulness; that, in the midst of all tribulation, as it abounds, you may feel, according to the promise of God, your joy much more abound, to carry you above it. Indeed, now is the time come, that he that will manifest himself to be on the Lord's side, must suffer; and he that will not, but turns back into the broad way, and runs with the herd of swine into the sea of common pollution, must perish there; and indeed there is no place for halting: if God be God, follow him; if Baal be he, go after him. And therefore, let none draw you aside from that which you are persuaded of in your conscience, by the Spirit of the Lord; neither join with that [which] you know he disallows; and in obedience, you will have peace and joy. Look not at them which draw back, for they go to perdition; but rather after them that continue faithful, that shall receive honour, glory, immortality, and everlasting life.”

After a few more words of exhortation, he thus affectionately concludes:—“The God of heaven and earth establish all your hearts, that you may glorify him in your generation, and be a sweet smell unto him in bonds or liberty, in life or death, is the prayer of him who has besought the Lord, and is determined so to do on all your behalf, till the Lord by his power, tread Satan under your feet, that you may triumph over all, rejoicing and praising God and the Lamb, that lives forever and forevermore. Amen! “Your dear brother in the patience and sufferings of Christ, who abounds in perfect love to all the faithful flock of Christ everywhere.

“F. H.

“From Appleby jail, the place of my rest, where my days and hours are pleasant unto me; the 4th of the 5th month, 1664.”

I should do injustice to any sketch however slight, of this good man's character, if, in noticing his epistles, I were to omit making mention of that to his daughter,[27] which he calls “the unchangeable testament, and will, and counsel of Francis Howgill, left to his daughter, Abigail Howgill,” and which, with solemn fervour, he enjoins her to observe, saying, it is the chief thing he has to bestow upon her.

“Seek the kingdom of God,” he says, “and the righteousness thereof; it is not far from you, it is within you; it consists of life and power, and it stands in righteousness, truth, equity, justice, mercy, long-suffering, patience, love, light, and holiness. This is the being and centre thereof; therefore seek not lo here! or lo there! without you, in this or that outward observation, for many seek there and never find it; but seek, and you shall find; wait, and you shall receive.

“If you enquire in what must I seek, and what must I wait in, and how must I seek? I inform you, you must silence all your own thoughts, and you must turn your mind to that which is pure, holy, and good within yourself,” etc.

He much urges and insists upon this, as indeed being the basis of his own faith. “Take heed unto that, [i.e. the holy life, or light within,] and it will show the evil motions and thoughts, and as you love it, it will subdue them, and preserve you for the time to come, out of evil; for though you be born into the world a reasonable creature, yet, you must be born again, and be made a new creature, or else you can not enter into God's kingdom.”

He therefore proceeds to set before her the necessity of understanding how this new and divine birth is to be produced. And here in passing, I would venture to suggest, as worthy of the reader's deep consideration, the views which this wise and pious parent presents to his child, on this all-important subject.

“You must know the seed of the kingdom in yourself,” he says; “of which you must be born and formed again, into God's image. I have told you that God has sown it in you;—a grain of it, a portion of it, a measure of light and truth, of righteousness and holiness. Keep in your mind to that, and love it, and you will feel the Heavenly Father working in you, and creating you to life, through Jesus Christ, who has enlightened you, and you will feel the power of the Lord strengthening you in your little, [faith and obedience,] and making you to grow in the immortal seed of his kingdom, and to out-grow and overgrow all evil; so that you will daily die to that [evil] and have no pleasure in it; but in the Lord, and in his goodness and virtue shed abroad in your heart, which you will taste and feel within, and have joy and comfort therein.”

Again reverting to the same subject, “God is a Spirit,” he says, “a pure spirit of life, light, and power. He it is that searches the heart, and shows you when you do evil, or think evil, or speak evil; and shows unto men and women their thoughts. That which shows the evil is good, and that which shows a lie is truth. This is within, take heed to it. This is called God's Spirit in the Scriptures; believe in it, love it, and it will quicken your heart to good, and it will subject [or subjugate] the evil. Here is your teacher near you; love it. If you act contrary to it, it will condemn you, etc. This Spirit never errs; but leads out of all error into truth.”

Such was the religion of Francis Howgill! a religion which enabled him and thousands more, to stand their ground in a day of no ordinary proving. Yet, strange as it is, beyond all comprehension, this religion, breathing nothing but purity and peace—this religion, which has been the comforter and counsellor of saints and martyrs in all ages, is the religion which is generally the most decried, as unsafe, unscriptural, and unholy, and which, in its manifestation amongst the primitive Friends, drew down upon them a spirit of tenfold hatred and persecution. Would we know why? The answer is at hand; in the heart, and in the conscience. It was too true—too real a religion; it went to the root—it did its work there. It held for nothing the lopping off the branches and the leaves, and the making clean the outside of the cup and platter. It recognized no lip-professions, no doctrines of free grace which sanctioned the belief that the most holy God could account them to be righteous who were yet under the power of sin. But let us, as a last extract, hear what Francis Howgill, (in some sense, we must remember, a martyr for the truth,) says, in another portion of his works, respecting the free grace of God.

“The grace of God is his free gift: it is the appearance of Christ. It is that through which God makes known his will, and by which he teaches us. He reveals his saving health through it to those who are taught by it; and those who are taught by it are built up in the truth through it, and become a habitation for God. No man can do anything to purchase it; none need say, where can I get it; or how may I know its teachings? It is near all, it is in all, it has appeared to all; and it shows ungodliness in the heart of man by its brightness; yes, it shows all men the motions to sin; it draws the heart of men from them; it never joins to sin; nothing can alter its purity or property, and though some who have turned to it, have again turned from it, and may turn in themselves to licentiousness, yet it still keeps its purity, and reproves their licentiousness.”

“Many,” he goes on to say, “have been talkers of it, in this professing age, who have neither known of what they spoke, nor have informed the minds of men where it was to be waited for, nor how it might be known, nor how, nor what the operation of it was; but have said in their own imaginations, 'we are justified by his free grace from all sin, past, present, and to come;' and in this conceit, thousands have been led into the pit of darkness, imagining that they were justified by the free grace of Christ, while they were out of the fear of God which it would have taught them,” etc. “All you,” he says, “that have been preaching free grace in words, and now, when God has given those that have waited upon him, an understanding to declare the thing itself that you have spoken of, and which you now cry is not a sufficient teacher—let me ask you a question; Is that which teaches to deny ungodliness, not a sufficient teacher? If it be not, why did the apostles commend the believers to the word of his grace, which was able to save their souls? (Acts, xx. 32; James, i. 21.) Is not that which is able to save the soul, a sufficient Teacher?”

“Seeing, then, that God's free grace, which is his pure appearance, has thus manifested itself; and that God through it, shows sin, and leads from it; and that God has so loved the world, that he sent his Son into the world, who was, and is the light of the world, and has shed abroad his grace and made it appear to all; and all that wait upon it, come to be taught by it, and feel its assurance;—therefore, all are without excuse. Wait therefore in that which has appeared in you; for that which shows the lust, and thoughts, and motions to sin, is God's gift, God's grace, and is sufficient; and though all men in the world should say it is not, yet, this would not make your faith void, nor mine, who have received it; because we have the witness of our faith in ourselves; which gives pure and perfect feeling of the operation of the Spirit of the Lord; which saves all them that believe in it, out of sin, and gives them dominion over it.”[28]

If this reasoning should still seem insufficient, I would ask the doubting reader to consider these words, with which we will conclude the subject: “The grace of God, that brings salvation, has appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world.” (Titus, ii. 11, 12.)

The meek resignation and Christian patience with which Francis Howgill endured his imprisonment, procured him the love and esteem of the jailer and his family, and also of many others in the town of Appleby; and such was the confidence reposed in him, that many persons resorted to him for counsel in their difficulties, and referred their differences to his arbitration.

He was declining in health about the year 1668; and towards the close of it was taken ill; and though his sickness increased, and at length his dissolution drew nigh, his faculties were preserved clear, and he was often engaged in fervent supplication. About two days before his departure, his beloved wife and several friends being present, he observed to them that he felt but little on his mind to communicate. “As to the matter of words,” said he, “you must not expect much more from me; neither is there any great need of it; as to speak of matters of faith to you, who are satisfied—only that you remember my dear love to all friends who inquire of me; for I ever loved friends well, or any in whom the truth appeared.”

More he said to the same effect; adding, “as for me, I am not at all afraid of death.” Indeed, he had often been heard to say, during his sickness, that he was content to die—that he was ready;— and that he praised God for the sweet enjoyments and refreshments he had received on that, his prison-house bed, whereon he lay; freely forgiving all who had any part in his restraint.

Several persons of note, as the Mayor of Appleby, and others dwelling in the town, went to visit him; some of whom praying that God might speak peace to his soul, he replied, “he has done it.” A few hours before his departure, some friends who lived at a distance coming to visit him; he inquired of the welfare of all of them; praying fervently, with many heavenly expressions, that the Lord, by his mighty power, might preserve them out of all such things as would pollute or defile them. Something he was heard to say shortly afterwards; but his weakness being extreme, but little could be gathered, except a few words, which seemed prophetic of a time when persecution would cease. A little while after, regaining some strength, he said, “I have sought the way of the Lord from a child, and lived innocently as among men; and if any inquire concerning my latter end, let them know that I die in the faith which I lived in, and suffered for.”

After a few words of prayer to God, he spoke no more; but entered into his blissful and everlasting rest, in the fiftieth year of his age, having been a prisoner for the testimony of Jesus, nearly five years.

Chapter VI.

After being liberated from Carlisle prison, George Fox continued to travel and preach, from place to place, meeting with his usual vicissitudes, till he came into Leicestershire, his native county; where he visited his friends, and had various conferences with his old antagonists, “the priests.”

It happened, in the course of his travels, in this year, (1654,) that he came to Whetstone, in Leicestershire; where, just as he and his friends were gathering together for a meeting, he was visited by some soldiers, and the marshal of Colonel Hacker's regiment, who took him, and another friend, named Alexander Parker, into custody, and at night brought him before the colonel, who was a leading person in the parliamentary army, and one of those who had signed the warrant for the late king's execution.

The account of his treatment from Colonel Hacker is thus related in his Journal.

“At night,” he says, “they had me before Colonel Hacker, his major, and captains, and a great company of them; and a great deal of discourse we had, about the priests, and about meetings; for at this time, there was a noise of a plot against Oliver Cromwell. Much reasoning I had with them, about the light of Christ which enlightens every man that comes into the world.

“Colonel Hacker asked whether it was not this light of Christ that made Judas betray his master, and afterwards led him to hang himself?

“I told him no; that was the spirit of darkness which hated Christ and his light.

“Then Colonel Hacker said, I might go home, and keep at home, and not go abroad to meetings.

“I told him I was an innocent man, free from plots, and denied all such work.

“His son Needham said, 'Father, this man has reigned too long, it is time to have him cut off.'

“I asked him for what? What had I done, or whom had I wronged, from a child? For I was bred and born in that country, and who could accuse me of any evil from a child?

“Colonel Hacker asked me again, if I would go home, and stay at home?

“I told him, if I should promise him so, it would manifest that I was guilty of something, to make my home a prison, and if I went to meetings, they would say I broke their order. Therefore, I told them, I should go to meetings, as the Lord should order me, and could not submit to their requirings; but I said we were a peaceable people.

“'Well then,' said Colonel Hacker, 'I will send you to-morrow morning by six o'clock to my Lord Protector, by Captain Drury, one of his lifeguard.'

“That night I was kept prisoner at the Marshalsea, and the next morning, by the sixth hour, I was delivered to Captain Drury.

“I desired he would let me speak to Colonel Hacker before I went, and he had me to his bedside.

“Colonel Hacker set upon me presently again to go home, and keep no more meetings.

“I told him I could not submit to that; but must have my liberty to serve God, and to go to meetings.

“'Then,' said he, 'you must go before the Protector.'

“Whereupon I kneeled by his bed-side, and besought the Lord to forgive him; for he was as Pilate, though he would wash his hands; and when the day of his misery and trial should come upon him, I bid him then remember what I had said to him.”

The prophetic spirit which spoke in this remonstrance, is remarkable, inasmuch, as upon the restoration of the king, this Colonel Hacker was one of those impeached for high-treason, in the affair of the late king's trial and execution; and in consequence thereof, condemned and executed. To this George Fox thus alludes: “Afterwards, when Colonel Hacker was imprisoned in London, a day or two before his execution, he was put in mind of what he had done against the innocent; and he remembered it, and confessed to Margaret Fell, saying, he knew well whom she meant, and he had trouble upon him for it.”

Continuing his relation, “I was carried up prisoner,” he says, “by Captain Drury, from Leicester; and when we came to Harborough, he asked me if I would go home, and stay a fortnight. I should have my liberty, he said, if I would not go to, nor keep meetings.

“I told him I could not promise any such thing. Several times upon the road did he ask, and try me after the same manner; and still I gave him the same answers. So he brought me to London, and lodged me at the Mermaid, over against the Mews, at Charing-cross.”

It is possible, that, independently of any compassion which Captain Drury might feel for his prisoner, he had also a latent motive of another kind for wishing to part with him as speedily as he could; for George was apt to take his own way when he considered it a right one; and unless the captain sympathized with his views, he would scarcely have much enjoyed his journey, seeing that, as usual, his companion pursued his course of preaching and exhorting, as they moved along.

“As we travelled,” he says, “I was moved of the Lord to warn people at the inns and places where I came, of the day of the Lord that was coming upon them.”

When he was lodged at the Mermaid, Captain Drury left him to go and give the Protector an account of him.

“When he came to me again,” he says, “he told me the Protector required that I should promise not to take up a carnal sword or weapon against him, or the government, as it then was; and that I should write it in what words I saw good, and set my hand to it. I said little in reply to Captain Drury; but the next morning I was moved of the Lord to write a paper to “The Protector, by the name of Oliver Cromwell;” wherein I did, in the presence of the Lord God, declare, that I did deny the wearing or drawing of a carnal sword, or any other outward weapon against him, or any man. And that I was sent of God to stand a witness against all violence, and against the works of darkness; and to turn people from darkness to light; to bring them from the occasion of war and fighting, to the peaceable gospel; and from being evil-doers, which the magistrates' sword should be a terror to. When I had written what the Lord had given me to write, I set my name to it, and gave it to Captain Drury to hand to Oliver Cromwell; which he did.

“After some time, Captain Drury brought me before the Protector himself, at Whitehall. It was in a morning before he was dressed; and one Harvey, who had come a little among Friends, but was disobedient, waited on him. When I came in, I was moved to say, 'Peace be in this house!' and I exhorted him to keep in the fear of God, that he might receive wisdom from him; that by it he might be ordered; and with it might order all things under his hand, unto God's glory.

“I spoke much to him of truth; and a great deal of discourse I had with him about religion, wherein he carried himself very moderately. But he said, we quarrelled with the priests, whom he called, 'ministers.' I told him I did not quarrel with them, they quarrelled with me and my friends. 'But,' said I, 'if we acknowledge the prophets, Christ, and the apostles, we cannot hold up such teachers, prophets, and shepherds, as the prophets, Christ, and the apostles declared against; but we must declare against them, by the same power and spirit.'

“Then I showed him that the prophets, Christ, and the apostles declared freely, and declared against them that did not declare freely; such as preached for filthy profit, divined for money, and preached for hire, and were covetous and greedy, like the dumb dogs that could never have enough. And that they who have the same spirit that Christ and the prophets, and the apostles had, could not but declare against all such now, as they did then.

“As I spoke, he several times said it was very good, and it was truth. I told him that all Christendom, (so called,) had the Scriptures; but they lacked the power and spirit that those had, who gave forth the Scriptures; and that was the reason they were not in fellowship with the Son, nor with the Father, nor with the Scriptures, nor one with another.

“Many more words I had with him; but people coming in, I drew a little back. As I was turning, he caught me by the hand, and with tears in his eyes, said, 'Come again to my house; for if you and I were but an hour of a day together, we should be nearer one to the other;' adding, that he wished me no more ill, than he did to his own soul. I told him if he did, he wronged his own soul; and admonished him to hearken to God's voice, that he might stand in his counsel, and obey it; and if he did so, that would keep him from hardness of heart; but if he did not hear God's voice, his heart would be hardened.

“He said it was true.”

“Then I went out; and when Captain Drury came out after me, he told me his Lord Protector said, I was at liberty, and might go where I would.

“Then I was brought into a great hall, where the Protector's gentlemen were to dine. I asked them, what they brought me there for? They said it was by the Protector's order, that I might dine with them.

“I bid them let the Protector know, I would not eat of his bread, nor drink of his drink.”

This may, perhaps, at first sight, seem a somewhat rude reply; but when the principles and then existing circumstances of George Fox are duly considered, it will be seen that it resulted from feelings of admirable integrity, and which, when Cromwell heard of, it occasioned him to say, “Now I see there is a people risen, that I cannot win either with gifts, honours, offices, or places; but all other sects or people I can.” In reply to which, “it was told him,” says George, “that we had forsook our own, and were not like to look for such things from him.”

Such was the result of the interview with Cromwell; and finding himself in a wide field for exertion in the metropolis, and at liberty to pursue his inclinations, we may be assured that George was not idle. He had numerous meetings; at which, he says, “so great were the throngs of people, that I could hardly get to and from the meetings, for the crowds; and the truth spread exceedingly.”

A curious specimen of the keen sagacity, and native wit, which, in the midst of more exalted traits, existed in his character, he gave forth at this time, in a paper entitled: “To such as follow the world's fashions.”

“What a world is this!” he begins, by exclaiming; “How does the devil garnish himself! how obedient are people to do his mind and will! They are altogether carried away with fooleries and vanities, both men and women;” upon which indisputable fact dilating awhile, “young and old, one puffs up another,” he goes on to say: “They must be in the fashion of the world, else they are not in esteem; no, they shall not be respected, if they have not gold or silver upon their backs, or, if the hair be not powdered. But if one have store of ribbons hanging about his waist, at his knees, and in his hat, of various colours, red, white, black, or yellow, and his hair powdered,—then he is a brave man—then he is accepted—then he is no Quaker.”

“Likewise the women having their gold, their patches on their faces, noses, cheeks, forehead; their rings on their fingers, etc.; their cuffs double under and above, like a butcher with his white sleeves;—their ribbons tied about their hands, and three or four gold laces about their clothes— 'this is no Quaker,' say they.”

After much more to the same purpose, “Are these your fine Christians?” he says. “Yes, say they, they are Christians. But say the serious people, they are out of Christ's life; out of the apostle's command; and out of the saints' ornament. To see such as are in the fashions of the world before-mentioned, a company of them playing at bowls, or at tables, or at shovel-board; or each taking his horse with bunches of ribbons on his head, as the rider has on his own, perhaps, a ring in his ear too, and so go to horse racing to spoil the creatures! Oh, these are gentlemen indeed!—these are bred-up gentlemen! these are brave fellows!—they must take their recreation; for pleasures are lawful,” etc.

“These be they,” he concludes, “that live in pleasures upon earth!—these be they who are dead while they live; who glory not in the Lord but in the flesh. These be they who are out of the life that the Scriptures were given forth from; who live in the fashions and vanities of the world, out of truth's adorning, in the devil's adorning, (who is out of the truth;) not in the adorning of the Lord, which is a meek and quiet spirit, and which is with the Lord of great price,” etc.

Many other papers to different persons, on different occasions, he also gave forth during his stay, which was pretty long, in and about London; but nothing of particular interest occurred in his history, till the following year; when, being in Cornwall, with some of his friends, he was again made a prisoner, and taken to Launceston jail.

Here his treatment, and that of his companions, was exceedingly hard and oppressive; and such as to give a circumstantial account of, would only be revolting to the feelings of the reader. He met with the usual fare of his brethren at the time of the court sessions; which commonly was, that after being several weeks in prison, they were had up for trial; and in consequence of adhering to their principles, either in respect to not taking the required oath, or on some other ground, they were remanded back to captivity, there to remain till the court sessions came round again. Such was the case at present; Fox and his friends, having been nine weeks in prison, and being brought to trial at the court sessions, were fined twenty marks for not putting off their hats; and not feeling it right to pay the money, were sent back to prison to remain till payment was made.

At length, after several weeks more, they were offered their liberty, provided they would pay the prison-fees; but to recognise their unjust imprisonment as demanding anything of them but rebuke, being far from the truth and purity of their principles, they declined accepting of freedom upon these terms; and after awhile, their steadfastness continuing, they were released without any demand.

In the course of his travels out of Cornwall, George Fox records in his Journal, that he came to Exeter, “where,” he says “many friends were in prison, and amongst the rest, James Nayler.”

The circumstances connected with this person, are of so extraordinary a kind, as to claim a portion of our more particular attention. He was a native of the north of England, being born at Ardesley, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire. He had served as quarter-master in the parliamentary army under General Lambert, and by religious profession was an Independent. He was one of the earliest of those who received the truth as declared by George Fox; and being a man, although of limited education, yet of very comprehensive intellect, he brought into the service of the society, a great ability for being useful; more especially, as in the first period of his uniting with Friends, he exhibited an extraordinary gift of holy wisdom and humility.

He came to London about the same time as Francis Howgill and Edward Burrough; and preaching there with eminent power, it happened, as it too often does in such cases, that many of his admirers began to draw comparisons between him and his brethren in the ministry, which necessarily paved the way to painful differences. In this divided state, the females amongst his hearers, tended greatly, by their ungoverned and intemperate feelings, to widen the breach; and being reproved for their misconduct by Howgill and Burrough, they endeavoured, though at first unsuccessfully, to enlist Nayler on their side, by incensing him with complaints against these persons. But James Nayler, having too deep an understanding of the solidity of his brethren's judgment, to decide against them, Martha Simmons (which was the name of one of these persons) fell into a kind of paroxysm, and exclaimed with a shrill, piercing voice, “I looked for judgment, but behold a cry”—accompanying her words with such bitter lamentations, that poor James, too easily yielding to feelings of compassion, instead of adopting, as his brethren had, those of rebuke, became entangled in the snare which the adversary of his soul was spreading around him.

From one step to another in the ladder of spiritual pride, he at length arrived at such a height. as to hear, not only without reproof, but even with a secret feeling of complacency, the wildest adulation of this woman, and of the other enthusiastic females who surrounded him. Amongst these, was one Hannah Stranger, “whom,” says Sewel, “I knew very well; and have reason to believe a woman of high imaginations.” This person, it seems, addressed to him at this time, several very wild and preposterous epistles, calling him, “the everlasting Son of Righteousness— the Prince of Peace—the fairest of ten thousand,” etc.; and while at this prison of Exeter, where George Fox found him, she, together with some others, in their fanatic folly, would kneel before him, and kiss his feet.

George Fox alludes to his meeting with James, by saying, “we came through the countries to Exeter, where many friends were in prison, and amongst the rest, James Nayler; for a little before the time we were set at liberty, James ran out into imaginations, and a company with him, and they raised up a great darkness in the nation.

“And he came to Bristol, and made a disturbance there; and from there he was coming to Launceston to see me; but was stopped by the way, and imprisoned at Exeter.

“That night,” he proceeds, “that we came to Exeter, I spoke with James Nayler; for I saw he was out, and wrong, and so was his company. The next day, being the first-day of the week, we went to the prison to visit the prisoners, and had a meeting with them in the prison; but James Nayler and some of them could not stay the meeting.

“The next day I spoke to James Nayler again, and he slighted what I said, and was dark, and much out;” and although it seems that James testified affectionate feelings towards his good friend, yet the unflinching integrity of George Fox disdained to receive them while mixed with so much wilful error. He concludes by saying, “So, after I had been warring with the world, there was now a wicked spirit risen up amongst friends to war against;” but he adds, “I admonished him and his company; and when he was come to London, his resisting the power of God in me, and the truth that was declared to him by me, became one of his greatest burdens.”

After he was released from Exeter prison, James Nayler rode into Bristol, accompanied by his wild disciples; one of whom, named Thomas Woodcock, went bareheaded before him, while one of the women led his horse; Martha Simmons, Hannah Stranger, and others, spreading their scarfs and handkerchiefs before him, and the whole of the company shouting hosanna! etc. That such proceedings should attract the notice and judgment of the magistrates, was as much to be desired as expected. They had scarcely passed the suburbs of the city, before they were all apprehended, and put into prison; and not long after, James Nayler was taken to London, to be examined by the parliament. We may well suppose, that, in this assembly, composed, as to many of its members, of rigid sectarians, stiff adherents to notions, and consequently bitter enemies to the spirit of religion, and amongst whom, the pure and child-like simplicity of friends' principles was recoiled from, because of the secret reproof it inflicted upon their complicated, doctrinal head-knowledge; a knowledge which, while it helped to fill their mouths with the letter,— too often left their hearts void of the life of the Scriptures;—we may well suppose, I say, the exulting joy with which they found within their clutches, this straying sheep from a fold so hated.

It seemed as though they could never have enough of the matter, although the accusations that were brought against him, respecting the strange conduct of his followers in Exeter prison, and his mode of riding into Bristol, were never denied by him or them, when they were examined before the committee of parliament. The report of this examination was made on the 5th of December, 1656.

On the 16th, according to Sewel's statement, this business was brought before the house for the twelfth time, after having been discussed, forenoon and afternoon in the interim, many members of the parliament not approving the severity proposed to be used against him.

On the 17th, after a long debate, they came to the following resolution: “That James Nayler be set on the pillory, with his head in the pillory, in the palace-yard, Westminster, during the space of two hours, on Thursday next; and be whipped by the hangman through the streets, from Westminster to the Old Exchange, London; and there likewise be set on the pillory, with his head in the pillory, for the space of two hours, between the hours of eleven and one, on Saturday next; in each place wearing a paper containing an inscription of his crimes; and that at the Old Exchange, his tongue be bored through with a hot iron, and that he be there also stigmatized on the forehead with the letter B.; and that he be afterwards sent to Bristol, and be conveyed into, and through the said city on horseback, with his face backward; and there also publicly whipped, the next market-day after he comes there; and that from there, he be committed to prison in Bridewell, London; and there restrained from the society of all people; and there to labour hard, till he shall be released by parliament; and during that time, be debarred the use of pen, ink, and paper, and shall have no relief but what he earns by his daily labours.”

After reading this sentence, we need not wonder that they were some time before they could agree in deciding to give it forth. There seemed also a difficulty about properly calling him a blasphemer; for whatever of blasphemy had been committed, it did not appear that his tongue had ever given utterance to it. Upon the whole, it was considered by the public, to be too severe a judgment upon a man whose sin seemed more the result of a clouded understanding, than a depraved heart; and accordingly several persons of different persuasions in religion, offered petitions to the parliament on his behalf; which petitions it was resolved not to read, till the sentence was pronounced against him. After judgment was concluded, and the Speaker authorized to issue warrants for the execution of it, a doubt arose whether any warrant would be valid without it were ratified by the Protector, who was unwilling to have anything to do with it. However, this difficulty did not operate to the nullifying of the sentence, which Nayler was brought to the bar to hear.

When the Speaker (Sir Thomas Widdrington) was about to pronounce it, Nayler said, “he did not know his offence.”

To which the Speaker replied, “he should know his offence by his punishment.” After it was pronounced, James Nayler received it with great calmness, yet as if he wished to have said something. But being refused permission, he was only heard to say with a composed manner, “I pray God he may not lay it to your charge.”

On the 18th of December he suffered part of the sentence; for after he had remained two full hours in the pillory, he was stripped, and whipped from Palace-yard to the Old Exchange; receiving three hundred and ten stripes, and which would have been one more, but the executioner's foot slipping, the intended stroke fell upon himself, and hurt him much. The patience and quietness with which Nayler sustained this treatment astonished many of the spectators; especially when they beheld the pitiable condition of his poor lacerated body; in which, according to a certificate made by the person who afterwards washed and dressed his wounds, and which certificate was presented to the parliament and afterwards printed, “there was not the space of a man's nail free from stripes and blood, from his shoulders near to his waist, his right arm sorely striped: his hands so much hurt with cords that they bled, and were swelled: the blood and wounds of his back, did very little appear at first sight, by reason of the abundance of dirt that covered them,” etc.

In fact the severity of his sentence was such, that many persons considered it would have been a more compassionate one, had it been immediate death; “and it seemed,” says Sewel, “that indeed there was a party, who not being able to prevail so far in parliament as to have him sentenced to death; yet strove to the utmost of their power to make him sink under the weight of his punishment.”

On the 20th of December, (two days subsequent to the first infliction,) he was to have undergone the further punishment of being branded on the forehead, and having his tongue bored through; but by reason of the cruel flagellation he had received, he was found to be in so weak a state, that many persons of note, moved with compassion, presented petitions to parliament on his behalf; in consequence of which, his further punishment was respited for one week.

During this interval, several persons presented another petition, in which the concession of the parliament is thus noticed, and their further favour requested.

“Your moderation and clemency, in respiting the punishment of James Nayler, in consideration of his illness of body, has refreshed the hearts of many thousands in these cities, altogether unconcerned in his practice: wherefore we most humbly beg your pardon, that are constrained to appear before you in such a suit, (not daring to do otherwise,) that you would remit the remaining part of your sentence against the said James Nayler, leaving him to the Lord, and to such gospel remedies as he has sanctified; and we are persuaded you will find such a course of love and forbearance, more effectual to reclaim, and will leave a zeal of your love and tenderness upon our spirits.

“And we shall pray,” etc.

This petition was presented at the bar of the house, by about one hundred persons in behalf of the whole, and was read and debated; but not being likely to succeed, the petitioners addressed the Protector, who thereupon sent a letter to the parliament, which occasioned some discussion in the house. But notwithstanding these and other efforts to prevent it, the representations of Cromwell's favourite preachers, especially Caryl, Manton, Nye, Griffith, and Reynolds, had such weight with him, that he could not resolve to put a stop to the completion of the sentence. These men, (who were particularly hostile to the Quakers' principles,) being, as it was said, commissioned by the parliament, visited Nayler on the 24th of December, to speak with him concerning the occasion of his punishment.

Before Nayler would enter into any conference with them, he desired that some impartial person should be present as a witness to what passed. But this they refused; upon which he declined saying anything, unless what was said was written down, and a copy thereof given him to keep, or left with the jailer, with their signatures affixed.

To this having agreed, they propounded several questions to him, and took down his answers.

Upon being asked if he was sorry for the blasphemies of which he had been guilty, and whether he did recant and renounce the same? he replied, by inquiring what blasphemies? and desired they might be named. But they not being able to particularize their charge, “Would you have me recant and renounce you know not what?” said he.

They then inquired, whether he did believe there was a Jesus Christ? To which he replied, he did believe there was; and that Jesus had taken up his dwelling in his heart and spirit; and for the testimony of Jesus he now suffered.

Upon which one of them said, “but I believe in a Jesus that never was in any man's heart.” To which Nayler replied, he knew no such Christ, for the Christ he knew, filled heaven and earth, and dwelt in the hearts of believers.

They then inquired why he suffered those women to worship, and adore him? To which he replied, “Bowing to the creature I deny, [or disallow,] but if they behold the power of Christ, and bow to it, wherever it is, I have nothing with which to resist or gainsay it.”

Here it would seem that poor Nayler was still in some degree in bondage to the gross delusions which had misled him; since he could not as yet perceive that the behaviour of the fanatics who had drawn him into such error and suffering, was wrong.

“Have you thus long professed the Scriptures,” said he, “and do you now stumble at what they hold forth?” Whereupon they desired him to produce an instance from Scripture, wherein such a practice was held forth.

“What think you of the Shunamite's falling down at the feet of Elisha, and bowing before him?” said he, “as several others also, in Scripture spoken of; as that of Abigail to David, and that of Nebuchadnezzar to Daniel?”

Upon which they paused a little while, and then said, “That was but a civil act, or acknowledgment.”

“So you might interpret the act of these women also,” he replied, “if your eye were not evil, seeing the outward action is one and the same;” and then, perceiving that their intentions towards him were anything but conciliatory and kind, “How soon,” said he, “have you forgotten the works of the bishops!” alluding to the severities, which, in the recent times of episcopal dominion, had been exercised against themselves, as non-conformists; “who are now found in the same,” he continued—“seeking to ensnare the innocent.” A remark which, in all probability, was too true to be forgiven; for, on hearing it, they burnt what they had written, and with some bemoaning expressions, rose to depart. He then desired that whatever questions the parliament wished him to answer, might be brought to him in writing, with permission for him to return his replies in writing also.

If there had been any intention to favour James Nayler by sending these ministers to confer with him, the result of their visit was inimical to it; and accordingly, the execution of the remainder of his punishment was performed on the 27th of December. Sewel relates, that on the morning of that day, one Robert Rich, a London merchant, and a great favourer of Nayler's, placed himself at the door of the parliament-house, from eight in morning till about eleven; addressing to each of the members of parliament, as they passed by, such quotations from Scripture, as from what he might know of their individual circumstances, he supposed applicable to them in reference to their conduct to Nayler. To one, whom he considered as innocent of consenting to the cruelties practised against him, he said, “He that dwells in God, dwells in love; for God is love.” To another, whom he believed to be actuated by malice, “He that hates his brother is a murderer.”

Having performed this service for his friend, he went to the Exchange, the place appointed for Nayler's suffering; and placing himself on the pillory by his side, he held the poor victim by the hand, while he was burned on the forehead, and bored through the tongue; and at the conclusion of these barbarities, he actually licked the wounds, in his zeal to allay the pain.

It would seem that compassion had taken the place of fury in the public mind, respecting James Nayler; for although it is supposed that many thousand persons were assembled on this occasion, yet few were heard to revile, or seen to throw anything at him; and while he was enduring the sentence of branding on the forehead, the people, as if with one consent, stood bareheaded.

The remainder of his sentence was executed, as it related to Bristol, by his being sent there, and whipped from the middle of Thomas-street, over the bridge, up High-street, to the middle of Broadstreet; all which, (according to J. Whiting's account,) “he bore with wonderful patience, as related by an eye-witness; and then, being sent by Tower-lane, the back-way to Newgate, he was, from there, returned to London, according to his sentence.”

It may well be supposed, that so great a fall in an esteemed pillar amongst the Friends, would be cause of triumph to their numerous enemies. Such indeed was the case; and as if dissatisfied that it should not have been worse, the vilest calumnies respecting his moral character, were also set afloat against poor Nayler. But from all these he was enabled to clear himself, by irrefragable testimonies to his innocence. His transgressions had their source in spiritual pride, which the adulation of weak fanatics excited, and which, when once in dominion, the adversary of his soul knew how to use to his own purposes. Going about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour, amongst all the human race; who is there in that vast and helpless family, that this furious foe more delights to tear in pieces, than the heritage of the Lord?

But though the wanderer from the flock may fall, “he shall not be utterly cast down, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.” And it is relieving to the mind, after dwelling upon the foregoing painful history, to find that a full deliverance from his past delusions, and a penitential acknowledgment of his transgressions, was satisfactorily manifested by James Nayler.

During the time of his imprisonment, subsequent to the last part of his punishment, he obtained the use of pen and ink; and as the mists of error faded away under the reviving power of the Sun of Righteousness, he felt the healing of his Saviour's wing, and poured forth, in many touching effusions, the penitence of his soul.

In one of his papers, given forth by way of recantation of his errors, “Glory to God Almighty,” he says, “who rules in the heavens, and in whose hands are all the kingdoms of the earth: who raises up, and casts down at his will; who has ways to confound the exaltation of man, and to chastise his children, and to make man to know himself to be as grass before him; whose judgments are above the highest of men, and his pity reaches the deepest misery; and the arm of his mercy is underneath, to lift up the prisoner out of the pit, and to save such as trust in him from the great destruction, which vain man, through his folly, brings upon himself; who has delivered my soul from darkness, and made way for my freedom out of the prison-house, and ransomed me from the great captivity; who divides the sea before him, and removes the mountains out of his way, in the day when he takes upon him to deliver the oppressed out of the hands of him that is too mighty for him in the earth! Let his name be exalted forever! and let all flesh fear before him!

“And to the Lord Jesus Christ be everlasting dominion upon earth, and [be] his kingdom above all the powers of darkness! even that Christ, of whom the Scriptures declare; which was, and is, and is to come: the light of the world to all generations.”

This Saviour, he feelingly acknowledges to have been the rock of his salvation; “and his spirit,” he says, “has given quietness and patience to my soul in deep affliction, even for his name's sake— praises forever!”

“But condemned forever,” he proceeds, “be all those false worships, with which any have idolized my person in the night of my temptation, when the power of darkness was above. All their casting of their clothes in the way, their bowings and singings, and all the rest of those wild actions which did any ways tend to dishonour the Lord, all that,” he says, “I condemn.

“And all those ranting, wild spirits,” he continues, “which gathered about me in that time of darkness, and all their wild actions, and wicked words against the honour of God, and his pure spirit and people, I deny. [I deny] that bad spirit, the power, and the works thereof. And as far as I gave advantage, through lack of judgment, for that evil spirit in any to arise, I take shame to myself justly.”

He then adverts to the cause of his transgression, as lack of watchfulness and obedience; and that thus the adversary got advantage; “and being taken captive from the true light,” he says, “I was walking in the night when none can work, as a wandering bird fit for a prey. And if the Lord of all my mercies had not rescued me, I had perished; for I was as one appointed to death and destruction, and there was none could deliver me. And this I confess, that God may be justified in his judgment, and magnified in his mercies without end; who did not forsake his captive in the night, even when his Spirit was daily provoked and grieved, but has brought me forth to give glory to his name forever!”

He then proceeds to clear himself from the charges of immoral conduct, which had been unjustly added to his other delinquencies; declaring his innocence, with simple, and almost self-evident integrity; and after exhorting the reader not to rely upon gifts, or wisdom, or knowledge, and giving other advice, he thus concludes:—

“This I have learned in the deeps, and in secret, when I was alone, and now declare openly, in the day of your mercy, O, Lord! Glory to the Highest forevermore, who has thus far set me free to praise his righteousness and his mercy! And to the eternal, invisible, pure God, over all, be fear, obedience, and glory, forevermore!— Amen!

“James Nayler.”

In another paper, wherein he relates more circumstantially, how he was betrayed into these glaring errors, after having experienced such unusual favour, in being kept wise and humble in the exercise of his ministerial gift, he states it as remarkable, that, especially courageous as he had ever found himself in meeting and passing through, the opposition of the foes of truth, yet in coming to London, he entered it with extraordinary fear, foreseeing in spirit that something of deep exercise was to befal him there.

He uses a remarkable expression in alluding to some of his delusions, attributing it, in a great measure, to his “not minding to stand single and low,” etc. “If your eye be single, your whole body shall be full of light;” and “Be clothed with humility,” are two sacred aphorisms, which none have more need to remember continually, and abide in the sense of, than those who are distinguished by peculiar advantages, whether of nature or grace.

His address to his brethren bespeaks the real repentance of his heart, as much, or more, than any other of the numerous testimonies given forth during his imprisonment. It is as follows:—

“Dear Brethren, My heart is broken this day for the offence that I have occasioned to God's truth and people; and especially to you, who in dear love followed me; seeking me in faithfulness to God, which I rejected, being bound wherein I could not come forth, till God's hand brought me; to whose love I now confess. And I beseech you, forgive wherein I evilly requited your love in that day. God knows my sorrow for it!” etc.

He then entreats to see them. “Unless the Lord keep you from me,” he says, “I beseech you let nothing else hinder your coming to me, that I might have your help in the Lord: in the mercies of Christ Jesus, this I beg of you, as if it was your own case:—let me not be forgotten of you.”

“And I entreat you speak to Henry Clarke, or whoever else I have most offended; and by the power of God, and in the spirit of Christ Jesus, I am willing to confess the offence; that God's love may arise in all hearts as before, if it be his will, who only can remove what stands in the way, and nothing thereof do I intend to cover, God is witness!”

In another paper addressed to the weak and young in the faith, to whom his grievous fall was likely to be most prejudicial, he thus touchingly expresses himself:—

“And concerning you, the tender plants of my Father, who have suffered through me, or with me, in what the Lord has suffered to be done with me, in this time of great trial and temptation:—the Almighty God of love, who has numbered every sigh, and put every tear in his bottle, reward it a thousand fold into your bosoms, in the day of your need, and when you come to be tempted!”

At the close of this address, he said, “I beseech you to receive it (all that can), even as you would be received of the Lord: and for the rest, the Lord give me patience to suffer, till he make up the breach!”

He also addressed a letter to the parliament during his imprisonment, wherein he declared a true and sound faith in the Saviour of the world; renouncing with distinct and strong condemnation, the idolatry which his fanatical admirers had been guilty of.

Nor can I refrain from adding, though in a different strain, and as a specimen of the energy of his mind, a sentence or two from a reply which he addressed to the author of a malicious pamphlet, wherein his failures and sins were mixed up with other matters, expository of what was considered as the delusions of the Quakers; and not only his actual delinquencies, but all that had unjustly been alleged against him on the score of immorality, was on this occasion revived, to stigmatize the society.

“O man, or men,” he says, “whoever you be, whose work it is, to gather the failings of God's people in the time of temptation, or night of their trial, and aggravate them, and add thereto the wickedness and mischievous lies of your own hearts, as you have done in your book; you do but show yourselves to be enemies to God and to his children; and it is our sorrow that any of us should give such spirits occasion to blaspheme; and it has been trouble of soul to all the people of God, that have ever loved righteousness, when they have thus occasioned the joy of the wicked, or fed the man that watches for iniquity, and feeds on mischief. Yet know this, you that are of that brood; God will not cast off his people; though he be sometimes provoked to correct them, even before their adversaries, (which is a sign to them,) yet is his anger but for a moment, and his favour shall return as streams of life.

“Then shall the food be taken out of the mouth of the viper, and the prey from between the teeth of the devourers; and God will feed them with their own vomit, and the poison that has long lain under their tongues, shall be bitter in their own bowels.

“But that which was, and is the sorrow of my heart,” he says, in allusion to the calumnies which were forged against him in the day of his distress, “is the advantage the enemy then took against the name of Christ, his truth, and his despised people,” etc.

“To God alone I look,” he adds, in conclusion, “in his time to be cleared from all offences in his sight, who only knows my heart in this thing; in whose presence I can say, that nothing is more odious and burdensome to my soul, than that any of the glory or worship which belongs to God or to Christ, should be given to flesh and blood in myself or others. And how it was with me in that day, many talk of, but few know; so the judgment of such I bear; desiring that none in judging me, might have condemned themselves in God's sight, whose counsels are a great deep, and the end of his work past finding out, till he himself reveal them. But in the end he will be justified of all, and in all he does, that all flesh may be silent before him.”

True it is, as he remarks, that many can talk of the exercises of a tempted soul, and comment upon, and censure its delinquencies; but few—how few are there who can sympathize, by a deep, experimental knowledge of their own weakness, and their own bitter repentance, in the failures of an erring brother!

It must therefore be the part of true wisdom, to scan but cautiously, the cause, or the consequences of such a fall as James Nayler's. That it was great and grievous is manifest; and so likewise was his visible chastisement. But of the nature or extent of his inward chastenings, and of the anguish of that wounded spirit, which even an inspired prophet says, “who can bear?” we know nothing. This may we be well assured of; that even in the midst of all the disorder of nature, in others, or in ourselves, the great Governor of the universe is working out his secret results, and reducing all things to the most perfect harmony. Hence, every sort of sin brings to the sinner, in the natural course of cause and effect, its necessary consequence.—“If you walk contrary to me,” says the Lord, “I will walk contrary to you.” Nevertheless, as a skilful musician, after running through divisions, sub-divisions, and apparently endless modulations, at last gathers up all, and concludes in the key-note; so the Divine Artist winds up his beautiful variety in the everlasting unity of making “all things work together for good to those that love Him.”

The rest of James Nayler's life, which was not of long duration after his fall and recovery therefrom, was spent in great self-denial, and watchfulness over himself. It is stated, respecting his decease, that departing from London about the latter end of the year 1660, he set forward towards the north, for the purpose of visiting his wife and children at Wakefield in Yorkshire. He was seen by a friend at Hertford, sitting by the way-side in a very solemn and retired frame of spirit. This person invited him to his house, but he declined it, signifying a wish to proceed into Huntingdonshire. In passing on foot through the town of Huntingdon, he was observed by another friend to be in a particularly solid frame of mind, like one who felt himself to be a stranger in the earth, and who was seeking a better country and inheritance.

Some obscurity hangs upon the circumstances which shortly after befel him; for going some miles beyond Huntingdon, he was found in a field towards evening, by a countryman, very ill; having (as it was said) been robbed and left bound. Whether he received any personal injury, is not known; but he was taken to a friend's house at Holm, not far from King's Rippon, where one Dr. Parnell, a physician, came to visit him. On being asked if any friends from London should be sent for to visit him, he declined it, but expressed his love and interest in them; and noticing the attention of his friends, he said, “You have refreshed my body—the Lord refresh your souls!”

About two hours before his death, he spoke in the presence of several witnesses, these remarkable words:—

“There is a spirit which I feel, that delights to do no evil, nor to revenge any wrong; but delights to endure all things, in hope to enjoy its own in the end. Its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention, and to weary out all exaltation and cruelty, or whatever is of a nature contrary to itself. It sees to the end of all temptations; as it bears no evil in itself, so it conceives none in thought to any other. If it be betrayed, it bears it; for its ground and spring is the mercy and forgiveness of God. Its crown is meekness; its life is everlasting love unfeigned. It takes its kingdom with entreaty, and not with contention, and keeps it by lowliness of mind. In God alone it can rejoice, though none else regard it, or can own its life. It is conceived in sorrow, and brought forth without any to pity it; nor does it murmur at grief and oppression. It never rejoices, but through sufferings; for with the world's joy it is murdered. I found it alone; being forsaken. I have fellowship therein, with those who lived in dens and desolate places in the earth; who through death obtained this resurrection, and eternal, holy life!”

Such was the end of James Nayler; who, in his forty-fourth year, “chastened, but not killed— cast down, but not destroyed”—through much tribulation, entered, we may humbly hope, into the kingdom of God.

Chapter VII.

The ministerial services of George Fox were confined to different parts of England, Scotland, and Wales, till the year 1658; when, after a remarkable meeting in Bedfordshire, at the house of John Crook, a valuable minister in the society, he returned to London. He had not been long there, when he heard that a Jesuit, who had come to England in the suite of the Spanish ambassador, had challenged all the Quakers to dispute with him, at the Earl of Newport's house. “Whereupon,” says George, “some friends let him know that we would meet him. Then he sent us word, he would meet with twelve of the wisest, learned men we had. Awhile after, he sent us word he would meet with but six; and after that, he sent us word again, he would have but three to come. We hastened what we could, lest, for all his great boast, he should put it quite off at last. When we were come to the house, I bid Nicholas Bond, and Edward Burrough go up, and enter the discourse with him; and I would walk awhile in the yard, and then come up after them.”

The purpose of sending these his companions on before, was to inquire of the Jesuit, “whether the Church of Rome as it now stood, was not degenerated from the true primitive church, in life, doctrine, power, and spirit? to which inquiry, the Jesuit returned for answer, that the Church of Rome was still in its primitive purity.” At which period of the conference, George Fox appeared; and a further question having been put to the Jesuit, whether his church had the Holy Ghost poured out upon them as the apostles had, and he answering, “No,”—“then,” said George, “if you have not the same Holy Ghost poured forth upon you, and the same power and spirit that the apostles had, you are degenerated from the power and spirit which the primitive church was in.”

“Then I asked him,” he proceeds, “what Scripture they had for setting up cloisters for nuns, and abbeys and monasteries for men, and for all their several orders; and for their praying by beads, and to images, and for making crosses, and for forbidding of meats, and marriages, and for putting people to death for religion? 'If,' said I, 'you are in the practice of the primitive church in its purity, then let us see by scripture, wherever they practised any such things. (For it was agreed on both hands, that both he, and we, should make good by scripture, what we said.)

“Then he told us of a written word, and an unwritten word.

“I asked him, what he called his unwritten word?

“He said, 'the written word is the scriptures; and the unwritten word is that which the apostles spoke by word of mouth; which,' said he, 'are all those traditions that we practise.'

“I bid him 'prove that by scripture.'

“Then he brought that scripture, where the apostle says, (2 Thess. ii. 5,) 'When I was with you, I told you these things.' 'That is,' said he, 'I told you of nunneries and monasteries, and of putting to death for religion, and of praying by beads, and to images, and all the rest of the practices of the Church of Rome; which,' he said, 'was the unwritten word of the apostles, which they told then, and which has since been continued down by tradition, unto these times.'

“Then I desired him to read that scripture again, that he might see how he had perverted the apostle's words. For that which the apostle there tells the Thessalonians, 'he had told them before,' is not an unwritten word, but is there written down, namely; that 'the man of sin, the son of perdition shall be revealed, before that great and terrible day of Christ,' which he was writing of, should come. So this was not telling them any of those things, that the Church of Rome practises. In like manner, the apostle, in the third chapter of that epistle, tells the church, of some disorderly persons [who] he heard were amongst them; busy bodies, who did not work at all; concerning whom, he had commanded them by his unwritten word, when he was among them, that if any would not work, neither should he eat; which now, he commands them again in his written word in this epistle, (2 Thess. iii.) So this scripture afforded no proof for their invented traditions; and he had no other scripture proof to offer; therefore, I told him this was another degeneration of their church into such inventions and traditions as the apostles and primitive saints never practised.

“After this he came to his sacrament of the altar; beginning at the paschal lamb, and the show-bread, and so came to the words of Christ, 'this is my body,' and to what the apostle wrote of it to the Corinthians; concluding, 'that after the priest had consecrated the bread and wine, it was immortal and divine; and he that received it, received the whole Christ.'

“I followed him through the scriptures he brought, till I came to Christ's words, and the apostle's; and I showed him, that the same apostle told the Corinthians, after they had taken bread and wine in remembrance of Christ's death, that 'they were reprobates if Christ was not in them.'[29] But if the bread they eat was Christ, he must of necessity be in them after they had eaten it, etc.

“Then, as to those words of Christ, 'this is my body,' I told him, Christ calls himself, a 'vine,' and a 'door;' and is called in scripture, a rock. Is Christ therefore, an outward rock, door, or vine?

“'O!' said he, 'those words are to be interpreted.'

“So,” said I, “are those words of Christ, ‘this is my body.’”

“Now having stopped his mouth as to argument, I made him a proposal thus; that, seeing, he said, the bread and wine was immortal and divine, and the very Christ; and that whosoever received it received the whole Christ; let a meeting be appointed between some of them (whom the pope and his cardinals should appoint) and some of us; and let a bottle of wine, and loaf of bread, be brought, and divided each into two parts; and let them consecrate which of those parts they would; and then set the consecrated, and the unconsecrated bread and wine in a safe place, with a sure watch upon it, and let trial thus be made, whether the consecrated bread and wine would not lose its goodness, and the bread grow dry and mouldy, and the wine turn dead and sour, as well and as soon, as that which was unconsecrated? 'By this means,' said I, 'the truth of this matter may be made manifest; and if the consecrated bread and wine change not, but retain their savour and goodness, this may be a means to draw many to your church: if they change, decay, and lose their goodness, then ought you to confess and forsake your error, and shed no more blood about it; for much blood has been shed about these things, as in Queen Mary's days.

“To this the Jesuit made this reply: 'Take,' said he, 'a piece of new cloth, and cut it into two pieces, and make, two garments of it; and put one upon King David's back, and the other upon a beggar's, and the one garment shall wear away as well as the other.'

“'Then,' said I, 'by this the company may all be satisfied that your consecrated bread and wine is not Christ. Have you told people so long, that the consecrated bread and wine was immortal and divine, and that it was the very and real body and blood of Christ; and do you now say it will wear away or decay, as well as the other! I must tell you, Christ remains the same, to-day as yesterday, and never decays; but is the saints' heavenly food in all generations, through which [food] they have life.'

“He replied no more to this, being willing to let it fall; for the people that were present saw his error, and that he could not defend it.

“Then I asked him, why their church did persecute and put people to death for their religion?

“He replied, it was not the church that did it, but the magistrates.

“I asked him whether those magistrates were not counted and called, believers and Christians?

“He said 'Yes.'

“'Why then,' said I, 'are they not members of your church?' “'Yes,' said he.

“Then I left it to the people to judge, from his own concessions, whether the Church of Rome does not persecute, and put people to death for religion?”

And here it seems the conference was brought to a close; the subtlety of the Jesuit serving him in no stead, against the simplicity of the Quaker.

“About this time,” he says in his Journal, “the Lady Claypole, (so called,) was sick, and much troubled in mind, and could receive no comfort from any that came to her; which, when I heard of, I was moved to write to her.

The letter itself is too long for insertion here; but the counsels it contains, (though from being worded in his own very peculiar phraseology, they are not, at first sight, very perspicuous,) are such as must be valuable to every spiritual mind, in seasons of trial.

He begins by desiring her to be still and cool in her own mind and spirit, in order that the principle of God, (or gift, or seed of the Holy Spirit,) sown in her heart, may have power to arise, “to turn your mind,” he says, “to the Lord God, from whom life comes; whereby you may receive his strength and power, to allay all blustering storms and tempests.” He then tells her, that it is this divine principle which, as he expresses it, “works up into patience, into innocency, into stillness, into stayedness, into quietness,” etc. He describes the mind, in a transgressing state, as “flying up into the air,” and “then,” he says, “the creature is led into the night,” [into obscurity.] “Therefore, be still awhile, from your own thoughts, desires, imaginations, etc., and be stayed [or rest] in the principle of God within you; and you will find him to be a God at hand, a present help in the time of trouble.”

He then tells her she must deny herself, and from her own will, (which is the earthly will,) she must be kept. Following these directions, he says, she will know the physician of value, who clothes people with their right mind, in which mind they may serve God, and do his will.

He counsels her, especially, not to look at the evil which this divine principle, or light within her, reveals, “for looking down,” he says, “at sin, and corruption, and distraction, [confusion,] you are swallowed up in it; but looking [up] at the light, [or Holy Spirit,] which discovers these evils, you will see over them.”

In thus placing the power of redemption from evil in the light, he is as sound in scriptural doctrine, as he is wise in moral experience. “Look unto me, and be you saved,” says he, who proclaims himself the light of the world; and who shines not partially on this or that individual, but who is “the true light that enlightens every man that comes into the world.” And who is there that, under the heaviest pressure of conscious guilt, has yet fixed a calm, humble, silent, but inwardly supplicating eye upon this day-star in the heart—this mighty one, who wounds but to heal —who kills but to make alive—who is there, we may confidently ask, that has steadily and perseveringly done this, and has not experimentally known, as this man of God testifies, that the Most High “is a God at hand, and a present help in the time of trouble?”

When this letter was read to Lady Claypole, she said it stayed her mind for the present. “Afterwards,” says George, “many friends got copies of it, both in England and Ireland, and read it to people that were troubled in mind; and it was made useful for the settling of the minds of several.”

This Lady Claypole was the favourite daughter of Oliver Cromwell, who deeply felt her loss, (for she died shortly after the period of receiving this letter.) Nor was it long, before Oliver himself followed her; both he and his daughter dying in the same year.

It was about this time, that some circumstances occurred at Boston in America, of such peculiarly painful interest to the Society of Friends, that, revolting to humanity as the recital of them may be, it would scarcely be excusable to omit it; but in recording these sad events, it should be remembered, that in no nation would such barbarities be note more reprobated, than in America.

So early as the year 1656, two female members of the society, named Mary Fisher, and Ann Austin, arrived in the road before Boston; no prohibition then having been issued against the entrance of the Quakers into that city. Nevertheless, officers were sent on board their ship, who searched their chests, took away about one hundred books, which they carried ashore, and having commanded the women to be kept as prisoners in the vessel, the books, by an order from the council, were burnt in the market-place, by the hangman. The females were then brought on shore, and upon the proof that one of them, in speaking, had said thee, instead of you, they were committed to prison as Quakers. Being closely confined, their pens, ink, and paper were taken from them; and under pretence of examining if they practised witchcraft, very cruel indignities were offered to their persons; added to which barbarities, they were so little cared for as to food, that if one Nicholas Upshall, a pious and benevolent man, resident in the town, had not purchased provision for them of the jailer, at the rate of five shillings a week, they must have been starved.

After having been about five weeks imprisoned, one William Chichester, the master of a vessel, was bound in one hundred pounds' bond, to carry them home, and not to allow any person to speak to them while on board.

“Such,” says Sewel, from whom this account is taken, “was the entertainment the Quakers first met with at Boston, and that, from a people who pretended that, for conscience sake, they had chosen the wildernesses of America before the well-cultivated Old England.

Anomalous indeed, as is such a case, it happened that the perpetrators of so much persecution, were those who had themselves experienced the rod of the oppressor; being for the most part, persons who, in the days of the first Charles and his bishops, not feeling easy to conform to the mode of national worship, and either unable, or, as they supposed, uncalled upon, to sustain the penalty attached to non-conformity, had fled for safety into America, where they had succeeded in establishing themselves in ease and authority.

It will now naturally be inquired, what motive could stimulate such extreme severity towards such apparently harmless individuals, and that before the possibility of offending had been afforded them.

The answer to this inquiry must be sought in the darkest depths of human corruption. In those gloomy caverns indeed, must we search for the secret springs of all oppression; but a degree deeper, and a shade darker than ordinary, must we expect to find the subtle iniquity which moved the hearts of the English refugees, to show so much cruelty to their brethren.

I do not however urge as a reason, but only offer it as a hypothesis to the consideration of the reader, whether there might not occur moments in the life of these refugees, when it would seem to them, that they had acted a nobler part, had they stood their ground, in the fiery trial appointed them in their native land, rather than to have sought their safety in flight? and whether, under these secret goadings of conscience, the contemplation of those who were “enduring hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ,” counting not their lives dear unto them, so that they might fulfil the will of God, (as was almost universally the case with the Quakers,) would not be so insupportably painful a reflection, as to urge them to the strongest measures in order to escape from it?

Upon such a view of the case, the treatment which the Quakers received at their hands, is accounted for; while upon any other ground it is unaccountable.

And as, according to the poet's statement respecting ambition:

“It often over-leaps itself, and falls on the other side.”

So, it commonly happens with sinister designs for individual security. This excessive determination, on the part of the inhabitants of Boston, not to be molested by the Quakers, was the cause of drawing the attention of Friends to that quarter; many amongst them conceiving themselves especially called upon to appear there, as witnesses against the cruelties that had been practised upon the unoffending members of their society. We will not stop to detail the ill-usage which these persons successively received; but briefly stating that various penalties having been vainly levied upon masters of vessels for bringing them, and upon themselves for coming, at last, at a general court held at Boston, the 20th October, 1658, the following act was made; which no doubt, would seem to the framers thereof, to be perfectly effectual to prevent their return.

“Whereas there is a pernicious sect, (commonly called Quakers,) lately risen, who by word and writing have published and maintained many dangerous and horrid tenets, and do take upon them to change and alter the received laudable customs of our nation, in giving civil respect to equals, or reverence to superiors; whose actions tend to undermine the civil government, and also to destroy the order of the churches, by denying all established forms of worship, and by withdrawing from orderly church-fellowship, allowed and approved by all orthodox professors of the truth; and instead thereof, and in opposition thereunto, frequently meeting by themselves, insinuating themselves into the minds of the simple, or such as are least affected to the order and government of church, and commonwealth whereby some of our inhabitants have been infected; and notwithstanding all former laws made, upon the experience of their arrogant and bold obtrusions to disseminate their principles among us, prohibiting their coming in this jurisdiction, they have not been deterred in their impetuous attempts to undermine our peace, and hazard our ruin;

“For prevention thereof, this court does order and enact, that every person, or persons, of the cursed sect of the Quakers, who is not an inhabitant of, but is found within, this jurisdiction, shall be apprehended without warrant, where no magistrate is at hand, by any constable, commissioner, or select man, and conveyed from constable to constable, to the next magistrate, who shall commit the said person to close prison, there to remain without bail, unto the next court of assistants, where they shall have a legal trial; and being convicted to be of the sect of the Quakers, shall be sentenced to be banished, upon pain of death; and that every inhabitant of this jurisdiction, being convicted to be of the aforesaid sect, etc. shall be committed to close prison for one month, and then, unless they choose voluntarily to depart this jurisdiction, shall give bond for their good behaviour, and appear at the next court, where, continuing obstinate, and refusing to retract and reform the aforesaid opinions, they shall be sentenced to banishment, upon pain of death; and any one magistrate, upon information given him of any such person, shall cause him to be apprehended, and shall commit any such person to prison, according to his discretion, until he come to trial as aforesaid.”

If it should be supposed that the originators of this sanguinary act, never intended to proceed to the execution of it, but only proposed the hanging of it, in terrorem, over the heads of those who were the subjects of it, it will be seen that they were perfectly in earnest in their terrific threats, as the event too plainly manifested.

The two first martyrs to this inhuman procedure, were natives of England; one a London merchant, named William Robinson, and the other Marmaduke Stevenson, a countryman of Yorkshire. These persons coming to Boston in the beginning of September, 1659, were sent for by the court of assistants, and sentenced to banishment, on pain of death; and William Robinson, being considered as a teacher, was condemned to be severely whipped; which was fulfilled, by his being brought into the street, and there stripped; and his hands being put through the apertures of the carriage of a great gun, the jailer held him, while the executioner gave him twenty stripes with a three-fold cord whip.

Besides Robinson and his friend, there were two others, at that time at Boston, upon whom the same sentence of banishment, on pain of death, was passed. One of these, named Mary Dyar, was a native of Rhode Island, and who had, once before, been imprisoned as a Quaker at Boston, and only released by her husband's interference; he himself, not being a member of the society. This person, (Mary Dyar,) and the other, named Nicholas Davis, departed from the jurisdiction for that time; but Robinson and Stevenson, though they quitted Boston, did not feel themselves at liberty to quit the jurisdiction, though their lives were at stake; they therefore went to Salem and other places thereabouts, to visit their friends, and establish them in the faith.

It was not long before they were again in custody, and Mary Dyar returning also, they were all three imprisoned once more at Boston.

On the 20th of October they were brought into court; where the governor Endicot, and others were assembled; and after some remarks upon the futility of the laws which had hitherto been made to prevent their appearance at Boston, some of which, he said, had been eminently severe, such as whipping, imprisoning, and even cutting off ears, (a sentence which had been already executed upon some of the Quakers,) he added, that banishing, upon pain of death, would not suffice to keep them from coming amongst them. And although he professed that neither he, nor those acting with him, desired their death, yet, the next words he uttered were, “Give ear, and hearken to your sentence of death.”

William Robinson then desired that he might be permitted to read a paper giving an account of the reason why he had not departed that jurisdiction; but this Endicot, with much fury, refused. It was therefore laid upon the table by Robinson, and being handed to Endicot, he read it to himself; observing, when he had done, that Robinson need not have been so anxious to have it read, as he had said more the day before, than what was there written.

The substance of the writing was explanatory of the reasons which had induced him to come to Boston. Being on Rhode Island, he said, on the 8th of the 8th month, the Lord had commanded him to go to Boston, and lay down his life there. That, at the same time, he felt an assurance that his soul was to enter into everlasting peace and rest. That he dared not disobey; believing that it became him, as a child, to show obedience to the Lord, without any unwillingness. That this was the cause, why, after banishment on pain of death, he still stayed in their jurisdiction; adding, “now with sincerity of heart, I can say, blessed be the Lord, the God of my life, who has called me hereunto, and counted me worthy to testify against wicked and unjust men!”

Again he requested that this paper might be read aloud, that all present might hear it. But in vain. Nothing was he to receive but sentence of death; which Endicot then pronounced.

His companion, Stevenson, being called, received permission to speak anything he might have to say. But he remained at that time silent; knowing how it had just fared with his companion.

His mouth however was opened as soon as his sentence was pronounced; and an awful testimony delivered from it upon his unrighteous judges.

“Give ear, you magistrates,” he said, “and all who are guilty; for this the Lord has said concerning you, and will perform his word upon you; that the same day you put his servants to death, shall the day of your visitation pass over your heads, and you shall be cursed forevermore. The mouth of the Lord has spoken it. Therefore in love to you all, I exhort you to take warning before it be too late, that so the curse may be removed. For assuredly, if you put us to death, you will bring innocent blood upon your own heads, and swift destruction will come upon you.”

As soon as this was uttered, he was taken away, and Mary Dyar was called and also received sentence of death; to which she merely replied, “The will of the Lord be done!” and being ordered from the bar, “yes, joyfully I go,” she said; assuring the marshal who was appointed to conduct her to prison, that he might leave her free, for she would go there without restraint.

“I believe you, Mrs. Dyar,” said he; “but I must do what I am commanded.”

Being sent back to prison, she wrote an address to the General Court of Boston, refuting a charge which had been made against her, in common with her fellow-sufferers, that they were guilty of their own death, by their obstinacy, and urgently intreating the governor and authorities of the place, to consider what they were doing, in shedding innocent blood, etc.

The day appointed for the execution of these victims, was the 27th of October in the afternoon, when they were led to the gallows by two military officers, accompanied by a band of about two hundred armed men, besides many horsemen; a measure which plainly indicated that some fear of popular indignation was apprehended.

And, that no appeal might be made to the feelings of the multitude, a drummer was appointed to march before the condemned persons, to beat the drum, especially when any of them attempted to speak.

Glorious signs of heavenly joy and gladness were visible in the countenances of these holy martyrs, who walked hand in hand to the place where they were to suffer; a circumstance which drew upon Mary Dyar, even at that solemn moment, an unfeeling taunt from one of the barbarians who conducted them; and who asked her, if she was not ashamed to walk thus, hand in hand between two young men.

“No,” replied she, “this is to me an hour of the greatest joy!” adding, that no eye could see, no ear could hear, no tongue could utter, no heart could understand, the sweet refreshings of the Spirit of the Lord, which she then felt.

Some further insults were their portion, which it would be only painful to relate. Suffice it to say, that, for the two men, deliverance from every woe was shortly near; for the female, a strange, and, according to her estimation, an undesired reverse of circumstances occurred. Being come to the ladder, and having taken leave of each other with tender affection, Robinson and Stevenson yielded up their lives into the hands of their enemies. Robinson's last words being, “I suffer for Christ, in whom I live, and for whom I die;” and those of Stevenson, “This day shall we be at rest in the Lord!”

And now, Mary Dyar, seeing her beloved friends hanging dead before her, also stepped up the ladder; every preparation for her execution being made, even to the rope being put about her neck, and her face covered with a handkerchief,— when suddenly a cry was made—“Stop!—for she is reprieved!!”

“Her feet then being loosed,” says Sewel, “they bade her come down. But she, whose mind was already as it were in heaven, stood still, and said she was there, willing to suffer as her brethren did; unless they would annul their law. Little heed was given to what she said; but they pulled her down, and the marshal and others taking her by the arms, they carried her to prison again.”

Her reprieve was the result of the intercession of her son, whom, on some account or another, the court of Boston were disposed to favour.

On the following day, she addressed another letter to the court, wherein she said the reprieve was “a disturbance to her, when she was so freely offering up her life to him that gave it, and who had sent her there to do so—“which obedience,” she says, “being his own work, he gloriously accompanied with his presence and peace, and love in me; in which I rested from my labours.” She assured them, that she chose rather to die than live, accepting of their mercies, who had stained their hands with the blood of the innocent.

“I leave you,” she continues, “to the righteous Judge, and searcher of all hearts; who, with the pure measure of light he has given to every man to profit withal, will, in his due time, let you see whose servants you are, and of whom you have taken counsel, etc.

“Read your portion,” she says, with holy indignation—“read your portion, Proverbs, i. 24 to 82. For, verily the night comes on you quickly, wherein no man can work; in which you shall assuredly fall to your own master. In obedience to the Lord, whom I serve with my spirit, and pity to your souls, which you neither know, nor pity, I can do no less than once more warn you to put away the evil of your doings; and kiss the Son (the light in you) before his wrath be kindled in you; for where that is, nothing without you, can help or deliver you out of his hand at all; and if these things be not so, then say there has been no prophet from the Lord, sent amongst you; though we be nothing, yet it is his pleasure, by things that are not, to bring to nought things that are.”

It was not without the manifestation of much discontent, that the populace beheld these murderous transactions; and by way of calming them, it was resolved to send Mary Dyar away. Being put on horseback, she was conveyed by an escort of four persons, fifteen miles towards her own habitation in Rhode Island; and from there, she was to have been conducted by a man and horse home; but sending him away, she repaired there alone.

A singular circumstance, and by many considered as a token of the divine displeasure, occurred, as the people were returning sad, and heavy, from the execution of Robinson and his friend; a drawbridge over which they had to pass, falling at one end, hurt several persons; and, amongst the rest, one woman who had insulted over the poor victims, was so severely injured, as to remain in a condition of suffering worse than death, for the rest of her days.

But, although for a short time delivered from the hands of her persecutors, Mary Dyar found it impossible to resist the internal impulse, (coming as she believed it did from God,) which, after the winter was past, drew her again to Boston. On the 21st of May in the following year, (1660,) she appeared there once more; and, on the 31st, she was summoned by the general court, and questioned by the governor, Endicot, if she was the same Mary Dyar that was there before; another person of her name having newly returned from England, and he being, as it seemed, desirous of favouring her, by supplying her with the means of evasion; but disdaining any subterfuge, she immediately acknowledged herself to be the same he inquired for.

After some little discourse, Endicot again pronounced sentence upon her; and on her telling him, that he said no more than what she had heard before, he replied, that now it would assuredly be executed; desiring her to prepare for the fulfilment of it, by nine o'clock the next day.

To this she replied, “I came in obedience to the will of God, the last general court, desiring you to repeal your unrighteous laws of banishment on pain of death; and that same is my work now, and earnest request; although I told you, that if you refused to repeal them, the Lord would send others of his servants to witness against them.”

Some more words she would have uttered, in reply to a sneering inquiry from Endicot, whether she was a prophetess? But, as she began to speak, he commanded her to be taken away; and being again lodged in her former prison, she was there closely confined till the following day; when, for the second time, this noble-minded woman was led forth to death.

A band of soldiers attended her, the drums being beaten on every side, that none might hear her speak, all the way she passed, (which was about a mile,) to the place of execution.

Having ascended the ladder, it was told her by some standers by, that even now, she might come down and save her life.

“No,” said she, “I cannot; for in obedience to the will of the Lord, I came; and in his will, I abide faithful to death.”

Several remarks were addressed to her by the standers-by, but mostly of a malignant kind; no persons, probably, but those who favoured these unrighteous dealings, having the means of speaking to her.

To all of them she replied with firmness and simplicity; and on some one reminding her that she had said she had been in paradise, she promptly answered, “Yes, I have been in paradise several days.”

In no degree did this magnanimous sufferer, (to all intents and purposes, twice a martyr,) shrink from her doom; but, well knowing in whom, and for whom, she was about to die, contentedly laid down her life.

One more victim remains to be spoken of, by name William Leddra. This individual, in company with one William Brend, had been imprisoned in Boston the preceding year, for coming into the jurisdiction of that city, in defiance of the law which proscribed the Quakers therefrom.

Humanity forbids the recital of the cruel treatment inflicted upon William Brend on this occasion; or the condition to which (being an aged man) his afflicted body was reduced, by the stripes that were laid upon him. Some idea of the case may be formed, by the fact, that when the report of the surgeon, who had seen his wounds, was known to the populace, they were so exasperated, that the magistrates were obliged to make a show of regret, by affixing a paper on the door of a public building, expressing dislike of the treatment Brend had received; and promising that the jailer who had inflicted it, should be dealt with at the next court.

One of the refugees, a minister of the gospel, John Norton by name, who, from the beginning had been a fierce persecutor of the Quakers, endeavoured to justify such proceedings, by saying that William Brend had endeavoured to beat their gospel ordinances black and blue; if he therefore, were himself beaten black and blue, it was but just; adding, that he himself would appear on behalf of the person who did so.

It pleased God, however, almost by a miracle to heal this poor sufferer; but not deterred by so undeserved a favour, from prosecuting their cruelties, (than which, the records of the Inquisition scarcely furnish greater,) the persecutors of these helpless people, ordained, that whoever amongst the imprisoned Quakers, refused to work (which had been the offence of Brend) should be whipped twice a week.

The submitting to work, appearing to be a tacit acknowledgment of the justice of their imprisonment, it was not to be supposed they could conscientiously accede to it. Four of them were therefore subjected to this ignominious sentence of whipping; amongst whom was William Leddra, the remaining victim just alluded to.

Being at length released from prison, and banished from Boston on pain of death, he was under such distress of conscience, that he could find no peace till he returned there; which he accordingly did, the year subsequent to the death of the three friends above mentioned. He was soon taken prisoner again; and being fastened to a log of wood, was kept night and day locked in chains, in an open place, during a very cold winter.

Early in the year 1661, he was brought into the court of assistants, with his chain and log at his heels; and after various futile questions on the part of his judges, he was asked by one Broadstreet, if he would go to England?

“I have no business there,” he replied.

“Then you shall go that way,” said Broadstreet, pointing to the gallows.

“What, will you put me to death,” he replied, “for breathing the air of your jurisdiction? And as for what you have against me, I appeal to the laws of England for my trial; and if by them, I am found guilty, I refuse not to die.”

Of this reply, no notice was taken; but they proceeded to persuade him to recant what they called his errors. But, with noble disdain, “What!” said he, “to join with such murderers as you are! Then, let every man that meets me say, lo, this is the man that has forsaken the God of his salvation!”

While this trial of William Leddra was going on, it happened that Wenlock Christison, a Quaker who had been banished on pain of death, suddenly came into court. A mysterious awe attended his appearance; insomuch, that, according to Sewel, for some space of time, there was silence in the court.

But, as if their safety consisted in their effrontery, one of this sanguinary council called out, “Here is another; fetch him up to the bar;” which the marshal performing, the secretary Rawson said, “Is not your name Wenlock Christison?”

Which being acknowledged,

“Well, what do you here?” inquired the governor Endicot.

“I am come,” he said, “to warn you that you should shed no more innocent blood; for the blood which you have shed already, cries to the Lord God for vengeance to come upon you.”

It would seem that the hour for the strivings of God's good spirit in their hearts, was past; for this, and all other appeals to their conscience, was made in vain. “Take him away, jailer,” was the reply to this expostulation; and Leddra remaining firm to his resolution not to depart their city or jurisdiction, in any will, but the will of God,—they proceeded to pass sentence upon him—which over, he was led back to prison.

The day before his death, he wrote a letter to his friends, in which he describes himself to be “so filled with the joy of the Lord, in the beauty of holiness, that my spirit,” he says, “is as if it did not inhabit a tabernacle of clay, but is wholly swallowed up in the bosom of eternity, from which it had its being.

“Alas! alas!” he proceeds, “what can the wrath and spirit of man, that lusts to envy, aggravated by the heart and strength of the king of the locusts, which came out of the pit,[30] [what can it] do unto one that is hid in the secret place of the Almighty, or unto them that are gathered under the healing wings of the Prince of Peace? under whose armour of light, they shall be able to stand in the day of trial, having on the breastplate of righteousness, and the sword of the Spirit, which is their weapon of war against spiritual wickedness, principalities, and powers, and the rulers of the darkness of this world, both within and without?”

He then movingly reminds them of the earnestness with which he had waited for Divine direction, in addressing them; fearing, even greatly as he loved them, to communicate anything but what the Spirit of his Heavenly Father gave him to say.

“Oh, my beloved!” he says, “I have waited as a dove, at the windows of the ark, and have stood still in that watch, which the Master, (without whom I could do nothing,) did, at his coining, reward with fulness of love; wherein my heart did rejoice, that I might, in the love, and life of God, speak a few words to you, sealed with the spirit of promise,” etc. Yet, he assures them, that had he been altogether silent, the Lord would have confirmed in their hearts, a sense of the innocence with which he was about to suffer. He addresses many words of counsel adapted to their severe exercises of spirit, and concludes by commending them to the grace which was sufficient for them, and by which alone they could witness salvation.

On the day after this letter was written, the execution of William Leddra took place. Having taken leave of his friend, Wenlock Christison, and others who were in bonds, he was escorted by a guard to the place of slaughter,—a friend of the name of Edward Wharton, accompanying him. Being brought to the foot of the ladder, he was pinioned; and as he was about to ascend it, he took leave of his friend, to whom he said, “All that will be Christ's disciples, must take up the cross.”

While standing upon the ladder, some one asked him if he had anything to say to the people?

To which he replied, “For the testimony of Jesus, and for testifying against deceivers, and the deceived, I am brought here to suffer.”

These words producing some emotion amongst the crowd, a person of the name of Allen, one of their ministers, addressed the spectators in these words: “People! I would not have you think it strange, to see a man so willing to die; for that is no new thing. And you may read how the apostle said, that some should be given up to strong delusions, and even dare to die for it.”

“But,” observes Sewel, “he did not say where the apostle speaks so; neither have I found it anywhere in holy writ; though I know that Paul says (Rom. v. 7,) “Peradventure, for a good man some would even dare to die.”

But nothing disturbed the steadfastness of Leddra, who, patiently submitting himself while the executioner put the halter about his neck, departed with these words, “I commit my righteous cause unto you, O God!” and as he was turned off, “Lord Jesus receive my spirit!”

It is some relief to find that he was the last victim to this sanguinary law; for, although others were then in confinement, with the prospect of having the sentence of death pronounced and executed upon them, yet, it happened that by this time, such tidings had reached the ears of the English government, of these proceedings, that prompt measures were set on foot to frustrate the continuance of them.

“The news of William Leddra's death coming to England,” says Sewel, “with an information of the danger that others were in of going the same way, their friends took it so to heart, especially Edward Burrough, that, having got audience of the king, he said to him, “there was a vein of innocent blood opened in his dominions, which, if it were not stopped, would over-run all.” To which the king replied, “But I will stop that vein.” Then Burrough desired him to do it speedily; “for we know not,” said he “how many may be put to death.” The king answered, “As soon as you will.”

The result of this permission was, the sending out, on the part of the English friends, a vessel, conducted by a Quaker, Samuel Shattock by name; who, being an inhabitant of New England, had been banished on pain of death, if ever he returned there. To him the king granted a deputation, with full power to carry the following mandamus:—

“Charles R.

“Trusty and well beloved, we greet you well. Having been informed that several of our subjects amongst you, called Quakers, have been, and are imprisoned by you, whereof some have been executed, and others (as has been represented unto us) are in danger to undergo the like; we have thought fit to signify our pleasure in their behalf for the future; and do hereby require, that if there be any of those people called Quakers amongst you, now already condemned to suffer death; or other corporal punishment, or that are imprisoned, and obnoxious to the like condemnation, you are to forbear to proceed any further therein; but that you forthwith send the said persons, (whether condemned or imprisoned,) over into this our kingdom of England, together with the respective crimes or offences, laid to their charge; to the end that such course may be taken with them here, as shall be agreeable to our laws, and their demerits. And for so doing, these our letters shall be your sufficient warrant and discharge.

“Given at our court at Whitehall, the 9th day of September, 1661, in the thirteenth year of our reign.

“By his Majesty's command,

“William Morris.

Addressed: “To our trusty and well-beloved John Endicot, Esq., and to all and every other the governor, or governors of our plantations of New England, and of all the colonies thereunto belonging, that now are, or hereafter shall be; and to all and every the ministers and officers of our said plantations and colonies whatsoever, within the continent of New England.”

This mandamus being obtained, no time was lost in dispatching it; and in six weeks' time, Samuel Shattock, the bearer of it, entered the Bay of Boston, on a Sunday morning.

The usual officers were immediately dispatched from the town; who, on arriving on board, asked if they brought any letters from England?

“Yes.”

Would they not be delivered? “No, not to-day.”

“So they went a-shore,” says Sewel,” and reported there was a ship full of Quakers, and that Samuel Shattock was amongst them; who, they knew, was by their law, liable to be put to death, for coming again, after banishment.”

On the next morning, Shattock, and Ralph Goldsmith, the commander of the vessel, (himself also a friend,) went on shore, and knocked at governor Endicot's door. A man being sent to know their business, they replied “that their business was from the King of England; and that they would deliver their message to no one but the governor himself.” Upon which, they soon obtained admission; and Endicot shortly coming to them, his first salutation was a command that Shattock's hat should be taken off; (not impossible, perhaps, but a slight wish might cross his mind, that the head could be taken off also.)

As soon as he had read the mandamus, the governor also took off his hat; and ordered that Shattock's hat should be given him again; and then going out, he went to the deputy-governor, and bade the king's deputy, and the master of the ship to follow him. Having consulted with the deputy-governor about the matter, he returned to the two friends, and said, “We shall obey his majesty's command.” The master of the ship afterwards giving liberty to the passengers to come ashore, they met together with their friends of the town, and offered up praises to God, for this wonderful deliverance.

Chapter VIII.

It may be supposed, that the foregoing acts of cruelty did not transpire, without some attempts at palliation by the perpetrators thereof; of which attempts, the best judgment will be formed, by viewing them in connection with the reception they met with, from some members of the society in England. Francis Howgill, and also others, wrote very forcibly on the subject; but passing by these, I select some passages from the work of Isaac Penington, entitled, “An Examination of the Grounds or Causes, which are said to induce the Court of Boston, in New England, to make that Order, or Law of Banishment, upon pain of Death, against the Quakers,” etc.[31] and which, being chiefly written in reply to an apologetic work of the minister Norton, will sufficiently inform the reader, what sort of excuses were found for the atrocities above related.

“The grounds, or causes,” (says Penington,) expressed, of their making that law of banishment, are, in substance, three.

The first cause stated it to be, the coming of the Quakers from foreign parts, and from other colonies, at sundry times, and in several companies and numbers, into the jurisdiction of the Massachusetts.

“This of itself,” he observes, “is far from any warrant; for the earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof. And though they [the inhabitants of Boston] claim a propriety in it, yet it is still more the Lord's than theirs; and he may send any one of his servants into it, at his pleasure, upon what message, or service, it seems good unto him. So that the great question to be determined here, is this; “whether these persons came from the Lord, in his will, and at his appointment, or whether they came of themselves, and in their own will,” etc. He then inquires of them, if they were sufficiently cautious in searching into this; “If, at their first coming,” he says, “you imprisoned them, and engaged yourselves against them, you thereby made yourselves unfit for an equal consideration of the cause; and God might justly then leave your eyes to be closed, and your hearts hardened against his truth and people, for beginning with them so harshly and unrighteously.”

The second reason alleged for this law, was, that, “the lesser punishment of the house of correction, and imprisonment for a time, had been inflicted on some of them, but had not sufficed to deter and keep them away.”

“Why do you omit cutting off of ears?” he asks, (such a law having been made and executed upon some of the friends, by these fierce legislators.) “Are you ashamed to mention that amongst the rest?” he says. “Indeed, the remembrance of it strikes upon the spirits of people here, and perhaps in New England also.”

He then proceeds to answer this, their second reason, by saying, “They that are sent by the Lord, and who go in the guidance of his spirit, cannot be deterred from obedience to him, in his service and work, either by lesser or greater punishments. For they whose lives (in the power of God) are sacrificed to the will of God, are no more afraid of death, than they are of whips, prisons, cruel usage in prisons, and cutting off of ears.” He tells them, that, upon their own showing, their severity resulted from the evil report of the Quakers, which had preceded their arrival in Boston; “which report,” said they, [in one of their manifestos on the subject,] they had received “from good hands in Barbadoes and England.” “And so,” says Penington, “they of Damascus might have said, if they had received the letters from the high-priest, or relations from zealous and devout Jews.” He tells them, that he had heard, from good authority, that the persecuted Quakers were never allowed a fair hearing at their court; “nor suffered to plead the righteousness and innocency of their cause, etc. Your consciences,” he adds, “know how true these things are, and will one day give in a clear and true testimony, although you should be able to bribe them at present.”

The third reason alleged, was,

That their coming there, was upon no other ground or occasion, as far as could be seen, than to scatter their corrupt opinions, and to draw others to their way, and so to make disturbance.

In answer to this, he remarks, that Christ said to his disciples, “You are the salt of the earth, and the light of the world;” and they were not to lie still, and keep their light under a bushel; but to lighten and season the world, as the Lord required them; “and if,” he continues, “the Lord had seen that New England, notwithstanding all its profession and talk of the things of God, had need of further enlightening, and so sent his servants and messengers amongst them, they had no reason to be offended with him for this, or with his people, or with the truths they brought.” In reference to their calling the principles of friends “corrupt opinions,” he says, with great justice, “Those that pick a quarrel with truth, and seek matter against it to persecute it, do not call it truth; but error, corrupt opinions, the way of a sect, the making of disturbance, or such like.”

“And how can you say,” he asks, “as far as could be seen? when you were so unfit (through receiving of prejudices and reports, and beginning so roughly with them,) to consider what might be seen; and also so far from giving way to them to make what they could be seen, etc. There may be a just, righteous, and warrantable cause of their coming, in relation to God, and his service, though it does not yet appear to you; and in a meeker, cooler temper, when another eye is opened in you, you may see and acknowledge that cause, and who are the Lord's servants; and whether they come in his name, or no—and whether they are his truths or no, which they bring with them. These are things,” he continues, “which God opens to the humble, to the meek, to such as fear before him, and wait for his counsel therein; but those that can determine things by intelligence before-hand, from other parts, and imprison persons as soon as they come, and so proceed on, with a stiff resolution against them;—how are these in any capacity to seek or receive counsel from God, in a case of so great concernment? So that at last, even when they have drunk their blood, they must be forced to say, 'as far as could be seen,' this was their only end, work, and intent; but whether it was so or no, they do not certainly know?”

Having thus noticed the account they gave, by way of preface to their reasons for making these laws, he proceeds to examine the grounds upon which they held themselves excused in so doing— and for the first:

“'The doctrine of this sect of people” say they, “is destructive to fundamental truths of religion; of which doctrine, four instances are given: I. The Sacred Trinity; II. The Person of Christ; III. The holy Scriptures as a perfect rule of faith and life; IV. The doctrine of perfection.”

I only glance at the answers of Isaac Penington to these charges; on the first of which, concerning “The Sacred Trinity,” he observes, “That friends generally, both in their words and writings, set their seal to the truth of that Scripture, (1 John, v. 7.) that 'there are three that bear record in heaven; the Father, the Word, and the Holy Spirit;' but, that these are distinct, as three several beings or persons, they read not; but, in the same place they read, that ‘they are One.’ And as for this title of 'Sacred Trinity,'” he says, “they find it not in Scripture; and they look upon Scripture words as fittest to express Scripture things by. And surely,” he continues, “if a man mean the same thing as the Scripture means, the same words will suffice to express it; but the Catholics and school-men having missed of the thing which the Scripture drives at, and apprehended somewhat else in the wise, imagining part, have brought forth many phrases of their own invention, to express their apprehensions by; which we confess we have no unity with; but are content with feeling the thing which the Scripture speaks of, and with the words whereby the Scriptures express it.

“The true trial of spirit,” he says, “is not by an assent to doctrines, which the hypocrite may assent to on the one hand, and the true believer may start at, on the other; but by feeling them in the inward virtue,”etc. “This” he observes, “was the apostle's way of trial; (1 Cor. iv. 19, 20;) 'I will know not the speech of them which are puffed up, but the power; for the kingdom of God is not in word, but in power.' A man,” he continues, “may speak high words concerning the kingdom, and get all the doctrines about it; and yet be a stranger to it, and quite ignorant of the power; and another may be lacking some of the doctrines concerning it, (perhaps some of those which men call fundamentals,) and yet be a citizen of it, and in the power. But now, under the anti-Christian apostasy, men, lacking the feeling of the life and power, wherein the true judgment is, own or disown one another, upon an assent or dissent to such and such doctrines, and so fall into this great error of disowning many whom Christ owns; and if they find persons not assenting to, or dissenting from, any of those doctrines which they call fundamentals, then they think they may lawfully excommunicate and persecute them. So, by this mistake, they cut off that which is green; they persecute that wherein is the living sap, and cherish the dry and withered.”

2nd. Concerning the person of Christ. “They believe,” says Penington, speaking of the Society of Friends, “that Christ is the eternal light, life, wisdom, and power of God, which was manifested in that body of flesh which he took of the virgin: that he is the king, priest, and prophet of his people; and saves them from their sins, by laying down his life for them, and imputing his righteousness to them; yet not without revealing and in measure bringing forth, the same righteousness in them, which he wrought for them. And by experience they know, that there is no being saved by a belief of his death for them, and of his resurrection, ascension, intercession, etc. without being brought into a true fellowship with him in his death, and without feeling his immortal seed of life, raised, and living in them. And so they disown the faith in Christ's death, which is only received and entertained from the relation of the letter of the Scriptures, and stands not in the divine power, and sensible experience of the begotten of God in the heart.”

3rd. Concerning the holy Scriptures being a perfect rule of faith and life. “The new covenant,” he says, “is the covenant of the gospel; which is a living covenant, a spiritual covenant, an inward covenant, and the law or rule of it, cannot be written outwardly. Read the tenor of the new covenant, (Heb. viii. 10,) 'I will put my laws into their minds, and write than in their hearts.'

“The new creature, which God has newly created in the heart, in which life breathes and nothing but life breathes, which is taught by God, and true to God, from its very infancy; that is his rule, whereby he is to walk; the apostle expressly calls it so, (Gal. xvi. 15, 16.) That which is begotten by God, is a Son; and the Son as he is begotten by the breath of the Spirit, so he is preserved and led by the same breath; and such as are so led, are sons, and none else. For it is not the reading of scriptures, and gathering rules from there, that make a son; but the receiving of the Spirit, and being led by the spirit.” (Rom. viii. 14,15.)

4th. “That opinion of theirs” say the apologists, “of being perfectly pure and without sin, which tends to overthrow the whole gospel, and the very vitals of Christianity; for they that have no sin, have no need of Christ, or of his satisfaction, or blood to cleanse them, nor of faith, repentance,” etc.

Isaac Penington replies to this objection, by bringing forward the command of Christ—“be you perfect;” and also the exhortation of the apostle, “let us go on unto perfection”—acknowledging that it is the steadfast belief of the Quakers, that the Lord God is able perfectly to redeem from sin in this life: that he can cast out the strong man, cleanse the house, and make it fit for himself to dwell in; that he can “finish transgression and sin in the heart, and bring in everlasting righteousness;” that he can tread down Satan under the feet of his saints, and make them more than conquerors over him. “But, that every one that is turned to the light of the Spirit of Christ in his heart, is presently advanced to this state, they never held forth; but that the way is long, the travel hard, the enemies and difficulties many; and that there is need of much faith, hope, patience, repentance, watchfulness against temptations, etc. before the life in them can arise to such a pitch.”

“I dare appeal,” he says, “to any unbiassed spirit, whether it [i.e. perfection] be not a precious truth of the gospel of Christ; and a great encouragement, etc. He that feels the everlasting arm working one sin out of his heart, cannot but believe that the same arm can work out all, and pluck up every plant which the Heavenly Father has not planted; which hope and belief, causes him with joy to follow this arm, through the regeneration. But, if I did believe,” he says, “there were no perfecting the work of redemption in this life, but I must still, in part, be a slave to Satan, still crying out of the body of sin and death, and never have my heart purified for the Holy One to inhabit it, etc. Oh how heavily should I go on! I am sure it would be as a weight upon my spirit, in resisting of sin and Satan. This is not the glad tidings of the everlasting gospel; but sad news from the borders of death,” etc.

Having proved, after their manner, that the doctrines of the Quakers were destructive to the fundamental truths of religion, their opponents conclude that it is lawful for them, and indeed their duty, to put them to death; a conclusion which is thus expressed; “Now the commandment of the Lord is plain; that he that presumes to speak lies in the name of the Lord, and turns people out of the way which the Lord has commanded to walk in, such a one must not live, but be put to death,” Zech. xiii. 3; Deut. xiii. 6—xviii. 20.

“By what has been said against them,” replies Penington, “it is not manifest that they have spoken lies in the name of the Lord. No, if they themselves, who thus charge them, could but soberly and mildly, and with a Christian spirit, weigh the thing, would it not rather appear, that they, in thus falsely charging them, and managing such untrue and unrighteous arguments against them, have spoken lies, both concerning them, and against the Lord and his truth? And as for turning men out of the way, that cannot be justly charged on them, who turn men to Christ the living way, and deliver the same message that the apostles did; that 'God is light, and in him is no darkness at all;' and who point them to that place, where God has said, the light is to be found; which is the heart, where God writes the new covenant, and the laws thereof. Surely they that direct here, do not turn men out of the way. But they that point men to guess at the meaning of Scriptures, and to gather knowledge and form rules to themselves out of them, by their own natural wit and, understanding, which can never reach the mysteries of the kingdom of God, and which God hides the true knowledge of the Scriptures from, these are those that turn men out of the way. For they that rightly understand the Scriptures, must first receive a measure of the Spirit to understand them with; even as they that wrote any part thereof, did first receive a measure of the Spirit to write it by.

“I would but put this question to your consciences,” he says, with searching earnestness; “whether, in a conscientious submission to the will of God in this scripture, you put them to death; or, whether from the scripture, you seek a shelter and cover for the thing; having already done it, or fully purposed to do it?”

The sixth and last ground whereby the law of banishment and death against the Quakers is defended, is this:—“It was the commandment of the Lord Jesus unto his disciples, that when they were persecuted in one city, they should flee unto another; and accordingly, it was his own practice, and the practice of the saints, who, when they have been persecuted, have fled away, for their own safety.”

“This,” they say, “reason requires; that when men have liberty unto it, they should not refuse so to do; because otherwise, they will be guilty of tempting God, and of incurring their own hurt, as having a fair way open for the avoiding thereof, but they needlessly expose themselves thereto,” etc.

“If, therefore,” they proceed to say, “that which is done against the Quakers, were indeed persecution, what spirit may they be thought to be acted and led by, who are, in their actings, so contrary to the commandment and example of Christ and his saints, in the case of persecution, which these men suppose to be their case? Plain enough it is, that if their case were the same, their actings are not the same, but quite contrary; so that Christ and his saints were led by one spirit, and these people by another; for, rather than they would not show their contempt of authority, and make disturbance amongst his people, they choose to go contrary to the express direction of Jesus Christ, and the approved example of his saints, to the hazard and peril of their own lives.”

The answer of I. Penington to this subtle reasoning, is throughout so fine a specimen of the penetrating, but meek dignity, with which truth detects sophistry, that I can only regret that the scope to which I am obliged to confine myself in the present work, prevents me from offering it entire to the reader's perusal. A few extracts, however, must be given.

“Afflictions,” he observes, “tribulations, trials, persecutions, are not to be fled from, but to be borne and passed through [in the way] to the kingdom; into which, the entrance is, through many of these; and Christ says, he that will be his disciple, must take up his cross daily, and follow him. Now, persecution for Christ, is part of the cross, which the disciple must not run away from, but take up, and follow Christ with. Yes, the apostle is very express, (2 Tim. iii. 12.) 'Yes, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus, shall suffer persecution.'

Christ, warning of persecution, bids the church to fear none of those things which she should suffer, but 'be faithful unto death;' and the apostle Peter says, 'if you suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are you,' 1 Peter, iii. 14. The apostle Paul, bids the Philippians 'stand fast in one spirit, with one mind striving together for the faith of the gospel, and in nothing terrified by your adversaries,' etc. And the same apostle, who commended the Hebrews as having done well in bearing 'a great fight of afflictions,' encouraged them to go on still, and 'not to be weary or faint in their minds, but to resist even to blood,' eyeing Christ, who endured the contradiction of sinners to the very last, (Heb. xii. 3, 4.) And Paul practised as he taught; for he was not terrified with bonds or afflictions, nor accounted his life dear unto him; but that which was dear unto him, was the serving of his Lord and Master, in preaching and witnessing to his truth, as his Spirit led him, (Acts, xx. 23, 24,) trusting in the Lord to uphold him in enduring of them, or to deliver him out of them, as he pleased, (2 Tim. iii. 11.) But that which he, and the rest of the apostles and saints of Christ applied themselves to, in case of persecution, was to suffer, 1 Cor. iv. 12. There is a time to suffer persecution, and a time to flee from persecution; and both these are to be known in the Lord, and to be obeyed in the leadings of his spirit; but to lay it down for a general rule for Christians to observe, that when they are persecuted they should flee,—this is expressly contrary to the scriptures afore-mentioned; which show, that Christians are not generally to flee; but to stand in the service and work to which they are called.” … “And whereas you plead that reason requires it, what kind of reason is it which bids avoid the cross of Christ, and flee for safety? And what kind of spirit is that, which preaches this doctrine of laying it down as a general rule for Christians to flee, when they are persecuted? Is it not that spirit which would eagerly be at ease in the flesh, insomuch that itself will rather persecute, than be disturbed in its fleshly liberty, though it is very unwilling to bear the reproach of being accounted a persecutor?”

He then comes to the root of the matter.

“Consider,” he says, “whether you did not flee from the cross, in your transplanting into New England. Safety,” he tells them, “is in standing in God's counsel; in bearing the cross; in suffering for the testimony of his truth; but if at any time, there be a fleeing of the cross (whether inward or outward) without God's direction, the evil spirit is thereby let in, his part strengthened, and the life weakened. . . . And, if you fled your proper cross in your removal from here into New England, though you meet with many others there, yet hereby you lost your proper advantage of serving and honouring God in your generation; yes, you lost that which would have kept your spirits tender, and open to the voice of God's spirit; and then, no marvel if afterwards you grew hard, and fit to persecute, who first had shown yourselves unfit and unworthy to suffer. You might meet with many crosses afterwards, which might neither be able to humble you, nor keep you tender, having once lost that cross which was appointed of God to do it; for all crosses do not break, humble, or keep the heart low and meek; but such as are sent and sanctified by God thereunto.

“Consider when you came to New England, whether tenderness grew up in you, and was abundantly exercised towards such as might differ from you; or whether you were as eager for the way that you thought to be right, as the Conformists you fled from were, for the way they thought to be right? When Israel came out of Egypt into their own land, they were to be tender even towards an Egyptian; much more toward their own brethren. Now, when you were out of danger of being persecuted yourselves, did you lay a foundation of tender usage towards all that should differ from you; or did you lay a foundation of persecuting such as should differ; and would permit none to differ from you, but persecuted them, just as the bishops persecuted you? Did you flee the having yourselves persecuted; or did you flee the persecuting spirit? For if you did flee only your own persecution, and not the persecuting spirit in yourselves, no marvel though it fell a persecuting, so soon as the fear of your own persecution was over.”

“Look over your writings,” he says, in drawing to the conclusion of his address to them, “consider your cause again, in a more meek and upright spirit; and you yourselves will easily see, how in your heart, you have been mistaken, and dealt more injuriously with others, than you yourselves were ever dealt with.”

Chapter IX.

I cannot omit to pause here awhile, for the purpose of presenting the reader with a brief memorial of the interesting writer of the foregoing transcripts. Brief indeed it must necessarily be; for little is to be known of the history of Isaac Penington, beyond what is to be gathered from the testimonies given forth concerning him, at his death, and such incidental notices of him, as are to be found in the life of his friend, Thomas Ellwood.

According to the testimony of William Penn, who married his step-daughter,[32] he was well descended as to his worldly parentage; being the eldest son of Alderman Penington, who was two years successively mayor of the city of London, and a noted member of the long parliament. Isaac, his son, was born about the year 1617, and received a liberal education, “having,” according to Penn, “all the advantages the schools and universities of his own country could give, joined with the conversation of some of the most knowing and considerable men of that time.”

“From his childhood,” says Ellwood, “as I have occasionally heard him say, he was religiously inclined;” and, in a paper written by himself, and found after his death amongst his writings, we have such a living portrait of a deeply exercised mind, as demonstrates that godliness, with him, was indeed the “One Thing needful.”

“I have been a man of sorrow and affliction,” says he, “from my childhood, feeling the lack of the Lord, and mourning after him: separated by him, from the love, nature, and spirit of this world, and turned in spirit towards him, almost ever since I could remember!

“In the sense of my lost estate, I sought after the Lord; I read the Scriptures; I watched over my own heart, and whatever I read in the Scriptures as the way of God to my understanding, I gave myself to the faithful practice of.

“But my soul was not satisfied with what I met with, nor indeed could be; there being further quickenings and pressings in my spirit, after a more full, certain, and satisfactory knowledge; even after the sense, sight, and enjoyment of God, as was testified in the Scriptures, to have been felt and enjoyed in the former times; for I saw plainly, that there was a stop of the streams, and a great falling short of the power, life, and glory, which they [the scripture saints] partook of. We had not so, the spirit, nor were so, in the faith, nor did so walk and live in God, as they did. So that I saw the whole course of religion among us, was, for the most part, but a talk, to what they felt, enjoyed, possessed, and lived in. “This sense made me sick at heart indeed; and set me upon deep crying to God, close searching the Scriptures,” etc.[33]

After dwelling awhile upon his exercises of mind in this respect, and the total insufficiency of anyone he found amongst the different sects and professions of that most sectarian and professing age; “At last,” he says, “after all my distresses and wanderings, etc. I met with some writings of this people, called Quakers, which I cast a slight eye upon, and disdained, as falling very short of that wisdom, etc. which I had been longing and searching after.”

After a long time, he was invited to meet one of them; and on this occasion, was so powerfully impressed by the internal evidence of the Spirit in his own conscience, that what he heard was given forth in the authority and power of God, that he describes himself as inwardly exclaiming, “This is he! This is he! There is no other! This is he whom I have waited for, and sought after from my childhood; who was always near me, and had often begotten life in my heart; but I knew him not distinctly, nor how to receive him, nor dwell with him.”

And it is remarkable how deep and abiding was the memory of this sudden and piercing conviction. Scarcely does he ever speak of his first union with friends, without adverting to it, and that almost in the same words.[34] Yet, rejoiced as he was, to hear the sound of the bridegroom's voice in the secret of his soul, he also discovered, as those who enter upon the spiritual life commonly do discover, that he had no longer to wrestle with flesh and blood, but, as the apostle expresses it, with the principalities, and powers of darkness.

“What I met with, in my spiritual exercises, after this,” he says, “is not to be uttered; only in general, I may say this, I met with the very strength of hell. I also met with deep subtleties and devices to entangle me in that wisdom which seems able to make wise in the things of God; but which indeed is foolishness, and a snare to the soul, bringing it back into captivity.

“And what I met with outwardly, from my own dear father, from my kindred, from my servants, from the people and powers of the world, for no other cause but fearing my God, worshipping him, as he has required of me, etc. the Lord my God knows, before whom my heart and ways are.”

“Neither to him,” (says Ellwood, in his testimony to the memory of Isaac Penington,) “was it given, only to believe, but to suffer also for the sake of Christ. His imprisonments were many, and some of them long, which with great quietness and constancy of mind, he underwent.”

Proceeding to specify them, he states, that his first imprisonment was in Aylesbury jail, in the years 1661 and 1662; being committed there for worshipping God in his own house; where, for seventeen weeks, great part of it in winter, he was kept in a cold, and very incommodious room without a chimney, from which usage he contracted so severe an indisposition, that for several weeks after, he was unable to turn himself in his bed.

He was five times imprisoned after this; and the last time in 1670, for the space of a year and three quarters, in Reading jail; where he went to visit his suffering friends. George Fox narrowly escaped the same fate; as we gather from the following passage in his Journal.

“At Reading, most of the Friends were in prison, and I went to visit them, etc. When the meeting was ended, the jailer understanding I was there, friends were concerned how to get me safe out again; for they feared he should stop me.” After he had stayed awhile, and had eat with them, he went down stairs; and the jailer being at the door, “I gave him something,” he says, “and bade him be kind and civil to my friends in prison, whom I came to visit, and he let me pass out without interruption. But soon after, Isaac Penington coming to visit them, he stopped him, and caused him to be made a prisoner.[35]

One of the most unrelenting foes of this excellent man, was the Earl of Bridgewater, who upon some account or another, had the power of being his persecutor on the score of his religious principles, and who, more than once, was the cause of his imprisonment. It was during one of these occasions, that he addressed a letter to him, from which a few extracts are here made.

“To The Earl of Bridgewater.

“Friend,

“It is the desire of my heart to walk with God, in the true fear of his name, and in true love and good will to all men, all my days here upon the earth. For this end I wait upon God night and day, to know his will, and to receive certain instruction from him concerning what is acceptable in his sight. After he has in anything made manifest his pleasure, I wait upon him for strength to perform it; and when he has wrought it by me, my soul blesses him therefore. If this be a right course, I am not to be condemned herein; if it be not, and you know a better, show me in love, meekness, and tenderness, as I would be willing to make anything known to you for your good, which the Lord has shown me.”

After some close reasoning with him, on the account he would one day have to give of the deeds done in the body; “yet, I do not desire,” he says, “that you should suffer from God or man, on my account; but that you might be guided to, and preserved in that, which will be sweet rest, peace, and safety, to all that are sheltered by it, in the troublesome and stormy hour, in which the Lord will distress man, and make him feel his sin and misery. And, friend, know this assured truth; it is not a religion of man's making or choosing (neither the pope's, nor any other man's,) but only that which is of God, which is acceptable to Him. And what will become of that man, whose very religion and worship is hateful to God? Where will he stand, or what account will he be able to give, when he appears before him? You have not often met with such plain dealing as this. These things very nearly concern you. Oh, wait upon God for his true light, that you may not be deceived about them; because your loss thereby will be so great and irreparable.”

But however painful to the nature of the “outward man” these sufferings might be, the “hidden man of the heart” was thereby perfected, in no ordinary degree, in the case of Isaac Penington. Most of his inestimable letters, as well as the above, were written within the walls of a prison; and of the preciousness of these testimonies, many, then unborn, have tasted with profit and delight.

Yes, good and faithful servant!—well-instructed scribe!—bringing forth out of your treasures, things new and old—you have fed many! Be your just memory blessed! and let a heart that owes you much, thus, in most true and tender love, record its gratitude.

Of his deportment in the tribulations that befel him, there are many pleasing testimonies; but I select one only from the pen of Robert Jones,[36] his friend, and often, fellow-prisoner.

“What shall I say?” exclaims this writer; “he was a man wholly devoted in his heart to serve the Lord his God; yes, I am persuaded it was his delight to do his will. I have had knowledge of him near twenty years, especially in suffering; for it pleased the Lord so to order it, that our lot fell together in prison, several times; and I may say, it was well it was so; for, being made willing by the power of God, to suffer with great patience, cheerfulness, contentedness, and true nobility of spirit, he was a good example to me, and others. I do not remember that ever I saw him cast down, or dejected in his spirit, in the time of his close confinement; nor speak hardly of those that persecuted him. Indeed I may say, in the prison he was a help to the weak, being made instrumental in the hand of the Lord to that end. . . Oh, the remembrance of the glory that did often overshadow us in the place of confinement; so that indeed, the prison was made, by the Lord unto us, as a pleasant palace.”

But the Christian grace which of all others, the most eminently characterized Isaac Penington, appears to have been that of humility; which prompted him on all occasions, to esteem those very highly for their works' sake, whose faithfulness rendered them worthy of it. The following letter from him to George Fox, exemplifies this amiable disposition very pleasingly:—

“Dear G. F.

“I feel the tender mercy of the Lord, and some portion of that brokenness, fear, and humility, which I have long waited for, and breathed after. I feel unity with, and strength from, the body: O! blessed be the Lord, who has fitted and restored me, and brought up my life from the grave. I feel a high esteem and dear love to you, whom the Lord has chosen, anointed, and honoured, and of your brethren and fellow-labourers in the work of the Lord.

“And, dear George Fox, I beg your love, I entreat your prayers, in faith and assurance that the Lord hears you, that I may be yet more broken, that I may be yet more filled with the fear of the Lord, that I may be yet poorer and humbler before the Lord, and may walk in perfect humility and tenderness of spirit before him, all my days.

“Dear George Fox, you may feel my desires and needs more fully than my own heart. Be helpful to me in tender love, that I may feel settlement and stability in the truth; and perfect separation from, and dominion in the Lord, over all that is contrary thereto.

“I. P.

“Aylesbury Jail, “15th Fifth month, 1667.

“I entreat your prayers for my family, that the name of the Lord may be exalted, and his truth flourish therein. Dear G. F., indeed my soul longs for the pure, full, and undisturbed reign of the Life in me.”

Being well fitted and prepared by sanctified suffering, he was ready for death; and, as William Penn describes him, under that exigency, “had nothing else to do but to die, when that summons was served upon him, which was in the sixty-third year of his age: at which time, it pleased the Lord, he fell sick, under a sharp and painful distemper, which hastened his dissolution.”

“However,” he adds, “to internal peace so well established, the anguish of that bitter exercise could give no shock; for he died as he lived, in the faith that overcomes the world.”

Of the domestic life and relations of Isaac Penington, some brief notices are to be found in the history of Thomas Ellwood, who lived many years under his roof, in the capacity of tutor to his children.

To this office, Ellwood was guided, not by profession, but by the pressure of circumstances, resulting from his father's indignation at his uniting himself with the despised Quakers. While this young man was a child, the elder Ellwood, being much engaged on the side of the parliament during the civil wars, had left his country residence in Oxfordshire, for the purpose of being near his allies in London; and during this period, an acquaintance was formed with Lady Springett, who afterwards married Isaac Penington. At the end of the contest between the king and parliament, Mr. Ellwood returned to his estate at Crowell, in Oxfordshire; and in the course of time, hearing that his friends, the Peningtons, were come to live upon their own estate at Chalfont in Buckinghamshire, about fifteen miles from Crowell, he went to visit them, taking his son Thomas with him, who was then about twenty years of age.

Great was the surprise of both father and son, on coming to this place, to hear, and still more to see, that their friends had become Quakers.

“So great a change,” says Ellwood, “from a free, debonair, and courtly sort of behaviour, which we formerly had found them in, to so strict a gravity as they now received us with, did not a little amuse us, and disappoint our expectation of such a pleasant visit as we used to have, and now promised ourselves. Nor could my father have any opportunity, by a private conference with them, to understand the ground or occasion of this change; there being some other strangers with them, related to Isaac Penington, who came that morning from London, to visit them also.”

In this dilemma, young Ellwood bethought himself of the fair Gulielma, Isaac's step-daughter, who had been his play-fellow in former times, when his father lived in London and was on terms of intimacy with Lady Springett her mother. “I became an early and particular playfellow,” he says, alluding to this circumstance, “to her daughter Gulielma; being admitted, as such, to ride with her in her little coach, drawn by her footman, about Lincoln's Inn-fields.”

On the strength of this early alliance, he now sought her company; and found her gathering flowers in the garden, attended by her maid, who was also a Quaker. “But when I addressed myself to her,” he says, “after my accustomed manner, with intention to engage her in some discourse which might tend to introduce conversation on the foot of our former acquaintance, though she treated me with a courteous demeanor, yet, as young as she was, the gravity of her look and behaviour, struck such an awe upon me, that I found myself not so much master of myself, as to pursue any further converse with her; wherefore, asking pardon for my boldness in having intruded myself upon her private walks, I withdrew, not without some disorder, (as I thought, at least,) of mind.

“We stayed dinner,” he continues, “which was very handsome, and lacked nothing to recommend it to me, but the lack of mirth and pleasant discourse; which we could neither have with them, nor, by reason of them, with one another, amongst ourselves; the weightiness that was upon their spirits and countenances, keeping down the lightness that would have been up in us. We stayed, notwithstanding, till the rest of the company took leave of them, and then we, also, doing the same, returned, not greatly satisfied with our journey; nor yet knowing what, in particular, to find fault with.”

Some time after this, the elder Ellwood having obtained some further account of the Quakers, and being desirous to see a little more of them, made another visit to Isaac Penington, taking his son and also his two daughters, with him.

“It was in the tenth month, in the year 1659,” says Ellwood, “that we went there, where we found a very kind reception, and tarried some days; one day at least, the longer, for that, while we were there, a meeting was appointed at a place about a mile from there, to which we were invited.

“To this meeting came Edward Burrough, besides other preachers; as Thomas Curtis, and James Nayler; but none spoke there at that time, but Edward Burrough; next to whom, and as it were, under him, it was my lot to sit, on a stool by the side of a long table on which he sat; and I drank in his words, with desire.”

The meeting being ended, they returned to their friend's house; and “after supper,” he says, “the evenings being long, the servants of the family, (who were Quakers,) were called in, and we all sat in silence. But long we had not so sat, before Edward Burrough began to speak among us; and although he spoke not long, yet what he said, did touch, as I suppose, my father's religious stronghold, as the phrase is; and he, having been from his youth, a professor of Christianity, though not joined in that which is called close communion with any one sort, and valuing himself upon the knowledge he esteemed himself to have, in the various notions of each profession, thought he had now a fair opportunity to display his knowledge, and therefore began to make objections to what had been delivered.

“The subject of the discourse, was the universal free grace of God to all mankind; to which he opposed the Calvinistic tenet of particular, and personal predestination; in defence of which indefensible notion, he found himself more at a loss than he expected. Edward Burrough said not much to him upon it, though what he said was close and compelling. But James Nayler interposing, handled the subject with so much perspicuity, and clear demonstration, that his reasoning seemed to be irresistible; and so I suppose my father found it, which made him willing to drop the discourse.

“As for Edward Burrough, he was a bright young man, of a ready tongue, and might have been, for aught I then knew, a scholar, which made me the less admire his way of reasoning. But what dropped from James Nayler, had the greater force upon me, because he looked but like a plain simple countryman, having the appearance of a husbandman or shepherd.”

And here, a striking remark of Isaac Penington's may be observed as corroborating this statement. Speaking of the power which accompanied the preaching of some of the plain and illiterate ministers amongst the primitive Friends, “Oh the breathings and meltings of soul,” he says, “the sense of the living presence of God, the subjecting of the heart unto the Lord, etc. which has often been known, and sealed to, from the powerful appearance of God, in their ministry! Indeed, when I have considered these and such-like things in my heart, and narrowly marked them in my converse with them, I have been often forced to cry out concerning them, 'truly, here is man very weak and contemptible; but God very glorious and powerful!' And, indeed, when at any time I looked on the man, I was hardly able to forbear disdaining them; but on the other hand, when the eye of my spirit beheld the power and glory of the Lord in them, I could hardly forbear over-esteeming, and exalting them.”[37]

But is not this the way of the Lord,—the invariable way?—we would ask. Is it not his established purpose to “stain the pride of human glory,” by choosing “those whom man despises,” to be the instruments of his noblest purposes? Man, vain man, seeing no further than the shell, craves to have that well ornamented; and he gets his gold and his scarlet, his languages and his learning—and what then? Are these the things helpful to renew a fallen, degenerated soul?

It is easy indeed, to take the outside pattern of the high-priest's garments; but where is the Urim and the Thummim;—the lights and perfections?— where is the breast-plate of judgment?—where is its engraving like that of a signet, with “Holiness unto the Lord?” “Here was more,” says Margaret Fell, writing on this subject—“here was more than the long gown and the surplice, the tippet and the hood;—this is far beyond the long robes of our days,” she continues; “for there is not holiness graven upon them; neither lights nor perfections;—and if they do take the long robes and surplices, and hoods and tippets from Aaron, they miss the garb and fashion of this. And, upon the hem of Aaron's garment,” she proceeds, “there were bells and pomegranates of gold. A golden bell and a pomegranate—a golden bell and a pomegranate round about the hem; and this was to be upon Aaron when he went to minister, that his sound might be heard when he was to go into the holy place. But they set bells upon the top of their steeples instead of these, to make people hear the sound when they go to their worship.”

As I do not propose to enter upon the circumstances of Ellwood's life,[38] any otherwise than as they are connected with Isaac Penington, I pass over the many interesting incidents with which his history abounds; but in doing this, I except one, which, as it respects one of the most illustrious of our poets, I think will be acceptable to the reader.

“I mentioned before,” he says, “that when I was a boy, I had made some good progress in learning, and lost it all again before I came to be a man; nor was I truly sensible of my loss therein, until I came amongst the Quakers; but then I both saw my loss, and lamented it, and applied myself with the utmost diligence, at all leisure times, to recover it; so false I found that charge to be, which in those times was cast as a reproach upon the Quakers, that they despised and decried all human learning, because they denied it to be essentially necessary to a gospel ministry, which was one of the controversies of those times.

“But though I toiled hard, and spared no pains to regain what once I had been master of, yet I found it a matter of so great difficulty, that I was ready to say as the noble eunuch to Philip, in another case, 'how can I, unless I had some man to guide me?'

“This I had formerly complained of, to” my especial friend Isaac Penington; but now more earnestly: which put him upon considering and contriving a means for my assistance.'

“He had an intimate acquaintance with Dr. Paget, a physician of note in London, and he, with John Milton, a gentleman of great note and learning throughout the learned world, for the accurate pieces he had written, on various subjects and occasions.

“This person having filled a public station in the former times, lived now a private and retired life in London: and having wholly lost his sight, kept always a man to read to him; which usually was the son of some gentleman of his acquaintance, whom in kindness, he took to improve in his learning.

“Thus, by the mediation of my good friend Isaac Penington with Dr. Paget, and of Dr. Paget with John Milton, was I admitted to come to him, not as a servant to him (which at that time he needed not) nor to be in the house with him; but only to have the liberty of coming to his house at certain hours when I would, and to read to him what books he should appoint me; which was all the favour I desired.”

Having arranged matters for his residence awhile in London, Ellwood hastened to pay his respects to his accomplished tutor.

“He received me courteously,” he says, “as well for the sake of Dr. Paget who introduced me, as of Isaac Penington who recommended me; to both of whom he bore a good respect; and having inquired several things of me with respect to my former progression in learning, he dismissed me to provide myself with such accommodations as might be most suitable to my future studies.”

“I went therefore, and took myself a lodging as near to his house (which was then in Jewin Street) as conveniently I could; and from that point on, went every day in the afternoon, except on the first days of the week, and, sitting by him in his dining-room, read to him in such books in the Latin tongue, as he pleased to hear me read.

“At my first sitting to read to him, observing that I used the English pronunciation, he told me if I would have the benefit of the Latin tongue not only to read and understand Latin authors, but to converse with foreigners either abroad or at home, I must learn the foreign pronunciation. To this I consenting, he instructed me how to sound the vowels,” etc.

The difficulty he found in obeying these instructions, was considerable; but, “labor omnia, vincit improbus;” “incessant pains, the end obtains,” he observes; “and so did I; which made my reading more acceptable to my master. He, on the other hand, perceiving with what earnest desire I pursued learning, gave me not only all the encouragement, but all the help he could. For, having a curious ear, he understood by my tone, when I understood what I read, and when I did not; and accordingly, would stop me, and examine me, and open the most difficult passages to me.

“Thus I went on for about six weeks time, reading to him in the afternoon; and exercising myself with my own books in my chamber in the forenoons, I was sensible of an improvement.”

But the air of London not agreeing with his health, he was obliged very soon to relinquish this agreeable connection; he resumed it, however, as soon as a retreat for a time into the country had restored him; but, “as if learning,” he says, “had been a forbidden fruit to me, scarce was I well settled in my work, before I met with another diversion, which turned me quite out.”

This was the rising of a sudden storm, from a surmise of some plot against the government, which fell heavily upon the dissenters in general, and especially the Quakers; many of whom (and Ellwood among the rest) were taken at their respective meetings in the city, and put into prison.

Being at length set at liberty, Ellwood could not prevail upon himself to resume his studies with his master Milton, until he had paid a visit of gratitude to his friends Isaac Penington and his wife; from both of whom he had received tokens of kindness and affection in his imprisonment. It was during this visit, that Isaac Penington, being then in need of a tutor for his children, suggested to Ellwood that he should remain with him in that capacity, till he met with a person to suit him; a proposition which being complied with, of course separated him from his engagement with Milton.

He did not, however, wholly lose sight of his quondam tutor; for, being desired to take a house for him in the neighbourhood, during the time that the plague raged in London, that, as Ellwood states, “he might go out of the city, for the safety of himself and his family, the pestilence then growing hot in London; I took a pretty box for him in Giles Chalfont,” he says, “a mile from me, of which I gave him notice, etc.; and soon making him a visit to welcome him into the country, after some common discourse had passed between us, he called for a manuscript of his; which, being brought, he delivered to me, bidding me take it home with me, and read it at my leisure; and when I had so done, return it to him, with my judgment thereupon.

“When I came home, and had set myself to read it, I found it was that excellent poem which he entitled 'Paradise Lost.' After I had, with the best attention, read it through, I made him another visit, and returned him his book, with due acknowledgment of the favour he had done me in communicating it to me. He asked me how I liked it, and what I thought of it; which I modestly, but freely told him; and after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, 'You have said much here of paradise lost; but what have you to say of paradise found?' He made me no answer, but sat some time in a muse; then broke off that discourse, and fell upon another subject.”

“After the sickness was over, and the city well cleansed, and become safely habitable again, he returned there; and when afterwards I went to wait on him there, which I seldom failed of doing, whenever my occasions drew me to London, he showed me his second poem, called 'Paradise Regained' and, in a pleasant tone said to me, 'This is owing to you; for you put it into my head, by the question you put to me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of.'”

I must not close this brief sketch of the domestic history of Isaac Penington, without glancing also at that of his wife, a person of no ordinary excellence, as it respects the qualities either of her head or heart. She was the widow of Sir William Springett, who died about two years after their marriage, leaving her pregnant with a daughter, the Gulielma spoken of by Ellwood; and who, afterwards, became the wife of William Penn.

When Lady Springett first married Isaac Penington, they were not in connection with the Society of Friends; but were both in the same state of earnest desire and expectation, of obtaining a better rest for their soul than the current religion of the day afforded them. Before her first marriage, even from her earliest youth, she describes her condition, in a memoir written by herself, as one of intense anxiety respecting her eternal welfare; but the circumstances of her rank and connections in life, probably tended to keep this anxiety from much outward manifestation, until her marriage with Isaac Penington. Then, a similarity of feeling seems to have melted and prepared her heart, equally with his, to receive the truth in the love of it, and to unite willingly with him in joining the society from whose ministrations it was imparted to them.

A most affecting and beautiful testimony to the memory of her husband, is subjoined to those of the other friends, prefixed to his works; and with some extracts from which, we will conclude the subject.

“No likeness, or appearance, or enticing sound of words,” she says, tenderly apostrophizing him, “would you accept, instead of him who was life indeed! O, the many years you put your mouth in the dust, and went about softly, and had anguish of soul, weeping and groaning! Oh, who can tell the one half of the bitterness of your soul. You would not feed on that which was not bread from heaven! In this state I married you, and my love was drawn to you, because I found you saw the deceit of all notions, and was as one that refused to be comforted, by anything that had the appearance of religion—till He came to his temple, who is truth and no lie. And in this my heart cleaved to you; and a desire was in me to be serviceable to you in this desolate condition; for you were alone and miserable in this world, and I gave up much to be a companion to you, in this your suffering.

“Ah me, he is gone! he, that none exceeded in kindness, in tenderness, in love inexpressible to my relation as a wife. Next to the love of God in Christ Jesus to my soul, was his love precious and delightful to me!—My bosom-one!—that was as my guide and counsellor!—my pleasant companion; my tender, sympathizing friend! as near to the sense of my pain, sorrow, grief, and trouble, as was possible. Yet this great help and benefit is gone; and I, a poor worm, a very little one to him, and compassed about with many infirmities, through mercy, let him go, without one unadvised word of discontent or inordinate grief!”

After a few more words, she concludes by saying, “this testimony to dear Isaac Penington, is from the greatest loser of all that had a share in his life,

“Mary Penington.”

Chapter X.

Amongst the various probations with which different members of the Society of Friends were exercised in this period, few are more observable, than those which relate to the trials of Catherine Evans and Sarah Cheevers.

In the year 1658, these two females, believing themselves required to travel towards Alexandria, departed from England, and landed at Leghorn; where, finding some of their countrymen and friends, they remained several days, dispersing books, and speaking with many persons, without receiving any molestation. From this place they took their passage in a Dutch ship bound for Alexandria; but the master of the vessel, being in company with another ship going to Malta, determined upon going there also, though he had no business in that place.

A remarkable presage of affliction seems to have impressed Catherine Evans, at their being thus involuntarily carried to Malta; for before they came there, she fell into great anguish of mind, during which she exclaimed, “Oh! we have a dreadful cup to drink at that place!” and being come into the harbour, and seeing the people standing on the walls, as though anticipating they would be her enemies, she said within herself, “Shall you destroy us? If we give up to the Lord, then he is sufficient to deliver us out of your hands; but if we disobey our God, all these could not deliver us out of his hand!” in which assurance of faith, she and her companion felt a deliverance from the fear of man.

The next day they went on shore; and being met by the English consul, he inquired their purpose in coming there: to which they replied what seemed to them proper, and gave him some books. He told them of the Inquisition; apparently wishing to apprize them of their danger; and invited them, with proffers of service, to go to his house; which they did.

Here they were visited by several persons, to whom they spoke with seriousness; and a good impression was made by their discourse, upon the minds of many. They returned on board their ship at night; but the next day they came again into the city, and going to the governor, he told them that he had a sister in a nunnery, who desired to see them; upon which, they went there, and talked with the nuns, and gave them some books. One of the priests who brought them into the chapel, desired them to bow to the high altar; which command it is scarcely necessary to say, they refused; and their visit being over, they returned to the consul's house, where they stayed some weeks. During this period, they once went into one of the churches at the time of mass; when Catherine, standing in the midst of the people, turned her back upon the high altar, and kneeling down, lifted up her voice in prayer to God.

Extraordinary as this action was by such a person in such a place, it would seem that it was not displeasing to the officiating priest; since he put off his surplice, and knelt down by her side till she had concluded her supplication. He then beckoned with his hand to her and her companion to approach him; offering her a piece of money, which she refused.

He would then have put it into Sarah's hand; but she declined it also; at the same time showing him her purse, in token that they were not in need of monetary aid.

He inquired if they were Calvinists, or Lutherans? and on their replying in the negative, he asked, if they would go to Rome, to the pope? which, declining, he queried if they were Catholics? to which they said, they were true Christians, and servants of the living God! But as they knew but little of the language, they could only express themselves very defectively, and that as much by signs as by words.

On a second visit to this, or some other church in the place, they happened to arrive at a time when some peculiarly idolatrous ceremonies were proceeding; which occasioned them both, and especially Catherine, so much visible distress and horror of mind for the space of about three quarters of an hour, that the whole congregation were struck with amazement, and began to get out of their way with a movement of fear.

As their abode was at the English consul's, (where they remained three months,) he fell under a suspicion of favouring them; which induced him, contrary to the rites of hospitality, and in defiance of his previous proffers of service, to connive at, if he did not absolutely aid, the demand of the officers of the Inquisition, that these helpless, harmless women should be delivered up into their hands. Previous to this, he had forbidden them to go abroad; and perceiving that something was working to their prejudice, they told him their doubts respecting his good intentions towards them.

To this he made no other reply, than that, “If they were the servants and messengers of God, they should give him a sign thereof.”

“This,” they told him, “might serve for a sign; that it would be well with them; but that it would not go off well with him.”

In a short time the consul informed Catherine, that the Inquisition having received letters from Rome, had sent for her and her friend to be brought before them; but he hoped, he said, that they might be liberated: a hope which he knew to be fallacious; inasmuch as it appeared afterwards, he was aware that a room was then prepared for them as prisoners of the Inquisition.

It would appear, though it is not so stated in the history, that some examination into their principles, had before this time, been made on the part of this tribunal; for on now being brought before it, they were asked by the Lord Inquisitor, if they had changed their minds?

No, they replied; neither should they change from the truth.

He then asked what new light it was they talked of?

It was no new light, they replied; but the same which the apostles and prophets bore witness to.

He inquired how this light came to be lost since their day?

It was not lost, they said; men had this light still within them, but they did not know it, by reason of the night of apostacy which had overspread the nations.

Being again required to say if they would recant what was called their errors, and again signifying their determination to abide in the truth, they were taken into an inner room in the Inquisition, which had only two little holes in it for the admission of light and air; in consequence of which confinement, the weather and the climate being exceedingly sultry and oppressive, they were almost suffocated.

Although nothing of an evil nature appealed in their answers, either at the foregoing, or at any subsequent examination, (of which they had several,) yet they were kept in close imprisonment; a circumstance which occasioned great remorse of conscience to the English consul; who came to them, and with tears in his eyes, expressed regret for their condition; “for it seems,” says Sewel, “that he had received something for delivering them up, which he would willingly have given back, if thereby, he could have obtained their liberty.” But this not being practicable, he had to eat the bitter fruits of repentance for his treachery; in doing which, he amply justified the prophetic words of Catherine, for it went so ill with him, that, as the forementioned historian relates, he tasted of peace no more in this life.

But not thus was it with his victims. Sad and oppressive as was their outward condition, they tasted within of those sweet refreshments, which oftentimes converted their gloomy prison into the very courts of heaven.

“As dying and behold we live!”—such indeed was the befitting motto of these and many more, who, in these dark and troublesome times, lifted up the holy banner which God had put into their hands, with a command to “display it, because of the truth.”

The interruption to quiet which they had to endure from the frequent visits and troublesome discourse of a friar named Malachi, who was constantly urging their reception of Roman Catholicism, was in itself a perpetual vexation; but, added to this trial, their sufferings from the heat were such, as nothing but Divine aid could have rendered supportable. They were also so exceedingly stung with mosquitoes, that their faces were perfectly swollen; which caused the angry friar to tell poor Sarah, that he could spy an evil spirit in her face.

After a short interval, Catherine fell ill; upon which a physician was brought to visit her; but not feeling easy to take any of their remedies, she declined his assistance. It would have been but of little avail, in her circumstances, to seek for medical aid, while the apparent cause of her malady (which was the heat and confinement of her apartment) was not removed.

She inquired, indeed, on seeing the physician, why they should be confined in a room calculated to destroy them, and then a physician brought to keep them the longer alive?

To which the friar made answer, that the inquisitor would lose his head, if he removed them there; and that it was better to keep them there, than to kill them.

Some idea of the sufferings of these poor creatures may be formed, from the circumstance of their often lying down before the crevice of their door, to inhale what air could be obtained from it. In this state, their skin was parched, the hair fell off their heads, and they frequently fainted; and in moments when the strength and glory of the Divine presence was not so feelingly experienced as at others, it cannot occasion surprise, that through human weakness they wished for death; their distress sometimes being such, that when it was day they longed for night, and yet when night came, it was only to prompt the constant sigh for returning light.

There was but one drop of bitterness needed, to augment this cup of trembling, which for wise and necessary purposes, the Most High commanded them to drink. It was their separation from each other! While they could converse, and weep, and suffer, and supplicate together—they were yet possessed of a rich mine of happiness. Too rich it would seem! Their hearts were not yet bankrupt enough in worldly love and joy, to sink wholly and unreservedly into the bosom of their beloved. And so the blessed bridegroom of the soul, in beautiful jealousy, interposed to make them absolutely his own, by compelling them to take their all of satisfaction from himself. “That they may be one, Father, as we are one—that they all may be made perfect in one.”

This measure of separating them, was not carried into immediate execution when first proposed; which was in consequence of Catherine's illness; the inquisitor causing them at that time to be told, that he would have them separated, for the purpose of Catherine's being taken into a cooler apartment; but that Sarah should remain there. Upon hearing this, Catherine declared that she would rather die than be separated from her friend. “The Lord has joined us together,” said she, taking the arm of her dear companion, “and woe be to them that part us!”

This tender stroke appears to have softened the hard heart even of the friar who brought them this intelligence; for he went away without further urging the matter, and they saw him no more for five weeks.

At the end of that time, some monks came to them with a renewal of the order for their separation; but Catherine being then much worse in health, they again brought the doctor to her, who said she must have air, or she would die; in consequence of which statement, their prison doors were set open for six hours every day.

At last the painful sentence which had so long been threatened, was actually executed; and though both of them declared, and doubtless, with truth, that death itself would not have been so grievous to them as separation, they found no pity from the merciless monks with whom they were dealing. The reason assigned for this cruel measure, was, that they only hardened each other in refusing to recant their errors; and therefore when separated, they would perhaps cease to be obstinant. But so far from their being intimidated by this accession of sorrow, they acquired fresh courage therefrom; a result which the spiritual mind would anticipate as probable; since such a one can conceive, when put into the furnace of affliction, how safely the soul may cast itself into the keeping of the Great Refiner, assured that he himself will sit by, to watch his gold; (Mal. iii. 3,) permitting, in the painful process, no higher degree of suffering than that which is absolutely needful, to purify the vessel, and make it fit for the Master's use.

A remarkable dream of Catherine's during their imprisonment, is strikingly illustrative of this truth.

She found herself (in her dream) in a large room, in the chimney of which was a great fire made of wood. In a chair by the side of this fire, a person was sitting, whom she took to be the Son of God; and over the fire, so that it appeared impossible but it must be consumed, she perceived a very lovely child, which she would eagerly have taken up, to save it from being destroyed; but he that sat in the chair, commanded her to let it alone. Although the fire was flaming about it, the child played and seemed merry. On turning round, she perceived an angel; and at the same time she was desired by the person sitting in the chair, to take the child up; which she did, and found that it had received no harm.

“He knows the way that I take,” said the holy patriarch; (Job, xxiii. 10,) “when he has tried me, I shall come forth as gold.”

In the course of their imprisonment, “it happened,” says Sewel, “that the inquisition-house was new built, or repaired; which took up about the space of a year and a half; and during this time, some of the great ones came often to see the building, which gave opportunity to these women to speak to them, and to declare the truth in the name of the Lord.”

He also states, that although they were threatened by the monks for preaching the light of Christ so boldly, yet not only the magistrates, but the Lord Inquisitor grew moderate towards them, and gave orders that they should have pens, ink, and paper, to write to England. And they also seemed inclined to have set them at liberty; but the friars counteracted all such measures, seeming bent upon annoying them to the utmost of their ability. A variety of somewhat disjointed conversations between them and their usual visitor, Malachi, is preserved in the history of this transaction, which is contained in a small volume chiefly collected from letters and papers written by them in prison, and published in England, not long after their return in 1662.

But these discourses being desultory, and evidently written down soon after their occurrence, rather by way of diary, or for private interest, than public edification, I do not insert them.

I am induced, however, to subjoin a specimen of the heavenly content, which, upon the whole, was their portion in this dark and cloudy day, by offering to the reader a few stanzas of Catherine's humble, but very sweet poetry, looking at it in spirit.

HYMN TO GOD.[39]

All praise to him that has not put,

Nor cast me out of mind;

Nor yet his mercy from me shut,

As I could ever find.

Oh none is like unto the Lamb,

“Whose beauty shineth bright!

O! glorify his holy name,

His majesty and might.

My soul, praise thou the only God,

A fountain pure and clear;

Whose crystal streams spread all abroad,

And cleanseth far and near.

My sweet, and dear beloved one,

Whose voice is more to me

Than all the glory of the earth,

Or treasures I can see.

My soul, praise thou the Lord I say,

Praise him with joy and peace;

My spirit and mind, both night and day,

Praise him and never cease.

Oh, praises, praises, to our God!

Sing praises to our King;

O teach the people, all abroad,

His praises for to sing.

A Zion song of glory bright,

That does shine out so clear;

O manifest it in the sight

Of nations far and near.

That God may have his glory due,

His honour and his fame;

And all his saints may sing anew

The praises of his name.

It is worthy of observation, and certainly tending to spiritual progress, to consider how much the soul thrives in the exercise of praise. How continually do we find “the high praises of God,” in the mouth of the scripture saints!—and how almost invariably, as it advances nearer to the Fountain of blessedness, and the sweet Source of its being, does the spirit of the creature, when in its right state, pour forth enraptured songs of thanksgiving, to its all glorious, and all lovely Creator!

Hence, how many at, or very near the moment of their departure from the body, break forth into singing; “the joy of the Lord being their strength.”

I cannot refrain from adding another extract or two from the papers of these exalted captives, for which, I think I shall receive the thanks of at least some of my readers. The following passages are selected from a letter of Catherine to her husband, and which she superscribes,

“For the hands of John Evans, my right, dear, and precious husband, with my tender-hearted children; who are more dear and precious to me than the apple of my eye.”

She then addresses him as her “Most dear and faithful husband, friend, and brother,”—telling him that she has unity and fellowship with him day and night.

“Oh my dear husband and children,” she says, “how often have I poured out my soul to the everlasting Father for you, with rivers of tears night and day, that you might be kept pure and single in the sight of our God . . .

“My dear hearts, you do not lack teaching; you are in a land of blessedness, which flows with milk and honey! among the faithful stewards whose mouths are opened wide to righteousness, to declare the eternal mysteries of the everlasting kingdom of endless joys and eternal glory, whereinto all the willing and obedient shall enter, and be blessed forever.

“My dear hearts, the promises of the Lord are large, and all yes and amen to those that fear his name. He will comfort the mourners in Zion, and will cause the heavy-hearted in Jerusalem to rejoice, because of the glad tidings. They that do bear the cross with patience, shall wear the crown with joy; for it is through long suffering, and patient waiting, that the crown of life and immortality comes to be obtained. The Lord has exercised my patience, and tried me to the uttermost; to his praise, and my eternal comfort, who has not failed us in anything, but has given abundantly in his own due time. We are witnesses that he can provide a table in the wilderness, both spiritual and temporal. . . .

“In our deepest affliction, when I looked for every breath to be the last, I could not wish I had not come over the sea; because I knew it was my eternal Father's will to prove me, with my dear and faithful friend. In all afflictions and miseries, the Lord remembered mercy, and did not leave us, nor forsake us, nor allow his faithfulness to fail; but caused the sweet drops of his mercy to distil upon us, and the brightness of his glorious countenance to shine into our hearts.”

She concludes this tender effusion by committing her beloved husband and children to the hands of the Almighty, and to the word of his grace—adding, as her last words, “I do believe we shall see your faces again with joy.

“This was written in the Inquisition at Malta, in the 11th month, in the year 1661.”

The address of Sarah to her husband and children, is less touching, but not less “strong in the faith, giving glory to God.”

She begins by assuring them of her soul's rest and peace in the bosom of her Lord and Saviour. “Therefore,” she says, “does my soul breathe to my God for you and my children, night and day, that your minds may be joined to the light of the Lord Jesus, to lead you out of Satan's kingdom into the kingdom of God, where we may enjoy one another in the life eternal, where neither sea nor land can separate.” And in that light she tells him, that she salutes him and her dear children; entreating them to turn to the everlasting Fountain, which had been opened to them by the messengers of Christ; “who preach to you,” she says, “the word of God, 'in season and out of season,' directing you where you may find your Saviour.”

She tells them that she cannot by pen and paper, set forth the extent of the love of God to her soul, in fulfilling his gracious promises to her in the wilderness.

It appears indeed, in the history of these prisoners, that they were permitted to sing the Lord's song in a strange land—and that in the midst of heaviness, “their mouths were often filled with laughter, and their tongues with joy.”

At length, after a captivity of four years, it pleased God to order matters for their deliverance; which was effected through the instrumentality of Lord D'Aubigny, a Roman Catholic priest, then in England in the service of the queen-mother; and whose interposition in the affair was sought by Gilbert Latey, a valued minister in the society.

An account of the transaction is preserved in Latey's life; and which, as it comprises some allusions to other subjects of an interesting land, I transcribe as follows:—

“In the year 1660, and upon the coming in of King Charles II., the queen-mother resided at Somerset House; and it having pleased the Lord to lay a necessity on two of his servants and handmaids, to visit various parts beyond the seas, warning the people to turn to the Lord, after having passed through several parts, they arrived at the Island of Malta; where, for bearing testimony to the power of God, etc., they were taken up and confined; the tidings of which, some time after, came to London; and Gilbert being often in the service of soliciting ease for the suffering servants of the Lord, made it his business to find out some here who had an interest in those parts. And after some time and pains spent in this affair, he soon got information that one Lord D'Aubigny, who came over with the queen-mother, and was lord-almoner to her, had both interest, power, and command, in the island of Malta.

Having obtained access to this individual, the history relates, that Gilbert “found him to be a well-tempered man; and notwithstanding the way of the Lord was evilly spoken of, and his people were looked upon by many, as speckled birds, and went as with their lives in their hands; the power of God so wrought on this Lord D'Aubigny, (although he was a priest in orders,) that he was very kind and free to Gilbert; and reasoned with him like Felix with Paul, about the principles of truth, and way of the Lord. And being informed concerning the power of God, and the manner of the Spirit's working, answered, that some of their people thought our friends were mad; 'but,' said he, 'I do not think so of them.'

“And upon further discourse with him at another time, he confessed further, and said, 'Let me talk with you ever so long, and you will tell me of the Spirit of God, and the grace of God, and the works and operations thereof, etc., which I believe may in a measure be true. But do you not think it is well to have something to represent that, which you so much love?'

“To which Gilbert answered, that the substance of all things was come; i.e. 'Christ in us the hope of glory;' and all the outward types, representations and shadows, must come to an end, and be swallowed up in our blessed Lord; who told his disciples, it was expedient for them he should go away; 'for,' said he, 'if I go not away, the Comforter will not come; but if I depart, I will send him; even the Spirit of truth which shall guide you into all truth.' And he also said, that 'he who was with them should be in them.' So that this being witnessed, there needed nothing outwardly to represent or put them in mind; for he being so near men and women, was [himself] the saint's daily remembrancer.

“Upon this they parted; but Gilbert often visited him, to desire and remember him to show kindness to the suffering friends that were under confinement, both in a strange place, and at so great a distance from their friends, and their native country.

“Coming another time to wait on him, he bid Gilbert follow him; which doing, he went into the queen's chapel, where Gilbert seeing the people on their knees, and the candles lighted on the altar, made a halt, and asked the Lord D'Aubigny what he meant by bidding him come in there?

“'You know,' said he, 'that I can bow to nothing.'

“To this the Lord D'Aubigny answered, 'Follow me, and nobody shall hurt you, nor meddle with you.' Upon which, Gilbert followed him through the chapel, to a room behind the altar, where was another of the queen's priests; and there being some lesser altars, the Lord D'Aubigny said to Gilbert, 'You never yet saw me in my priestly habit, but now you shall.' And while he was making ready, the power of the Lord worked so much on Gilbert, that he stepped up on a place they called a private altar, and the word of the Lord came to him to preach truth unto them; when, among other expressions, he said, 'We have an altar of which you have no right to eat.' Whereupon the queen's priest asked, 'What altar is this you speak of?'

“'The altar I speak of,' said Gilbert, 'is that on which the saints daily offer up their prayers to the living God.'

“Then the priest replied, 'Friend, there is no greater state attainable than what you speak of.'

“But Gilbert ceased not to visit the Lord D'Aubigny, still renewing his request for kindness to be shown to his suffering friends. And some time after, going again to wait upon him, to see if he had any answer to the letters which he had promised to write on the friends' behalf, he acquainted Gilbert, that his friends were at liberty, and free, and clear from all confinement; which was joyful news to him.”

In due time they arrived in England, and went to visit their friend Gilbert; and after acknowledging his love and endeavours for their liberty, they desired him to bring them to the sight of the Lord D'Aubigny, whom it had pleased God to make the instrument of their enlargement.

“Gilbert,” we are told, “was very willing to accompany them; and according to their desire, went with them to wait on the Lord D'Aubigny; who, when they came, understanding that Gilbert was desirous to have the liberty of seeing him, came down to them; on which Gilbert told him that the friends who had been made partakers of his great kindness, and released of their bonds in Malta, were come to pay their acknowledgments to him for the same. Whereupon he asked if they were the women. To which they replied they were; and according as the Lord put it into their hearts, they spoke to him; adding that were it in their power, they should be as ready in all love to serve him. To which he replied, 'Good women, for what service or kindness I have done you, all that I desire of you is, that when you pray to God, you will remember me in your prayers.'

“And so they parted.”

Chapter XI.

In the year 1660, the rightful heir to the throne being restored to his dominions, the whole face of public affairs was changed; and from the sombre appearance which the nation had worn in the days of the sectarian commonwealth, it then went to the other extreme of manifest and almost unbridled licentiousness.

It was not very likely in this state of things, that an appeal from a plain man like George Fox, could tend to stop the current of iniquity which was streaming through the country; but believing himself called upon to witness against it, he attacked it at its chief source, in the following curious address to the king; which he thus introduces in his Journal:—

“I was moved, also, to write to the king, to exhort him to exercise mercy and forgiveness towards his enemies, and to warn him to restrain the profaneness and looseness that was got up in the nation on his return.”

To The King.

“King Charles,

“You entered not into this nation by sword, nor by victory of war, but by the power of the Lord. Now if you do not live in it [that is, the power of the Lord] you will not prosper. If the Lord has showed you mercy and forgiven you, and you do not show mercy and forgive, God will not hear your prayers, nor them that pray for you. If you do not stop persecution and persecutors, and take away all laws that hold up persecution about religion; if you persist in them, and uphold persecution, that will make you as blind as those that have gone before you. For persecution has always blinded those that have gone into it; [and] such God by his power overthrows, does his valiant acts upon, and brings salvation to his oppressed ones. If you bear the sword in vain, and let drunkenness, oaths, plays, and May-games, with such-like abominations and vanities, be encouraged or go unpunished, as setting up of May-poles with the image of the crown a-top of them, etc. the nations will quickly turn like Sodom and Gomorrah, and be as bad as the old world, who grieved the Lord till he overthrew them; and so he will you, if these things be not suppressed. Hardly was there so much wickedness at liberty before, as there is at this day; as though there was no terror nor sword of magistracy; which does not grace a government, nor is a praise to them that do well. Our prayers are for them that are in authority, that under them we may live a godly life; in which we have peace, and that we may not be brought into ungodliness by them. Hear, and consider, and do good in your time, while you have power. Be merciful and forgive; that is the way to overcome, and obtain the kingdom of Christ.

“G. F.”

At the time of writing this epistle, George was a prisoner in Lancaster Castle; where he had been roughly taken, while visiting his friend Margaret Fell at Swarthmore, and committed on the plea of being a disturber of the nation; but the court order which more particularly specified in what way he created disturbances, he could not obtain a sight of. The only favour granted him, was permission that two of his friends might read it, at a visit they made the jailer to request a copy thereof; and being able to retain and repeat to him the substance of it, (which, in general, was simply what has been stated, with the addition of his holding fanatic opinions,) he answered it by a sort of manifesto, which is far too lengthy for insertion as it stands; but from which a few extracts may be acceptable.

“I am a prisoner at Lancaster, committed by Justice Porter. A copy of the court order I cannot get; but such expressions I am told are in it, as are very untrue; as that I am generally suspected to be a common disturber of the nation's peace, an enemy to the king, and that I with others, should endeavour to raise insurrections, etc.; all which is utterly false, and I do, in every part thereof, deny it.

“And whereas Major Porter says, I am an enemy to the king, this is false; for my love is to him, and to all men; even though they be enemies to God, to themselves, and to me. . . It is much he should say I am an enemy to the king; for I have no reason so to be; he having done nothing against me.

“And whereas he says, that I, together with others of my fanatic opinion, as he calls it, have of late endeavoured to raise insurrections, etc.; this is altogether false. To these things I am as a child, and know nothing of them. The postures of war, I never learned; my weapons are spiritual, and not carnal, for with carnal weapons I do not fight. . . . And as for the word fanatic, which signifies 'furious, foolish, mad,' etc., we are not furious, foolish, or mad; but through patience and meekness, have borne lies, slanders, and persecutions, many years, and have undergone great sufferings. The spiritual man that wrestles not with flesh and blood, and the Spirit that reproves sin in the gate, which is the Spirit of truth, wisdom, and sound judgment, is not mad, foolish, furious, which fanatic signifies: but all are of a mad, foolish, furious spirit, that wrestle with flesh and blood, and with carnal weapons, in their furiousness, foolishness and rage. This is not the Spirit of God, but of error, that persecutes in a mad, blind zeal, like Nebuchadnezzar and Saul.” He subscribes this paper,

“From an innocent sufferer in bonds, and close prisoner in Lancaster Castle; called

“George Fox.”

In the meantime many exertions were making on the part of his friends, towards his emancipation; Margaret Fell going herself to London, to petition the king in his behalf. In this purpose she was joined by Ann Curtis, whose father, a sheriff of Bristol, had been executed in the past times, for endeavouring to aid the restoration of the king: upon the strength of which circumstance, she was kindly received by Charles, and an order given, that his secretary should desire George Fox to be had up for a hearing in London.

“But when they came to the secretary for the order,” says George, “he said it was not in his power; he must go according to law, and I must be brought up by a habeas corpus, before the judges.”

Accordingly an order was sent, and delivered to the sheriff (signifying it was the king's pleasure he should be sent up by a habeas corpus.) “But because it was directed to the Chancellor of Lancaster,” he continues, “the sheriff put it off to him; on the other hand, the chancellor could not make the warrant upon it, but said the sheriff must do that. At length both chancellor and sheriff were got together; but being both enemies to truth, they sought occasion for delay, and found an error in the order; which was, that being directed to the chancellor it said, 'George Fox in prison under your custody'—Whereas the prison I was in, was not in the chancellor's custody, but the sheriff's; so the word your should have been his. Upon this, they returned the order to London again, only to have that one word altered.”

When it is remembered, that these were days in which the mail-bags were not carried by railroads, and probably, not even with the dispatch of a carrier's cart, it will seem no ordinary trial of patience, to have to wait in prison the issue of such frivolous mistakes. But the principles of that faith which George professed and practised, had their deepest root and most nourishing growth, in circumstances of this exercising kind. Hence Isaac Penington, in one of his letters, desires a suffering friend, to “Prize inward exercises, griefs, and troubles; and let faith and patience have their perfect work in them.”

When the order was altered and brought down again, the matter was never the nearer being settled; “for the sheriff refused to carry me up,” says George, “unless I would seal a writing to him, and become bound to pay for the sealing, and the charge of carrying me up; which I denied; telling them I would not seal anything to them, nor be bound. So the matter rested awhile, and I continued in prison. Meanwhile the court sessions came on; but as there was an order for removing me, I was not brought before the judge.”

It was long before the sheriff would yield the point of removing him to London, without his consenting to bear the expense thereof; at last finding him immoveable on this point, he was desired to put in bail for his appearance in London on such a day, in which case he was to have permission to go there in his own way, and with any of his friends.

“I told them,” he says, “I would neither put in bail, nor give one piece of silver to the jailer; for I was an innocent man; they had imprisoned me wrongfully, and laid a false charge upon me. Nevertheless, I said, if they would let me go with one or two of my friends, I might go up and be in London on such a day, if the Lord should permit; and if they desired it, I, or any of my friends that went with me, would carry up their charge against me.

“When they saw that they could do no otherwise with me, the sheriff consented that I should go with some of my friends, without any other engagement than my word, to appear before the judges in London, such a day of the term, if the Lord should permit.” Accordingly, being released, after a few visits amongst his friends, he, at the appointed time, appeared in London, carrying his own charge with him; which, having delivered into the hands of the proper authorities, he repaired, as he was directed to do, at a certain time, to the bar of the King's Bench, accompanied by some of his friends.

“I was brought into the middle of the court,” he says, “and as soon as I came in, I was moved to look about, and turning to the people said, 'Peace be among you!’”

The charge against him being read, and some emotion testified on the part of the court, at the statement which represented him and his friends as attempting to embroil the nation in blood, by raising a civil war, etc. he stretched out his arms, and exclaimed, with a simplicity quite his own, “I am the man whom that charge is against; but I am as innocent as a child concerning it. I have never learned any war postures.

“Do you think,” he continued, “that if I and my friends were such men as the charge declares, that I should have brought it up myself, against myself? or that I should be suffered to come up, with one or two of my friends with me? Had I been such a man as this charge sets forth, I had need to have been guarded up with a troop or two of horse. But the sheriff and magistrates of Lancaster, thought fit to let me and my friends come up with it ourselves, almost two hundred miles, without any guard at all; which you may be sure they would not have done, if they had looked upon me to be such a man.”

The result of the whole was, that, after having been a prisoner somewhat more than twenty weeks, he was, by the king's command, liberated.

“Some degree of quietness was at this time enjoyed by friends in their meetings; the king, in good humour with his pleasant reverse of circumstances, being disposed to extend his protection to them; “Richard Hubberthorn,” says George Fox, in his Journal, “had been with the king, who said, none should molest us, so long as we lived peaceably; and promised this upon the word of a king, telling him we might make use of this promise.”

An account of this conversation of Richard Hubberthorn's with the king, was published by Richard shortly after, and is preserved in Sewel's History, from which the following extracts are taken.

Having stated to the king the sufferings from persecution which friends had endured, Charles replied, “It is true; those that have ruled over you, have been cruel, and have professed much which they have not done.”

“To which Richard replied, that the same sufferings still abounded in the nation; many friends being in prison, because they could not burden their consciences by taking the oath of allegiance and supremacy.

“King. But why cannot you swear? for an oath is a common thing amongst men to any engagement?

“R. H. Yes: it is manifest, and we have seen by experience, that it is so common amongst men to swear, and engage either for, or against things, that there is no regard taken to it, nor fear of an oath. That therefore, which we speak of, in the truth of our hearts, is more than what they can swear.

“King. But can you promise before the Lord? which is the substance of an oath.

“R. H. Yes; what we do affirm, we can promise before the Lord, and take him to our witness in it. But our so promising has not been accepted; but the ceremony of an oath they have stood for; without which, all other things were accounted of no effect.

“King. But how may we know from your words, that you will perform?

“R. H. By proving us: for they that swear, are not known to be faithful, but by proving them; and so we, by those that have tried us, are found to be truer in our promises, than others by their oaths; and to those that do yet prove us, we shall appear the same.

“King. Pray what is your principle?

“R. H. Our principle is this; that Jesus Christ is 'the true light that enlightens every one that comes into the world,' that all men through him might believe; and that they are to obey and follow this light, as they have received it; whereby they may be led unto God, and unto righteousness, and the knowledge of the truth, that they may be saved.”

Some further discourse ensued upon the subject of the sacrament, in which the lords in waiting also joined; after which, the king asked him, “How know you that you are inspired by the Lord?”

“R. H. According as we read in the scriptures, that 'the inspiration of the Almighty gives understanding,' so, by his inspiration, is an understanding given us of the things of God.'

One of the lords in waiting then inquired,” How do you know that you are led by the true spirit?”

“R. H. This we know, because the Spirit of truth reproves the world of sin; and by it, we are reproved of sin, and are also led from sin unto righteousness, and obedience of truth; by which effects, we know it is the true Spirit; for the spirit of the wicked one does not lead into such things.”

The king and his courtiers both agreed to the truth of this; and Charles, apparently well pleased with the plain sense of his visitor, then said; “Well, of this you maybe assured; that you shall none of you suffer for your opinions or religion, so long as you live peaceably; and you have the word of a king for it; and I have also given forth a declaration to the same purpose, that none shall wrong you, or abuse you.”

After a few more questions and answers, the king in a courteous manner, withdrew.

At this time the face of affairs, as it respected the society, wore a more smiling aspect than it had ever done before. About seven hundred friends, who in the time of the Commonwealth, had been committed to prison (for contempt, as stated in their accusations,) were set at liberty; and some were even admitted in the House of Lords, to specify their reasons for refusing to take oaths, pay tithes, or conform to the national mode of worship. But suddenly, these flattering appearances were clouded with disappointment; for the insurrection of the Fifth Monarchy men, causing the seceders generally to be accused of a share in it, the society of friends, though one of the most harmless of the body of dissenters, were, as usual, stigmatized with the suspicion of being the most offending.

A declaration of their principles and faithfulness to their king and country, was put forth by them in writing, and presented to the king; which, George Fox says, “did somewhat clear the dark air that was over the city and country; and soon after, the king gave forth a proclamation, that no soldiers should search any house without a constable. But the jails,” he says, “were still full; many thousands of friends being in prison; which mischief was occasioned by the wicked rising of those Fifth Monarchy men.”

Much blood,” he continues, “was shed this year; (1660;) many of the old king's judges being hanged, drawn, and quartered. Amongst those that suffered, Colonel Hacker was one, who sent me prisoner from Leicester to London, in Oliver's time. A sad day it was; and a repaying of blood with blood. But there was a secret hand in bringing this day upon that hypocritical generation of professors; who, being got into power, grew proud, haughty, and cruel, beyond others, and persecuted the people of God without pity.” Perhaps a more living portrait of the characters and conduct of those, who, in the preceding times had usurped authority, cannot easily be found than in these few lines.

“Yet some of them,” says George, “were so hardened in their wickedness, that when they were turned out of their places and offices, they said, if they had power they would do the same again. And when this day of overturning was come upon them, they said, it was all along of us. Wherefore, I was moved to write to them and to ask, did we ever resist them when they took away our ploughs and plough-gear, our carts and horses, our corn and cattle, our kettles and platters from us? and whipped us, and set us in the stocks, and cast us into prison, and all this, only for worshipping and serving God in spirit and truth, and because we could not conform to their religions, customs, manners and fashions? Did we ever resist them? Did we not give them our backs to beat, our cheeks to pull off the hair, and our faces to spit upon? Why then would they say, it was all along of us?”

He concludes this cogent appeal by stating, that, notwithstanding all the depredations they had suffered at the hands of these their enemies, friends could praise God, “that they had a kettle, a platter, a horse, and a plough still.”

Chapter XII.

Amongst the sufferers in consequence of the insurrection above mentioned, was George Whitehead, already introduced to the reader's notice; who, with some other friends, was taken while attending a meeting in Norfolk, and once more committed to his quondam residence in Norwich Castle.

Of their lodgings in this place, he gives the following account: “There being a hole in a corner of the castle wall, called the Vice, we betook ourselves to that to lodge in, though a poor narrow place, without any chimney in it; yet, there we got up two little beds, and lodged two in each; John Lawrence and his brother Joseph, in one bed, and William Barber and I, in the other. It was a very incommodious habitation and lodging room, for lack of a chimney; and having an old decayed stone arch over it, the rain came in so much upon us, that we could not well keep it off our beds, though we set dishes and basins to keep off what we could. In the cold of winter, we burnt a little charcoal in evenings, which we found somewhat injurious, and suffocating, having no chimney to vent the smoke; and in the daytime, we endeavoured often to keep ourselves warm, by walking upon the castle-hill, and under the wall, (being within the liberty of the prison): though it was but a cold bleak place in winter, yet we were glad that we had that benefit of the air.

“Our friends, William Barber and John Lawrence, having been men of note and captains in the commonwealth's day, it appeared in them a great piece of self-denial and subjection to the cross of Christ, to suffer so patiently for his name and truth's sake, in such a poor, incommodious lodging. I remember one morning when we were in bed, Joseph Lawrence, after his pleasant manner, said to his brother John, “Oh, Captain Lawrence, I have seen the day that you would not have lain here!”

During this imprisonment, George Whitehead had so severe an attack of ague, that some of his friends, supposing it would end in his dissolution, were ready to take their last leave of him. “I was one night in particular,” he says, “sorely affected with the smoke of the little charcoal fire, and earnestly called to have it presently put out, otherwise I questioned whether I should live till next morning.”

In this suffering state, he was, nevertheless, required to take a journey to Thetford, there to take his trial with his companions: of which he gives the following account:—

“The time for our appearing at the spring court sessions at Thetford drawing near, I believed I should be enabled to ride there: for, we were all to appear there who were prisoners for our religious meetings; and in order to my going to the court sessions, my horse was brought to the prison-door, three days before the court sessions began.

“I rode with John Lawrence to his house at Wramplingham, on the seventh day of the week; it being five or six miles on my way towards Thetford, and stayed there the next day and night following. But that day, I had again a very sick fit of the ague, but grew better before the next day; and then we took horse for Thetford, being about, or above twenty miles from Norwich. The weather being cold, a hail-shower overtook us, and I was again taken with a fit of ague on the road, before we got to Thetford: yet, with the Lord's help, I held on, and grew better before, or by the time we came to Thetford; and that same afternoon could readily walk up to the top of that noted mount or hill which is by the town. We met the rest of our friends who came from Norwich Castle, at Thetford prison, where we were in the day-time, after the court sessions began; but at night we had liberty to lodge at our friends houses, in or near the town.”

Judges Hale and Windham were then upon this circuit; but unhappily, for the poor friends, their cause, instead of coming before the benevolent Hale, fell into the hands of Windham; who, “terribly threatened dissenters,” says Whitehead,” and such as would not go to the parish church and conform,” etc. He also, in his charge, gave notice of many ancient penal laws, made against such; and caused some of them to be read in court; insomuch that “an ancient friend, Elizabeth Hawes, then living at Snare Hill, near Thetford, gave me a full account, with tears, after she had heard the said charge. She, being very sorrowful, to see how they were bent on persecution, to encourage her, I signified, that the Lord would plead our cause, and stand by us; and I would have no friends discouraged, but be faithful to the Lord, and valiant for the truth upon earth.”

The usual inquiry of what had brought them from their own home, into that part of the country, having been asked, and the usual reply, “to preach repentance, and bear testimony to the truth,” having been answered, they were required to take the oath of allegiance; which, being with their accustomed steadfastness declined, they were all remanded to the prison in Thetford,—and after being again examined, and persisting in their determination not to swear, six of them, (amongst whom was George Whitehead, and his aforesaid friends,) were sent back to Norwich Castle; from which, after an imprisonment of sixteen weeks, they were at last released by the king's proclamation of grace, wherein, notwithstanding, says Whitehead, “his grace or favour thereby expressed towards the Quakers, it was not without a menace or threat, i.e. 'not intending their impunity, if they should offend in the future, in like manner as they had done,'” etc.

As such a clause was not likely to operate upon the constancy of the Quakers, however it might upon that of some other dissenters, this proclamation of grace produced but little grace for them.

Their fixed principle respecting the question of oaths, laid them peculiarly open to oppression; and when they fell into the hands (as they commonly did) of those who were maliciously disposed towards them, it presented a means of afflicting them, which was constantly and cruelly resorted to.[40]

“Upon that occasion,” says George Fox, “friends published in print, 'The grounds and reasons, why they refused to swear:' besides which, I was moved to give forth these few lines following, to be given to the magistrates:—

“The world says, 'kiss the book but the book says, 'kiss the Son, lest he be angry;' and the Son says, 'swear not at all;' but keep to yes and no, in all your communications; for whatsoever is more than this, comes of evil. Again the world says, 'lay your hand on the book;' but the book says, 'handle the word;' and the word says, 'handle not the traditions, nor the inventions, nor the rudiments of the world.' And God says, 'this is my beloved Son, hear him,' who is the life, the truth, the light, and the way to God.

“G. F.”

As this reasoning may be somewhat too concise, a few observations upon the subject are inserted from a work of Isaac Penington's, entitled, “The great Question concerning the Lawfulness or Unlawfulness of Swearing, under the Gospel, stated,” etc.[41]

He considers, in the first place, “what an oath is?”

“A true and lawful oath under the law,” he says, “was an engagement or bond upon the soul, (Numbers, xxx, ii.) by the name of the Lord, (Deut. x. 20.) to the speaking of truth in things affirmed, and to the performance of truth in things promised. It was a seal to bind fallen man [that is, man fallen from truth and uprightness] to truth in his words and promises, either to God or man.”

He inquires secondly, into the ground or occasion of an oath, which he states to be “the fall of man from truth and innocency, and the uprightness which made truth natural to him before his fall.” “This,” he says, “made the Jews stand in need of this bond, under the law, in then purposes and promises towards God; and the same thing made them stand in need of it one from another, to ratify and confirm truth between them.”

Thirdly: in what case was an oath to be used? He specifies four occasions in which it was chiefly required.

I. In case of a promise or vow to God.

II. In case of promise to man.

III. In case of pronouncing or declaring the truth of a thing, etc.

IV. In case of controversy between parties, where it could not be determined, but by taking the confession of one party for truth.

He goes into further divisions of the subject; but those above stated, comprise the substance of the rest.

He then speaks of four states or conditions of the soul, since the creation, preparatory to his applying the matter to the case of friends.

1. A state of integrity, wherein man could not lie nor deceive.

2. A state of deep captivity to evil, etc.

3. A state of shadowy redemption from evil, etc., wherein were figures of heavenly things—but not the very things themselves.

4. A state of true redemption, which state, he thanks God, is (after a long night of apostasy) again brought forth.

And here it may be necessary to add for the information of those who are but little acquainted with the principles of the primitive friends, that this view of complete redemption from evil, was the groundwork of their hopes, their sufferings, and their joys. In a word, they trusted to “go on unto perfection.”

“In this state” (of true redemption) he says, “the soul is brought back from death, from captivity, from deceit, from the fall, and from the shadows, into truth, wherein Christ (the power of God) is witnessed, and the soul newly formed in his pure image, is become 'a new creature;' having a new eye, a new ear, a new heart, a new nature, a new life and spirit, (in the newness of which life, it is to live and walk,) etc. wherein all old things that came in by the fall, and all the old shadows of the law, are to pass away.”

In one of the above-mentioned conditions, he says, that all men have been to be found; and according to that state and condition in which man is found, is the law of God to him, and his requirings of him.

“Now, let any man, in the fear of the Lord God,” he continues, “weigh and consider, to which sort, or sorts of these, an oath was useful in itself, and allowed by God, and to which not. Was it useful in the innocent state? Or is it useful in the redeemed state, where a greater bond is received, and professedly held forth, than the innocency of man's nature was? Were not all the oaths and shadows of the law to last till Christ the substance came?”

“Men may reason subtly,” he says, “and persuade strongly, against the truth; but we know certainly and infallibly, in the light of the Lord, that the use of an oath was not for man in innocency; nor for man under the power and virtue of the redemption by Christ; (which brings man back into the truth, and into that life and strength which preserves in truth;) but, for fallen man; for man erred from the truth, and covenant of God. And it is very manifest to us, that for a disciple of Christ, who has received the law from his lips against swearing, to be brought back again to swearing (the bond of man in the fallen state, and under the law) is no less than a denial of Christ,” etc.

Towards the end of this tract, he addresses himself to the king.

“Now, O king,” he says, “shall not God's people be faithful and obedient to the Lord, as well as to you? Has God raised up in them a principle which cannot deceive, and will not the yes and no of that serve, after so much experience, through so many changes, but they must either break Christ's command, and hazard their souls, or else lose their liberties and estates?

“Oh! that men would wait on the Lord,” he exclaims, “for his pure fear to be written on their hearts, by the finger of his Spirit; that they might come out of the fleshly wisdom, into the eternal wisdom, from which our principle came: that they might be able to see, and justify, the purity, righteousness, nobility, and worth of it; and that they might feel its security from all that is out of good will, out of love, out of life, and out of peace; and so, there might be an end of all strife, rebellion, heart-burnings, plots, etc. which have no place in it; but which daily waste and wither, where it is sown and grows, even till they come to an end; and righteousness, and pure innocency, fill the room and place which they [the evil feelings] had, both in the heart and mind within, and in the life and conduct outwardly!”

It may not be uninteresting to revert, in this place, to Isaac Penington's feelings upon another point; respecting which, he, with most others of the Society, was often made the subject of suffering. I allude to the question about the payment of tithes; upon which he thus expresses himself in a letter addressed to one James Eeles;

“Friend,

“God is my witness, to whom I must give an account of all my actions, that it is my desire to be found in all true love, courtesy, and righteousness, in my dealings towards all men; and that I would by no means deny any man his just due, which he can, by any just law or right, claim from me.

“Now, as touching tithes, the payment or refusing of them, is to me a matter of conscience, weighty on my heart before the Lord; and I would do therein as he would justify, and not condemn me. I know tithes were ordained by God to be paid to the Levitical priesthood under the law; but the same power that ordained them under the law, disannulled them under the gospel. (Heb, vii. 12 and 18.) Now, that any man or men have true right, power, and authority to set up or require to be paid under the gospel, what God's power has disannulled,—indeed I do not see; nor can I be subject to any human law or authority in this thing, without sinning against God, and incurring his wrath upon my soul.

He then observes, that Christ sent forth his ministers without tithes.

“Now tithes,” he continues, “were set up in the dark times of Roman Catholicism, and not by the gospel light; and they who know the gospel light, dare not be subject to that which was set up in matters of religion by the dark power of Rome in the time of darkness.

“I do not contend with you by the law of the land; but I must be subject to the law of God; who shows me from what root, tithes came; and that they are not the maintenance of the ministers of Christ, or allowed by Christ; but the maintenance of the ministry Rome's power set up; both which ministry and its maintenance, is to be denied and witnessed against, by those whom he calls forth to testify to his truth in these things.”[42]

Such being the views of Isaac Penington, and of the members of the Society in general, upon these questions, it appears a necessary consequence, that they should resolutely maintain the ground they had taken, and willingly devote themselves to persecution, even had it been to death, rather than violate such truly pure and exalted principles.

Chapter XIII.

After a short imprisonment at Leicester, and, on his release, travelling awhile in the work of the ministry, George Fox found himself once more at Swarthmore, at the house of his friend Margaret Fell;[43] where he had not been long, when, at a meeting of justices held at Houlker-hall in that neighbourhood, a warrant was granted for his apprehension.

“I heard over night,” he says, “both of their meeting and of the warrant, and could have got out of their reach, if I would. But I considered, there being a noise of a plot in the north, if I should go away, they might fall upon friends; but if I gave myself up to be taken, it might prevent them, and friends should escape the better.”

On the following day, an officer was sent to apprehend him; and George willingly surrendering himself, was taken to Houlker-hall, to be examined before the magistrates, Margaret Fell accompanying him.

“When we came there,” he says, “there was one Rawlinson, a justice, and one called Sir George Middleton, and many more that I did not know, besides old Justice Preston that lived there.

A difficulty existing, how to frame a sufficient charge for committing him to prison, some expressions were attributed to him as having been used to one Thomas Atkinson, which signified “that he had written against the plotters, and had knocked them down.”

“These words,” said he, “they could not make much of;” but allusion being made to a work upon language written by some of the friends, a sneering inquiry was put by old Justice Preston to Fox, “whether he had any hand in it; and whether he understood languages?”

“Sufficient for myself,” he replied. “I told them,” he proceeds, “that to understand those outward languages, was no matter of salvation; for the many tongues began but at the confusion of Babel; and if I did understand anything of them, I judged and knocked them down again, for any matter of salvation that was in them.

“Thereupon he turned away, and said, 'George Fox knocks down all the languages: come,' said he, 'we will examine you of higher matters.'

“'Then,' said George Middleton, 'you deny God, and the church, and the faith.'

“I replied, 'No, I acknowledge God, and the true church, and the true faith.'

“'But what church do you own?' said I; for I understood he was a Roman Catholic.

Then he turned again and said, 'You are a rebel, and a traitor.' I asked him whom he spoke to, or whom did he call a rebel?”

This plain question being answered by a declaration that “he spoke it to him” a noble disdain filled the spirit of this honest man, who so often had proved the integrity of his heart, by sufferings which most of these pampered worldlings would have fled from with dismay.

“With that,” says George, “I struck my hand on the table, and told him I had suffered more than twenty such as he, or than any that were there: for I had been cast into Derby prison for six months together: and had suffered much, because I would not take up arms against the king, before Worcester fight. I had been sent up prisoner out of my own country, by Colonel Hacker, to Oliver Cromwell, as a plotter to bring in King Charles, in the year 1654; and I had nothing but love and good will to the king, and desired the eternal good and welfare of him, and all his subjects.

“'Did you ever hear the like?' said Middleton.

“'No,' said I, 'you may hear it again, if you will. For you talk of the king!—a company of you! But where were you in Oliver's days? and what did you do for him then? I have more love to the king for his eternal good and welfare, than any of you have.'”

Some conversation then ensued respecting the plot in the north; which he told them he had heard of, and had written against; and nothing being made of this, the usual snare was laid by Middleton's calling out, “Bring the book, and put the oaths of allegiance and supremacy to him.” “He being a Catholic,” says George, “I asked him whether he had taken the oaths of supremacy, and was a swearer. As for us, we could not swear at all; because Christ and his apostle had forbidden it.”

In consequence of his refusing the oath, he was about to have been committed to Lancaster jail, but upon further consideration, he was dismissed, upon his promise to appear at the sessions.

“The sessions coming on,” he says, “I went to Lancaster, and appeared according to my engagement. There was upon the bench, Justice Fleming, who had bid five pounds in Westmoreland, to any man that would apprehend me.— There were also Justice Spencer, Colonel West, and old Justice Rawlinson, the lawyer, who gave the charge, and was very sharp against truth and friends. The session was large, the concourse of people great; and way being made for me, I came up to the bar, and stood with my hat on, they looking earnestly upon me, and I upon them, for a pretty space. Proclamation being made for all to keep silence, upon pain of imprisonment, and all being quiet, I said twice, 'Peace be among you!'

“The chairman asked if I knew where I was? “'Yes I do,' said I: 'but may be, my hat offends you. That is a low thing: that is not the honour I give to magistrates; for the true honour is from above.'”

He then remarked, that he hoped it was not the hat which they looked upon to be the honour.

The chairman said, they looked for the hat too; and asked wherein he showed his respect to magistrates, if he did not put off his hat.

He replied, “in coming when they called him.”

They then bid some one take off his hat.

He was then questioned, as before, respecting his knowledge of the plot in the north; and as before, had also the oath of allegiance tendered him; which declining to take, he was committed to prison.

This was again a time of severe persecution to the society; who generally bore the brunt of the renewed scrutiny and punishment, that, on the part of government, accompanied every fresh plot.

Amongst those who were at this time in prison, Margaret Fell was one; of whose examination at Lancaster court sessions, there is an account preserved,[44] which, taken in conjunction with that of George Fox, respecting his trial at the same place, and time, and on the same occasion, affords a curious specimen of the calm, and somewhat amusing inflexibility, with which the poor oppressed friends, in their turn perplexed and troubled their persecutors.

Being called to the bar, (where she appeared with four of her daughters by her side,) order was given by the judge, that she should be accommodated with a seat; and at the same time he called out, “Let not Mrs. Fell's daughters stand at the bar; but let them come up here:—they shall not stand at the bar.”

Her court order being read, which assigned as the reason of her committal, her refusing to take the oath of allegiance, she replied, “I was sent for from my own house and family; but for what cause or transgression I do not know.” To which the judge made answer, “I am informed by the justices of peace in this county, that you keep multitudes of people at your house, in pretence to worship God; and it may be, you do worship him in part; but we are not to dispute that.” He then told her, that if she would give security to have no more meetings, he would not tender her the oath again.

Upon this, she desired liberty to answer to the two charges brought against her: namely, refusing the oath, and keeping meetings at her house. “And first,” said she, “for that which is looked upon to be matter of fact, which is, concerning our meetings. There are several of my neighbours which are of the same faith, principle, and spirit, and judgment that I am of; and these are they that meet at my house, and I cannot shut my doors against them.”

“You begin at the wrong end, mistress;” said the judge; “for the first charge is the oath.”

“As for that,” said Margaret, “if I have begun at the wrong end, I shall begin at the other.” She then replied to the charge respecting the oath, by declaring her true allegiance to the king; but “Christ Jesus the King of kings,” she says, “has commanded me not to swear at all, neither by heaven, nor by earth, nor by any other oath.” The judge then called for the statute-book, and one of the justices who committed her said, “You know, Mrs. Fell, that before the oath was tendered you, we offered, if you would put in security to have no more meetings at your house, we would not tender you the oath.”

She said she did not deny that; and the judge making the same proposal, she appealed to the whole assembly, whether the meetings held at her house were hurtful or prejudicial to anyone; and beginning to speak of obedience to Christ's commands, the judge interrupted her, by saying,

“You are not here for obedience to Christ's commands, but for keeping of unlawful meetings: you think that if you do not fight, and quarrel, or break the peace, that you break no law: but there is a law against unlawful meetings.”

M. F. “What law have I broken for worshipping God in my own house?”

Judge. “The common law.”

M. F. “I thought you had proceeded by a statute.” Here the judge probably floundering a little, one of the sheriffs whispered him of a statute, 35th Elizabeth!”

The latter part of the statute being read, the judge informed her, and also the jury, what would be the penalty of her refusing the oath; to which statement she replied, that if it were the king's pleasure to take her estate from her, upon the account of her adhering to the dictates of her conscience, he must do as he would. She then desired to speak to the jury.

Judge. “The jury is to hear nothing but me tender you the oath; and you refuse, or take it.”

M. F. “You will let me have the liberty that other prisoners have;” which having said, she turned to the jury, and once more related the cause of her imprisonment, and her reasons for not swearing. “I am here,” she said, “this day, upon the account of my conscience, and not for any evil or wrong done to any man.” She then proceeded to consider the statute, which was made for Catholic recusants. “Now let your consciences judge,” said she “whether we be the people it was made for, who cannot swear any oath at all, for conscience sake.”

Here the judge in anger declared, that she was not there upon the account of her conscience; observing that she had “an everlasting tongue;— you draw the whole court after you,” said he. But Margaret pursuing her point, still continued speaking, regardless of his repeated queries, “Will you take the oath or no?” till, in much wrath, he commanded that the book should again be tendered her.

Judge. “Will you take the oath of allegiance, yes, or no?”

M. F. “I have said already, I acknowledge allegiance and obedience to the king, and his just and lawful commands; and I do also own allegiance and obedience unto Christ Jesus, who is the King of kings, who has commanded me not to swear at all.”

Judge. “That is no answer. Will you take the oath, or not take it?” A question which only brought the same reply, that she owed allegiance to Christ, who forbade her swearing.

At length one of the justices observed, “Mrs. Fell, you may with a good conscience put in security to have no more meetings at your house, if you cannot take the oath.”

“Will you make it good,” said she, “that I may, with a safe conscience, make an engagement to forbear meetings, for fear of losing my liberty and estate? Will not you and all here, judge of me, that it was for saving my estate and liberty, that I did it? And should I not in this, deny my testimony; and would not this defile my conscience?”

Finding it impossible to move her constancy, she was ordered from the bar, and George Fox was called to take his trial: which, in point of confusion and perplexity to judge and jury, is scarcely to be surpassed.

When two days or thereabouts, had been fruitlessly occupied in tendering him the oath of allegiance, we were called again,” he says, “to hear the sentence; and Margaret Fell being called first to the bar, she had counsel to plead, who found many errors in her indictment; whereupon, after the judge had acknowledged them, she was set by. Then the judge asked what they could say to mine?

“I was not willing to let any man plead for me, but to speak to it myself; and indeed, though Margaret had some that pleaded for her, yet she spoke as much herself as she would;” a fact of which the reader has received some proof.

“I, having put by others from pleading for me,” he says, “the judge asked me what I had to say, why he should not pass sentence upon me.

“I told him I was no lawyer; but I had much to say, if he would but have patience to hear. At that he laughed, and others laughed also, and said, 'Come, what have you to say? he can say nothing.'

“'Yes,' said I; 'I have much to say; have but the patience to hear me.'

“I asked him whether the oath was to be tendered to the king's subjects, or to the subjects of foreign princes?

“He said, 'to the subjects of this realm.'

“'Then,' said I, 'look into the indictment; you may see that you have left out the word subject, so, not having named me in the indictment as a subject, you cannot premunire me for not taking an oath.'

The error being discovered, was confessed as such by the judge.

“But I told him I had something else,” says George, “to stop his judgment; and desired him to look what day the indictment said the oath was tendered to me at the sessions there.

“They looked, and said it was the eleventh day of January.”

“'What day of the week was the sessions held on?' said I.

“'On a Tuesday,' said they.

“'Then,' said I, 'look at your almanacks, and see whether there was any sessions held at Lancaster on the eleventh day of January, so called.'

“So they looked and found that the eleventh day was the day called Monday; and that the sessions was on the day called Tuesday; which was the twelfth day of that month.

“'Look now,' said I, 'you have indicted me for refusing the oath in the quarter-sessions held at Lancaster, on the eleventh day of January last, and the justices have sworn that they tendered me the oath in open sessions here that day, and the jury, upon their oaths, have found me guilty thereupon; and yet you see, there was no session held at Lancaster that day.'

A great ferment among the justices, succeeded this stroke; some of them stamping on the ground, and declaring that the mistake must have been made on purpose.

“But this is not all;” continues George; “I have more yet to offer, why sentence should not be given against me.”

He then asked, “in what year of the king, was the last court session here held, which was in the month called March last?”

“In the sixteenth year of the king;” said the judge.

“But,” said George, “the indictment says, it was in the fifteenth year.”

This error was also discovered, and compelled to be acknowledged.

“Then they were all in a fret again,” says he, “and could not tell what to say: for the judge had sworn the officers of the court, that the oath was tendered me at the court session mentioned in the indictment.”

But another lash of George's whip yet remained to be inflicted.

“I told the judge,” he says, “I had yet more to offer, to stop the sentence; and I asked, whether all the oath ought to be put into the indictment, or no.

“'Yes,' said he, 'it ought to be all put in.'

“'Then,' said I, 'compare the indictment with the oath, and there you may see these words left out of the indictment, which is a principal part of the oath. And in another place, the words heirs and successors, are left out.'”

The judge acknowledged these, also, to be great errors.

“'But,' said I, 'I have something further to allege.'

“'No,' said the judge, 'I have enough; you need say no more.'

“'If,' said I, 'you have enough, I desire nothing but law and justice at your hands; for I do not look for mercy.'

“'You must have justice,' said he, 'and you shall have law.'

“Then I asked, 'am I at liberty, and free from all that ever has been done against me in this matter?'

“'Yes,' said he, 'you are free from all that has been done against you. But then,' he continued, starting up in a rage, 'I can put the oath to any man here, and I will tender it to you again.'

“I told him,” says Fox, “he had examples enough yesterday, of swearing and false swearing, both in the justices and the jury.”

Nothing, however, would suffice to deliver the prisoner, but taking the oath. “Give him the book,” said the judge; and “give him the book!” re-echoed the sheriffs and the justices.

“If it be a Bible,” said George, “give it me.”

“Yes, yes,” said the judge, “give it him.”

The oath was then read; but probably, without any supposition that the prisoner was going to take it; though he stood with the book in his hand.

“When it was read, he asked me,” says George, “whether I would take the oath or no?”

“'Then' said I, 'you have given me a book here, to kiss and to swear on; and this book which you have given me to kiss, says 'Kiss the Son!' and the Son says in this book, 'Swear not at all;' and so says also the apostle James. I say as the book says, and yet you imprison me! How chance you do not imprison the book for saying so? How comes it, that the book is at liberty amongst you, which bids me not to swear, and yet you imprison me for doing as the book bids me?'”

No answer was returned to this appeal, except by the judge; who, doubtless somewhat wincing under this unusual mode of address, replied, “No, but we will imprison George Fox:” a promise which he failed not to perform.

Of the place of confinement to which he was now removed, he gives a dismal account; describing it as a tower into which the smoke from the other parts of the prison, came up so thick, that he could scarcely see the light of his candle; and as he was kept under three locks, the turnkey would hardly be persuaded to come and unlock the outermost door, to make a draft for the smoke, even to prevent his being suffocated. Added to this, the rain came in upon his bed: and frequently when he went in his shirt at night to fasten the window in order to prevent it, the wind would drive the rain in upon him, till he was in a worse condition than before. “And the place being high,” he says, “and open to the wind, sometimes as fast as I stopped it, the wind blew it out again. In this manner did I lay, all that long cold winter, till the next court session; in which time, I was so starved with cold and rain, that my body was greatly swelled, and my limbs much benumbed. But the Lord's power,” he says, “was over all; supported me through all, and enabled me to do service for him, and for his truth and people, as the place would admit. For while I was in Lancaster prison, I answered several books; as the Mass, the Common Prayer, the Directory, and the Church Faith; which are the four chief religions that are got up since the apostles' days.”

After passing through another examination at the next court session, in which, although great care was taken that no errors should be found in his indictment, there were nevertheless some, especially, that again, the word “subject” was omitted; he was hurried away from the bar—and some difficulty occurring about passing sentence upon him, and still more, as to what was to be done with him, he was, in about six weeks from the time of the court sessions, removed to Scarborough Castle; a measure which the magistrates promoted to the utmost; not relishing the idea of his remaining amongst them. “After the court session,” he says, “Colonel Kirby and other justices were very uneasy with my being at Lancaster; for I had galled them sore at my trials there, and they laboured much to get me removed to some remote place. Colonel Kirby threatened I should be sent far enough.

“When they had prepared for my removal,” he proceeds to say, “the under sheriff, with the head sheriff's man, with some bailiffs, came and fetched me out of the castle; when I was so weak with lying in that cold, wet, and smoky prison, that I could hardly go, or stand. They had me into the jailer's house, where was Colonel Kirby, and several others, and they called for wine to give me.

“I told them I would have none of their wine.”

“Then they cried, 'Bring out the horses.'

“I desired them first to show me their order or a copy of it, if they intended to remove me; but they would show me none but their swords.” And totally inattentive to his remonstrances against the injustice of the action, they haled him out, and lifted him upon one of the sheriff's horses.

“They hurried me away,” he continues, “about fourteen miles to Bentham; though I was so very weak I was hardly able to sit on horseback. The wicked jailer, one Hunter, a young fellow, would come behind, and give the horse a lash with his whip, to make him skip and leap, so that I, being weak, had much ado to sit him. Then he would come and look me in the face, and say, 'How do you, Mr. Fox?'

“I told him it was not civil in him to do so.” A calm remonstrance, which probably was of little service, except to heighten the joke.

When arrived at Scarborough, he was lodged as a prisoner in the castle, in a room facing the sea, and therefore exposed to violent winds; which driving in the rain, caused his present abode to be quite as forlorn and comfortless as that he had just quitted in Lancaster Castle.

In this place he was visited by a great variety of persons; and amongst the rest by Dr. Cradock; of whose interview with him, he thus speaks:—

“After this came Dr. Cradock, with three priests more; and the governor with his lady, (so called,) and another that was called a lady, with a great company.

“Dr. Cradock asked me what I was in prison for?

“I told him for obeying the command of Christ and the apostle, in not swearing. But, if he, being both a doctor and a justice, could convince me, that after Christ and the apostle had forbid swearing, they commanded the Christians to swear, then I would swear.”

As he seconded this proposition by offering him the Bible, in order that such a command might, if possible, be produced, the Doctor brought forward the words from Jeremiah; “It is written, you shall swear in truth and righteousness.”

“Aye,” said George, “it was written so in Jeremiah's time; but that was many ages before Christ commanded “Not to swear at all.” I could bring as many instances out of the Old Testament for swearing as you, and it may be, more; but of what force are they, to prove swearing lawful in the New Testament, since Christ and the apostle forbade it? Besides, in that text where it is written, 'You shall swear,' etc.; what you was this? Was it you Gentiles, or you Jews?”

To this the doctor would not reply; but one of the priests said, “It was to the Jews this was spoken;” and Dr. Cradock agreed that it was so— an acknowledgment which for that time disposed of the question.

After remaining a prisoner at Scarborough Castle above a year, he relates that he sent a letter to the king; “in which,” says he,” I gave him an account of my imprisonment, and the bad usage I had received in prison; and also that I was informed that no man could deliver me but he;” which statement, in connection with the representations of some of his friends, at length succeeded in procuring an order for his release.

Chapter XIV.

In the midst of the various scenes of licentiousness and tumult, spiritual pride, hypocrisy, and general disregard of God, which characterized the English nation at this period, there were not lacking persons, who, in the deep retirement of their exercised souls, were led to perceive, that some signal judgment, some manifest token from the hand of the Almighty, would, before long, proclaim him to be the avenger of his own insulted laws.

The cruelty displayed towards the good, and the favour extended to the bad, seemed, indeed to call aloud for that exhibition of the Divine displeasure, which two great national calamities at length produced.

It was in the year 1665 that the first of these judgments was manifested, in the breaking out of the plague, in the city of London; in connection with which, George Whitehead gives the following statement.

“Near the beginning of the summer, 1665, when the pestilence was begun in London, I was in the county of Surrey, and having a meeting at John Smith's house at Worplesdon, his brother Stephen, etc. came to the meeting. . . . And the Lord having laid it upon me to come to London, as I signified to some friends present after the said meeting, Stephen questioned how I could then adventure to come, seeing the plague was then begun and broken out there.

“I gave account of my submission to the will of God, and of my faith and trust in him for preservation; whereupon Stephen appeared the more satisfied, and confirmed in the belief of the truth borne testimony to, amongst us at the meeting.

“I soon came to London, and my lodging was at the house of William Travers, tobacconist in Watling-street: who, with his wife Rebecca, kindly received and entertained me, as did also her sister Mary Booth, who lived with her; and the whole family were loving to me and friends. And the Lord preserved that family, that none of them were infected with the pestilence, though it greatly increased, and the mortality thereby; so that in a few weeks, great numbers quickly died.

“It was a time of great calamity, sorrow, and heaviness, to many thousands of all sorts. I had not freedom, satisfaction, or peace to leave, the city, or friends, in and about London; but was concerned and given up in spirit, to stay among them to attend friends' meetings; to visit friends in prison, and at their houses, even when many of them lay sick of the contagion, both in prison, and their habitations. And in all that time, the Lord preserved me by his power, through faith, from that infectious distemper; which mercy I esteemed great and wonderful, and hope ever thankfully to remember. I well remember, that although it was judged the prisons were then infected and poisoned with the contagion, I was freely given up to suffer imprisonment; and on first-days, took my night-cap in my pocket when I went to meeting, as not knowing but I might be apprehended, and committed to prison.”

Some slight indications of illness he mentions as occurring to him.

“I well remember,” he says, “one evening after I had been visiting friends in some places in the city, I was taken sick in my stomach and head, and was concerned lest any of the family where I lodged, should be surprised and affrighted thereat. Whereupon, I spoke to my friend Rebecca Travers, to desire her sister Mary Booth not to be afraid on my account; for,” said I, “I shall be well to-morrow,—wishing her to tell her sister so. And, through the Lord's mercy, I was very well next morning, though I had been very sick over night.”

This wide-spreading calamity had scarcely ceased, when another severe and striking judgment afflicted the city of London, in the great lire of 1666; in relation to which, there is a very remarkable passage in Whitehead's Journal.

“The next year,” he says, (after the city and suburbs of London, were so greatly thinned and depopulated by the plague) the dreadful fire began, and broke out in Pudding-lane, over against the place where the Monument stands; whereby, in a few days' time, a very great part of the city within the walls, was burnt down, and the habitations consumed, except a few streets, and parts of streets, to the great amazement, terror, and destruction of the inhabitants, who were forced to flee for their lives, with what goods they could save, into Moorfields, and the out-parts, and there to lie abroad with their goods for several nights and days, the country bringing in bread, etc. for their relief.

“One morning, as my friend and brother, Josiah Cole and I, were at Gerard Roberts's, in Thomas Apostle's, London, and going up toward the top of the house, observed how violently the fire went on towards Thames-street, and those parts of the city, and hearing what rattling and crackling the fire made in the houses, Josiah said, 'This looks like a popish plot or work!' and we were both in the same mind. I observed afterward, the fire broke out in several places distinct one from another; so that it was very probable several wicked agents were at work in carrying it on, and putting it forward.

“One passage I may not omit by the way, because it has been misrepresented, and false reports spread about it, is as follows: one Thomas Ibbott, a Huntingdonshire man, who was convinced of the truth, at a large meeting which I had at Thomas Parnell's, in his barn at King's Rippon in Huntingdonshire, came to London, two days before the fire, in great haste, being on a sixth day of the week, and alighted off his horse, with his apparel loose, and supposed by some to be a person under distraction or discomposure of mind, as I understood by several; and very much hastened, or ran through the city, towards Whitehall, in such a posture as many of the inhabitants were in, when forced to flee from the fire, when they had scarce time to put on, or fasten their wearing apparel. Such a sign he appeared to be; and foretold the vision he had, that the city would be laid waste by fire; (according as I was informed; for I saw him not until that day-morning when the fire was broke out.)

“But the evening after the said Thomas Ibbott had passed through the city, I met with some of our women friends at the Bull and Mouth near Aldersgate, who gave me a pretty full account of him; and how he had been with them that day, and told them his vision of the fire, and message to London; and that to them, he appeared very zealous and hot in his spirit, when he told them thereof; and that they were afraid he was under some discomposure of mind, which made them somewhat question and doubt of what he told them.

“When they related the same to me, I had a fear and caution upon my spirit, so that I dared not oppose nor question his vision, or message; but told them, 'I knew the man; he was convinced by me at a meeting at King's Rippon; and was a sort of manly person, zealous, and somewhat of a hot spirit; so that his spirit was nearer to those destroying angels, or fiery spirits that are ministers of wrath, and severe judgments, than those friends are, who have attained to a further growth in the spirit of the Lamb, Christ Jesus; and that he, (the said Thomas,) might sooner have a discovery of such an evil or judgment permitted to come upon the city, than they whose spirits were more meek and gentle, and more settled in quietness and peace.

“Yet I was not at that time without some secret fear concerning this friend, Thomas Ibbott, lest he might run out or be exalted by the enemy, into some conceit or imagination or other, especially when he saw his vision coming to pass.

“That morning the fire broke out, some of us met at Gerard Roberts's house aforesaid, where the said Thomas Ibbott met us, and told us, he must go to the king with a message; which was to warn him to release our friends out of prison, or else the decree of the Lord would be sealed against him, in three days' time, to his destruction or overthrow.

“Upon which, I was afraid he would be too forward, and give occasion against friends, and cause others to reproach truth and them. Whereupon I earnestly charged him, if he went, not to limit a time, etc. I was indeed greatly concerned for truth and his own sake, poor man! lest he should be hurried into distraction; for I clearly saw where his danger was; though his vision of fire was apparently true; which I never opposed, but rather granted that it might have been foreshown him.

“Also, I did observe in a letter of his before the fire was over, he mentioned the number of days when the vision of fire should be accomplished; so that he had a certain vision and discovery given him in that particular. And to show that there remained a sincerity in the man, after his mind came to be settled, he wrote a letter to some friends in London, wherein he has these words following:—

“'I dare not much stir up or down any way, for people's looking at what was done; lest the Lord should be offended, etc.

“'I have been much tempted and exercised; yet, through mercy, have found help in the needful time. Whatsoever slips or failings friends saw in me, in the time I was with them, I would have none take notice of; for I was under great exercises, and often ran too fast, which the Lord in his due time, gave me a sight of. In the love of my Father, farewell!

“'T. I. '”

Nor was it only to this person, that a foreshadowing was vouchsafed of this fearful calamity: George Fox, in his Journal, also mentions a mysterious representation of an impending judgment, which he beheld while a prisoner in Lancaster castle. But these subjects, not being fitted for general discussion, remain in their safest position, when, for humiliation and moral advancement, they are reverently “pondered in the heart,” rather than questioned by the understanding.

In the year 1669, an important event took place in the history of our friend George Fox, which was that of his marriage with Margaret Fell; whose first husband, Judge Fell, had then been dead eleven years.

As they lived but little in each other's society after their marriage, it would seem, on a superficial survey of the case, that this measure might as well have been avoided. But, that a very sincere affection and respect existed between them, cannot admit of a doubt; and though such a motive is not even hinted at, in the account which George Fox gives of the matter, it appears probable, that to avoid those insidious reflections which the world commonly makes upon intimate friendships between unmarried parties, as well as to strengthen their mutual usefulness in the society, they entered into this engagement.

His relation of the way in which it was brought about, is not amongst the least amusing of his concise and simple narrations.

“After we had discoursed the matter together,” says he, “I told her if she also was satisfied with the accomplishing of it now, she should first send for her children;” which she did.

“When the rest of her daughters were come, I asked both them and her sons-in-law, if they had anything against it, or for it; and they all severally expressed their satisfaction therewith. Then I asked Margaret, if she had fulfilled her husband's will to her children.

“She replied, the children knew she had.

“Whereupon I asked them, whether if their mother married, they should not lose by it; and I asked Margaret, whether she had done anything in lieu of it, which might answer it to the children. The children said she had answered it to them, and desired me to speak no more of it.

“I told them I was plain, and would have all things done plainly; for I sought not any outward advantage to myself.”

This plain statement being made they took each other in marriage, in Friends' meeting-house at Broad Mead, Bristol; at which city, he happened at this time, to meet with his friend Margaret, who was then on a visit to one of her married daughters residing there.

“We stayed about a week,” he says, “in Bristol, and then went together to Oldstone; where taking leave of each other in the Lord, we parted; betaking ourselves each to our several services; Margaret returning homewards to the north, and I passing on in the work of the Lord as before.”

Chapter XV.

Amongst the Christians, who, in the seventeenth century, submitted themselves to “the obedience which is of faith,” the names of Robert Barclay, the Apologist, and of his father, David Barclay must not be forgotten.

David Barclay was born at Kirtounhill in Scotland, in 1610, at the seat and birth-place of his ancestors; but owing to some embarrassment in his father's affairs, this ancient estate which had been in the family for upwards of five hundred years, was obliged to be sold. David, however, with the rest of the children, received a liberal education, and, according to the custom of the times, when old enough he went on his travels; and coming into Germany, he enlisted as a volunteer in the, army of Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden; and after having been engaged in many battles, on the breaking out of the civil wars in his native country, he returned home.

Here he was employed with great success, against the rebels, upon several occasions; was appointed a colonel of horse, and to command in the shires of Ross, Sutherland, and Caithness. But after the overthrow of the adherents of Charles I., at Preston, and the assumption of power by the opposite party, he, with his brother officers, was turned out of his post: from which period it does not appear that he ever afterwards engaged in military concerns.

Being now, by the situation of public affairs, incapable of rendering any further service to his prince, he retired to Gordonstoun; between which place, and Edinburgh, he chiefly passed his time, until the year 1C63; at which period he experienced the trial of losing his excellent wife.[45] Added to this affliction, he was by some strange misapprehension, about the same time committed to Edinburgh castle, by an order from government after the Restoration, on the plea of his having been a trustee under the usurper, Cromwell; but the facts of his having suffered in the cause of Charles I., in the loss of his military appointments, and also in the seizure for several years, of his estate, were so notorious, that at the interposition of the Earl of Middleton, he was liberated without anything being laid to his charge.

Having now passed through many vicissitudes of a personal kind, and witnessed also in these changeful times, the shadowy and unsatisfying nature of earthly distinctions and enjoyments in the case of others, it was the desire of David Barclay's heart, to retire from any further walking “in a vain show,” and to seek his future happiness in a life devoted to God.

With this view, he looked round upon the various professors of religion with which the kingdom was then filled; but he saw, that, while each party laid claim to be the only possessors of the truth, they not only differed from, but persecuted each other, with the greatest violence, whenever they had an opportunity. He betook himself therefore to the close reading of the New Testament, as the only certain way of knowing the religion of Christ in its primitive purity; and in this study, he discovered that the bickerings and disputes, the railings and heart-burnings which the professors thereof too often displayed, did not take their rise from any knowledge they had of the thing for which they clamoured; but rather from their ignorance of it; the religion in itself, being nothing but, “righteousness, and peace, and joy in the holy Ghost.”

He was under the influence of these considerations, when he heard of the much-derided Quakers—“and why derided?” he inquired. The answer was obvious. Because they were singular, in faithfulness to the commands of Jesus Christ. They stood almost alone, in lifting up a testimony against the spirit of the world, in dress, in speech, in action, in almost everything. On the whole, he considered within himself, that if they were really such as even their enemies were forced to acknowledge, there must be somewhat extraordinary about them. A conclusion, which, upon several occasions, he afterwards mentioned to his friends.

With much earnestness therefore, did he proceed to inform himself about the way which was “everywhere spoken against;” and being about this time, in London, he had discourse there, and elsewhere, with several friends; from which converse, his mind became convinced of the truth of their tenets, and under this conviction he joined their society.

If much was to be endured by those amongst the primitive friends, whose habits and education accustomed them in some degree to hardships; still more exercising were the difficulties to which persons were often called, who, like David Barclay, had been accustomed to partake of the ease and indulgences of the higher ranks of life.

In the north of Scotland, and chiefly at Aberdeen, in the vicinity of which he resided, the Quakers were particularly ill used; being often insulted at their meetings by the lowest dregs of the populace, whom the zealots of that day encouraged to molest them. It was remarked, that none bore these indignities with greater calmness than David Barclay; and, when, upon an occasion of uncommon rudeness, one of his relations lamented that he should experience such a reverse of treatment from what he had formerly known in that place, he replied, “that he found more satisfaction, as well as honour, in being thus insulted for his religious principles, than when, some years before, it was usual with the magistrates as he passed the city of Aberdeen, to meet him several miles, and conduct him to a public entertainment in their town-house, and then convey him so far out again, in order to gain his favour.

Soon after his convincement, which took place in 1666, he sent his son Robert, (the celebrated apologist,) to reside on his estate of Ury, near Stonehaven, accompanied by his agent, David Falconer, a worthy friend, who had several times suffered imprisonment for conscience sake, at Edinburgh. The first public meeting for worship, was kept at Ury that year; Robert Barclay being about nineteen years of age; and having then become newly united in faith and fellowship, with the Society of Friends.

This young man was born at Gordonstoun in 1648, and when very young, was sent by his father to the Scotch college at Paris, of which his uncle was rector. Here his talents so much distinguished him, and he became so great a favourite with his uncle, that he offered to bequeath him all his property, (which was very considerable,) provided he would continue with him. But his father fearing he might become tinctured with Roman Catholic superstitions, and also in compliance with the dying request of his mother, went himself to Paris, in order to bring him home. This measure was strongly opposed by his uncle; who, in order to detain him, proposed to purchase, and immediately bestow upon him, an estate superior in value to his paternal one. But to this, Robert replied, that his father must be obeyed; and the uncle finding himself disobliged, left his property to the college, and to other religious houses in Paris.

It was far from the design or endeavour of David Barclay, to proselyte his son to his own religious views; on the contrary, it was his particular wish that he should imbibe his religion from the force of conviction. That it was in this manner he did receive very deep and abiding impressions of the truth of friends' principles, he has himself left a record, and that united with so powerful a delineation of the effect of their silent meetings, that few readers of reflection will object to hear his statement; which, with some slight omissions, is as follows:—

“As there can be nothing,” he says, “more opposite to the natural will and wisdom of man, than this silent waiting upon God, so neither can it be obtained, nor rightly comprehended by man, but as he lays down his own wisdom and will, so as to be content to be thoroughly subject to God. And therefore it was not preached, nor could be so practised, but by such as found no outward ceremony, no observation, no words, yes, not the best and purest words, even the words of Scripture, able to satisfy their weary and afflicted souls; because, where all these may be, the life, power, and virtue, which make such things effectual, may be lacking. Such, I say, were necessitated to cease from all outwards, and to be silent before the Lord; and being directed to that inward principle of life and light in themselves, as the most excellent teacher, which can never 'be removed into a corner,' (Isaiah, xxx. 20,) came thereby, to be learned to wait upon God, in the measure of life and grace received from him. . .

“When people are gathered thus together, not merely to hear men, nor depend upon them, but all are inwardly taught to stay their minds upon the Lord, and wait for his appearance in their hearts, the forward working of the spirit of man, is thereby stayed and hindered from mixing itself with the worship of God: and the form of this worship is so void of all outward and worldly splendour, that all occasion for man's wisdom to be exercised in that superstition and idolatry, has no place here: and there being also an inward quietness and retiredness of mind, the witness of God arises in the heart, and the light of Christ shines, whereby the soul comes to see its own condition. And there being many joined together in the same work, there is an inward wrestling; and as the measure of grace is abode in, an overcoming of the power and spirit of darkness; and thus we are often greatly strengthened and renewed in the spirit of our minds, without a word.

“Such is the evident certainty of that divine strength,” he proceeds to say, “that is communicated by thus meeting together, and waiting in silence upon God, that sometimes, when one has come in that has been unwatchful and wandering in his mind, or suddenly out of the hurry of outward business, and so not inwardly gathered with the rest, so soon as he retires himself inwardly, this power being in a good measure raised in the whole meeting, will suddenly lay hold upon his spirit, and wonderfully help to raise up the good in him; even as the warmth would take hold of a man that is cold, coming into a stove, or, as a flame will lay hold upon some little combustible matter being near unto it. Yes, if it fall out, that several met together, be straying in their minds, (though outwardly silent,) and so wandering from the measure of grace in themselves, (which, through the working of the enemy, and negligence of some, may fall out,) if either one come in, or may be in, who is watchful, and in whom the life is raised in a great measure, as that one keeps his place, he will feel a secret travail for the rest, in a sympathy with the seed which is oppressed in the other, and kept from arising by their thoughts and wanderings. And as such a faithful one waits in the light, and keeps in this divine work, God oftentimes answers the secret breathings of his own seed, through such a one; so that the rest will feel themselves secretly smitten, without words:— yes, sometimes when there is not a word in the meeting, but all are silently waiting, if one come in that is rude and wicked, and in whom the power of darkness prevails much, perhaps with an intention to mock or to do mischief: if the whole meeting be gathered into the life, and it be raised in a good measure, it will strike terror into such a one, and he will feel himself unable to resist; but by the secret strength and virtue thereof, the power of darkness in him will be chained down, and if the day of his visitation be not expired, it will reach to the measure of grace in him, and raise it up to the redeeming of his soul.

“And this we often bear witness to: so as we have had frequent occasion, in this respect, since God has gathered us to be a people, to renew the old saying of many, 'Is Saul also among the prophets? for, not a few have come to be convinced of the truth after this manner: of which I myself, in part, am a true witness; who, not by strength of argument, or, by a particular disquisition of each doctrine, and convincement of my understanding thereby, came to receive and bear witness of the truth; but by being secretly reached by this life. For when I came into the silent assemblies of God's people, I felt a secret power among them, which touched my heart; and as I gave way unto it, I found the evil weakening in me, and the good raised up; and so I became thus knit and united unto them, hungering more and more after the increase of this power and life, whereby I might feel myself perfectly redeemed!” — (Barclay's Works, vol. ii. p. 353—356.)

It is not easily believed, how solemnizing is the effect of deep silence in a large assembly. It is so natural for us to be busy, and to think we are effecting something by our own doings, that when we are not worshipping God in words, or when we are not bewailing our sins in language, we can scarcely believe that we obtain any moral improvement. Whereas, if we would but make the trial in humility, and with due resolution, we should soon know by experience, that we never retire in spirit decidedly and perseveringly to wait upon God in passive silence of thought, but that we gain some benefit therefrom. If we fail to receive enjoyment or consolation, we shall certainly get a deeper, newer, and more humbling sense of our spiritual condition, as to our souls' needs and their remedy. We shall feel baptized into another state, and that a more real, and a more edifying state. We shall be delivered for a time, from our naturally fractional, dissipated, wandering imaginations; and know something, though it be but little, of a gathering under the shadow of the Almighty, and of that holy cementing whereby “Jerusalem is built as a city that is compact together.”

It was a remarkable circumstance in Robert Barclay's religious history, that in uniting himself with the simplest external mode of worship, he escaped being connected with the most elaborate one: for in his youth, he had become somewhat entangled with the corruptions of the Romish church.

“I had scarce got out of my childhood,” he says, “when I was, by permission of Divine Providence, cast among the company of Roman Catholics; and my tender years and immature capacity not being able to withstand and resist the insinuations that were used to proselyte me to that way, I became quickly defiled with the pollutions thereof; until it pleased God, in his rich love and mercy, to deliver me out of those snares, and to give me a clear understanding of the evil of that way.”[46]

About the year 1670, Robert Barclay married Christian Molleson, a very estimable young woman, united in profession with friends. A letter of Robert Barclay's, addressed to her before their marriage, and apparently at an early stage of their acquaintance, is preserved, which contains some very pleasing thoughts, and which strongly evince that deeper feelings than those of personal attachment, prompted his desire for their union.

“The love of your converse,” he says, “the desire of your friendship, the sympathy of your way, and the meekness of your spirit, have often, as you may have observed, occasioned me to take frequent opportunity to have the benefit of your company. . . Many things in the natural [mind] will concur to strengthen and encourage my affection towards you, and make you acceptable unto me; but that which is before all, and beyond all, is, that I can say in the fear of the Lord, that I have received a charge from him to love you, and for that I know his love is much towards you, and his blessing and goodness is, and shall be unto you, so long as you abide in a true sense of it.”[47]

It was the lot of Robert Barclay, in common with many others amongst friends, to feel himself commanded by the Divine will, to “become a fool for Christ's sake;” and by a very humiliating exercise, to prove his willing obedience to every call of apprehended duty. Under this ready devotion of heart, conceiving himself required, like one of the prophets of old, to pass through three of the principal streets of the city where he dwelt, clothed in sackcloth, and calling the people to repentance, —he yielded to the service. And here it will be concluded, (as it indeed came to pass,) that by such a proceeding, he would draw upon himself severe reproach, from even those who were not insensible to his merits, both as a man and as an author. And how should it be otherwise; seeing that the deep springs of such actions, must necessarily be veiled from the reasoning faculty? But be it so; there is nevertheless “a path which no fowl knows, and which the vulture's eye has not seen;” “God understands the way thereof, and he knows the place thereof;” and often does he, in his infinite wisdom, constrain his children to feel that it is a way in which they must submit to learn the obedience which is of faith. It is a way that is marked “by the footsteps of the flock;” strait indeed and narrow, but it leads to everlasting life. And scoff not at it, you that are mighty in the wisdom of this world! it is foolishness perhaps, to you; but it is no foolishness with Him who sees in secret, and who looks not, as you do, at the outward action, but at the humble resignation of heart which submits to perform it. How severe an exercise of soul this service was, in the case of Robert Barclay, we may gather from his own account, in a paper written upon the occasion, and entitled “A seasonable Warning to the Inhabitants of Aberdeen.”

“Among many others,” he says, “whom at sundry times he has caused to sound forth his testimony, I also have, in the name, power, and authority of God, proclaimed his everlasting gospel among you. But because many of you have despised this day, and as you have made merry over God's witness in your hearts, etc. therefore was I commanded of the Lord God, to pass through your streets, covered with sackcloth and ashes, calling you to repentance, that you might yet more be awakened and alarmed to take notice of the Lord's voice unto you; and not to despise those things which belong to your peace, while your day lasts, lest hereafter they be hid from your eyes.

“And the command of the Lord concerning this thing, came unto me that very morning as I awakened; and the burden thereof was very great; yes, seemed almost insupportable unto me; for such a thing until that moment, had never entered me before, not in the most remote consideration.

“And some, whom I called to declare to them this thing, can bear witness how great was the agony of my spirit, and how I besought the Lord with tears, that this cup might pass away from me!—Yes, how the pillars of my tabernacle were shaken, and how exceedingly my bones trembled, until I freely gave up unto the Lord's will. And this was the end and tendency of my testimony; to call you to repentance, by this signal and singular step; which I, as to my own will and inclination, was as unwilling to be found in, as the worst and the wickedest of you can be averse from receiving, or laying it to heart.”

Nor was this the only occasion in which the faithfulness of Robert Barclay was put to the test; he, with some other friends, having to endure an unjust imprisonment by the magistrates of Montrose, for exercising their right of meeting together to worship God. There is no record how long he and his companions were confined on this occasion, nor by what means they were liberated: but, that it was by no concessions inimical to truth on their side, we have ample testimony, in a noble appeal made in their joint names, to the magistrates who had committed them, and which begins thus:—

“Friends,

“Our case being as it was, and as some of us fully represented it to you, how could you in justice deal with us as you have done; in the middle of winter to send us, whose occasions lie elsewhere, to a cold and desolate prison?—Well! the just God beholds your injustice and oppression; iniquity lies at your door, and we are to lay it upon you, and to charge you in the name of the Lord God, that you beware for the future, to be found in such practices; and in the sense that you have done evil herein, be resolved to do so no more; that, if possible, your iniquities in this and the like cases, (for this is not the first,) may be forgiven you.

“As for us, we are not afraid of you, nor ashamed of our testimony, and you cannot vanquish us. You imagine a vain thing, and you will herein weary yourselves with very vanity.”

After some close expostulations, it thus concludes:—

“Well! we ask nothing of you, but that you come to a sense of your past way, that you may not fall into the like for the future. And as for us, we are well contented to stay here, until the due time of our deliverance come. And our expectations, (be it known unto you,) are neither from the hills, nor from the mountains, but from God alone. Our cause is committed to him who judges righteously! We are, as regards our testimony, and for its sake, well contented, well pleased, well satisfied to be here; our bonds are not grievous unto us, glory to the Lord forever! who has not been, and who is not far from us.

“John Swintoune, William Napiek, John Milne, Robert Barclay, James Nuccoll, William Low.”[48]

While the younger Barclay was thus valiantly contending for the truth, and also suffering in its behalf, David Barclay, the father, had also a share in “enduring hardness” under the banner of the cross; he, with other friends to the number of

twelve, being taken at a meeting, and committed to the Tolbooth, at Aberdeen; where, after three months' confinement, under much oppression and many painful circumstances, they were brought up for examination; and being fined for the offence of frequenting and keeping conventicles, and refusing to pay such fines, they were remanded back to their former prison.

At this time, Robert Barclay was engaged in ministerial service in Holland and Germany; and on his return home, heard in London of his father's, and the other friends', imprisonment: whereupon, he applied to the king in their behalf; and although it does not distinctly appear that owing to this application, David Barclay was released, yet such shortly after, being the case, it is to be concluded that it was so.

Robert Barclay had not long returned home, when he was himself apprehended with some others while attending a meeting for worship, and by order of the provost of Aberdeen, conveyed to prison. Intelligence of his captivity having reached the knowledge of an illustrious friend of his, Elizabeth, Princess Palatine of the Rhine,[49] a distant relation of his mother's, and with whom he had contracted an intimate acquaintance during his recent travels in Germany, she manifested her sincere desire to serve him, by addressing the following letter in his behalf to her brother, the Prince Rupert; by the tenor of which epistle, she seems to have received information of somewhat an exaggerated kind, respecting his case.

“Herford, December 19th, 1676.

“Dear Brother,

“I have written to you some months ago, by Robert Barclay, who passed this way, and hearing I was your sister, desired to speak with me. I knew him to be a Quaker, by his hat, and took occasion to inform myself of all their opinions; and finding they were so submiss to the magistrates in real, omitting the ceremonial, I wished in my heart, the king might have many such subjects. And since, I have heard that notwithstanding his majesty's gracious letter on his behalf[50] to the council of Scotland, he has been clapped up in prison with the rest of his friends, and they threaten to hang him (at least those they call preachers among them) unless they subscribe to their own banishment, etc. Therefore, dear brother, if you can do anything to prevent their destruction, I doubt not but you would do an action acceptable to God Almighty, and conducive to the service of your royal master; for the Presbyterians are their main enemies; to whom they are an eye sore, as bearing witness against all their violent ways. I care not though his majesty see my letter; it is written no less out of a humble affection for him, than in a sensible compassion of the innocent sufferers. You will act herein according to your own discretion: and I beseech you still consider me as yours,

“Elizabeth.”

It does not appear that the above application was speedily, if at all, influential, in the liberation of Robert Barclay; who, with his friends, giving increased offence to the magistrates of Aberdeen, by preaching to the populace from the windows of their prison in the Tolbooth, were removed to a place out of the town, called the chapel; in which the commissioners who gave orders for their removal, expected the prisoners would be better accommodated. But instead of this, they found themselves placed in a small, cold, narrow place, which had a great door opening to the eastern ocean, without any fence. Here, they had scarcely more room than sufficed to contain their beds; and the window was so small, that they could not see even to eat their food, except by candle-light, or while the door was set open by the keeper when he brought their provisions. But hard as this treatment was, the case of the rest of the friends who were left at the Tolbooth was if possible still worse; and their hardships from lack of room, etc., were augmented by the addition made to their number, of eight more of their brethren, taken at religious meetings; in consequence of which, as a miserable alternative, some of them (for lack of space) were obliged to take up their lodging amongst the debtors and other prisoners, who lay in the lower vaults, much thronged.

In this exercised state, these poor sufferers were not without some ministrations of comfort from their “companions in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ;” as the following extracts from an epistle of Isaac Penington evince.

He superscribes it, “For my dear suffering friends in Scotland.”

After reminding them of the “blessed visitation” and tender mercy of the Lord towards them as a people, he says,

“Indeed the Lord is with us—what can we desire more? preparing us for himself, preserving us in the life of his blessed truth, building us up more and more, and causing his spirit of glory and living power to rest upon us.

“So, my dear friends, none look out, either at outward or inward sufferings; but, to the Lord only, whose life, spirit, and power is above them, and bears up all over them, who are in spirit joined to him, faithfully waiting upon him; which God daily teaches and enables his to do.

“Be of good faith, my dear friends; look not out at anything; fear none of those things you may be exposed to suffer, either outwardly or inwardly, but trust the Lord over all; and your life will spring and grow, and refresh you, and the love and power will cleanse out, and keep out what would hinder its growth; and you will learn obedience and faithfulness, daily more and more, even by your exercises and sufferings; yes, the Lord will teach you the very mystery of faith and obedience (oh blessed lesson!) and you shall not be disappointed of your hope or crown, by anything the enemy can plot, or bring about against you; but have the weight of glory increased and enlarged by his temptations, and your manifold sufferings; the wisdom, power, love and goodness of the Lord ordering every thing for you, and ordering your hearts in every thing, etc.

“This is the salutation and tender visit of the love of your brother in the truth, whose breathings are to God for you, and his praises unto him, through the sense of his being with you, and daily showing mercy to you, upholding and preserving you in the midst of your sore trials and afflictions.

“Isaac Penington.”

“London, 5th of 5th month, 1676.”

One of the pretences made use of by the authorities of Scotland, for their cruel proceedings against the Quakers, was an allegation of their being popishly affected; and advancers of the interests of the Romish Church. But a curious inconsistency manifested, that even if such had been the case (than which nothing seemed more improbable) there were occasions in which the advocates of Roman Catholicism were not considered as deserving of ill-treatment at the hands of the magistrates of Aberdeen. The case was this. The Marquis of Huntley, as noted a Catholic as any in Scotland, and one who greatly promoted that class, was bringing home his wife, the daughter of the Duke of Norfolk, one of the foremost of the same persuasion in England; when on their entrance into Aberdeen, the magistrates assembled a large concourse of the citizens, and with much parade, went forth to meet them, expressing all the usual tokens of profound respect; so that on that occasion, “the whole town appeared in a manner taken up with the grandeur of the ceremony.”[51]

On reading which, the mind involuntarily recurs to the homely proverb of “one may steal a horse, while another may not look over a hedge.”

However, in a few months, many persons applying in behalf of the imprisoned Quakers, the commissioners decreed, that “considering the extraordinary trouble sustained by the magistrates and burgh of Aberdeen, through the many Quaker conventicles held in the Tolbooth, and that others have been urged to throw themselves into the snare of imprisonment, for the purpose of molestation, the following persons (amongst whom was Robert Barclay) be removed to the Tolbooth of the burgh of Banff, till further orders. (Here follow their names.) Likewise, that sundry others (including David Barclay) be removed from the prison of Aberdeen, and confine themselves to their country-houses and parishes,” etc.

When those who were ordered to be removed to Banff, were delivered over to the sheriff, he gave them also their liberty, on condition of being forthcoming, when he should appoint a time to convey them there; a mode of getting rid of them, when found impossible to subdue their constancy, which seems to have been often practised by the persecutors of friends in these times.

Before this took place, the suffering friends had made an effort in their own behalf, by representing their case to the council; and Robert Barclay, being informed that Archbishop Sharpe was a chief instigator of their sufferings, addressed to him a very searching appeal, in which he reminds him, that a memorial of their sufferings was intended to be presented at the first sitting of council; “by which the archbishop would be informed, how we have been upwards of a year prisoners,” he says, “and the goods of many poor people miserably spoiled; of which you are said to be the chief and principal author; and that the attempting to persecute us, as well as the prosecution of it, does proceed from your influence; as being done either at your express desire, or by some others, in hopes thereby to gratify you.

“How far you are truly guilty thereof, your own conscience can best tell; but surely such practices (if you have either directly or indirectly had a hand in them) will neither commend you to God, nor good men. I presume you look upon it as your chiefest honour, to be reputed a Christian bishop, deriving your authority from Christ and his apostles. But they never gave warrant for any such doings; being preachers and practisers of patience, and suffering, but never of persecuting, or causing to rob any of their goods or liberties, for conscience sake.”

He proceeds in an argumentative strain for awhile, and then in conclusion, (one would say assuredly, in the spirit of prophecy,) he leaves with him these words:

“And you may assure yourself, that the utmost rigour that can be used to us, shall never be able to make us doubt of, or make us depart from, that living precious truth, that God in his mercy has revealed to us, and which, by us, is embraced; nor yet fright us from the public profession of it, yes, though we should be pursued to death itself; which, by the grace of God, we hope cheerfully to undergo for the same; and we doubt not, but God would, out of our ashes, raise witnesses who should outlive all the violence and cruelty of man. And albeit you should yourself be most inexorable and violent towards us, you might assure yourself, not to receive any evil from us, therefore; who, by the grace of God, have learned to suffer patiently, and with our Lord and master Jesus Christ, to pray for, and love our enemies. Yet, as your so doing to an innocent and inoffensive people, would be an irreparable loss to your reputation, so the God of truth, whom we serve with our spirits in the gospel of his Son, and to whom vengeance belongs (so we leave it) would, certainly, in his own time and way, avenge our quarrel; whose dreadful judgments should be more terrible unto you, and much more justly to be feared, than the violent assaults or secret assassinations of your other antagonists.”

“That you may prevent both the one and the other,[52] by a Christian moderation, suitable to the office you lay claim to, is the desire of your soul's well-wisher,

“R. Barclay.” “From the chapel prison of Aberdeen, the 26th of the 1st month, 1677.”

“With the same measure that you use, it shall be measured to you again;” is a solemn axiom, which was often strikingly verified in the case of the persecuted Quakers, as their records testify. One instance in particular, may here be profitably related; because it is soothing to remark, that sincere repentance (as we may humbly hope) mingled with, and lessened the bitterness of that cup of retributive justice, which, in this case, the offender was required to drink of.

The individual alluded to, was one Matthew Hide, a person of some note in the city of London; who had made it his business, for the space of nearly twenty years, publicly to contradict the Quakers in their meetings, and, as far as he could, to disturb them in their mode of worship. It would seem, however, that a blind zeal to put down what he considered as heresy, was his motive for acting thus, rather than any furious hatred against their retired and serious devotions; which as being so contrary and reproving to the bustle and stir of the fleshly mind, was, no doubt, the great offence for which they were generally so much opposed, and ill used.

It was not by noise and clamour, but by gainsaying what they advanced, that this man interrupted the preaching of ministers amongst friends; insomuch that William Penn would sometimes be moved to pray very earnestly for his repentance, and to tell him in the presence of many auditors, that God would assuredly plead with him by his righteous judgments; and that the time would come, in which he would be forced to confess the sufficiency of those very principles which he then opposed.

This prophetic warning, at the close of many years, was at last affectingly verified; for this Hide, being by sickness, brought to the brink of death, began to take that new and distinct view of things, which is seldom or never taken, in times of health and worldly prosperity. Oh, it is an easy thing to dispute about truth; and to contend for one way against another, while we appear to have time enough before us, to follow which we choose! But when the soul is brought into that amazing state, in which an untried eternity is before it—that which brings into peace with God— that—(call it by what name you will—deride it how you may)—that which has power to support, to comfort, and to direct, in times of tribulation—that is found to be the truth—the tried and everlasting truth.

And now in the hour of his great exigency, when principles were to be proved, this man was reminded by the monitor within, of those of friends. Well essayed—well proved—doubtless he had seen them oftentimes; himself having been one that had helped to try them. Ah—there was no chaff there!—no vain words without a meaning—no letter doctrines, dry and dead as the unbelief to which they spoke—no empty notions —no sapless, lifeless phraseology—but Christ the true vine—the good shepherd, breaking the bread of life through his own true and faithful servants—these were things he remembered—and, alas!—remembered also, that they were things which he had mocked and rejected!

But though it were so, he believed that as the ministers of a merciful Lord, he had but to ask their attendance at his dying bed, and the request would be granted. He therefore desired that George Whitehead, and some of his friends might be sent for; and although it was late in the evening when the message was delivered to them, they immediately visited him.

“I am come,” said George Whitehead, “in love and tenderness to see you.”

“I am glad to see you,” said Hide.

“If you have anything upon your conscience,” said Whitehead, “I would like you to clear it.”

To this Hide returned for answer, that what he had to say, he spoke as in the presence of God. “As Paul was a persecutor of the people of the Lord,” he said, “so have I been a persecutor of you his people; as the world is, who persecute the people of God.”

He added more; but being extremely weak, his words could not well be understood.

“Your understanding being darkened,” said George Whitehead, “when darkness was over you, you did gainsay the truth, and people of the Lord; and I knew that that light which you did oppose, would rise up in judgment against you. I have often, with others, laboured with you, to bring you to a right understanding.”

To this Hide made answer, by again declaring as in the presence of God, that he had done evil in persecuting Friends; and that he was heartily sorry for it; adding, “The Lord Jesus Christ show mercy unto me!—and the Lord increase your number, and be with you!”

After some interval of silence, George Whitehead addressed him with an earnest entreaty, to ease his conscience of every burden that oppressed it. “My soul,” said he, “is affected to hear you thus confess your evil, as the Lord has given you a sense of it. In repentance, there is mercy and forgiveness; in confessing and forsaking of sin, there is mercy to be found with the Lord, who, in the midst of judgment remembers mercy, that he may be feared;” and after a little more discourse, and some intervals of silence, he tenderly inquired, “How is it with your soul? Do you not find some ease?”

“I hope I do,” answered the dying man; “and if the Lord should lengthen out my days, I should be willing to bear a testimony for you, as publicly as I have appeared against you.”

“And if the Lord should not lengthen out your days,” said Whitehead, “do you desire that what you say, should be signified to others?”

“Yes:” he replied; “I do”—and perceiving him to be suffering much from weakness, and lack of breath, George Whitehead and his friends took their leave of him, commending him to the mercy and forgiveness of God.

As this occurred on a Saturday night, he several times desired, after the friends had withdrawn, that he might be permitted to live till the next day; since, as it was on a Sunday that he had most often opposed them in their meetings for worship, he now wished on that day, to bear witness in their favour.

But this was not allotted to him; for he died in about two hours after the above interview; signifying before he departed, that he was favoured to feel some relief in his spirit.

Chapter XVI.

Soon after his release from prison in 1677, Robert Barclay, in company with George Fox, William Penn, Benjamin Furly and some others, proceeded to Holland and Germany, on ministerial service; in the course of which, he, with some of his companions, paid their respects to his kind friend, Princess Elizabeth.

A very interesting memoir having been written by William Penn of this journey, I borrow an account of it from that source; previous to which, some brief sketch of the journalist himself, may be desirable.

Scarcely any name in the Society of Friends, is more generally known or respected by those of other religious persuasions, than that of William Penn. Indeed, so familiar are most readers with what relates to him, that it may seem superfluous to enter into his history.

It may suffice then, but briefly to state, in reference to his birth and education, that both were good; he being the son of Admiral Penn, who was knighted by Charles II.; and became a great favourite of the Duke of York, afterwards James II.

William, his son, was born on the 14th of October, 1644, and in the fifteenth year of his age entered a student at Christ Church, Oxford; at which place he first imbibed some predilection for the principles of friends, through the powerful ministry of Thomas Loe, a member of the society. On his return home, he exhibited a religious seriousness of manner and deportment, which (as likely to stand in the way of his worldly preferment) was so displeasing to his father, that finding all efforts ineffectual to remove it, he turned him out of doors.

In due time, however, the admiral somewhat relented towards his son; and in hope of his relinquishing his present views, he sent him to France, in company with some persons of quality; from which measure so great an alteration took place in his behaviour, that his father joyfully received him back, hoping his point was gained.

Still, the better impression, happily for the young man, was deepest; and being in the year 1666, sent over by his father to Ireland, to superintend an estate of his in that country, he fell in once more, after a lapse of some years, with Thomas Loe, the minister amongst friends, whose preaching had so deeply affected him at Oxford.

The first words which he now heard him utter, when he stood up in the meeting, were these:

“There is a faith that overcomes the world; and there is a faith that is overcome by the world;” on which subject the good man enlarged so powerfully, that the finishing stroke was put to the convictions of William Penn, and he, henceforth, constantly attended the meetings of friends; at one of which, in Cork, he was, some little time after, apprehended, and with many others, carried before the mayor, and committed to prison.

Here his confinement was but short; and his father hearing of the danger his son was in, of being proselyted to Quakerism, commanded him to return home. When arrived there, he had to undergo a severe conflict of mind, between his duty to his heavenly Father, and that which was required of him by his earthly parent; but continuing steadfast in adhering to the Supreme Governor, he was once more discarded from the paternal roof.

At length, finding it in vain to combat with his resolutions, the admiral submitted to connive at his return home; and though he would not seem to countenance his views, he did not fail to use his interest in getting him released, when he shared the usual fate of the other friends, in being taken at meetings, and conveyed to prison.

In the year 1668, in consequence of the unsatisfactory conduct of some Presbyterian ministers, with whom, he and George Whitehead held, by appointment, a conference upon doctrinal points, he wrote and published a little book called “The Sandy Foundation Shaken;” which gave so much offence to some in authority in the church, that he was committed to the Tower, as a punishment for what was considered as heresy. In this place, he employed his time in writing his most popular production, “No Cross, no Crown;” as well as several other religious treatises. Amongst these, was one which he gave forth, in order to clear himself from the charge of denying certain religious doctrines, and which he entitled, “Innocency with her open Face;” in which he so successfully vindicated himself, that soon after its publication, he was released from his confinement, which had been of about seven months' continuance.

In the year 1670, the passing of the conventicle act, (prohibiting dissenters meetings, under severe penalties,) occasioning friends upon many occasions, and one in particular, to be kept out of their meeting-house in Gracechurch-street, they met as near it in the street as they could; and William Penn preaching there, was apprehended by a warrant from the lord mayor, Sir Samuel Starling; and together with his friend William Mead, committed to Newgate, and at the sessions, underwent their trial at the Old Bailey.

At this trial, he and his companion nobly stood their ground, against every sort of insult both in speech and action, that malice could exhibit towards them. So evident indeed, was the innocence of the accused, and the oppression of those appointed to be their judges, that the jury would not bring them in guilty, in the sense stated in their indictment; although remanded several times to consider of their verdict; and that, under circumstances of personal discomfort; having twice to remain the whole night, debating about it.

Not long after his trial, William Penn's father died, being perfectly reconciled to his son; to whom he uttered many instructive expressions on his death-bed, of which the following memorial is preserved in “No Cross, no Crown.”

After specifying some instances, of the different estimate the mind takes of things at the solemn hour of death, to that which it makes in a time of health and strength; he says,

“My own father, after thirty years' employment, with good success, in several places of eminent trust and honour in his own country, upon a serious reflection not long before his death, spoke to me in this manner;”

“Son William, I am weary of the world! I would not live over my days again, if I could command them with a wish; for the snares of life are greater than the fears of death. This troubles me: that I have offended a gracious God, who has followed me to this day. Oh, have a care of sin! That is the sting both of life and death. Three things I commend unto you: First, 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 the day of trouble. Secondly, whatever you design to do, lay it justly, and time it seasonably; for that gives security and dispatch. Lastly, be not troubled at disappointments; for, if they may be recovered, do it; if they cannot, trouble is vain. If you could not have helped it, be content; there is often peace and profit in submitting to Providence; for afflictions make wise. If you could have helped it, still let not your trouble exceed instruction for another time. These rules will carry you with firmness and comfort through this inconstant world.”

“Wearied to live, as well as near to die,” he adds, “he took his leave of us; and of me, with this expression, and a most composed countenance: 'Son William, if you and your friends keep to your plain way of preaching, and keep to your plain way of living, you will make an end of the priests, to the end of the world. Bury me by my mother;—live all in love:—shun all manner of evil; and I pray God to bless you all! And he will bless you!'”

Many thick veils does a death-bed remove; and here was one strikingly taken away. That persuasion, which once seemed a mass of foolishness and errors so great, that, for continuing in it, the admiral had more than once, turned his son out of doors; he now, with his last breath, bears witness to, as truth;—and, no doubt, in remorse for those things of which he himself, in the days of his ignorance, had been guilty, he above all things, enjoins his son, “never to do anything against his conscience!”

In the year 1671, William Penn was again committed to Newgate for six months, in consequence of being apprehended at a meeting in Wheeler-street. On being released from this imprisonment, he went over to Holland and Germany; and on his return home, he married, in 1672, Gulielma Maria Springett, who has already been introduced to the reader's notice, as the playmate, in her childhood, of Thomas Ellwood, and as the step-daughter of Isaac Penington. Soon after his marriage, he took up his residence at Rickmansworth in Hertfordshire, after first visiting the meetings of friends.

Various publications were the fruits of his labours in this retirement; but that with which we are now concerned, is the journal of his travels in Holland and Germany, in company (as was before stated) with Robert Barclay, George Fox, Benjamin Furly, and some others.

After remaining together in their travels for a short time, William Penn, Robert Barclay, and two other friends, took leave of George Fox at Amsterdam, and proceeded on their way to Herwerden, where Princess Elizabeth held her court.

It appears from the statements in this journal, that the princess, and her friend and companion, the Countess de Hornes, had formerly been followers of De Labadie; of whom William Penn gives the following account.

“This man was a Frenchman, who, being dissatisfied with the looseness and deadness of the French Protestants, even at Geneva itself, left them, and came for Holland; and so vehemently declaimed against the apostacy of the priests and people there, that the clergy were enraged, and stirred up the magistrates against him; and the rather, because many followed him, and several women of great quality. Upon this, the princess gave them an invitation, and they came, and were protected by her. But since, some misconduct falling out in that place, she thereupon, in good measure, withdrew her favours from them, and they removed into another place.

“I was moved to visit this man and his company, six years ago; and did see him, and his two great disciples; but they would not permit me to see the people, which I laboured for. I, in that day, saw the airiness and unstableness of the man's spirit; and that a sect-master was his name; and it was upon me, both by word of mouth, and writing, to let them know that the enemy would prevail against them, to draw them into inconvenient things, if they came not to be stayed in the light of Jesus Christ, and to know the holy silence; and that at last, they would come to fall out with one another, and moulder away; which is in some measure come to pass, as I feared.

“And in this, was the Countess (De Homes) commendable; in that she left all, to have joined with a people that had a pretence at least, to more spirituality and self-denial, than was found in the national religion she was bred up in; for God had reached her, as she told me, about nine years ago, and that by an extraordinary way.

“Now it seemed great pity to us, that persons of their quality in the world, should so willingly expose themselves for the false Quaker, the reprobate silver—the mixture; and that they should not be acquainted with the life and testimony of the true Quaker.

“About a year since, Robert Barclay and Benjamin Furly, took that city in the way from Frederickstadt to Amsterdam, and gave them a visit; in which they informed them somewhat of friends' principles, and recommended the testimony of truth to them, as both a nearer and more certain thing, than the utmost of De Labadie's doctrine. They left them tender and loving.”

He then states, that other friends resident in Holland, had since visited these illustrious ladies; “and though they,” he adds, “especially the countess, made some objections in relation to the ordinances, and certain practices of friends, yet she seemed to receive, at that time, satisfaction from them.”

“These visits,” he proceeds, “have occasioned a correspondence by way of letter between them and several of us; wherein the 'mystery of truth,' has been more clearly opened to their understandings, and they have been brought nearer into a waiting frame, by those, instructions which they have frequently received by way of epistles, from several of us.”

He then inserts a letter of Princess Elizabeth, in answer to two from him; and which is as follows:

“Herford, May 2, 1677. “This, friend, will tell you, that both your letters were very acceptable, together with your wishes for my obtaining those virtues, which may make me a worthy follower of our great King and Saviour, Jesus Christ. What I have done for his true disciples, is not so much as a cup of cold water; it affords them no refreshment; neither did I expect any fruit of my letter to the Duchess of L. as I have expressed at the same time unto B. F. But since R. B. desired I should write it, I could not refuse him; nor omit to do anything that was judged conducing to his liberty, though it should expose me to the derision of the world. But this a mere moral man can reach at; the true inward graces are yet wanting in,

“Your affectionate friend,

“Elizabeth.”

On coming to the city where she resided, the friends made their arrival known to the princess, with a request to hear at what time in the course of the next day, it would be agreeable to her to receive them. Her reply signified, that she was pleased to hear of their arrival, and would be ready to receive them about seven o'clock the next morning.

“The next morning being come,” says Penn, “(which was the sixth day of the week,) we went about the time she had appointed us, and found both her and the countess, ready to receive us; which they did with a more than ordinary expression of kindness.”

He describes his mind, as “very deeply and reverently affected, and filled with a holy testimony to them;” which he says, was followed by that of his brethren, and the meeting concluded about eleven.

“The princess,” he says, “entreated us to stay and dine with her; but, with due regard both to our testimony and to her, at that time we refused it; desiring, if she pleased, another opportunity that day; which she, with all cheerfulness, yielded to; she herself, appointing the second hour.

“So we went to our quarters, and some time after we had dined, we returned.

“The meeting soon began; there were several present, beside the princess and the countess. It was at this meeting that the Lord, in a more eminent manner, began to appear. The eternal word showed itself a hammer on this day; yes, sharper than any two-edged sword, dividing asunder between the soul and the spirit, the joints and the marrow. Yes, this day was all flesh humbled before the Lord. It amazed one:—struck another:— broke another: yes, the noble arm of the Lord was truly awakened; and the weight and work thereof, bowed and tendered us also, after an unusual and extraordinary manner, that the Lord might work a heavenly sign before them, and among them; that the majesty of him that is risen among the poor Quakers, might in some measure be known unto them; what God it is we serve, and what power it is we wait for, and bow before. Yes, they had a sense and discovery that day, what would become of the glory of all flesh, when God shall enter into judgment! Well! let my right hand forget its cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, when I shall forget the loving kindness of the Lord, and the sure mercies of our God to us his travelling servants, that day! O, Lord! send forth your light and your truth, that all nations may behold your glory!

“Thus continued the meeting till about the seventh hour; which done, with hearts and souls filled with holy thanksgivings to the Lord, for his abundant mercy and goodness to us, we departed to our lodging; desiring to know whether our coming the next day, might not be uneasy or unreasonable to her, with respect to the affairs of her government; it being the last day of the week, when we were informed she was most frequently attended by addresses from her people. But with a loving and ready mind, she replied, that she should be glad to see us the next morning, and at any time we would.”

I feel persuaded, that I cannot better please my reader, than by continuing the account which William Penn proceeds to give, of the communication between the friends and this excellent lady; from whose touching humility, an instructive lesson may be derived.

“The next morning,” he says, “being the seventh day, [Saturday,] we were there between eight and nine; where, Robert Barclay falling into some discourse with the princess, the countess took hold of the opportunity, and whispered me to withdraw, to get a meeting for the more inferior servants of the house; who would have been bashful to have presented themselves before the princess; and, blessed be the Lord! he did not fail us; but the same blessed power that had appeared to visit them of high, appeared also to visit them of low degree; and we were all sweetly tendered and broken together; for 'virtue went forth of Jesus' that day; and the life of our God was shed abroad amongst us, as a sweet savour; for which their souls bowed before the Lord, and confessed to our testimony; which did not a little please that noble young woman, to find her own report of us, and her great care of them, so effectually answered. Oh! what shall we say? Is there any god like to our God, who is glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, working wonders? To his eternal name, power, and arm, be the glory forever!

“The meeting done, the princess came to us, expressing much satisfaction that we had that good opportunity with her servants; telling us she much desired they should have a true and right character of us, and that therefore she chose to withdraw, that they might have free access, and that it might look like their own act, etc.

“The twelfth hour being come, we returned to our inn, letting them understand, we purposed, (the Lord willing,) to visit them some time of that afternoon.

At about three o'clock, they repaired again to the princess; where, being come, after some little time,” he says, “the princess and countess put me in remembrance of a promise I made them in one of my letters out of England; namely, that I would give them an account, (at some convenient time,) of my first convincement, and of those tribulations and consolations which I had met withal in this way of the kingdom, which God had brought me to.

“After some pause, I found myself very free, and prepared, in the Lord's love and fear, to comply with their request; and so, after some silence began. But before I had half done, it was suppertime, and the princess would by no means let us go. We must sup with her; which importunity not being well able to avoid, we yielded to, and sat down with her to supper.

“Among the rest present at these opportunities, it must not be forgotten that there was a countess, sister to the Countess de Hornes, then come in to visit her, and a Frenchwoman of quality; the first behaving herself very decently, and the last often deeply broken: and from a light and slighting carriage towards the very name of a Quaker, she became very intimately and affectionately kind and respectful to us.

“Supper being ended, we all returned to the princess's chamber; where making us all to sit down with her, she, with both the countesses, and the Frenchwoman pressed from me the continuance of my relation; but none more than the countess's sister; which, though late, I was not unwilling to oblige them with; because I knew not when the Lord would give me such an opportunity.

“And I found them affected. It continued till about ten at night; yet many particulars omitted, partly through forgetfulness, and partly for lack of time. Howbeit I must needs say, they heard me with an earnest and tender attention, and I hope and believe the Lord has made it profitable unto them.

“This done, some discourse they had upon it, and afterwards we spoke about a meeting for the next day, being the first day of the week; and that we might have not only as many of her own family, but as many of her town, as would willingly be there, she yielded to it, and appointed the meeting to begin at the second hour. So we parted, being near the eleventh hour at night.”

Of the meeting on the next day, he gives the following moving description.

“The second hour being at hand, we went to the meeting, where were several of the town, as well as of the family. The meeting began with a weighty exercise, and travail in prayer, that the Lord would glorify his own name that day. And by his own power he made way to their consciences, and sounded his awakening trumpet in their ears, that they might know that he was God, and that there is none like unto him. Oh! the day of the Lord livingly dawned upon us, and the searching life of Jesus was in the midst of us. Oh! the word that never fails them that wait for it, and abide in it, opened the way, and unsealed the book of life! Yes, the quickening power and life of Jesus, wrought and reached to them; and virtue from him, in whom dwells the Godhead bodily, went forth, and blessedly distilled upon us his own heavenly life, sweeter than the pure frankincense, yes, than the sweet-smelling myrrh that comes from a far country. And as it began, so it was carried on, and so it ended. Blessed be the name of the Lord, and confided in, be our God, forever!

“As soon as the meeting was done, the princess came to me and took me by the hand (which she usually did to us all, coming and going,) and went to speak to me of the sense she had, of that power and presence of God that was amongst us. But she was stopped;—and turning herself to the window, broke forth with an extraordinary emotion, crying out, 'I cannot speak to you, my heart is full!' clapping her hands upon her breast.

“It melted me into a deep and calm tenderness, in which I was moved to minister a few words softly to her; and after some time of silence, she recovered herself, and as I was taking my leave of her, she interrupted me thus; 'Will you not come here again? Pray call here, as you return out of Germany.'

“I told her we were in the hand of the Lord, and being his, could not dispose of ourselves. But the Lord had taken care that we should not forget her, and those with her; for he had raised a heavenly concernment in our souls for her and them; and we loved them all, with that love with which God had loved us; with much more to that purpose.

“She then turned to the rest of her friends, and would have had us all gone to supper with her. But we chose rather to be excused. We should eat a bit of her bread, and drink a glass of her wine, if she pleased, in the chamber where we were. At last we prevailed with her to leave us.

“After the princess had supped, we went all down, and took our solemn leave of her, the countess, her sister, and the Frenchwoman, with the rest of the family, whose hearts were reached and opened by our testimonies; recommending unto them, holy silence from all will-worship, and the workings, strivings, and images of their own mind and spirit; that Jesus might be felt of them in their hearts; and his holy teachings witnessed and followed in the way of his blessed cross, that would crucify them unto the world, and the world unto them; that their faith, hope, and joy might stand in Christ in them, the heavenly Prophet, Shepherd, and Bishop, whose voice, all that are truly sheep, will hear and follow, and not the voice of any stranger whatever.

“So we left them in the love and peace of God, praying that they might be kept from the evil of this world.”

Chapter XVII.

In passing near the residence of some of De Labadie's followers, William Penn was led to seek an interview with them; of which he has left so edifying a record, that although it may be somewhat of a digression, I venture to transcribe a few extracts therefrom.

“We took waggon,” he says, “for Wiewart, the mansion-house of the family of the Somerdykes, where J. De Labadie's company resides; it being strong upon my spirit to give them a visit. We got there about five: and as we were walking over a field to the house, we met a young man of that company, who conducted us in.”

Having inquired for one Ivon, the pastor, and a lady named Anna Maria Schurmans, he and his friends were well received by the former; but some difficulty was made respecting his introduction to the latter, on the score of her being advanced in life, and of feeble health, etc. Upon which, William Penn reminded them, that he had occasion to think himself but unhandsomely treated six years before, by their leader De Labadie; who, although he (William Penn,) had come a long journey to visit him and his people, would not allow of his speaking with them.

Upon hearing this, his request to see the lady was granted; but the evening coming on, he proposed that their meeting should be put off till the following morning.

The next day, he, and a friend (whom he merely names as J. C_______,) went to them again; and were immediately admitted to the apartment of Anna Maria Sehurmans, with whom they found a lady of the Somerdyke family. Somerdyke was a nobleman of the Hague, and as Penn describes it, he and his three daughters were “people of great breeding and inheritances.”

Anna Maria Sehurmans was a single woman above sixty; of such great note and fame for learning, in languages and philosophy, that she had obtained a considerable place among the most learned men of the age.

“These,” he says, “with several other persons, being affected with the zealous declamation of J. De Labadie, against the dead and formal churches of the world, and awakened to seek after a more spiritual fellowship and society, separated themselves from the common Calvinist churches, and followed him in the way of a refined Independency.

“They are a serious, plain people,” he observes; “and are come nearer than others, to friends, in silence, in meetings, women speaking, preaching by the Spirit, plainness in garb, and furniture in their houses.

“With these two,” he continues, “we had the company of the two pastors, and a doctor of medicine. After some silence, I proposed this question to them: 'What was it that induced them to separate from the common way they formerly lived in?' I desired that they would be pleased to be plain and open with me, as to the ground of their separation; for I came not to dispute, but in a Christian spirit, to be informed.

“Upon this, Ivon the chief pastor, gave us the history of J. De Labadie's education; how he was bred among the Jesuits, and deserted them, and embraced the Protestant religion; and finally, with his great dissatisfaction with the Protestant churches of France; and that if God would not give them a purer church, they three would sit down by themselves, resolving never more to mix among the Babylonish assemblies of the world; adding several solemn appeals concerning the simplicity and integrity of their hearts in these things.

“Ivon having done, Anna Maria Schurmans began in this manner: 'I find myself constrained to add a short testimony.'

“She told us of her former life, of her pleasure in learning, and her love to the religion she was brought up in; but confessed she knew not God, nor Christ truly, all that while. And though, from a child, God had visited her at times, yet she never felt such a powerful stroke, as by the ministry of J. De Labadie. She saw her learning to be vanity, and her religion like a body of death. She resolved to despise the shame, desert her former way of living and acquaintance, and join herself to this little family, that was retired out of the world; among whom she desired to be found a living sacrifice, offered up entirely to the Lord.”

He describes these as but short hints of what she said: which he represents as being delivered in much seriousness, and brokenness of spirit.

“After she had done,” he continues, “one of the Somerdykes began, in a very reverent and weighty frame of mind, and in a sense that very well suited her contempt of the world. She told us how often she had mourned from her young years, because she did not know the Lord as she desired; often saying within herself, 'If God would make known to me his way, I would trample upon all the pride and glory of the world.' She earnestly expressed the frequent anguish of spirit she had, because of the deadness and formality of the Christians she was bred among: saying to herself, 'Oh, the pride! Oh, the lusts! Oh, the vain pleasures in which Christians live! Can this be the way to heaven? Is this the way to glory? Are these the followers of Christ? Oh, no!—Oh, God! where is your little flock? Where is your little family that will live entirely to you, and that will follow you? Make me one of that number!” And when the servant of the Lord, J. De Labadie came into Holland, I, among others, had a curiosity to hear him.”

She then spoke of the convincing power which his preaching exercised upon her conscience; “He spoke the very thoughts of my heart,” she said; “and I resolved, by the grace of God, to abandon all the glory and pride of this world, and to be one of those that should sit down with him, in a separation from the vain and dead worships of this world. I count myself happy that I ever met with him and these pastors, who seek not themselves, but the Lord; and we are a family that live together in love, of one soul and one spirit, entirely given up to serve the Lord; and this is the greatest joy in the world!”

When she had concluded, Du Lignon, the other pastor, related the reasons for his embracing the views of De Labadie; but his account, Penn says, was not given “so livingly.”

“After him,” he proceeds, “the doctor of medicine that had been bred for a priest, but voluntarily refused that calling, expressed himself, after this manner;

“'I can also bear my testimony, in the presence of God, that though I lived in as much reputation at the university, as any of my colleagues, or companions, and was well reputed for sobriety and honesty, yet, I never felt such a living sense of God, as when I heard the servant of the Lord, J. De Labadie.

“'The first day I heard him, I was so struck and affected, that I can truly say, through the good grace of God, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, it was to me, as the day of my salvation; he did so livingly touch my heart, with a sense of the true Christian worship. Upon which, I forsook the university, and resolved to be one of this family. And this I can say in the fear of the Lord.'”

The chief pastor, Ivon, then concluded their testimony, by saying, “This is what we have to say concerning the work of God amongst us.”

“All this while,” says Penn, “I minded not so much their words, as I felt, and had unity with, a measure of divine sense that was upon them. Certainly, the Lord had been amongst them; yes, I had a living sense in my heart, that somewhat of the breath of life had breathed upon them; and though they were in great mixtures, yet that God's love was towards them.

“After some silence, I began in this way:—

“'I come not to judge you, but to visit you; not to quarrel or dispute, but to speak of the things of God's kingdom; and I have no prejudice, but great love and regard in my heart, towards you; wherefore hear me with Christian patience and tenderness.

“'I do confess and believe, that God has touched your hearts with his divine finger, and that his work is amongst you; that it was his Spirit which gave you a sight of the folly and vanity of this world, and that has made you sensible of the dead religions that are in it. It is this sense I love and honour; and I am so far from undervaluing or opposing this tender sense I feel upon you, that this it is, I am come to visit; and you, for the love of it. And as for the reproaches that may attend you on the score of your separation, with all the reports that thereof go concerning you, they are what I respect you for; being well acquainted with the nature and practice of this world, towards those that retire out of it.

“'Now, since I have with patience, and I can truly say with great satisfaction, heard your account of your experiences, give me the like Christian freedom to tell you mine; to the end you may have some sense of the work of God in me; for those who are come to any measure of a divine sense, they are as looking-glasses to each other, as face answers to face in a glass.'”

He then proceeded to inform them of the dealings of God with his soul, of which he was first sensible about the twelfth year of his age. He told them of the persecution he underwent at Oxford, on account of his religious sentiments, and afterwards from his own father. He spoke of the deep sense it pleased God to give him, of the vanity of the world, and of the irreligiousness of all the religions in it; and “yet after all this, the glory of the world,” he says, “overtook me, and I was even ready to give myself up to it, seeing as yet, no such thing, as the primitive spirit and church on the earth; and being ready to faint, concerning my hope of the restitution of all things.

“It was at this time,” he continues, “that the Lord visited me with a certain sound and testimony of his eternal word, through one of those the world calls Quakers, namely, Thomas Loe.

“I related to them,” he says, “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 above all, that great cross of resisting and watching against, my own inward vain affections and thoughts.

“Here,” he observes, “I had a fine opportunity to speak of the mystery of iniquity and ungodliness in the root and ground: and to give them an account of the power and presence of God which attended us in our public testimonies and sufferings; after an indirect manner, censuring their weaknesses, by declaring and commending the contrary practices among friends, etc.

“And, notwithstanding all my sufferings and trials,” said he, in his address to them, “by magistrates, parents, companions, and above all, from the priests of the false religions that are in the world, the Lord has preserved me to this day, and has given me a hundred-fold in this world, as well as the assurance of life everlasting; informing them of the tenderness of my father to me, before, and at his death, and how, through patience and long-suffering, all opposition was conquered.”

He then began his exhortation, which, in substance, was as follows:—

That since God had given both to him and them, a divine sense of him, their eye should be to him, and not to man; that they might come into more silence of themselves, and a growth in that heavenly sense. That this was the work of the true ministry: not to keep people to themselves, and be ever teaching them; but to turn them to God, the newcovenant teacher, and to Christ, the great gospel minister. Thus did John, and thought it no dishonour that they left him to go to Christ. “Behold the Lamb of God!” said he, “that takes away the sin of the world!” And even John's disciples, left him to follow Christ. No, John testifies of himself, that he was to decrease, and Christ was to increase. “Wherefore,” he says, “I pressed them to have their eye to Christ, that takes away the sin; to him that is from heaven— heavenly—and see that he increase in them. Yes, that henceforth they should 'know no man after the flesh;' no, not Christ himself. That their knowledge of, and regard, and fellowship with one another, should stand in the revelation of the Son of God in them; who is God's great Prophet by whom he speaks in these latter days—and, if their ministers be true ministers, they will count it their glory to give way to Christ; and that they should decrease, and he should increase; for the instrument gives way to him that uses it, and the servant to the Lord, etc.

“Therefore,” said he, “let Christ have his honour: let him preach and speak among you, and be in you, and you in him: and by him only, sigh, groan, pray, preach, sing, and not otherwise, lest death come over you; for thereby the apostacy came in; by their going before Christ, instead of Christ going before them.”

After addressing himself in particular with a serious and tender spirit to the ladies, he left, he says, “the blessing and peace of Jesus among them, departing in the love and peace of God.”

In their way home, William Penn and the friends again visited Herwerden, and the amiable Princess Elizabeth, and received from her and the Countess de Homes, her companion, the same cordial welcome as before.

He observed them, he says, to be much subdued in their minds; which he attributed to the blessed effect of their former addresses to them.

“That afternoon,” he says, “was employed in the narrative of our travels, which they heard with great attention and refreshment. The whole discourse ended with a precious little meeting.

“The house being clear of strangers, they both earnestly pressed us to sup with them; which, not being well able to decline, we submitted to.

“At supper, the power of the Lord came upon me, and it was a true supper to us; for the hidden manna was manifested, and broken among us: yes, a blessed meeting it proved to us.—Oh! the reverent tenderness, and lowly frame, that appeared this evening, both in the princess and countess.— The Frenchwoman we found greatly improved, both in her love and understanding; yes, she was very zealous and very broken, and was always with us on these occasions.

“After supper, we returned to the princess's chamber, where we stayed till it was about ten at night. At parting, I desired the princess would give us such another opportunity the next day, being the first day of the week, as we had the last time we were with her. She answered me, 'With all my heart; but will you not come in the morning too?'

“I replied, 'Yes, willingly. What time will you be ready to receive us?’

“She answered, 'At seven.'”

Of the two meetings on the succeeding day, he speaks in pleasing terms; but we must now hasten to the interviews of the following one, being the last which these interesting friends were permitted to spend together.

On that morning about eight, William Penn and his companions repaired to the court, “where the princess and countess,” he says, “were ready to receive us.”

“The morning was employed in a very serious relation, touching the affairs, practices, and sufferings of our friends in England, with which they seemed greatly affected; when about the eleventh hour, the rattling of a coach interrupted us.”

This interruption proved to be the arrival of the Graef of Donau, with two young princes, who were nephews of the Princess Elizabeth, and who were all come to make her a visit; upon which the friends withdrew; but as they were to quit the place that night, William Penn entreated that they might not be disappointed of a parting interview— which was readily promised them; the visitors just arrived, being only come to dine, and be gone again.

“As we went to the door,” he says, “the countess stepped before and opened it for us; and as I passed by, she looked upon me with a weighty countenance, and fetched a deep sigh, crying out, 'Oh, the cumber and entanglements of this vain world! They hinder all good!' Upon which I replied, looking her steadfastly in the face, 'Oh, come out of them, then!'”

After the friends had dined, a message was brought from the princess, that she desired their company, as the Graef of Donau had a great wish to see and to converse with them; a request with which, after some exercise of spirit, they complied.

“Being arrived,” he says, “the graef approached us in French: at first he took no notice of our unceremonious behaviour, but proceeded to inquire of us our success in our journey, etc.

“Then we fell to points of religion, and the nature and end of true Christianity, and what was the way that leads to eternal rest. After some short debate about sanctification in this life, we both agreed, that self-denial, mortification, and victory, was the duty, and therefore ought to be the endeavour of every sincere Christian.

“From this, I fell to give him some account of my retreat from the world, and the inducements I had thereto; and the necessity of an inward work, with which he seemed much pleased.

“After this, he fell to the hat, etc.”

“This,” says Penn, “chokes; and the rather, because it tells tales; it tells what people are; it marks men for separatists; it is blowing a trumpet visibly across the world: and that the fear of man (greatly prevalent with too many serious people in that land,) cannot abide, but starts at, and runs away from.

“Howbeit, the Lord enabled me to open the thing to him; as that it [the hat honour] was no plant of God's planting, but a weed of degeneracy and apostacy; a carnal and earthly honour, the effect, feeder, and pleaser of pride, and of a vain mind, and that no advantage redounded to mankind by it: and how could they, that ought to do all to the glory of God, use that vain and unprofitable custom, which cannot be done to the glory of God? I entreated him seriously to consider with himself, the rise and end of it; from where it came, what it pleased, and what that was, which was angry that it had it not?”

He reminded this great man, of the sincere and serviceable respect which truth substituted in the place of this unmeaning ceremony; and after exhorting him to simplicity and poverty of spirit, and to be like that Jesus whom he professed to take for his Saviour, they parted; the graef taking his leave, first of the princess, and then of them, with great civility.

“After he was gone,” he says, “the princess desired us to withdraw to her apartment, and there we began our farewell-meeting. The thing lay weighty upon me, and that, in the deep dread of the Lord.—And eternally magnified be the name of the Lord, that overshadowed us with his glory! His heavenly, breaking, dissolving power, richly flowed amongst us; and his ministering angel of life, was in the midst of us. Let my soul never forget the divine sense that overwhelmed all!— At that blessed farewell that I took of them, much opened in me of the hour of Christ's temptation, his watchfulness, perseverance, and victory, etc. And in the conclusion of that torrent of heavenly, melting love with which we were all deeply affected, I fell on my knees, recommending them unto the Lord; crying with strong cries unto him for their preservation, and beseeching his presence with us;—and so ended.”

He then particularizes their last adieu, so touchingly, that I should not have the thanks of my reader, for omitting it.

“After some pause,” he says, “I went to the princess, and took her by the hand, which she received and embraced, with great signs of a weighty kindness;—being much broken. I spoke a few words apart to her, and left the blessing and peace of Jesus with, and upon her. Then I went to the countess, and left a particular exhortation with her, who fervently besought me to remember her, and implore the Lord on her behalf. From her I went to the Frenchwoman, and bid her be faithful and constant to that which she knew. She was exceedingly broken, and took an affectionate and reverent leave of us.

“Then I spoke to the rest, and took leave severally of them. My companions did all the like. They followed us to the outward room, and there it was upon me to step to the countess, and once more to speak to her, and take my leave of her; which she received, and returned, with great sense, humility and love.

“So, turning to them all, my heart and eye to the Lord, I prayed that the fear, presence, love, and life of God, with all heavenly blessings, might descend and rest with, and upon them, then, and forever!”

* * * *

The sweet and precious Christian love which animated the heart, and flowed from the lips of William Penn towards Princess Elizabeth, and her friend, occasioned him, shortly after quitting them, to testify his deep interest (more especially in the countess) by addressing to the latter an epistle, from which, before we conclude this memorial, some extracts may be acceptable:

“For Anna Maria de Hornes, styled Countess of Hornes, at Herwerden in Germany.

“My Dear Friend,

“Oh that you may ever dwell in the sweet and tender sense of that divine love and life which has visited your soul, affected and overcome your heart! Oh tell me! Has it not sometimes raised your spirit above the world, and filled you with fervent and passionate desires, yes, holy resolutions to follow Jesus, your blessed Saviour, who has given his most precious blood for you, that you should not live to yourself, but to him that has so dearly purchased you?

“Oh! the retired, humble, reverent frame that I have beheld you in, when this blessed life has drawn you into itself, and adorned and seasoned you with its own heavenly virtue; beautifying your very countenance, beyond all the vain and foolish ornaments of the shameless daughters of Sodom and Egypt; for therein are charms not known to the children of this world.

“My dearly beloved friend! be steadfast, immoveable, without wavering; and work out your great salvation, with fear and trembling, and lose not that sweet and precious sense which the Lord has begotten in you. It is soon lost, (at least weakened,) but hard to recover. Wherefore, let not the spirit of the world, in any of its appearances, vain company, unnecessary discourse, or words, or worldly affairs, prevail upon the civility of your nature; for they will oppress the innocent life, and bring grievous weights and burdens upon the soul. . . Oh beware of this compliance! Let me put you in mind of that sensible resolution, so frequently, and so passionately repeated by you: ‘Il faut queje rompe!—il faut que je rompe.’

“Now be assured, that till obedience be yielded to that present manifestation and conviction, the good things desired and thirsted after, can never be enjoyed.

“Wherefore, my dear friend, be faithful, and watch against the workings of the spirit of this world in yourself; that the nature and image of it in all things, may be crucified, that you may know an entire translation, with holy Enoch, and walk with God.

“Oh faint not; look not back. Remember the holy ancients, the holy pilgrims of faith; the royal generation of heaven, (Heb. 11.) You believe in God, believe also in Jesus, for the work's sake that he has already wrought in you; he will minister unto you, as he was ministered unto by his Father's angels in the hour of his abasement and great temptation. Oh watch and be faithful, and you shall be a noble witness for the Lord!

“How is my soul affected with your present condition! It is the fervent supplication of my heart, that you may, through the daily obedience of the cross of Jesus, conquer and shine as a bright and glorious star in the firmament of God's eternal kingdom. So let it be, Lord Jesus! Amen.”

It may not be esteemed an irrelevant close to this interesting subject, if the following tribute from William Penn to the memory of his friend Princess Elizabeth, (who died four years after this period,) be here inserted.

“The late Princess Elizabeth of the Rhine, of right claims a memorial in this discourse;[53] her virtue giving greater lustre to her name, than her quality, which yet was of the greatest in the German empire. She chose a single life, as freest of care, and best suited to the study and meditation she was always inclined to; and the chiefest diversion she took, next the air, was in some plain and housewifely entertainment, as knitting, etc. She had a small territory, which she governed so well, that she showed herself fit for a greater. She would constantly, every last day in the week, sit in judgment, and hear and determine causes herself; where her patience, justice, and mercy, were admirable; frequently remitting her forfeitures, where the party was poor, or otherwise meritorious. And, which was excellent, though unusual, she would temper her discourses with religion, and strangely draw concerned parties to submission and agreement; exercising not so much the rigour of her power, as the power of her persuasion. Her meekness and humility appeared to me extraordinary. She never considered the quality, but the merit of the people she entertained. Did she hear of a retired man, hid from the world, and seeking after the knowledge of a better? she was sure to set him down in the catalogue of her charity, if he wanted it. I have casually seen, I believe fifty tokens sealed and superscribed to the several poor subjects of her bounty, whose distances would not allow them to know one another, though they knew her, whom yet some of them had never seen. Thus, though she kept no sumptuous table in her own court, she spread the tables of the poor in their solitary cells; breaking bread to virtuous pilgrims, according to their need, and her ability. Temperate in herself, and in apparel void of all ornaments, I must needs say, her mind had a noble prospect; her eye was to a better and more lasting inheritance than can be found below; which made her often to despise the greatness of courts, and learning of the schools, of which she was an extraordinary judge.

“Being once at Hamburgh, a religious person whom she went to see for religion's sake, telling her it was too great an honour for him, that he should have a visitant of her quality come under his roof, that was allied to so many great kings and princes of this world; she humbly answered, 'if they were godly as well as great, it would be an honour indeed; but if you knew what that greatness was, as well as I, you would value less that honour.'

“Being in some agony of spirit, after a religious meeting we had in her own chamber, she said, 'It is a hard thing to be faithful to what one knows! oh, the way is strait! I am afraid I am not weighty enough in my spirit, to walk in it.'

“After another meeting, she uttered these words: 'I have records in my library, that the gospel was first brought out of England here into Germany, by the English; and now it is come again.'

“She once withdrew on purpose to give her servants the liberty of discoursing with us, that they might the more freely put what questions of conscience they desired to be satisfied in; for they were religious; suffering both them, and the poorest of her town, to sit by her in her own bedchamber, where we had two meetings. I cannot forget her last words, when I took my leave of her: 'Let me desire you to remember me, though I live at this distance, and you should never see me more. I thank you for this good time; and know, and be assured, though my condition subjects me to various temptations, yet my soul has strong desires after the best things.'

“She lived her single life till about sixty years of age, and then departed at her own house at Herwerden, which was about two years since;[54] as much lamented as she had lived beloved of the people; to whose real worth I do, with religious gratitude for her kind reception, dedicate this memorial.”

Chapter XVIII

The following letter of Robert Barclay to Princess Elizabeth, written soon after his return to England, indicates that he had not been of the number of those friends who visited her a second time. It appears also from this document, that he had interested himself in the welfare of the suffering friends in Scotland, by making applications to the Duke of York in their behalf, and that with a nobility of spirit, which exhibits an admirable specimen of the integrity of his character.

Robert Barclay To The Princess Elizabeth.

“Theobald's, near London,

12th of the 7th month, 1677.

“Dear Friend,

“By your letter of the last of the month past, I understood that the friends were with you, and was refreshed by the account they gave me of your kind and Christian entertainment of them;— they having overtaken me in Holland. God will not be lacking to reward your love, as well as to increase the same.

“Finding no ready passage for Scotland, I came over here; and albeit I had no great expectation of success, I resolved once more to try your cousin, the Duke of York.[55] So I told him, that I understood from Scotland, notwithstanding Lauderdale was there, and had promised, before he went, to to do something, yet, our friends' bonds were rather increased; and that there was now only one thing to be done, which I desired of him,—and that was, to write effectually to the Duke of Lauderdale, in that style wherein Lauderdale might understand, that he was serious in the business, and did really intend the thing he did write concerning, should take effect: which I knew he might do, and I supposed the other might answer;—which, if he would do, I must acknowledge as a great kindness. But if he did write, and not in that manner, so that the other might suppose him to be serious, I would rather he would excuse himself the trouble; desiring withal, to excuse my plain manner of dealing, as being different from the court way of soliciting; all which, he seemed to take in good part, and said he would so write as I desired, for my father and me, but not for the persecuted friends in Aberdeen, in general. So, he has given me a letter; whether it will prove effectual or not, I cannot determine; but of this you may hear hereafter.

“I am now entered into my journey, and intend to pass by the way of Ragley.[56]

“What you write of the counsellor of the elector, and the other preachers, is very acceptable to me to hear; whose joy it is to understand that the eyes of any are opened to see the truth as it is this day revealed; as it should be much more, to hear that any came into that universal obedience, which the life and power thereof lead to; which life and power, as they are felt in the inward parts, are more than all the words that can be spoken:—of which, I know you have, at sometimes, not been insensible. And therefore, my soul's desire for you is, that you may more and more come out of all that which cumbers, to feel this power of truth to operate in, and redeem your soul from all the difficulties that do, or may attend you. This, in the nature of it, it is powerful to do, albeit your temptations were greater and more numerous than they are, if received by you in the love of it, and with a heart fully resigned to obey it in all its requirings, without consulting with flesh and blood, or turning by the plain and simple leadings thereof, by wise and fleshly reasonings, which will never admit of the government and rule of the cross of Christ;—as you well know, and will not refuse to acknowledge, and therefore are the more concerned to watch against it in your own particular, as I hope in measure you do, and my heart's desire is.

“You may make mention of my dear and tender love to Anna, whose servant, as also the Frenchwoman, I forget not. To Anna, I thought to have written apart; but must now leave it until another opportunity. If you see fit to salute that counsellor of the elector in my name, you may do it.

“I shall add no more at present, but that I am your real and unfeigned friend,

“Robert Barclay.”

“The memoirs of the family,” says John Barclay,[57] “state in general terms, that the release of both the father and son [David and Robert Barclay] took place by an order from court, with a reprimand for meddling with either of them; and that the son afterwards procured the liberation of his other friends, who were detained after them. It is presumed,” he continues, “that this must be understood of the imprisonment of David Barclay and others, in the course of this year, [1677,] but it does not expressly appear, how soon Robert's lot was cast among the prisoners after his return home, nor when his release with that of his father, was effected.”

The ascertaining of this point is not material; since it is pretty clear, that the few last years of the pious and venerable David Barclay, were unmolested by persecution. His son Robert has preserved an account of his father's death, in the third volume of his works, from which we learn, that he died (as for the last twenty years he had lived) in unity with the principles of friends, and with “a hope full of immortality.”

In the latter end of October, 1686, being then past the seventy-sixth year of his age, he was seized with a fever, which continued with him for two weeks; during which time, he evinced a quiet, contented mind, freely resigned to the will of God; he also gave several striking testimonies to the truth, and to the love of God, “shed abroad in his heart by the Holy Ghost.” Not once during the course of his illness, though at times his sufferings were great, was he heard to murmur, or betray any symptom of impatience; only on one occasion, did he, under a sense of extreme weakness, evince a feeling that seemed like a fear of death, while uttering the words, “I am going now.” But if there were a moment's natural shrinking from the approach of “the king of terrors,” it was checked as soon as felt; for, immediately he added, “but I shall go to the Lord, and be gathered to many of my brethren, who are gone before me;—and to my dear son!”—This was his youngest son David, who died at sea about a year before, on his voyage to East Jersey.”

His son relates, that on the 11th of October, early in the morning, he grew much weaker; upon which, says he, “I drew nigh to him. He said, 'Is this my son?' I said, 'Yes;' and spoke a few words, signifying my travail, that he that loved him, might be near him to the end.

“He answered, 'The Lord is nigh;' repeating it once again, saying, 'You are my witnesses, in the presence of God, that the Lord is nigh;' and after a little, he said, 'the perfect discovery of the day-spring from on high, how great a blessing has it been to me, and my family!'

“My wife desiring to know if he would have something to wet his mouth, he said, 'It needed not.' She said it would refresh him. He laid his hand upon his breast, saying, he had that inwardly, that refreshed him. And after a little while, he added several times, these words, 'The truth is over all!'

“He took my eldest son to him, and blessed him, saying, he prayed God he might never depart from the truth; and when my eldest daughter came near, he said, 'Is this Patience?—Let patience have its perfect work in you!' and after kissing the other four, he laid hands on them, and blessed them.

“He called for my father-in-law, and two of his daughters that were present, and spoke some weighty words to them very kindly; and perceiving one of them, (who was not a friend,) weeping much, he wished she might come to the knowledge of the truth; and bid her not to weep for him, but for herself.

“A sober man, an apothecary that attended him, coming near, he took him by the hand, saying, 'You will bear me witness, that in all this exercise, I have not been curious to tamper nor to pamper the flesh.' He answered, 'Sir, I can bear witness, that you have always minded the better and more substantial part, and rejoice to see the blessed end the Lord is bringing you to.'

“He replied, 'Bear a faithful and true witness: yet it is the life of righteousness—it is the life of righteousness, that we bear testimony to, and not to an empty profession!'

“Then he called several times, 'Come, Lord Jesus!—Come!—Come!' and again, 'My hope is in the Lord!'

“Now and then he slept, for about the space of ten hours. On observing a countryman come into the room, he thought it had been one of his tenants who was a carpenter, and telling him it was not he, but another, he said, 'See you charge him to make no manner of superfluity upon my coffin.'”

“About three in the afternoon, there came several friends from Aberdeen, to see him. He took them by the hand, and said several times, they were come in a seasonable time. After some words were spoken, and Patrick Livingstone had prayed, (which ended in praises,) he held up his hands and said, 'Amen! Amen! forever!'

“Afterward, when they stood looking at him, he said, 'How precious is the love of God among his children! and their love one to another! Thereby shall all men know that you are Christ's disciples, if you love one another! How precious it is, to see brethren dwell together in love! My love is with you—I leave it among you.'

“About eight at night, several friends standing about the bed, he, perceiving some of them to weep, said, 'Dear friends!—all mind the inward man; heed not the outward. There is one that does regard—the Lord of Hosts is his name!'

“After he heard the clock strike three in the morning, he said, 'Now the time comes!' and a little after, he was heard to say, 'Praises, praises, to the Lord! Let now your servant depart in peace.—Into your hands, O Father! I commit my soul, spirit, and body.—Your will, O Lord! be done on earth, as it is in heaven.'

“These sentences he spoke by short intervals, one after another; and at a little after five in the morning, fell asleep, like a lamb, in remarkable quietness and calmness.”

The death of David Barclay, “in a full age, like as a shock of corn comes in in his season,” was an event that might have been expected; but that of his estimable son Robert, four years subsequent to his father's decease, and in the forty-second year only of his useful life, was a sudden and unlooked-for affliction to his family, and to the society in general.

“Surprising,” says William Penn, “was the death of dear Robert Barclay, to me particularly, from the share I claimed in him, and the esteem I had for him; but that which gave weight to my sorrow, was the loss which thereby comes to the church of God, and especially in Scotland. That he lived no longer, who was so well fitted to live for the service and honour of the truth, and the good of God's people, must render his death most afflicting to all those, who desire to be reckoned amongst this number. Oh, friends!” he continues, “if precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints, ought not their labours and death to be precious to the Lord's people?

The latter part of Robert Barclay's life, was employed in the affairs of the society; in furtherance of which, he was several times in London, where he made use of his influence at court, in endeavouring to obtain some improvement of the circumstances which more peculiarly oppressed the friends. It was in one of his journeys home from London, that an incident occurred, which strongly manifests the composure of his mind, even under the most appalling circumstances.

It is thus recorded by his grandson:— “Having stayed most of the summer in London, visiting his friends, as he with his wife and brother-in-law, Gilbert Molleson, and his intimate friend, Aaron Sonnemans, an eminent merchant in Holland, were travelling homeward in company together, they were, upon the 8th of August, attacked in Stonegate Hole, Huntingdonshire, by highwaymen. One of them presented a pistol to my grandfather, who took him by the arm very calmly, and asked him how he came to be so rude, for he knew his business. The fellow trembling, dropped the pistol out of his hand upon the ground in great surprise, and did not so much as demand anything. But his brother-in-law was rifled; and poor Sonnemans was shot through the thigh, (it was thought more by accident than design,) who being with some difficulty brought to Stilton, died in a few days of the wound.” He adds, “I had the above account from my grandmother; who likewise told me, that she observed my grandfather that morning, before they were attacked, more pensive than usual; and that he told her it was his opinion, some unusual trial or exercise was to befal them that day; but when the affair happened, he enjoyed a remarkable serenity.”[58]

It was in the year 1690, that it pleased the Divine will to summons Robert Barclay from this world. He had been engaged a short time previous to his decease, accompanied by another friend, in a religious visit to some parts of the north of Scotland; and on returning home to his house at Ury, he fell ill with a violent fever, which continued about eight or nine days, when it terminated in death.

Though much oppressed by the disorder, an entirely resigned, peaceful, and Christian frame of mind shone through his dying circumstances. A friend, of the name of James Dickenson, (the same who had accompanied him in his recent religious visits,) attended his sick bed; to whom, with tears, he expressed the love he bore towards all the faithful brethren in England, who kept their integrity in the truth.

“Remember my love,” said he, “to friends in Cumberland, at Swarthmore, and to dear George; (meaning George Fox,) and to all the faithful, everywhere;” concluding with these comfortable words: “God is good, still! and though I am under a great weight of sickness and weakness, as to my body— yet my peace flows. And this I know—that whatever exercises may be permitted to come upon me, they shall tend to God's glory, and my salvation; and in that I rest.”

He died on the 3rd of October; and his remains were attended to the family burial-place at Ury, by many friends, and others of the neighbourhood. The following letter from the pen of George Fox, addressed on this mournful occasion, to the widow, is too characteristic to be omitted.

George Fox to Christian Barclay

“28th of 10th month, 1690.[59]

“DEAR FRIEND!

“With my love to you and your children, and all the rest of friends, in the holy seed, Christ Jesus, that reigns over all; in whom you have all life, and salvation, and rest, and peace with God!

“Now, dear friend, though the Lord has taken your dear husband from you, his wife, and his children, the Lord will be a husband to you, and a father to your children. Therefore, cast your care upon the Lord, and trust in him. Let him be your confidence, and let your eye be unto Him, at all times: who is a great Ruler and Orderer of all, both in heaven and earth, and has the breath and souls of all, in his eternal, infinite hand. And all the creation is upheld by his word and power, by which they were made; so that a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without his will and pleasure; —and his sons and servants in his image, are of greater value in his eye, than many sparrows. Therefore, you and your family may rejoice that you had such an offering to offer up unto the Lord, as your 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.

“And now, my dear friend, do your diligence in your family, in bringing up your children in the fear of the Lord, and his new covenant of life; that you may present them to God as his children, and all your servants and tenants, in the wisdom of God. You must answer the truth in them all;[60] in truth, holiness, righteousness, justice, and walking humbly before God. You will always feel His presence to assist, and enable you to perform whatsoever he requires of you; so, that whatsoever you do, it may be to the honour and glory of God. And do not look at the outward presence of your husband; but look at the Lord, and serve him with a joyful heart, soul, mind, and spirit, all the days you live upon the earth.

“From him who had a great love and respect for your dear husband, for his work and service in the Lord; who is content in the will of God, and all things that he does;—and so must you be. And so, the Lord God Almighty, settle and establish you and yours, upon the heavenly rock and foundation; that, as your children grow in years, they may grow in grace, and so in favour with the Lord.—Amen

“George Fox.”

The character of Robert Barclay is best given in the words of a contemporary and friend; both of whom were combined in William Penn, who thus describes him:—

“He was distinguished by strong mental powers, particularly by great penetration, and a sound and accurate judgment. His talents were much improved by a regular and classical education. It does not however appear, that his superior qualifications produced that elation of mind, which is too often their attendant. He was meek, humble, and ready to allow others the merit they possessed. All his passions were under the most excellent government. Two of his intimate friends in their character of him, declare that they never knew him to be angry. He had the happiness of early perceiving the infinite superiority of religion, to every other attainment; and Divine grace enabled him to dedicate his life and all that he possessed, to promote the cause of piety and virtue. For the welfare of his friends, he was sincerely and warmly concerned; and he travelled and wrote much, as well as suffered cheerfully, in support of the society and principles to which he had conscientiously attached himself.

“But this was not a blind and bigoted attachment. His zeal was tempered with charity, and he loved and respected goodness wherever he found it.—His uncorrupted integrity, and liberality, of sentiment, his great abilities and the suavity of his disposition, gave him much interest with persons of rank and influence; and he employed it in a manner that marked the benevolence of his heart. He loved peace, and was often instrumental in settling disputes, and in producing reconciliation between contending parties. In private life, he was equally amiable. His conversation was cheerful, guarded, and instructive. He was a dutiful son, an affectionate and faithful husband, a tender and careful father, a kind and considerate master. Without exaggeration, it may be said, that piety and virtue were recommended by his example; and that though the period of his life was short, he had, by the aid of Divine grace, most wisely and happily improved it.”

The work by which the name of Robert Barclay is generally known, is his “Apology for the True Christian Divinity,” etc. which he presented to the king (Charles II.) by an address of singular merit, for its plain sense and plain dealing, both as respects the statements therein made concerning the principles and practices of the Society of Friends, and also in relation to the extraordinary circumstances of the king's own history.

After premising that the condition of kings and princes, exposes them to greater observation than that of others, he remarks, in this prefatory epistle,

“But, among all these transactions which it has pleased God to permit for the glory of his power, and the manifestation of his wisdom and providence, no age furnishes us with things so strange and marvellous, whether with respect to matters civil or religious, as those which have fallen out within the compass of your time; who, though you be not yet arrived at the fiftieth year of your age, have yet been a witness of stranger things, than many ages before produced. So that, whether we respect those various troubles wherein you found yourself engaged, while scarce yet out of your infancy; the many different afflictions with which men of your circumstances are often unacquainted; the strange and unparalleled fortune that befel your father; your own narrow escape and banishment following thereupon, with the great improbability of your ever returning, (at least, without very much pains, and tedious combatings,) or finally, the incapacity you were under to accomplish such a design, considering the strength of those who had possessed themselves of your throne, and the terror they had inflicted upon foreign states;–and yet that after all this, you should be restored without stroke of sword, the help or assistance of foreign states, or the contrivance and work of human policy; all these do sufficiently declare, that it is the Lord's doing, which, as it is marvellous in our eyes, so it will justly be a matter of wonder and astonishment to generations to come; and may sufficiently serve, if rightly observed, to confute and confound that atheism, with which this age does so much abound.”

The conclusion of this address, more especially commends the noble sincerity of the writer's heart; while, to the credit of the king, it must be remembered, that he took no offence at the Christian freedom it displays: “God has done great things for you,” says Barclay. “He has sufficiently shown you, that it is by him princes rule, and that he can pull down, and set up, at his pleasure. He has often faithfully warned you by his servants, since he restored you to your royal dignity; that your heart might not wax careless against him to forget his mercies and providences towards you; whereby he might permit you to be soothed up, and lulled asleep in your sins, by the flattering of court parasites, who, by their fawning, are the ruin of many princes.

“There is no king in the world, who can so experimentally testify of God's providence and goodness; neither is there any, who rules so many free people, so many true Christians; which thing renders your government more honourable, and yourself more considerable, than the accession of many nations, filled with slavish and superstitious souls.

“You have tasted of prosperity and adversity; you know what it is to be banished your native country, to be over-ruled as well as to rule, and sit upon the throne: and being oppressed, you have reason to know, how hateful the oppressor is, both to God and man. If, after all these warmings and advertisements, you do not turn unto the Lord with all your heart, but forget him who remembered you in your distress, and give up yourself to follow lust and vanity, surely, great will be your condemnation.

“Against which snare, as well as the temptation of those, that may, or do feed you, and prompt you to evil; the most excellent and prevalent remedy will be, to apply yourself to that light of Christ which shines in your conscience, which neither can, nor will flatter you, nor allow you to be at ease in your sins; but does and will deal plainly and faithfully with you, as those, that are followers thereof, have also done.

“God Almighty, who has so signally hitherto visited you with his love, so touch and reach your heart, before the day of your visitation be expired, that you may effectually turn to him, so as to improve your place and station, for his name. So wishes, so prays,

“Your faithful friend and subject,

“Robert Barclay.”

This work was first published in Latin, when the author had only attained his twenty-eighth year, and has since passed through many English, and also foreign editions; being translated into several languages.

“The method and style of the book,” says William Penn, “may be somewhat singular, and like a scholar; for we make that sort of learning no part of our divine science. But that was not to show himself, but out of his tenderness to scholars; and, as far as the simplicity and purity of the truth would permit, in condescension to their education, and way of treating these points herein handled.”

It would not come within the scope of a work like this, to attempt any lengthened analysis of this valuable production. It must be read through attentively, and above all things, with a mind not only free from prejudice, but imbued with a fervent desire of discovering truth, in order to obtain a just insight into its merits. But, a brief sketch of some of the leading subjects which it embraces, and with great force, and calmness of spirit, enlarges upon, may not be unacceptable; and which I, the rather feel inclined to offer to the reader's notice, in the hope of its inducing him to turn to, and consider the work itself.

Chapter XIX

The “Apology for the True Christian Divinity,” is an enlarged discussion of fifteen propositions, which the author, in his address to the reader, describes as briefly comprehending the chief principles and doctrines of truth. As I propose to dwell upon those only, which are best calculated to open the principles of the Society of Friends, the first, “Concerning the true Foundation of Knowledge,” being of universal application, may be merely stated, as an introduction to those we proceed to notice. “Seeing,” he says, “that the height of all happiness is placed in the true knowledge of God, (John, xvii. 3,) the true and right understanding of this foundation and ground of knowledge, is that which is most necessary to be known and believed, in the first place.

“II. and III. Concerning immediate Revelation; and the Scriptures. “Seeing, no man knows the Father but the Son, and he to whom the Son reveals him; (Matt. xi. 27;) and seeing the revelation of the Son is in, and by the Spirit; therefore, the testimony of the Spirit is that alone, by which the true knowledge of God, has been, is, and can only be revealed.

“It was by the revelation of this Spirit, that God manifested himself unto the patriarchs, prophets and apostles: which revelations, whether by outward voices and appearances, dreams, or inward objective manifestations in the heart, were of old, the formal object of their faith; and remain yet so to be, since the object of the saints' faith, is the same in all ages, though set forth under various administrations. These divine inward revelations, which we make absolutely necessary for the building up of true faith, neither do, nor can ever contradict the outward testimony of Scripture, or right reason; yet are they not to be subjected to the test of Scripture, or the natural reason of man; because this divine illumination, is that which is evident and clear of itself; forcing, by its own evidence, the assent of the well-disposed understanding, even as the common principles of natural truths incline the mind to assent thereto—as that “the whole is greater than its part,” etc.

“From these revelations of the Spirit of God to the saints, have proceeded the Scriptures of truth; but, because these are only a declaration of the fountain, not the fountain itself, therefore, they are not to be esteemed the principal ground of all truth and knowledge; nor yet the adequate primary rule of faith and manners.

“For,” as he says, in more largely discussing this question in the body of the work, “that, whereof the certainty and authority depends upon another, and which is received as truth, because of its proceeding from another, is not to be accounted the principal ground and origin of all truth and knowledge.

“But the Scripture authority and certainty depend upon the Spirit, by which they were dictated; and the reason why they were received as truth is, because they proceeded from the Spirit; therefore they are not the principal ground of truth—which argument also holds as to the Scriptures not being the primary adequate rule of faith and manners; for that which is not my rule in believing the Scriptures themselves, is not the primary adequate rule of faith, etc. But the Scripture is not, nor can it be the rule of that faith by which I believe Scripture; therefore it is not the primary or adequate rule of faith.

“Next, the very nature of the gospel itself declares, that the Scriptures cannot be the only and chief rule of Christians; else there should be no difference between the law and the gospel,which differ in this: in that the law being outwardly written, brings under condemnation, but has not life in it to save: whereas, the gospel as it declares and makes manifest the evil, so it, being an inward, powerful thing, gives also ability to obey and deliver from the evil—hence it is called ‘glad tidings'—consisting not so much in words as virtue. Wherefore, such as come to be acquainted with it, feel greater power over their iniquities, than all outward laws or rules can give them. Hence, the apostle concludes, (Rom. vi. 14,) “sin shall not have dominion over you; for you are not under the law, but under grace’—this grace then, which is an inward and not an outward law, is to be the rule of Christians. Hence, the apostle commends the elders of the church to it—(Acts, xx. 32)—to that spiritual law which makes free from sin, (Rom. viii. 2,) which was not outward—as Rom. x. 8—manifests; where, distinguishing it from the law, he says, “it is nigh you; in your heart, and in your mouth;' and this is the word of truth which we preach.”

He further argues, that “that which is given to Christians for a rule, must needs be so full, that it may distinctly guide and order them in all things that may occur.

“But, because there are many hundreds of things,” he says, “which Christians may be concerned in, for which there can be no particular rule had from Scripture; therefore, the Scripture cannot be an adequate and primary rule to them.”

He illustrates this by some striking instances; and in particular, in relation to a call to the ministry.

“Paul said, “there was a necessity upon him to preach the gospel—and woe unto him if he preached it not.’ If it be necessary that there be now ministers of the church as well as then,” he argues, “there is the same necessity upon some more than upon others, to occupy this place; which necessity, as it may be incumbent upon particular persons, the Scripture neither does, nor can declare.

“If it be said, that the qualifications of a minister are found in the Scripture, and by applying these qualifications to myself, I may know whether I be fit for such a place or no, I answer, the qualifications of a bishop or minister, as they are mentioned both in the epistle to Timothy, and Titus, are such as may be found in a private Christian; and which ought, in some measure, to be in every true Christian; so that that gives a man no certainty. Every capacity to an office, gives me not a sufficient call to it. Next, by what rule shall I judge if I be so qualified? How do I know that I am sober, meek, holy, harmless, etc.? Is not the testimony of the Spirit in my conscience, THAT which must assure me hereof? And suppose that I were qualified and called, yet what Scripture rule shall inform me whether it be my duty to preach in this or that place; in France, England, Holland or Germany? Whether I shall take up my time in confirming the faithful, or converting infidels, or in writing epistles to this or that church?

“The general rules of the Scripture, namely: to be diligent in my duty, to do all to the glory of God, and for the good of his church, can give me no light in this thing: seeing two different things may both have a respect that way, yet may I commit a great offence and error in doing the one, when I am called to the other. If Paul, when his face was turned by the Lord toward Jerusalem, had gone back to Achaia or Macedonia, he might have supposed he could have done God more acceptable service, in preaching and confirming the churches, than in being shut up in prison in Judea: but would God have been pleased herewith? No, certainly! Obedience is better than sacrifice; and it is not our simply doing that which is good, that pleases God; but that good which he wills us to do.”

No observations can be more fitting than these, to the times in which we live. Oh would, that in this day of bustle and stir in the way of good doings, many busy ones would indeed remember, that it is not their doing what they conceive themselves called upon to do, that pleases God; but their doing what he would have them to do. And what is that He has showed you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you, but to do justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?

“IV. Concerning the Condition of Man in the Fall.

“All Adam's posterity, as to the first Adam, (or earthly man,) is fallen, degenerated, and dead— deprived of the feeling of the inward testimony or seed of God, and subject to the nature and seed of the serpent, which he sows in men's hearts, in this natural and corrupted state; from which it comes, that not their words and deeds only, but all their imaginations are evil in the sight of God. Man, therefore, as he is in this state, can know nothing aright; yes, his thoughts and conceptions concerning God, and things spiritual, are unprofitable to himself and others, until he be disjoined from this evil seed, and united to the divine light. Nevertheless, this seed is not imputed to infants, until by transgression they actually join therewith.

“V. and VI. Concerning the Universal Redemption by Christ, and the saving and Spiritual Light with which every man is enlightened.

“God, out of his infinite love, who delights not in the death of a sinner, but, that all should live and be saved, has so loved the world, that he has given his only Son, a light, that whosoever believes in him should be saved; who enlightens every man that comes into the world, and makes manifest all things that are reproveable, and teaches all, temperance, righteousness, and godliness,”[61] etc.

“This certain doctrine then, being received (namely,) that there is an evangelical and saving light and grace in all, the universality of the love and mercy of God towards mankind (both in the death of his beloved Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, and of the manifestation of the light in the heart,) is established, etc.; the benefit of whose offering, is not only extended to such as have the distinct outward knowledge of his death and sufferings, as the same is declared in the Scriptures; but even unto those who are necessarily excluded from the benefit of this knowledge, by some inevitable accident; which knowledge, we willingly confess to be very profitable and comfortable, but not absolutely needful unto such from whom God himself has withheld it,” etc.

As the doctrine of a “universal saving light,” is that upon which the peculiarity of Quakerism (so called) mainly depends, it may be desirable to enter somewhat more minutely, into what he advances respecting it.

Having considered man's fallen and lost condition by the fall, “it is fit to inquire,” he says, “how and by what means he may come to be freed out of this miserable and depraved condition?”

And because the doctrine of the Calvinists, respecting election and reprobation, lies in the way of what he has to state upon this point, he begins his discourse by attacking that obstacle.

And first he affirms, that we may safely call this doctrine a novelty; “seeing,” he says, “that for the first four hundred years after Christ, there is no mention made of it; for, as it is contrary to the testimony of scripture, and the tenor of the gospel, so all the ancient teachers of the church pass it over with a profound silence. The first foundation of it was laid in the writings of Augustine, who, in his heat against Pelagius, let fall some expressions, which others unhappily have gleaned up for the establishing this error. This doctrine was further fomented by Dominicus and the monks of his order: and at last taken up by Calvin, (whom he admits to be a man, otherwise, in several respects, to be commended,) but in this instance guilty of an error, which tended to pollute his own reputation, and defame the Christian religion. Not that they should call into question this doctrine, he says, “for the silence of the ancients respecting it; nor upon any other ground of that kind, if they perceived it to have any foundation in the writings or sayings of Christ and his apostles; and if they did not see, that it is highly injurious to God himself, to Jesus Christ our Mediator and Redeemer, and to the power, virtue, nobility, and excellency of his blessed gospel, and also unto all mankind.”

He then goes into the proof of these assertions; which, (the case being, as it were, of a self-evident mature,) will scarcely stand in need of any proof to the unprejudiced reader; and all proof being useless to the prejudiced one, it may be passed by. Neither need we follow him in his arguments to establish the fact of Christ having died for all men; the scripture more clearly and fully testifying to this, than to any other point of Christian doctrine. We come therefore to consider three propositions, in which he states the subject of “a universal saving light.”

First. “That God, who, out of his infinite love, sent his Son into the world to taste of death for every man, has given to every man, whether Jew or Gentile, Turk or Scythian, Indian or Barbarian, of whatsoever nation or place, a certain day or time of visitation, during which day or time, it is possible for them to be saved, and to partake of the fruit of Christ's death.

Secondly. “That, for this end, God has communicated and given unto every man, a measure of the light of his own Son;–a measure of grace;—or, a measure of the Spirit; which the scripture expresses by several names, as sometimes of ‘The seed of the kingdom,’ (Matt. xiii. 18, 19;) “The light that makes all things manifest,’ (Eph. v. 13;) ‘The word of God,” (Rom. x. 17;) or, ‘Manifestation of the Spirit given to profit withal,' (1 Cor. xii. 7;) “A talent,’ (Matt. xxv. 15;) “A little leaven,” (Matt. xiii.33;) ‘The gospel preached in every creature,” (Col. i. 23.)

Thirdly. “That God in, and by this light and seed, invites, calls, exhorts, and strives with every man, in order to save him; which, as it is received and not resisted, works the salvation of all, even of those who are ignorant of the death and sufferings of Christ, and of Adam's fall; both by bringing them to a sense of their own misery, and to be sharers of the sufferings of Christ inwardly, and by making them partakers of his resurrection, in becoming holy, pure, and righteous, and recovered out of their sins. By which also are saved, they that have the knowledge of Christ outwardly, in that it opens their understandings, rightly to use and apply the things delivered in the scriptures, and to receive the saving use of them. But that this may be resisted and rejected in both; in which case, God is then said to be resisted and pressed down, and Christ to be again crucified, and put to open shame, in and among men, and to those that thus resist and refuse him, he becomes their condemnation.

And with regard to the first proposition, i.e. the time of visitation granted to all, during which they may be saved; he does not understand it the whole time of every man's life; though to some it may be extended to the hour of death, as in the case of the thief upon the cross. But he conceives it to be extended to such a season, as sufficiently exonerates the Most High from every man's condemnation: and if men outlive this day of salvation, God may justly allow them to be hardened, as a just punishment of their unbelief, and even raise them up as instruments of wrath, and make them a scourge one against another. This is expressed by the apostle, (Rom. i. from verse 17 to the end,) but especially verse 28, where it is said, “and even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge; God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient.” That persons may outlive the day of God's gracious visitation to them, he shows from the case of Esau, (Heb. xii. 16, 17,) and also by Christ's weeping over Jerusalem, and saying, “If you had known in this your day, the things that belong unto your peace; but now they are hid from your eyes.” (Luke, xix. 42,) which plainly imports a time when they might have known them.

Secondly. By this seed, grace, word of God, and light, with which, he says, every man is, in a measure, enlightened, he understands a spiritual, heavenly, and invisible principle, etc. which, of its own nature, draws, invites, and inclines to God; and this some call vehiculum Dei, or the spiritual body of Christ; or the flesh and blood of Christ which came down from heaven, of which all the saints do feed, and are thereby nourished unto eternal life. And, as every unrighteous action is witnessed against and reproved, by this light, and seed, so by such actions, it is hurt, wounded, and slain, and flees from them; even as the flesh of man flees from that which is of a contrary nature to it. Now because it is never separated from God, nor Christ, but wherever it is, God and Christ are, as it were, wrapped up therein, so in that respect, as it is resisted, God may be said to be resisted; and where it is borne down, God is said to be pressed, “as a cart under sheaves,” (Amos, ii. 18.) On the contrary, as this seed is received into the heart, and suffered to bring forth its natural and proper effect, Christ comes to be formed and raised; of which spiritual birth, the scripture makes so much mention, calling it “the new man,” “Christ within the hope of glory,” etc.

“This,” he says, “is that Christ within, which we are heard so much to speak, and declare of: everywhere preaching him up, and exhorting people to believe in the light, and obey it, that they may come to know Christ in them, delivering them from all sin.”

And here, it may humbly be suggested to the reader's consideration, whether such a view, which turns the whole strength of faith upon that which is holy, heavenly, invisible, internal, and precisely to be found where the evil which it is appointed to subdue, is found, even in the spirit and soul of man—is not a more living, real, and influential view of Divine help and salvation, than that which fixes the mind's attention upon anything on the outside of it? We need the presence of God within us; and therefore it is, that he who is appointed to be our Saviour from sin and misery, says, “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world!”

But, by what is herein stated, he affirms, that it is not intended to represent that the Eternal Word dwells in us, as it did in the Holy Jesus: inasmuch as it dwelt immediately and without measure, in him; whereas in us, it dwells both measurably and mediately, in this holy seed.

Christ is the head, and we the members; he is the vine, and we the branches; and, as the soul of man dwells in a far more immediate manner in the head and heart, than in the hands or legs; and as the sap, virtue, and life of the vine, lodges far otherwise in the root than in the branches, so God dwells otherwise in the holy Jesus, than in us.

Neither does he, by these statements, intend any way to derogate from the atonement and sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ; but, on the contrary, he magnifies and exalts it: firmly believing all things recorded thereof, in the Holy Scriptures; and seeing a necessity that Christ should come, that by his death and sufferings, he might offer up himself a sacrifice to God for our sins; and that it is only by that sacrifice, we obtain remission of them; since “by the obedience of that one, the free gift is come upon all to justification.” For, as all men partake of Adam's fall, and the evil seed thereby communicated to them, though thousands be ignorant of Adam's fall, neither ever knew of the eating of the forbidden fruit; so also, many may come to feel and obey the good influences of the holy and Divine seed and light, which Christ's obedience and sufferings purchased for them, though they know nothing of his coming in the flesh.

“And as we affirm,” he says, “it is absolutely needful that those do believe the history of Christ's outward appearance, whom it pleases God to bring to the knowledge of it; so we do freely confess, that even that outward knowledge is very comfortable to such as are subject to, and led by, the inward seed and light. For, not only does the sense of Christ's love and sufferings tend to humble them, but they are thereby also strengthened in their faith, and encouraged to follow that excellent pattern which he has left us: “who suffered for us, as says the apostle Peter, (1 Peter, ii. 21,) leaving as an example that we should follow his steps. And many times, we are greatly edified and refreshed with the gracious sayings which proceed out of his mouth. The history then is profitable with the mystery, and never without it; but the mystery is, and may be profitable, without the explicit and outward knowledge of the history.

He states further, that he understands not this divine principle to be the relics of any good left in man's nature at the fall, or any part of man's nature at all; but that it is totally separate from man's soul, and all the faculties of it. Man indeed may apprehend in a notional way, a knowledge of God and of spiritual things; but it not being by the right organ, it cannot profit him towards salvation, but rather hinders; “and indeed,” he says, “the great cause of the apostacy has been, that man has sought to fathom the things of God, in and by the natural and rational principle; and to build up a religion in it, neglecting and overlooking this principle and seed of God, in the heart: so that herein, in the most universal and catholic sense, has anti-Christ in every man, set up himself, and sits in the temple of God, as God, and above every thing that is called God.” For man being the temple of the Holy Ghost, as says the apostle, (1 Cor. iii. 16,) when the rational principle sets up itself there, above the seed of God, to reign and rule as a prince in spiritual things, while the holy seed is bruised and wounded,—there is anti-Christ in every man, or somewhat exalted above and against Christ. Nevertheless, we do not hereby affirm as if man had received his reason to no purpose; we look upon reason as fit to order and rule man in things natural. For, as God gave two great lights to rule the outward world, the sun and moon, the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night; so has he given man the light of his Son, a spiritual, divine light, to rule him in things spiritual, and the light of reason to rule him in things natural. And, even as the moon borrows her light from the sun, so ought men, (if they would be rightly and comfortably ordered in natural things,) to have their reason enlightened by this divine and pure light.”

He further distinguishes this light from the conscience, which last, experience shows, may be corrupted and darkened, (which this light cannot be,) as is expressly stated of the impure, (Titus, i. 15,) “That even their mind and conscience is defiled.” He illustrates this by the case of a Turk, who, thinking it unlawful to drink wine, is troubled by his conscience if he does so; but if he lives in open licentiousness in some other respects, he feels no remorse, because his judgment is already defiled by a false opinion that it is lawful for him to do the one, and unlawful to do the other; whereas, if the light of Christ in him had been minded, it would have reproved him for impurity; and also, as he became obedient thereto, would have informed him that Mahomet was an impostor, as well as Socrates was informed by it, in his day, of the falsity of the heathen's gods.

This seed or light is also distinguishable from man's natural powers of mind, inasmuch as these, when in health, he can exercise as he will; and, except there be some natural impediment in the way, he is absolutely master of them. But this light and principle of God, he cannot move and stir up when he pleases; but it moves and strives with every man, as the Almighty sees fit. For, though there be a possibility of salvation to all during the day of visitation, yet cannot a man at any time when he has some sense of his misery, stir up that light and grace, so as to procure to himself tenderness and contrition of heart. But he must wait for it; since it comes upon all at certain times and seasons, wherein it works powerfully upon the soul, at which time, if man resist it not, but unites with it, he comes to know how it saves and delivers from sin; for even as the lake of Bethesda did not cure all those that washed in it, but such only as washed first after the angel had moved upon the waters, so God moves in love to mankind, in this seed in his heart, at some singular times, setting his sins in order before him, and seriously inviting him to repentance, offering him remission of sins and salvation, which, if man accept of, he may be saved.

“Now,” he says, “there is no man alive, and I am confident there are none to whom this paper shall come, who, if they will deal faithfully and honestly with their own hearts, will not be forced to acknowledge, but they have been sensible of this, in some measure, less or more; and that it is a thing which man cannot bring upon himself with all his pains and industry. This then, oh man, and woman I this, is the day of God's gracious visitation to your soul, which, if you resist not, you shall be happy forever. This is the day of the Lord, which, as Christ says, is like the lightning which shines from the east unto the west, and the wind or spirit which blows upon the heart, and no man knows where it goes nor from where it comes.”

He describes the operation of this principle in the heart, to depend in the first instance, upon its not being opposed. “The working is of the grace,” he says, “and not of the man, and it is a passiveness, rather than an act; though afterwards as man is wrought upon, there is a will raised in him by which he comes to be a coworker with the grace. So that the first step is not by man's working, but by his not contrary working. He illustrates this statement by supposing the case of a man greatly diseased, (which, as to the soul, is true of the human race universally.)

“I suppose,” he says, “God, who is the great physician, not only to give this man medicine but to come and pour the remedy into his mouth, and as it were, to lay him in his bed: so that if the sick man be but passive, it will necessarily work its effect; but, if he be stubborn and untoward, and will needs rise up and go forth into the cold, or eat such fruits as are hurtful to him while the medicine should operate, then, though of its own nature it tends to cure him, yet will it prove destructive to him, because of the obstructions it meets with. Now, as the man that should thus undo himself would certainly be the cause of his own death, so, who will say that, if cured, he owes not his health wholly to the physician, and not to any deed of his own?”

The second example whereby he further explains himself, is that of several men lying in a dark pit together, where all their senses are so stupified, that they are scarcely aware of their own misery; to which condition, he compares the state of man, in his fall. “I suppose not,” he says, “that any of these men, wrestling to deliver themselves, do thereby stir up or engage one able to deliver them, to give them his help; saying to himself, ‘I see one of these men willing to be delivered, and doing what in him lies, therefore he deserves to be assisted;’ as say the Socinians, Pelagians, and Semi-Pelagians.

“Neither do I suppose that this deliverer comes to the top of the pit and puts down a ladder, desiring them that will, to come up, as do the Jesuits and Arminians, who suppose the ladder to be the grace by which they are delivered. But I suppose that the Deliverer comes at certain times, and fully discovers and informs them of the great misery and hazard they are in, if they continue in that noisome and pestiferous place, yes, forces them to a certain sense of their misery; (for the wickedest men at times are made sensible of their misery, by God's visitation;) and not only so, but also lays hold upon them, and gives them a pull, in order to lift them out of their misery: which, if they resist not, will save them, only they may resist it.”

And in all this, the grace of God is not frustrated,—only its effect is changed; seeing, that as it is the ministration of love and mercy in those who receive it, (John, i. 12,) so is it the ministration of wrath and condemnation, in those who reject it.

The whole of these statements in so far as respects a time of visitation granted by God to all men, wherein it is possible for them to be saved, and that inward, holy, heavenly principle or light of Christ, whereby their salvation is effected, he then proceeds to prove from Scripture; as in the case of Cain, who evidently had a day of mercy offered him, (Gen. iv. 6, 7,) before the evil seed began to tempt him and work in his heart; God, thus giving warning to Cain in season, and showing him, that in doing well he would be accepted. Also in the case of the old world, when the Lord said, “My Spirit shall not always strive in man;” (for so he says it ought to be translated:) which expression manifestly implies that his Spirit did, and does strive for a season in man. God is also said in Scripture, to be long-suffering and waiting to be gracious, (Isaiah, xxx. 18; Exodus, xxxiv. 6; Numbers, xiv. 18; Psalm lxxxvi. 15; Jer. xv. 15.) The apostle Peter also says expressly, that the long-suffering of God waited in the days of Noah for those of the old world; (1 Pet. iii.20;) and again the same apostle says, that “the long-suffering of God is to be accounted salvation.” Also, the apostle Paul (Rom. ii. 4,) says, “Do you despise the riches of his goodness and forbearance, and long-suffering; not knowing that the goodness of God leads you to repentance;” and here Paul is speaking to the unregenerate and wicked, who (in the following verse he says,) treasure up wrath unto the day of wrath; and yet to such it is, that he commends the riches of the forbearance and longsuffering of God.

It appears also from the prophet Isaiah, v. 4, that a day of grace is granted to mankind; the inhabitants of Jerusalem and men of Judah being called upon to judge between the Lord and his vineyard; which example of a vineyard is also used by Christ, (Matt. xxi. 33; Mark, xii. 1; Luke, xx. 9,) where he shows how, for some it was planted, and all things given them that were necessary to produce fruit, to pay or restore to their master; and how the master many times waited to be merciful to them, in sending servants after servants, and passing by many offences before he determined to destroy and cast them out; which parable, he says, cannot be understood of the saints, or of such as repent and are saved, for it is said expressly, “he will destroy them.” Neither would the parable have any ways answered the end for which it is produced, if these men had not been in a capacity to have done good; yes, such was their capacity, that the Spirit of Christ says in the prophet, “What could I have done more?”

In regard to that whereby God offers salvation to every man, he proves it to be the light of Christ, from that text in John, i. 9; “that was the true light which enlightens every man that comes into the world;” which assertion, he says, flows as a consequence or deduction, from two propositions stated in the former verses of this chapter: first, that “the light that is in him (Jesus Christ) is the light of men;” and secondly, that “the light shines in darkness:” from which is inferred, “He is the true light that enlightens,” etc.

Here, the divine apostle distinctly calls Christ “the light of men;” also, that “this light shines in darkness, though the darkness comprehend it not;” and thirdly, that this “true light enlightens EVERY man that comes into the world.”

For what end this light is given, is expressed verse 7, where John is said to come for a witness to the light, “that all men through it might believe; that is, through the light, di auton, which,” he says, “does very well agree with phogos, as being the nearest antecedent, though most translators (to make it suit with their own doctrine) have made it relate to John, as if all men were to believe through John”—which was not possible, because all men could not know of John's testimony; whereas, all men being lighted by this light, may thereby come to believe. John shone not in darkness, but this light did, that having dispelled that darkness, it might produce faith.

We are commanded to believe in this light by Christ's own words, (John, xii. 36,) and, that a measure of it is given to all, we are told in the parable of the sower, (Matt.xiii. Mark, iv. Luke,8.) He says also, that this seed sown in those several sorts of grounds, is “the word of the kingdom,” which the apostle calls the word of faith, (Rom. x. 8,) and James, the implanted, “the engrafted word, which is able to save the soul,”—and that it is that which is saving, the words themselves declare, since in the good ground it fructified abundantly.

Many more testimonies in proof of these propositions, he produces from Scripture as well as from other authorities; but having already exceeded the expected limit to this subject, they must be omitted, in order that a small space may be allotted to his views upon the subject of worship.

He introduces this important topic by remarking, that “as obedience is better than sacrifice,” so neither is any sacrifice acceptable, but that which is done according to the will of him to whom it is offered.

“But men finding it easier to sacrifice in their own wills, than to obey God's will,” says he, “have heaped up sacrifices without obedience, and thinking to deceive him as they do one another, give him a show of reverence, honour and worship, while they are inwardly alienated from his holy and righteous life.”

He then refutes the so often alleged charge against the Quakers, that they denied all public worship, because they denied all forms and ceremonies, etc. “We are none of those,” he says, “who forsake the assembling of ourselves together;” and reverting to this matter again, he sufficiently establishes this fact by what follows; “for when the magistrates,” he says, “stirred up by the malice and envy of our opposers, have used all means possible, and yet in vain, to deter us from meeting together, both death, banishments, imprisonments, finings, beatings, whippings, and other such devilish inventions, have proved ineffectual to terrify us from our holy assemblies.”

That they met together, frequently at the hazard of their lives, was a fact too notorious to be questioned; since it was more often than not, at this period, that their meetings were disturbed by the arrival of rude soldiers, who dispersed them with severe wounds and bruises, so that in some instances, even death ensued in consequence thereof. There was no difficulty therefore in proving that they met together; but what they met together for, without priest, bell, or book, baffled all the conceptions of worship which the natural man could form; and here it was, that they fell under various suspicions of assembling to plot against government, or to set up Roman Catholicism, or to do anything in the world, but to “be still” before God.

The duty of assembling together for the purpose of divine worship being acknowledged, he proceeds to state what he believes that worship to consist in: which he simply, and in scripture terms describes, as “waiting upon God.”

“Now, how is this waiting upon God,” he asks, “or watching before him—[to be accomplished] but by silence” which, as it is in itself a great and principal duty, so it necessarily, both in order of nature and time, precedes all other.

He admits that mention is made (in scripture) of the duties of praying, preaching, and singing; but what order or method should be kept in so doing, or that these duties should be set about so soon as persons are gathered together, there is no direction; and man in his natural state if unaided by the Spirit, being incapable of acting rightly in spiritual things, how shall he exercise his first and previous duty of waiting upon God for the help of his good Spirit, but by bringing the natural part to silence? and this,” he says, “can only be accomplished by abstaining from his own thoughts and imaginations, as well in things materially good, as evil; that he being silent—God may speak in him, and the good seed may arise.”

He illustrates this very happily in the following example.

“He that comes to learn of a master,” he says, “if he expect to hear his master and be instructed by him, must not continually be speaking of the matter to be taught, and never be quiet; otherwise how shall his master have time to instruct him. Yes, though the scholar were never so earnest to learn the science, yet would the master have reason to reprove him as untoward and indocile, if he would always be meddling of himself, and still speaking, and not patiently wait in silence to hear his master instructing and teaching him. . . So also, if one were about to attend a great prince, he would be thought an impertinent and impudent servant, who, while he ought patiently and readily to wait that he might answer the king when he speaks, and have his eye upon him to observe the least motion and inclination of his will, and to do accordingly, would be still deafening him with discourse, though it were in praises of him, and running to and fro without any particular and immediate order to do things that perhaps might be good in themselves, or might have been commanded at other times to others. Would the kings of the earth accept of such servants and services?”

He confirms the duty of waiting for the inspiration of the Holy Ghost preparatory to praying or preaching, by various scriptures, and also by a citation of considerable power, from Franciscus Lambertus, (Tract v. chap. 3.) “Beware,” he says, “that you determine not precisely to speak what before you have meditated, whatsoever it be; for, though it be lawful to determine the text which you are to expound, yet not at all the interpretation; lest if you so do, you take from the Holy Spirit that which is his, i.e., to direct your speech, that you may prophesy in the name of the Lord, void of all learning, meditation, and experience, and as if you had studied nothing at all; committing your heart, your tongue, and yourself, wholly unto his Spirit, and trusting nothing to your former studying or meditation, but saying within yourself, in great confidence of the divine promise, “The Lord will give a word, with much power unto those that preach the gospel.”

“But above all things, be careful you follow not the manner of hypocrites who have written almost word for word what they are to say, as if they were to repeat some verses upon a theatre, having learned all their preaching as they do that act tragedies, and afterwards, when they are in the place of prophesying, pray the Lord to direct their tongue;[62] but in the meantime shutting up the way of the Holy Spirit, they determine to say nothing but what they have written.

“Why do you pray to the Lord, you false prophet, to give you his Holy Spirit by which you may speak things profitable, and yet you repel the Spirit?”

Thus briefly having scanned some of the most prominent of the topics discussed in this valuable manual of true Christian divinity, we will close the subject with a testimony to its merits from Mr. Norris, a minister of the Church of England, and himself no mediocre writer.

“I cannot think Quakerism inconsiderable,” he says, “as the principles are laid down and managed by Barclay. That great and general contempt they lie under, does not hinder me from thinking the sect of Quakers to be by far the most considerable of any that divide from the church, in case the Quakerism that is generally held be the same with that which Mr. Barclay has delivered to the world, as such; whom I take to be so great a man, that I profess freely, I had rather engage against a hundred Bellarmines, Hardings, and Stapletons, than with one Barclay”—(Of Divine Light.—Tract II. p. 32.)[63]

Chapter XX

AFTER his marriage, George Fox continued in the same line of ministerial service, which seldom allowed him to continue long in one place. But the winter following this event, he was confined by illness at Enfield, during which time he describes his spiritual sufferings in relation to the apostate state of the church, as very great. It was a time of great persecution amongst friends, owing to the enforcing of the recent act against conventicles; and though by reason of his weakness he was incapable of visiting them in person, he sent them an epistle by way of encouragement, in which he desires them, “not to be amazed at the weather,” alluding to the storms of persecution which were then befalling them. “Always,” he says, “the just suffered by the unjust, but the just had the dominion. Though the waves and storms be high, yet your faith will keep you, so as to swim above them, for they are but for a time, and the truth is without time. Therefore keep on the mountain of holiness.

“Do not think that anything shall out-last the truth, which stands sure—and is over that, which is out of the truth. So be faithful, and live in that which does not think the time long.”

When he was recovered, “it was upon me from the Lord,” he says, “to go beyond sea to visit the plantations in America;” he accordingly wrote to his wife to come up to London to take leave of him, preparatory to his departure.

Several friends accompanied him upon this service, his account of which is very concise, and not expressive of much, that in the detail would be particularly interesting.

The death of one individual of his company we must not however, omit to mention, that person well deserving an honourable remembrance in this record, as one who in these tribulating times, faithfully bore her testimony to the truth.

“About a week after we landed in Jamaica,” he says, “Elizabeth Hooton, (or Hutton,) a woman of great age, who had travelled much in truth's service, and suffered much for it, departed this life. She was well the day before she died, and departed in peace like a lamb, bearing testimony to truth at her departure.”

This person was one of the very first of George Fox's hearers, and also of those convinced by him; and of whom he thus speaks in his Journal in the year 1647.

“Travelling through some parts of Leicestershire and into Nottinghamshire, I met with a tender people, and a very tender woman, whose name was Elizabeth Hutton.” She is said by Sewel, to have been the first woman preacher amongst friends.

In the year 1661, after the cruel treatment inflicted upon the Quakers at Boston, this woman, accompanied by another female, conceiving herself commanded from the Lord to proceed there to witness against the recent proceedings of the magistrates, prepared to obey; and, because of the laws which enacted a fine upon every Quaker that was brought there, they could not meet with any master of a vessel who would take them, they went round towards Virginia, from which they made their way to Boston. But when arrived there, they, with great difficulty found a place of reception, because of the penalty upon those who received a Quaker into their houses; yet at last, some kindly disposed woman accommodated them.

On the following day they went to visit their suffering friends in prison, when the jailer took and carried them before the governor Endicot, who with much scurrilous language after abusing them for witches, enquired of Elizabeth what she came there for?

“To warn you,” she replied, “that you shed no more innocent blood!”

This, and some more of her replies so much displeased him, that he sent both her and her companion to prison, where, after consulting what was best to be done with them, they were taken two days’ journey into a desolate wilderness, infested by wolves and bears, and left there to take their chance of life or death. Through the protecting hand of Providence, they got from there to Rhode Island, from which they took ship for Barbadoes, from there to New England again, and, nothing daunted, once more they made their appearance at Boston. But here being again taken, they were put on board a ship which carried them to Virginia, from which Elizabeth at that time departed home to England, and stayed some time in her own habitation. But her mind probably being still burdened with a sense that her service in America had not been satisfactorily concluded, she felt impelled once more to return to Boston, which she did, accompanied by her daughter Elizabeth; and when arrived there and her presence amongst them discovered, an attempt was made on the part of the magistrates to fine the master of the ship one hundred pounds, for bringing her over. But as he was able to make it appear that she had been with the king, and that she had liberty from him to come there, and even to purchase a house there to dwell in, they found themselves at a loss, and having by this time had an intimation (as we have before stated) from the British monarch, that they were to refrain from mistreating the Quakers, they did not in this instance, urge the penalty against the ship-owner.

Against Elizabeth herself the chief of their resentment was directed. In vain did she plead permission from the king to buy herself a house; she could obtain nothing from them but contempt and refusal.

Finding it useless to remain there, she proceeded to another town, where she was taken and cast into prison with no bed to lie upon, and for two days and nights she was kept absolutely without food. Being then brought into court for judgment, she was ordered to be whipped as a vagrant at three different towns, receiving at each town, ten stripes with a three-stringed whip, having three knots at each end; to all which, she patiently submitted, and then lacerated as she was, they put her on horseback, and carried her many miles into the wilderness, and towards night left her there, once more to take her chance of escape from the wild beasts that infested it. But these it seems, were less to be dreaded than the savages in human form which she had encountered, if dread, as applicable to fear of the oppressor, had found a place in her heart. But sustained and comforted by a well-tried though invisible friend, she came in the morning to a town called Rehobath, neither weary nor faint, and proceeding from there, to Rhode Island, she appeared before her friends there, triumphant in the faith and giving thanks to God who had counted her worthy to suffer for his great name's sake.

After some stay here, she had to return to the place where she had been imprisoned, for her daughter, in which expedition she was again taken prisoner, and very severely and oppressively treated, as was also her daughter, and a female friend who accompanied her. But to dwell upon these atrocities, any further than as a medium whereby the sustaining power of God to his confiding and afflicted creatures is most distinctly exhibited, is not my aim. It is enough that in these living illustrations, we see that nothing of grief or oppression, as it respects the outward man, can separate the believing soul from its God; but that on the contrary, every heavenly grace, and spiritual beauty, grows in transcendent loveliness by such severe exercises.

“She departed like a lamb!’” says George Fox, in speaking of the end of this faithful woman, who, at an advanced age formed one of his company upon the work of the ministry, in a far distant land, and subject to manifold personal discomforts and inconveniences. “She departed like a lamb, and how could it be otherwise? She knew in whom she had believed—a friend long tried, and ever faithful found—what then but sweetness and peace, could accompany her sinking forever into his protecting arms?

After nearly two years spent in America, spreading the knowledge of the Truth, oftentimes through more hardships from the lack of personal comforts than the persecution of opposers, (which did not seem to befal him in this particular service,) George Fox returned to England; and the law against holding conventicles being then rigidly enforced, he was not many months in his native land before he experienced his usual lot of being taken before a magistrate, and committed to prison.

Upon this occasion he was apprehended while in Worcestershire; which county he was visiting, in company with his wife and some other friends. The night before while he was sitting at supper, he felt in his spirit a foreshadowing of evil, which gradually strengthened into an assurance of what was about to happen to him; and which he thus curiously expresses in a letter to his wife: he having sent her with one of her daughters home into the north as soon as he was taken prisoner and committed to Worcester jail.

“Dear Heart,”

“You seemed to be a little grieved when I was speaking of prisons, and when I was taken. Be content with the will of the Lord God; for when I was at John Rous's, at Kingston, I had a sight of my being taken prisoner; and when I was at B. Doiley's in Oxfordshire, as I sat at supper, I saw I was taken: and I saw I had a suffering to undergo. But the Lord's power is over all, blessed be his holy name forever!

“G. F.”

His companion in this imprisonment was Thomas Lower, who had married one of Margaret Fell's daughters, whose brother, Dr. Lower, being one of the physicians to the king, an offer for his enlargement was soon tendered. But such was the regard of this young man for George Fox, that he could not be prevailed upon to leave him in captivity.

After being examined at the sessions and remanded back to prison on account of declining to take the oath of allegiance, they were removed by a habeas corpus to London, where he underwent an examination at the bar of the King's Bench, which concluded by his being ordered to be sent back to prison at Worcester, with permission however, to go there in his own way, provided he promised to be there at the ensuing court sessions. He did not fail to be punctual to his engagement, and took his trial at Worcester; which turning chiefly upon the usual matter of the oath, concluded by his being again sent back to prison; but in about two hours after, he received permission from the justices to be at liberty till the next quarter-sessions, which interval he passed in London attending meetings, and especially the yearly one, which he says was an “exceeding glorious one beyond expression.”

The result of his next appearance at the court sessions at Worcester was the sentence of a premunire; upon which, being cast into prison for a period which threatened to endure for life, his wife came out of the north to be with him.

Endeavours were used for his release, and not unsuccessfully, for the king would readily have granted him a pardon, but pardon, obviously implying guilt, which, as to any offence against his king or country this honest man could not justly charge himself with, he would not accept of his liberty upon such terms.

The king seemed really anxious to have him thus released, saying to one Thomas Moore, “That George Fox needed not to scruple being released by a pardon, for many a man that was as innocent as a child, had had a pardon granted him.” “But I would rather have laid in prison all my days,” says George, “than have come out in any way dishonourable to truth.”

He chose therefore to try the validity of the indictment, which, like the one by which on a former occasion he had been committed to Lancaster jail, was full of errors.

Again being removed by a habeas corpus to London to have this question tried at the bar of the King's Bench, it was his happy lot to have for his judge, one whose revered name is associated with thoughts of mercy and justice; for Sir Matthew Hale had to decide the case.

The errors in the indictment being many and obvious, the judges were all of opinion that it ought to be quashed and the prisoner liberated; but George Fox being considered a dangerous man, some movements were made to tender him the oaths, which, as it respected him, was nothing else than taking measures to make him again a prisoner.

But as to his being a dangerous man, Judge Hale said, “he had indeed heard some such reports, but he had also heard many more good reports of him;” he therefore, (obtaining the consent of the rest of the judges,) desired him to be freed by proclamation.

During the time of his imprisonment at Worcester, George had a severe fit of sickness which brought him into a state of great debility; “and I continued so,” says he, “a pretty while, insomuch that some friends began to doubt of my recovery. I seemed to myself to be amongst the graves and dead corpses, yet the invisible power did secretly support me, and conveyed refreshing strength unto me, even when I was so weak that I was almost speechless.”

He received also a strong internal assurance that the Lord had a great deal more work for him to do, before he took him to himself.

After his release from the prison at Worcester, he went down to Swarthmore with his wife, and remained there for some time, visiting friends' meetings occasionally in the north, but chiefly employing himself in writing epistles to the society, and compiling or finishing his other writings.

In the year 1677, he accompanied the party which William Penn and Robert Barclay joined, in a journey to Holland and Germany, and of which we have already spoken in these pages.

Although he was not amongst the friends who visited Princess Elizabeth upon this occasion, he addressed a long epistle to her, which he thus commences:

“Princess Elizabeth,

“I have heard of your tenderness towards the Lord and his holy truth, by some friends that have visited you, and also by some of your letters which I have seen; which indeed, is a great thing for a person of your quality to have such a tender mind after the Lord, and his precious truth; seeing so many are swallowed up with voluptuousness and the pleasures of this world.”

His observations about the scriptures, in this epistle, have great force of truth, though not much elegance of diction in them.

“The holy men of God,” he says, “wrote the scriptures as they were moved by the Holy Ghost. And all Christendom are on heaps about these scriptures, because they are not led by the same Holy Ghost as those were, that gave forth the scriptures; which Holy Ghost they must come to in themselves, and be led by, if they would come into all the truth of them, and have the comfort of God, Christ, and them.

“O! therefore, feel the grace and truth in your heart, that is come by Jesus Christ, and that will teach you how to live, and what to deny. It will establish your heart, season your words, and bring your salvation, and will be a teacher unto you at all times.”

He added, in a postscript, “The bearer hereof, is a daughter-in-law of mine, that comes with Gertrude Dirick Nieson, and George Keith's wife, to give you a visit.

“G. F.”

To this plain and unceremonious epistle, the princess returned the following reply:—

“Dear Friend,

“I cannot but have a tender love to those that love the Lord Jesus Christ, to whom it is given not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for him. Therefore your letter, and your friends' 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.”

“Hertford, 30th Aug. 1677.”

On his return home, the labours of George Fox were more directed towards obtaining redress for the sufferings of the society, (which were still very great,) than, as heretofore, in travelling about, promulgating the gospel message. That was the service of his earlier days: he had now a different office in the vineyard.

For the purpose of petitioning parliament in behalf of friends, as well as upon other accounts, his chief abode was in, and about London, where he was occasionally joined by his wife.

Another very active petitioner with the king and government on behalf of the society, was George Whitehead; who, in his Journal, has preserved some interesting particulars relative to these matters.

“Although,” he says, (writing in the year 1683,) “with God's assistance, we prevailed with the king for relief in certain extreme cases of suffering, yet hitherto there remained great oppressions throughout most counties and cities of England, by various kinds of severe prosecutions; insomuch that several of us, (namely, George Fox, Gilbert Latey, etc.) were weightily concerned to have a general statement of our suffering friends case and condition, comprehensively composed, and drawn up by way of address and supplication, to be presented to the king, in order to make him the more sensible of the great oppression and persecution we still were exposed to. This measure being carried into effect by the drawing up a suitable representation of the subject in the form of an address, he states that “it was presented to King Charles II. and by him accepted at Windsor Castle, on the 8th of the sixth month, 1683, by George Whitehead, Alexander Parker, Gilbert Latey, and Francis Camfield, and read distinctly to the king and the duke, in the presence of many more of the nobility, by me.

“After I had read it to the king,” he continues, “our ancient friend, Francis Camfield, declared a few words very weightily, reminding him of the mercy of the great God to him, both in his great deliverances, preservation, and restoration; desiring, that, as the Almighty had shown mercy and compassion to him in his afflictions and straights, he would extend mercy and compassion to his afflicted people; and withal prayed for the king—to which the king said, 'I thank you.'”

He adds, that the king at that time appeared seriously affected with the sufferings of the friends, and that he said to one of the noblemen who stood by, “What shall we do for these people; the prisons are filled with them?” But the person to whom he addressed himself, in order to draw him from the subject, and to divert him from his concern therein, led him into other discourse.

Chapter XXI

The pages of this memorial might yet be greatly prolonged, since many names are still unmentioned of those amongst the primitive friends, who faithfully distinguished themselves on the side of God and truth, “in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation.” But the purpose of the writer being, as she humbly conceives, now sufficiently answered, by the testimonies already recorded, it appears desirable for her to draw to a conclusion; more especially, as little of striking or important incident occurred in the history of him who may be said to be the hero of the work, after his imprisonment at Worcester.

In the year 1684 George Fox paid another visit to Holland; and on his return, describing himself in his Journal, as being “weak with travel and continual exercise,” he stayed some time in London to rest himself, and recover his health. Indeed, from this period, we find him occasionally remarking in his Journal, the decline of his health, and the necessity he found of getting now and then into the country, to recruit his strength.

On these occasions, he frequently visited Kingston upon Thames, where one of his wife's daughters, Margaret Rouse, resided; at the house of another of her son's-in-law, William Mead, in Essex, he also made frequent visits.

He speaks of himself in the year 1688, as having been three months in the country for the sake of his health, “which,” he says, “was very much impaired; so that I was hardly able to stay in a meeting the whole time, and often after a meeting was eager to lie down on a bed.”

And truly, when we remember the sufferings of his earlier years, and the injury which his constitution must thereby have sustained, it is rather a matter of surprise that his course was so far extended, although he had not numbered the allotted years of man, when it pleased the Lord to summon him from here.

“Yet, did not my weakness of body,” he adds, “take me off from the service of the Lord: but I continued to labour in and out of meetings, in the work of the Lord, as he gave me opportunity and ability.” “But the time was come that Israel must die!”

Yet came this time upon George, so gently, that even to the last, he was found about his Master's business. For the few months previous to his departure, his time was chiefly occupied in writing different epistles, to warn, or to build up friends in the truth. About a year before his decease, he speaks of having a concern upon his spirit with respect to a twofold danger that attended some who professed the truth.

“One,” he says, “was of young people's running into the fashions of the world; and the other was of old people's going into the earth” under the pressure of which exercise he wrote an epistle, which he addressed:

“To all that profess the truth of God.

“My desires,” he says, “are, that you walk humbly in it: for when the Lord called me forth, he let me see that young people grew up together in vanity, and the fashions of the world, and old people went downwards into the earth, raking it together. And now, friends, I see too many young people that profess the truth, grow up into the fashions of the world, and too many parents indulge them. And amongst the elder, some are declining downwards, and raking after the earth. Therefore take heed that you are not making your graves while you are alive outwardly, and 'loading yourselves with thick clay.' (Hab. ii. 6.) For, if you have not power over the earthly spirit, and that which leads into a vain mind, and the fashions of the world, and into the earth;—though you have often had the rain fall upon your fields, you will but bring forth thistles, briars, and thorns, which are for the fire,” etc.

His last work of this kind was an epistle of consolation and counsel to friends in Ireland, who had been, and still were, under peculiar trials and hardships. Two days afterwards, being Sunday, the 11th of January, 1691, or, according to the ancient friends mode of reckoning, who, following scripture, made the month of March the first in the year, “the 11th of 11th month, 1690, he went to the meeting in Gracechurch-street, which was as large as it usually was on the first day of the week.

Here he was favoured with ability to preach the everlasting gospel with great power and clearness; after which he prayed, and when the meeting was ended, he went, in company with some other friends, to the house of one Henry Gouldney, in White-Hart Court, near the meetinghouse.

It would seem as though the moment his faithful labours were accomplished, the messenger of death was sent to summons him; for he told some of his friends he thought he felt the cold strike his heart, as he came out of the meeting; yet, he added, “I am glad I was here. Now I am clear— I am fully clear!”

As soon as his friends had quitted him, he lay down, as he sometimes did, after meeting, but he soon rose again; and the sensation of cold still continuing, with a manifest decline of strength, he retired at once to his bed, where he lay in much contentment and peace, and very sensible to the last.

“As he lived,” says William Penn,[64] “so he died; feeling the same eternal power that had raised and preserved him, in his last moments.”

“So full of assurance was he,” continues the same writer, “that he triumphed over death; and so, even to the last, as if death was hardly worth notice or mention; recommending to some with him, the dispatch and dispersion of an epistle just before written to the churches of Christ throughout the world, etc.; but above all—friends —and of all friends, those in Ireland and America; twice over, saying, 'Mind poor friends in Ireland and America!'

“To some who came in, and inquired how he found himself, he answered, 'Never heed! the Lord's power is over all weakness and death! The Seed reigns! [his accustomed and favourite expression,] blessed be the Lord!' He was at the great meeting near Lombard street, on the first day of the week, and it was the third following, about ten at night, when he left us; being at the house of H. Gouldney, in the same court.

“In a good old age he went,” proceeds William Penn,” after having seen his children's children in the truth, to several generations. He had the comfort of a short illness, and the blessing of a clear sense to the last; and we may truly say, with a man of God of old, that 'being dead, he yet speaks,' and though absent in body, he is present in spirit; neither time nor place being able to interrupt the communion of saints, nor dissolve the fellowship of the spirits of the just. His works praise him, because they are to the praise of Him that worked by him; for which his memorial is, and shall be blessed. I have done, (as to this part of my preface,) when I have left this short epitaph to his name: 'Many sons have done virtuously in this day; but dear George!—you excel them all!'”

Such was the testimony of William Penn, whose acquaintance with George Fox was of so intimate a nature, as to qualify him in no common measure, to speak thus decidedly upon his merits.

“I write my knowledge,” he says, alluding to his character of him, in the preface to his Journal, “I write my knowledge, and not report; and my witness is true, having been with him, for weeks and months together, on several occasions, and those of the nearest and most exercising nature: and that by night and by day, by sea and by land, in this and in foreign countries; and I can say, I never saw him out of his place, or not a match for every service and occasion. For, in all things, he acquitted himself like a man; yes, a strong man, a new and heavenly-minded man, a divine, and a naturalist, and all of God Almighty's making. . .

“He was a man,” he says, (in the former part of this preface,) “that God endowed with a clear and wonderful depth; a discerner of other's spirits, and very much a master of his own. And though the side of his understanding which lay next the world, and especially the expression of it, might sound uncouth and unfashionable to nice ears; his matter was, nevertheless, very profound, and would not only bear to be often considered, but the more it was so, the more weighty and instructive it appeared.

“He had an extraordinary gift in opening the scriptures; he would go to the marrow of things, and show the mind, harmony, and fulfilling of them, with much plainness, and to great comfort and edification.

“But above all, he excelled in prayer! The inwardness and weight of his spirit, the reverence and solemnity of his address and behaviour, and the fewness and fulness of his words, have often struck even strangers with admiration, as they used to reach others with consolation. The most awful, living, reverent frame I ever felt or beheld, I must say, was his, in prayer. And truly, it was a testimony that he knew, and lived nearer to the Lord than other men; for they that know him most, will see most reason to approach him with reverence and fear.”

Such, and much more than is here transcribed, is the testimony of William Penn, to the memory of his well-known and beloved friend.

George Fox departed this life in the sixty-seventh year of his age, and was buried in friends' burying-ground, near Bunhill Fields; his body being borne to the grave by friends, and accompanied by great numbers of persons of those who were, and of those also who were not, in profession with the society.

Previous however to this, a meeting was held in the meeting-house in White-Hart Court; where he had so often, (and only on the preceding sabbath,) borne witness to “the truth as it is in Jesus.” Upon this occasion, a great, and as it is described, a heavenly solemnity, covered the assembly; in which many deep and affecting testimonies were borne, under a feeling sense of the powerful and God-glorifying ministry of that dear and ancient servant of the Lord, whose mortal remains were then about to be consigned to the tomb.

Few indeed could be the occasions in which there would be experienced more melting of heart in paying the last tribute of respect and love, than on this, in which (in a certain sense) every individual present mourned the loss of a father— and of a prince in Israel.

Various were the testimonies given to his memory by different individuals in the society. In that of his wife, she gives an account of his services and call to the ministry, in a very direct and original way; concluding it with a sort of explanation, of what, no doubt, appeared extraordinary to many; namely, the state of separation as to their outward habitation and relation, in which they lived with respect to each other.

“And though the Lord,” she says, “had provided an outward habitation for him, yet, he was not willing to stay at it, because it was so remote and far from London, where his service most lay. And my concern for God, and his holy eternal truth, was then in the north, where God had placed and set me, and likewise for the ordering and governing of my children and family; so that we were willing both of us to live apart some years, upon God's account, and his truth's service, and to deny ourselves of that comfort which we might have had, in being together. And if any took occasion, or judged hard of us because of that, the Lord will judge them, for we were innocent.”

She then proceeds to state how often she took long journeys to visit him, and to be serviceable also in the cause of truth.

“Though I lived two hundred miles from London,” she says, “yet have I been nine times there upon the Lord's, and upon his truth's account; and of all the times that I was in London, this last was most comfortable, that the Lord was pleased to give me strength and ability to travel that great journey, (being seventy-six years of age,) to see my dear husband. . . I look upon it that the Lord's special hand was in it, that I should go there; for he lived but about half a year after I left him. . . .

“And now,” she concludes her statement by saying, “And now he has finished his course, and his testimony, and is entered into his eternal rest and felicity. I trust in the same powerful God, that his holy arm and power will carry me through whatever he has yet for me to do, and that he will be my strength and support, and the bearer up of my head unto the end, and in the end. For I know his faithfulness and goodness, and I have experience of his love: to whom be glory and powerful dominion forever. Amen!”

It seems superfluous to add any remarks to the testimony of a contemporary upon the character and labours of George Fox; but some few tributary words appear to be due from the compiler of this memorial, not only as it respects his peculiar gift and calling, but also with regard to the opinion that may be formed of both, by those into whose hands these pages may fall, and to whom he was previously altogether unknown. It may be desirable therefore to state, that should any reader of this eulogy by William Penn, be induced to search in the works of George Fox for confirmation of the superiority so warmly commended, he would meet with disappointment; and that, not because George Fox was unworthy of the praises bestowed upon him, but because they were rendered to a very different kind of merit than any which distinguished him as a writer; for, in this capacity, as well as in that of a speaker, he was, even in his own times, exceedingly illiterate and uncouth; and he that seeks to know and admire his endowments on that side, will probably turn away with a feeling even stronger than disappointment. But as it nowhere appears, throughout his history, that he ever claimed anything upon this score, but that on the contrary, it was his glory to acknowledge that no arts or parts of human advantages, had been made instrumental in the work and service to which he was called, and that God alone, in and through the weakness of the creature, had glorified the Spirit of his Son;—it would be as ungenerous, as it assuredly would be unjust, to contemn him for his lack of that to which he not only never laid claim, but which the very nature of his mission excluded.

The errand he was sent upon, as he himself repeatedly states, was to turn persons away from all human dependencies, to the rock, Christ Jesus, teaching, and strengthening them in their own souls. It would be an anomaly indeed, if a person fraught with such a message as this, were selected from those who are clothed with the accomplishments of learning, and the graces of oratory. To make such a choice for such a purpose, would be acting indeed as man acts, but not as He acts whose thoughts are not as man's thoughts, neither are his ways.

It is not to be said that God never selects his ministers for a new and mighty work of conversion, from the schools of learning and science; but all experience proves that he but rarely does so. And the reason why he does not, cannot but be obvious to every considerate mind, that observes with due humility, the immense corruption of the natural heart, and its liability to run into idolatrous attachments, even upon points where the least danger is suspected. And hence it is, that since the creation of the world, as a pious writer well observes,[65] when God is about to do a great work, he chooses (virtuous indeed, but) illiterate, and in the eyes of man, contemptible instruments, whereby to accomplish it; in order that the creature may be forever excluded from having any share in the glory which belongs only to the Creator; an exclusion which scarcely ever is made, however it may be pretended to, while the proneness of the human heart to worship human advantages, and to make an idol of that which ministers to its satisfaction, has anything to nourish it.

Slight and insignificant therefore, to the natural eye, were the recommendations of George Fox as a minister of the gospel. Some persons have doubted whether he could even read or write; but that he could do both (though but indifferently) is very certain.

His qualifications for the post assigned him, were as peculiar as the service itself; and consisted, as that did, in the solidity of truth and wisdom. He neither said or did anything that had not weight and reality in it. Though evidently gifted by nature (so to speak,) with no ordinary portion of wit, it never ran out into frivolity; but was advantageously used, as occasion served, for the advancement of his Master's cause. It is probable from the spirit manifested in his life and writings, that the tender and loving graces were not so much the characteristic of his ministry, as the more lofty and severe. A noble man, in truth he was; glorious and comely, with the comeliness which his heavenly Master put upon him. To realize this, we need but recur to his unflinching deportment before his oppressors; his rejection of every measure for his liberation from prison, when liberty was offered him upon terms that did but seem inimical to the purity of his profession of religion; and his faithfully bearing to different authorities, his own court order, and the unjust charges which made him liable to unmerited punishment. These, and such as these, are lineaments in the portrait of George Fox, which stamp it with its peculiar attraction; an attraction which can have but little power over the inquirer after such things as appeal to, and charm, the merely intellectual faculties.

No; it is not for these beholders that he is to be made the object of attention, but simply to the lovers of truth wherever truth is to be found. To such he offers a striking and valuable specimen of the sort of instrument by which it most commonly pleases the wisdom of God to accomplish his infinite designs, and by “the foolishness of whose preaching, to save them that believe.” (1 Cor. 1:21.)

George Fox was survived several years by his wife Margaret, of whom it is no slight commendation to say, that she was worthy of him.

This excellent individual was of good family, her father, John Askew, Esq. being, as she describes him, “one of those esteemed and called gentlemen, who left a considerable estate which had been in his name and family for several generations.”

Before she was eighteen, she married Judge Fell, of Swarthmore in Lancashire, in which county her father also resided. With her first husband, who was sixteen years her senior, she appears to have lived in great peace and comfort, undisturbed by any opposition from him, although he was never so far brought over to her religious principles, as to unite himself to the society she had joined. “But he was loving and kind,” she says, “to our friends called Quakers; . . . and a merciful man to the Lord's people.”

Her services in behalf of the suffering members of the society, in appealing to the king and other authorities both personally and in writing, were of the most persevering and undaunted kind; and such as manifested her to be one in spirit and courage with her friend George Fox.

“In the year 1660,” she says, “King Charles the Second came into England; and within two weeks after, I was moved of the Lord to go to London, to speak to the king concerning the truth, and the sufferers for it; for there were then many hundreds of our friends in prison, in the three nations of England, Scotland, and Ireland, which were put in by the former powers. And I spoke often with the king, and wrote many letters and papers to him.

“And I wrote and gave papers and letters to every one of the family, several times; i.e. to the king, to the Duke of York, to the Duke of Gloucester, to the queen-mother, to the Princess of Orange, and to the Queen of Bohemia.

“I was moved of the Lord to visit them all, and to write unto them, and to lay the truth before them; and did give them many books and papers, and did lay our principles and doctrines before them, and desired that they would let us have discourse with their priests, preachers, and teachers, and if they could prove us erroneous, then let them manifest it; but if our principles and doctrines be found according to the doctrine of Christ, and the apostles and saints in the primitive times, then let us have our liberty.[66]

“But,” as the reader will not be surprised to hear, “we could never get a meeting with any sort of them.”

But though King Charles and his friends could not be prevailed upon to comply with this proposal, he appears to have been generally courteous and kind in his reception of her applications; and an order had been actually signed by him in council for the release of the imprisoned Quakers, when the insurrection of the Fifth-monarchy men totally nullified it, by causing friends to be suspected of treachery; no plot of any kind appearing but it was laid at their door.

The prisons being then thronged with them, “many a time,” says this valiant woman, “did I go to the king about them, who promised me always that they should be set at liberty; and we had several in the council who were friendly to us, and we gave many papers to them;” the result of which was, that after “much ado” as she expresses it, some favours were extended to the imprisoned friends, and many of them were liberated by proclamation from the king and council.

While thus active in behalf of other sufferers, she was not unacquainted herself with the rod of the oppressor; having been a prisoner in Lancaster castle above four years, for her faithful adherence to her principles in refusing to take the oaths of allegiance.

It was at the same court sessions in which so many errors were found in the indictment of George Fox, and where she herself passed an examination of which a sketch was offered to the reader's notice, that sentence of premunire was passed upon Margaret Fell, for keeping religious meetings at her house at Swarthmore; by which sentence it was directed, “that she should be put out of the king's protection, and forfeit all her estates real and personal to the king, and be imprisoned for life.”

“But the great God of heaven and earth,” she says, “supported my spirit under this severe sentence, that I was not terrified, but gave this answer to Judge Turner, who gave the sentence: “Although I am out of the king's protection, yet I am not out of the protection of the Almighty God.”

“So there I remained,” she continues, “in prison twenty months, before I could get so much favour of the sheriff, as to go to my own house;[67] which then I did for a little time, and returned to prison again; and when I had been a prisoner about four years, I was set at liberty by an order from the king and council, in 1668.”

After her marriage with George Fox, she was again made prisoner and sent to Lancaster castle, where she continued a twelvemonth; and probably would have remained there longer, but that her husband being in London, used every effort to procure her release, and at length succeeded by obtaining an order under the great seal for her liberation.

Not that it fared much better with her, when out of prison, on the score of persecution; for “the justices,” she says, “were very severe, and much bent against me, because I kept a meeting at my house at Swarthmore-hall: so they did not fine the house as his, (that is George Fox's;) but fined it as mine, as being the widow of Judge Fell. This fine was £20; to which they added £20 more, for her speaking in the meeting; which not sufficing, they raised it to £40. “They also fined other friends,” she says, “£20 for the first time speaking, and £40 for the second; and those that were not able to pay, they fined others for them; and made great spoil amongst friends, by distraining and selling their goods, sometimes for less than half the value. They took thirty head of cattle from me.

“So I was moved of the Lord,” she says, “to go to London, in the seventieth year of my age; and the word was in me, that as I had gone to King Charles, when he first came into England, so I should go and bear to him my last testimony, and let him know how they did abuse us, to enrich themselves. And so I went up to London, and a paper was drawn up to give a true and certain account how they dealt with me and other friends.”

But when she found access to the king, “he was so rough and angry that he would not take my paper.”

In a week or two after this, she and George Whitehead went together to one of the lords in waiting who had promised to intercede with the king on friends' behalf; but on presenting themselves at his apartments at Whitehall “early in the morning, thinking to speak with him,” she says, “before he went out, his servants told us he was not within, being gone to the king, who was not well. Then we came forth into Whitehall court again; but all the gates were shut, that we could not get forth. So we waited, and walked up and down; and several came down from the king, and said, he could not stand; others said, he could not speak. Then, after some hours waiting, we got through Scotland yard, and came away; and the king continued sick and ill, until the sixth day after, and then he died. So this,” she says, “confirmed that word, that I was sent to bear my last testimony to the king.”

How much Margaret Fox was beloved by her immediate connections, we may gather from the following few lines, which I extract from the memorial signed by her daughters and their husbands, after her decease.

“And as for us, who are her sons-in-law, we cannot but give our testimony of our sense of her worthiness, etc.; and we account ourselves happy, and it is a singular mercy to us that the Lord gave us wives of the daughters of such a worthy person, and that we are partakers of their virtuous education, whereby they are made a blessing to us,” etc.

Having faithfully fulfilled her allotted labours, she died peacefully in her house at Swarthmore, the 28rd of April, 1702, being near the eighty-eighth year of her age, having survived George Fox about twelve years.

Some remarkable expressions of assured happiness fell from her lips during her last illness, if that could be called illness, which in all probability was the mere decay of nature.

“Cleave to me,” she said to one of her daughters,[68] who was expressing her sense of what a blessed mother she had been to her children, and their posterity; “cleave to me, and you will not do wrong, for I am joined to the Lord.

“Come, come,” she said, “let us join to the Lord, and be of one spirit—join to the eternal God, and be of one spirit.”

At one time, under the meltings of heavenly love, “Oh, my sweet Lord!” she said, “into your holy bosom do I commit myself freely; not desiring to live in this troublesome, painful world— it is all nothing to me,—for my Maker is my husband.”

A little before her departure, she called her daughter Rachel to her, saying, “Take me in your arms”—after which, she said, “I am in peace!”

Concluding Address

To the Society of Friends

And thus having ended the proposed task of exemplifying the obedience which is of faith, the labours of the writer of these pages, might perhaps, conclude. But she feels that a further service is required of her, from which, however she might desire it, she cannot conscientiously be exonerated.

It is in simplicity, and as she humbly trusts, in a measure of godly sincerity, to urge upon you, who are the descendants of these witnesses of the Lord, and who profess the same principle of truth as that by which they glorified God,—to consider the immense responsibility which attaches to your walk and conduct before your fellow-creatures. Let other religious professors be what they may, let their habits, whether of business or of pleasure, of public or of domestic life, manifest what spirit they will—you are called, and loudly called, to be a marked and separate people; and that not by a system of peculiarities and a rigid attachment to singularities and distinctions, in which it is obvious, that the most insincere can vie with the greatest saint; not by the most rigid faithfulness to any and all of these, will your requirements be fulfilled—but by the display of that “banner of the Lord,” which your holy forefathers carried so nobly, and which they transmitted as a sacred trust to you. It is by the unfurling of this ensign, with “holiness to the Lord” engraved on every part of it—and by being “living epistles of Christ, known and read of all men”—that you are to evince the illustrious stock from which you are derived;—illustrious in that true nobility which comes from God.

“What is it,” says one of those truly illustrious ones,[69]—“What is it to have a distinct name, or distinct meetings from the world, unless the power of the Lord be felt in your hearts, and his presence in your assemblies?” What is it indeed, but setting up a broader mark than common, for the profane scoffer at all religion, to shoot his arrows at? For what, (it may, and it ought to be asked,) do these distinctions denote? Is it not the profession of something deeper, something more real, more influential, more solemn, more divine, more spiritual and interior, than the generality of religionists profess?—Is it not that which your honest ancestors well called truth? that glorious principle for which they suffered, and for which some of them were content to die? The external nature of formularies, and an adhesion to the letter of scripture, with the aid of this and the other man's notions about such things, may greatly contribute to keep the generality of persons at ease in a low and worldly profession of Christianity. But you can find no such comfort in your mode of faith; since “one is your master, even Christ—Christ the light of the world— Christ within, the hope of glory.” He will not flatter nor deceive you—he will give you no forced or false construction of your case. If, as your professed principle directs,—you come to him and to his light in your consciences, he will show you how and where you stand; and remember, that if you do not come to him, as your living and ever-present teacher, dwelling and speaking to you in your hearts, you do not come to that which, as it forms the glory, so it forms the life of your profession of religion. Wherein do you differ from others? Surely in nothing but in eccentricity, it might justly be replied, if this were not your obvious distinction;—that, while the greater part of religious professors are but gazing at the letter which describes truth; you seek after, and endeavour to walk by the powerful, internal guidance of the thing itself.

This then, is to be your glorious peculiarity,— that you are men and women of Truth!—While many who name the name of Christ, so far from departing from iniquity, have it written in living characters upon all their transactions; while they are known and despised as cunning and overreaching in commercial dealings—subtle and deceitful in daily interaction with men—worshippers of money —watchers for self-advancement, and in all things proving that the advantages of this world, are the “gods many, and lords many” of their genuine devotion;—while this, we say, is their condition— you are to be separated in heart and life, from all such defilements;—casting them from you to the moles and to the bats.

Suppose it be the degrading era, when commerce best thrives, where conscience yields most to the corruptions of mankind;—suppose the day —the awful day, be come, “when no man can buy or sell, save he that has the mark or the name of the beast in his right hand;”—still, with the holy patriarch, every individual amongst you should be able to say, “my righteousness I hold fast, and will not let it go; my heart shall not reproach me so long as I live.”

But I feel compelled to pause, and ask if it be needful to make to you this earnest appeal—to you, whose membership is in a society, respecting which, an individual could once thus nobly testify?

“This light,” he says, “teaches not to covet, not to desire earthly dignities or estates. Let it be looked at over England; which of us, so much as mind these things? No, the Lord knows, that the love of these things is daily rooted out of our hearts more and more, and we are a people whom the world cannot charge with covetousness or love of the world, with which all sorts of professors hitherto have been too justly chargeable.”[70]

Oh, friends! if in the least measure, a mightier hand than that frail one which traces these lines, should thereby knock at the door of your hearts, and ask if all be well there;—if, “in the cool of the day,” that still small voice, which spoke in love and consolation to your fathers, pleads somewhat sorrowfully, and as it may be, in this wise, speaking unto you; “I remember you, the kindness of your youth, the love of your espousals, when you went after me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown—Israel was holiness unto the Lord,” —if, to this tender appeal, it might be added, “but now they are gone far from, me, and have walked after vanity, and are become vain”—if such should be the case,—oh, think once more,—how solemn is the admonition!

No common trust was that consigned to you, no common principles—no common, notional, outside religion. It was a Reality—a life—and a ministration of life to those who received it? Where is it then?—for be assured, that God will require it at your hands?—Where is the true gospel message that was left with you? for this was the message which was declared unto you, that “God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.” If any come amongst you, seeking for the declaration of this gospel-message, do they find your ministers breaking that bread of life to hungry souls, which their predecessors in the Master's vineyard dealt out so freely? Suppose the case, that some wounded, wandering sheep, who had long gone astray in the wilderness, asking its way to the true fold, first of one hireling, and then of another, should meet, in its distress, with the living ministrations of one of your forefathers; which flowing as they did from the same spirit that gave forth the scriptures, caused scripture itself to be understood by this inquirer, as it never was before—suppose such a one as this to say, “Here is the ministry of Christ!—here is his true apostle telling me where to seek for my beloved!—Oh, here is indeed a 'feeder of the flock'—a faithful overseer!—Here I am met with bread—not with the dry, hard stones of words and notions;—here I am turned to the life within—the light within —and not drawn out into a labyrinth of confused conceptions about it. Let me join myself to the people who are thus taught—and who are walking by the counsels of this living and ever-present Teacher.” Suppose, I say, such a one to come into your assemblies:—does he find this peculiar feature of your professed principle, and of your ancestor's ministry, distinctly exhibited, and livingly enforced? I ask again, does he find the peculiar excellence and truth of an inward revelation of Christ the light of life,—a Redeemer working redemption within, which formed the unvarying and unceasing theme of the ancient friends' labours,— continually declared, its power testified to,—and the way to experience it explained?—or does he find that, commonly, and with very rare exceptions, the declarations of your ministers, are as lifeless, as outward, as doctrinal, as notional, and as profitless, (in so far as respects the turning persons to the living and true Redeemer and Teacher, in their own souls,) as the effusions of those who openly profess the letter of scripture to be their only safe and sufficient guide?

Permit me also to suppose the case yet further. If such a one as this, warmed with affectionate esteem for the memory of the just, grateful for the binding up of many wounds, the strengthening of much weakness—and in humility, hoping also the guiding into much good, from the faithful, precious, and sincere example of your predecessors— if such a one as this, I say, should turn an inquiring look upon you as their descendants and proper representatives; does he find you honouring their memory, not merely by an outward adherence to visible distinctions, but by that inward, spiritual, and vital separation from all evil, that holy scorn of a vain, proud, covetous, money-loving, worldly spirit, which marked them as a people whom God had set apart for himself?

Believe me, it is no light or superficial feeling that prompts me to submit these queries to your consideration; for if he that converts a sinner from the error of his ways, does a great and faithful service to the Lord; he that in any wise casts a stumbling-block in a brother's way, has need to pause in time, and see that he discover and remove it.

I say not that such is your case—I only say, that, considering how great and glorious, in respect to the work of God, were the services and example of your predecessors; how influential and important their ministrations in life and power, and especially in preaching that wherein alone life and power consists, or can ever be found; even in an abiding acquaintance with “the true light which enlightens every man that comes into the world,”—it behoves you to see that the talent entrusted to you, is not “laid up in a napkin”—neither that you dig in the earth after the gold that perishes, and thereby hide your Lord's money.

One word of affectionate and humble suggestion yet remains upon my spirit, to offer to the single-minded and upright among you, of whom I doubt not but there are many. Dear friends, and honourable descendants of those who “have been succourers of many, and of myself also,” permit the word of exhortation, upon a point wherein it seems to me you are in some danger; especially you who, in early life, are called to minister in holy things. It is that of mixing up the pure, distinct, interior principle of faith in the gift of God, as an invisible and spiritual thing, only to be known, apprehended, believed in, felt, and obeyed, by the inward senses of the new-born creature— I say, it is to be feared, that you occasionally mix and confound this precious, living thing, with the notional, historical knowledge, which is to be picked up from the letter that describes it. If such be the case, you can never hope, while it continues, to meet with full acceptance at your Master's hands. He will have no clipping and paring down of his message. No trimming to suit the religious taste of the times. Remember that it was the marked distinction of the mystery from the history and the vast difference between the birth of Christ in the heart, to mere words and doctrines about it, which formed the whole of the Christianity preached by the primitive friends; as, in point of fact, it forms the whole truth of the matter; just as the living man, and not his picture, forms the reality of his existence.

You must not allow yourselves to be deluded with an idea that you are living in better times, as to religion, than your forefathers; and that the apostasy of which they spoke so frequently, and so forcibly, exists no longer; for assuredly, it exists in far greater strength of life than ever. In their times it was not the fashion to be religious; knowledge was more circumscribed; while the lack of toleration in those who were at the helm of affairs, subjecting conscientious persons to the fiery ordeal of severe persecution, dissent to the authorized and national mode of worship, was then generally the result of deep conviction. But it is not so now—“Many run to and fro, and knowledge is increased;” but with respect to that religion which your ancestors preached and lived, and by the strength of which they were more than conquerors over all their foes both inward and outward—where is it to be found? With most other religious professors beside yourselves, it has always been, as truth commonly is, a despised and rejected thing. So clearly does all experience confirm the disaffection of mankind for truth, that we might well doubt the value of those religious principles, that met with no opposers.

Take heed then, dear friends, that you slide not insensibly into the religion of the day. Beware of outwardness in your ministrations. All the world are now worshipping in the outward court; but your profession calls upon you to “measure the temple of God, and the altar, and them that worship within.

“But the court that is without the temple, leave out, and measure it not; for it is given unto the Gentiles.” (Rev. xi. 1, 2.) With them let it remain, and “let the dead bury their dead;” but come you forth in the strength of the Lord, to fight his battles.

Oh there is much for you to do, and much for every honest-hearted man and woman in the land to do; and that, not by attacking the enemy only in his open and visible camp of vice and abomination; for these are not now his most important strongholds. When there, we see and know what he is about; but he now sits enthroned where we neither see nor suspect his presence; and our eye must be opened of the Lord, and our arm strengthened to resist him with a double portion of the spirit of holiness and power, if we hope to conquer him now. In a word, he has clothed himself with the mantle of religion. He has laid aside for awhile the character of “the roaring lion going about seeking whom he may devour;” for he has found out something in these intellectual times, which better answers his purpose. Satan is now the theologist.

Every thing favours his assumption of this character. There is no fiery ordeal of persecution to try the power of the spirits that are “up and doing.” And where is the appointed and proper antagonist of the serpent? Where is the living spirit of the living God? Where is he who, in Elijah of old, troubled the false Israel, and who separated between the worshippers of Baal and of God? Alas! must it not be said that “Ephraim has mixed himself with the people?” Is not the pleasant plant of the Lord crushed under the heavy weight of lifeless words and barren doctrines? Is not the deliverer silenced, and the usurper, who has assumed his likeness and stolen his sayings, set above him? Is there not, with much variation in the description of it, yet virtually but one way, and one faith, and that a letter-learned and an outside faith? And is it not the work of the deceiver to keep it on the outside and to imprison it in the letter? Ah! doubt it not. Doubt not but he, (this subtle theologian) will furnish a religion for the religious world; doubt not, but he will supply them with a plentiful store of external doctrine—an abundant flow of letter-learning;—and an amplification of manuals of head-divinity.

It is his day—his triumphant day—though the darkest hour of midnight upon the time church of God;—which sits, indeed, “like a pelican in the wilderness, or like the lonely sparrow on the housetop,” mourning for her beloved.

What does that desolate widow see, in all the pomp and paraphernalia of these imposing times? What does she hear in the din, and bustle, and talk about moral improvement? What does she feel, when the way to the kingdom is made like the highways in the natural world, of such railroad facility, that a man may hear, and read, and talk himself into it, at pleasure?

Oh, does she not say in the spirits of the faithful, “How is the gold become dim! how is the most fine gold changed! the stones of the sanctuary are poured out in the top of every street?” And oh, especially, to you, you children of “her Nazarites, who were purer than snow—whiter than milk—and whose polishing was of sapphires”—does she not cry, “Awake—awake— shake yourselves from the dust,—loose yourselves from the bands of your neck, you captive children of Zion?”

Does she not say—“Stand up and plead my cause!—be valiant for the truth upon the earth?” Does she not remind you that a cross is to be borne—a cross that gives offence—even the cross of boldly testifying to the light within. This is the stone of stumbling, and rock of offence. Oh, beware that you pass it not by, as that with which you have nothing to do! The faithful minister of truth must give offence, and if he gives it not, he cannot give the truth of God. “If I yet pleased men,” says Paul, “I should not be the servant of Christ.” (Gal. i. 10.) Beware then that you permit not the subtle serpent to beguile you with seducing words, as though your ministry should be such as suits the fashion of the day. Hearken not to him, when he fixes upon some roughness in the shell, and so would cajole you to believe, there was no soundness in the fruit your ancestors brought forth. Rude and unpolished as to the outward, no doubt, many of them were—but all glorious within, their clothing was of wrought gold, in the eyes of him who “is fairer than the children of men.”

Yes, you departed saints—you spirits of the just made perfect, how beautiful to the enlightened eye is your memorial! You were God's building; and of that edifice which the Almighty rears, how truly does one amongst you thus express the character.[71]

“Into your holy building, O God! into your heavenly building, into the spiritual Jerusalem, which you rear and build up in the Spirit, no unclean or defiled thing can enter; nor is there any room there for that which loves and makes a lie! Without, indeed, are swine and dogs, vulturous eyes, and crooked serpents, who make a show of what they are not, and lay claim to that which belongs not to them. But within are the children—within is the heavenly birth, even the new creation of God in Christ Jesus.

“For God does not strip his people, and gather them out of the spirit of this world, that they should be empty and desolate forever; but he gathers them into, and fills them with his own Spirit; fills them with light, fills them with life, fills them with holiness, fills them with righteousness, fills them with peace and joy in believing and obeying the gospel!

“And in this Spirit is the kingdom known, which is not of this world,—the inward kingdom — the spiritual kingdom — the everlasting kingdom!—where the everlasting throne is near, and the everlasting power revealed! and the Lord God Omnipotent reigns in the hearts of his! and other lords do not reign, but their horns are broken—and the horn of God's Anointed exalted, who sits ruling as king on his holy hill of Zion!—and they that have suffered with him, and gone through great tribulation, do reign with him—blessed be his name forever! Amen!”

Such, dear friends, was the testimony of one who had been a workman in the raising of this holy edifice—“a workman that needed not to be ashamed.” Oh that the same Holy Spirit which spoke and taught in him, may rest upon you; and that in this day of outwardness of observation—and cry of lo here! and lo there! you may be found faithful—giving forth that, and that only which you have received, and that not of man, nor by any of the natural workings of your own minds; “but by the revelation of Jesus Christ!”

Finis

1G. Fox's Journal, p. 1. And it may suffice here to say, that whenever George Fox's words are quoted, they are taken from his own Journal.

2William Penn's preface to George's Fox's Journal, p. 13.

3One of the chief points of his ministry, was to overturn that insidious reverence for names and things, which is too frequently substituted for the worship that is “in spirit and in truth.” Few instances more distinctly exhibit this sort of covert idolatry, than the general notion of sanctity which is attached to the building called a church. Hence, this notion was more particularly the object of attack, not only from the primitive Friends, but from most of the religionists of those times; for it is recorded by Sewel, in his history of the Society, (Lindfield edition, vol. i.p. 165,) that some of the parliamentary soldiers, observing over the doors of a church, the words of Jacob, “This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven,” could not endure to see this gross conceit concerning these buildings, but erased the words “of God” and “of heaven;” so that nothing was left, but “This is none other but the house, and this is the gate;” a truth, which in so far as it respects a building made with hands, it would be rather difficult to gainsay.

42 Kings, iv. 20

5Memoirs of Francis Howgill, by James Backhouse, p. 14.

6See “Neale's History of the Puritans,” where some of these instances are recorded; and also “Sewel's History of Friends,” vol. i. p. 209, (edition printed at Lindfield,) where he says, “One Thomas Curtis, who was formerly a captain in the parliament army, but afterwards entered into the society of the people called Quakers, wrote, in a letter to Samuel Wells, priest of Banbury, and a persecutor of those of that persuasion, amongst other words, “To your shame remember, I know you to be scandalous;” and relating on what account, the historian adds, that “none need think it strange that the Quakers called such as him, hirelings; and that there were not a few of that sort, appeared plainly,” he says, “when King Charles was restored; when those who had cried out against Episcopacy, turned round, and put on the surplice to keep their livings, etc.”

7Margaret Fox's testimony respecting her husband, prefixed to his Journal.

8If this intrusion on the part of George Fox, and this concession on the side of “he that was in the pulpit,” should, at the present day, appear strange, we must remember, that independently of the mode of worship of the Church of England being then abolished, there was a liberty of religious discussion professed, which no doubt prompted this, and many more of the like measures adopted by George Fox and the Friends in general.

9Those words of our Lord, “he that enters not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbs up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber,” seem to receive an illustration in these convictions of Margaret's.

10Howgill's Life by Backhouse, p. 30.

11Acts, xxii. 21, 22, and also (ch. xxiv. 5,) where he is accused of being “a pestilent fellow and a mover of sedition,” etc.

12John, x. 33.

13G. Fox's Journal, folio edit. p. 101, 102.

14The reader will remember, as observed before, that at this period the Episcopal mode of worship was wholly abolished; which will account for the seeming anomaly of an Independent minister officiating in the parish church.

152 Cor. xiv. 30, 31.

16Sewel's Hist. (Lindfield edit.) vol. i.p. 201.

17G. Whitehead's Journal, p. iii. from which source all that relates to him in this work is taken.

18A military man by profession, when first brought into acquaintance with Friends. George Fox, speaking of him in his Journal, as a Captain Stoddart, (p. 14,) at a meeting held by several religious professors at Mansfield, in 1648, says, “a captain, named Amos Stoddart, came in;” at the close of which meeting, G. F. being opposed in what he had advanced, touching the blood of Christ, this captain claimed for him a hearing, saying, “Let the youth speak!—hear the youth speak!” and being convinced by means of his preaching, Amos Stoddart joined the society in its infancy, and became a steady, faithful member and minister thereof, to the end of his life.

19P. 223. Lindfield edit. Vol. i.

20A minute account of the transactions alluded to, and of the severe trials of the primitive Quakers in general, may be found in Besse's Sufferings of Friends; the bare relation of which, occupies two closely printed folio volumes; and in which are records of cruelty on the one hand, and of Christian patience on the other, which, unless too well authenticated, would scarcely be credited as having actually occurred.

21The spiritual reader will, doubtless, see an extraordinary depth in this expression.

22Sewel's Histoiy, vol. ii. p. 51. Lindfield edit.

23 After stating the case respecting the refusing to take oaths and the consequent penalties, the act specifies, “if the said persons, commonly called Quakers, shall, at any time, after the four-and-twentieth day of March, (1661,) depart from the places of their several habitations, and assemble themselves to the number of five, or more, of the age of sixteen years or upwards, at any one time, in any place, under pretence of joining in a religious worship not authorised by the laws of this realm,” etc. for the first offence the fine was to be five pounds on each person so offending; ten pounds for the second offence; and for the third, the delinquent was required to abjure the realm; and in case of refusal, it was made lawful for the king to give order for the transportation of the offender; and in default of payment of the fines within one week after conviction, the defaulter, for the first noncompliance, was to be imprisoned for three months, and for the second six, and to be kept to hard labour.

24Sewel's History, (Lindfield edition,) vol.ii.pp. 420, 425.

25When it was resolved by the English nation to recall Charles II. from exile, and place him as lawful heir upon the throne, the king being then at Breda, gave forth a declaration, in which, amongst other indulgences, he promised as follows, respecting religion:—

“And because the passion and uncharitableness of the times have produced several opinions in religion by which men are engaged in parties and animosities against each other, which, when they shall hereafter unite in a freedom of conversation, will be composed, or better understood; we do declare a liberty to tender consciences, and that no man shall be disquieted or called in question for differences of opinion in matters of religion, which do not disturb the peace of the kingdom; and that we shall be ready to consent to such an act of the parliament, as, upon mature deliberation, shall be offered to us for the full granting of that indulgence.”

26At this time four members of the Society had been publicly put to death in America.

27Now published as a tract for distribution.

28From a selection from the works of Howgill, published by James Backhouse.

292 Cor. xiii. 5.

30 Rev. ix. 1—3.

31See vol. I. of his Works, p. 260. Edition of 1761; printed for Kendal, Colchester, in two quarto vols.

32Gulielma Maria Springett, daughter of Sir William Springett, whose widow Isaac Penington married, in 1654.

33This account is taken from Ellwood's Testimony, prefixed to Penington's Works; in which testimony, Ellwood says of this paper, that “it was written with his own hand, above a dozen years ago, about (1668,) when, being in bonds for Christ's sake, he was sick, near unto death.”

34See his letter to the Independents at Canterbury, p. 241. Barclay's Edit, of I. Penington's Letters.

35G. Fox's Journal, p. 419.

36Prefixed to the Works of Penington.

37Penington's Works, vol. i. p. 632.

38I refer the reader who may desire the perusal of a very amusing book, and one that gives much insight into the history of the primitive Friends, to “The Life of Thomas Ellwood, written by himself.”

39Only a selection is given from this poem.

40The clause which particularly affected the society in this respect, was the eighteenth, in “An Act to prevent and suppress seditious Conventicles,” and which was substantially as follows:—

“And in regard a certain sect called Quakers, and other sectaries, are found not only to offend in the matters provided against by this act, but also to obstruct the proceedings of justice, by their obstinate refusal to take oaths lawfully tendered unto them in the ordinary course of law: (2) Therefore be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid, that if any person or persons being duly and legally served with process or other summons, to appear in any court of record, etc. shall refuse to take any judicial oath legally tendered to him, etc.; that then, and in such case, the several and respective courts in which such refusal shall be made, shall be, and are hereby enabled to record such refusal, etc; which record or entry shall be, and is hereby made, a conviction of such offence: and all and every person and persons so, as aforesaid, offending, shall for every such offence incur the judgment and punishment of transportation in such manner as is appointed by this act for other offences.”

41 Penington's Works, in 2 vols, quarto.—1st vol. p. 435.

42Penington's Letters, p. 157.

43Then a widow; Judge Fell dying in 1658.

44In a “Brief Collection of Remarkable Passages, etc relating to Margaret Fell,” p. 276.

45He had married Catherine Gordon, eldest daughter of Sir Robert Gordon, of Gordonstoun, second son to the Earl of Sutherland.

46“Treatise on Universal Love.”—Barclay's Works, vol. iii. p. 186.

47The Friends in Scotland, by John Barclay, p. 295.

48Barclay's Friends in Scotland, p. 315— 316.

49She was the eldest daughter of Frederick V. Elector Palatine, and King of Bohemia, by Elizabeth, daughter of King James I. of England.

50Robert Barclay had interested Princess Elizabeth in behalf of his father; and she had at his request engaged her brother, Prince Rupert, to apply to the king for the liberation of David Barclay; to which circumstance she probably here alludes in speaking of the king's gracious letter, etc.—'I should admire,” she says, in a former letter to R. B.—“I should admire God's providence, if my brother could be a means of releasing your father and forty more in Scotland: having promised to do his best, I know he will perform it.”— Barclay's Friends in Scotland, p. 354.

51 J. Barclay's Friends in Scotland, p. 385.

52The historical reader will remember, that in about two years from the date of this epistle (1679), Archbishop Sharpe, as he was passing on his way in his coach and six, was cruelly assassinated by some of the Presbyterians, (to whom he had been himself a rigid persecutor,) and who, as they were murdering him, loaded him with the epithets of “apostate,” “betrayer” and “persecutor,” etc.

53Serious dying, as well as living testimonies, chap. xxi. sect. 34. “No Cross no Crown.”

54She died in 1680, and this passage was inserted in a second edition of “No Cross, No Crown.”

55Afterwards James II.

56The seat of Lord Conway. Lady Conway was a person of great piety, and a favourer of friends. In a letter to the learned and excellent Dr. Henry More (who was her particular friend) she thus expresses herself concerning them:

“Your conversation with them (the Friends) at London, might be, as you express it, charitably intended, like that of a physician frequenting his patients for the increase or confirmation of their health; but must profess, that my converse with them is, to receive health and refreshment from them.”—See Appendix to Barclay's Second Edition of I. Penington's Letters, p. 311.

57See “Jaffray and the Friends in Scotland,” by J. Barclay, p. 415.

58Barclay's Friends in Scotland, p. 443.

59George himself lived, not much above two weeks after the date of this epistle.

60A phrase peculiar to this age, and to this society; and which signifies, “you must come up to the apprehension of what is right, which exists in their consciences”—or “you must not disappoint their perception of what is good;”—and it will be scarcely necessary to suggest to the thoughtful reader, that it is by a very high standard of rectitude, that the conduct of religious professors is measured; how low soever, be that whereby the measurers may estimate themselves.

61See Ezekiel, xviii. 23; Isaiah, xlix. 6; John, iii. 16, and i. 9; Titus, ii. 11; Eph. v. 13; Heb. ii. 9.

62It seems indeed, somewhat incongruous to hear a supplication for the aid of the Holy Spirit “to give a word in season,” when such words as are to be spoken are already gathered, and lying in black and white on the desk before the preacher!

63Sir James Mackintosh also observes, with respect to Barclay and his “Apology:” “Of those first who systematized, and perhaps insensibly softened the Quakers' creed, was Barclay, a gentleman of Scotland, in his Apology for the Quakers; a masterpiece of ingenious reasoning, and a model of argumentative composition, which extorted praise from Bayle, one of the most acute and least fanatical of men.”— Mackintosh's Revolution in England, p. 169.

64In his preface to G. Fox's Journal, pp. 30 and 31.

65William Law.

66From an old work, entitled “A brief Collection of remarkable Passages, etc. relating to Margaret Fell,” (p. 4,) and from which the present account of her is taken.

67It would seem by this and other instances, that the execution of the severe sentence of premunire, was somewhat mitigated, or Margaret would have had no house to go to. In the case of Francis Howgill also, who was premunired, and died in prison, it appears that he had liberty to make a will, and dispose of his estate.

68She had seven daughters and one son by her first marriage.

69Isaac Penington.—See his Epistle to Friends, vol. ii p. 645, of his Works, in two vols.

70Isaac Penington, vol i. p. 302 of his Works.

71Isaac Penington. See his Letters, published by J. Barclay, p. 84.

Table of Contents

The Obedience of Faith. Chapter I.

Chapter II.

Chapter III.

Chapter IV.

Chapter V.

Chapter VI.

Chapter VII.

Chapter VIII.

Chapter IX.

Chapter X.

Chapter XI.

Chapter XII.

Chapter XIII.

Chapter XIV.

Chapter XV.

Chapter XVI.

Chapter XVII.

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI