suspected a Papist. At his very first public discussion with Vincent,
the nickname Jesuit had been given him and had stuck to him ever
after. The Quakers were many of them branded with the same opprobrious
name. In the case of Barclay, there was his early training and boyish
conversion to Romanism, and the fact that many of his family were
Catholics, to give plausibility to the charge. As to the body at large,
"it was believed that the doctrine of the inner light was taught by
Jesuit, and that a Franciscan friar had said no churches came so
near his own as the Quakers."[11] The Friends could not accept the
ordinary teaching of the supremacy of the Bible as a rule of faith,
and sometimes on this point their destructive criticism was welcome to
Catholics but galling to Protestants. Then they could not take the oath
of allegiance and supremacy. So the popular charge was not without some
plausible though utterly delusive pretexts.
[11] Penn himself writes "There is a people called 'the silent' or
'people of rest' in Italy, at Naples and at Rome itself, that come
near Friends; an inward people from all ceremonies and self-worship,
[he means worship unprompted and unaided by the Holy Spirit,] seekers,
the Pope and two cardinals favour them. A poor Spanish Friar, called
Molino, is the first of them. A thousand in Naples it is thought."--DR.
STOUGHTON'S LIFE, p. 228.
Now the impression that Penn was a Jesuit at heart, in spite of his
Quaker dress and profession, gained ground fast. Tillotson had his
fears that the charge was true, and said so; but on Penn assuring
him that there was no truth in the charge, he fully and honourably
apologised. But for long the suspicion clung to Penn and would not
be cast off. That he was determined in all things to keep a clear
conscience at all costs is manifest from his conduct in connection
with James' efforts to secure Magdalen College, Oxford, for one of
his tools. Penn had several times before strained his favour with the
king to the last point of endurance, until in one instance the king
threatened to turn him out of the room. In this case he wrote a letter
so bold and uncompromising as to fill us with amazement. He calls the
act one which could not in justice be defended. Such mandates as the
king addressed to the fellows he calls a force to conscience and not
very agreeable to his other gracious indulgences. Yet because in this
matter Penn at first, before he fully understood the case, thought some
concessions might be made by the College, Macaulay charges him with
simony of the very worst kind. The only other ground for such a charge
is the jesting remark of Penn to the deputation that waited on him at
Windsor. "If the Bishop of Oxford die, Dr. Hough may be made bishop.
What think you of that, gentlemen?" This might have been understood as
a hint that, if Dr. Hough would withdraw his opposition, it might be
better for him, _if it had not been for Dr. Hough's own words_. But
whatever Penn may have said in jest (possibly not wisely) we should
remember that Dr. Hough after the interview thanked God that _he did
not hint at a compromise_.
Penn had already used his influence with the king in favour of John
Locke. On his return from Holland, he obtained a pardon for "such
exiled Presbyterians as were not guilty of treason." One of these was
Sir Robert Stuart, of Coltness, who on returning home found his estates
in the hands of James, Earl of Arran. The two friends met in London,
and Penn congratulated the restored exile. "Ah! Mr. Penn, Arran has got
my estate, and I fear my situation is about to be now worse than ever."
"What dost thou say?" exclaimed Penn, "thou surprises and grievest me
exceedingly. Come to my house to-morrow, and I will set matters right."
Penn at once sought the Earl of Arran. "What is this, friend James,
that I hear of thee? Thou hast taken possession of Coltness' estate.
Thou knowest _that it is not thine_." The Earl replied, "That estate I
paid a great price for. I received no other reward for my expensive and
troublesome embassy to France except this estate, and I am certainly
much out of pocket by the bargain." "All very well, friend James, but
of this assure thyself, that if thou dost not give this moment an
order on thy chamberlain for £100 to Coltness, to carry him down to
his native country, and £100 to subsist on till matters are adjusted,
I will make it as many thousands out of thy way with the king." The
earl complied, and after the Revolution Coltness recovered his estate.
The earl had to refund all the rents he had received, less by the £300
he had advanced. This may be justice, but it was carried out in rather
high-handed fashion.
At the Yearly Meeting in May, 1687, the Quakers at Penn's instance
expressed their gratitude to the king for the declaration of liberty
of conscience for England which he had issued in the previous month.
Mindful however of the strain of royal power by which the relief was
obtained, they inserted in the address this significant clause:--"We
hope the good effects thereof for the peace, trade, and prosperity of
the Kingdom will produce _such a concurrence from the Parliament_ as
may secure it to our posterity in after times." The King in his reply
to the deputation who presented the address, said he hoped before he
died to settle it so that after ages shall have no reason to alter it.
Events now rapidly developed the Revolution of 1688. Penn had enjoyed
the favour of James, and had felt for him some real regard in spite of
his faults. So when William became King, his position was difficult
in the extreme. He met the danger with characteristic truthfulness
and openness. In his maxims, he says, "Nothing needs a trick, but a
trick, sincerity loathes one." So he now acted. He avowed his past
relations to the dethroned Monarch. He did not pretend to have changed,
but he should accept the result of events, and certainly could not
conscientiously plot against the Government. He was several times
arrested and examined, but his perfect innocence was always clearly
established. It might be proved by an intercepted letter that James
had written to him, but he answered that he could not prevent that; it
did not prove that he had treasonable designs. William, who had been
favourably impressed by him at the Hague, believed his assertions.
In 1689, he had the joy of seeing his labours crowned by the passing
of the Act of Toleration. For this he had toiled and suffered, written
books and held conferences. Now the end was gained, and his friends and
other Dissenters might worship God in peace. Yet strange to say, from
this time the number of Quakers so far from increasing, diminished.
They had thriven in adversity, in prosperity they declined. But
probably one great reason was that quietism overspread the Society, and
its aggressive efforts languished. Its members continued faithful to
their "testimonies," but became sadly careless about the unconverted
around them. Their grandest evangelist, Fox, was their strongest
bulwark against the quietistic spirit. He not only worked indefatigably
himself, but was very successful in stirring up and directing others.
In 1690, he was called to his rest. Penn hovered around his dying bed,
and when all over, he sent the news to Fox's widow in a letter full of
warm sympathy and generous appreciation of his leader, or "honourable
elder," as Friends preferred to call him. In spite of Fox's very
noticeable imperfections, none could appreciate better than Penn his
many excellencies and his energetic and noble-spirited labours. Only a
few weeks before, Robert Barclay was laid to rest in his own grounds
at Ury. As a gentleman and a scholar, no doubt there were points of
sympathy between him and Penn which did not link Fox and Penn. But in
aggressive energy, in evangelistic labours, and in entire freedom from
the taint of quietism, Fox was much more after Penn's own heart than
was Barclay. He edited Fox's journal and Barclay's works, supplying
each with an elaborate preface.
During the next four years, he was mostly "in retirement" in private
lodgings, in London, to avoid the warrants issued against him at the
instance of an infamous informer, named Fuller. This man was afterwards
denounced by Parliament as a notorious cheat and impostor. Yet, it
is evident that he was really dangerous, for one of his victims was
actually executed. So Penn deemed it wisest to live in privacy till
the storm blew over. But he was far from idle. Besides the work
already mentioned, he wrote his famous "Maxims" and other books. Other
calamities befel him one after another, until his condition was indeed
forlorn. The King deprived him of the government of Pennsylvania.
Roguish agents robbed and defrauded him, until neither his colony nor
his Irish estates yielded him anything. He was reduced to such straits,
that when once he thought of going to Pennsylvania he had not the
means. Friends looked coldly on him, in spite of his pathetic appeal to
them not to forsake him in his hour of need. To fill up the bitter cup,
in 1693 he lost his wife, the joy and consolation of his days of trial,
the constant, indefatigable, and undaunted sharer of his labours. He
had the melancholy knowledge that her end was hastened by her taking to
heart her husband's crushing cares and unmerited ill-usage.
The coolness of the Quakers needs explanation. There was then, as now,
a strong feeling amongst some religious people against Christian men
taking an active part in public affairs. Penn was too strong a man to
yield to it, but it caused him much trouble and suffering. And now that
William reigned, and that Penn's position, instead of being a help and
a protection to Friends, caused them to be suspected of disloyalty,
this feeling was intensified. George Fox's son-in-law, Thomas Lower,
even sketched a form of apology, which Penn was to sign to satisfy the
weaker brethren. Penn once joined some Friends in Pennsylvania when
they had given him up, supposing that opposing winds and tide made his
coming impossible. When they expressed their astonishment at seeing him
under the circumstances, he answered with that ready pleasantry which
ever characterised him, "I have been sailing against wind and tide all
my life."
But, with sublime Christian heroism, he accepted his lot. He
strengthened himself by much waiting on God, and by such intercourse
with the best spirits around him as circumstances permitted. In
his Maxims we have not only whatever of his own prudence could be
crystallised; we have also clear evidence of his own habit of looking
at earthly things in heavenly light, and of endeavouring to discover
their spiritual meaning and use.
At last, in God's mercy, the tide turned. The night had been very dark,
but the tardy dawn came at length, and ushered in a bright though not a
cloudless day. Cruelly deserted by the colonists, for whom he had done
and suffered so much, he found gratitude amongst "worldly" statesmen
and courtiers. The Earl of Rochester, Lord Somers, and others took
the case in hand. He asked them to gain him a full and public hearing
before the King and Council. His defence was completely successful.
The charges against him were quashed. It was proved that he had done
nothing to forfeit his patent, and was restored to his government and
proprietary. This consolation came to him at a time when it was greatly
needed. He had lost his wife, and now his favorite son, Springett, was
slowly dying of consumption.
We must not pass by the death of his wife so briefly. No doubt, the
sad event was hastened by her wifely sympathy with her husband in his
great troubles. Yet she had the happiness of seeing the bulk of them
removed before she died. "She quietly expired," says Penn, "in my arms,
her head upon my bosom, with a sensible and devout resignation of her
soul to Almighty God. I hope I may say she was a public as well as
private loss, for she was not only an excellent wife and mother, but
an entire and constant friend, of a more than common capacity, and
greater modesty and humility, yet most equal and undaunted in danger."
Their wedded life had been a beautiful blending of romantic passion
with sober Christian usefulness. Religion, and culture, and practical
philanthropy had gone hand-in-hand in their social life.
Whilst speaking of this bitter cross, it will be well to anticipate a
little, and record the death of his favorite son, Springett. This noble
and gifted youth died of consumption. Penn did all that a father's love
could suggest, all that personal attention could do to lengthen his
days. But the end, though slow in its approach, was yet too sure, and
the darling boy expired in his father's arms early in 1696.
The younger son, William, was of a very different stamp. Cavalier
grace, and sensuousness which degenerated into sensuality, marked his
character. Martial and generous in disposition, with no mean capacity
for business, he early shewed a tendency to idle frivolousness and
then to gross indulgence, which caused his father the keenest pain.
The refined enjoyments of his home were not to his taste, so he sought
in foreign cities the worst indulgences they could afford. And when
his father was far away in Pennsylvania, he launched out into riot and
excesses which filled that father's heart with shame and dismay.
Early in 1696, William Penn married as his second wife Hannah
Callowhill of Bristol, a woman of great energy and ability. She was an
admirable helper in all good works.
For six years after his restoration to his rights, Penn was content to
leave Pennsylvania in the hands of his cousin, Colonel Markham. His
principal employments then were literary and ministerial.
In 1694, we find him using his new-found liberty to preach in the West
of England. His standing in the Society of Friends had been re-assured;
the usual certificate given by the brethren to all their preachers who
travel, stating that he was a "minister in unity and good esteem among
us," could be freely given, and he visited his brethren with comfort
and acceptance. He travelled, therefore, in the Western counties,
"having meetings almost daily in the most considerable towns and other
places in those counties, to which the people flocked abundantly;
and his testimony to the truth answering to that of God in their
consciences was assented to by many." We are told that the Mayors of
these towns generally consented to their having the Town Halls for
their meetings, "for the respect they had for him, few places else
being sufficient to hold the meetings." Returning to London, he had
a more painful duty to perform, which the following extract from a
contemporary letter describes.
Henry Gouldney, of London, to Robert Barclay, junr.,
28th of 12th mo., 1694.
"Being now a writing, I think it not unfit to acquaint
thee in a brief hint what passed at Ratcliff meeting, last
First-day (Sunday) week, where was William Penn, John
Vaughton, and George Keith. The latter having had no time
till the breaking up of the meeting, he then desired to
be heard. Friends all stayed. After a short appologie, he
fell a reflecting on the manner of John Vaughton's going
to prayer, calling it a hasty sacrifice, comparing to
Saul's. Then he fell upon doctrinall points, reflecting on
our unsoundness, particularly the epistle of John i. 7;
saying that the blood there mentioned was by us preacht
only misticall, whereas, he affirmed, it had no such
signification, neither did any there say to the contrary.
In short, the tendency of all he said was to expose Friends
as unsound. 'Twas a great and mixt meeting. William Penn
grew uneasy; after about a quarter-of-an-hour, he stood up,
saying to this purpose, 'In the name of the Lord, he was
concerned to sound the truth over the head of this apostate
and common opposer.' After a few words, George Keith was
silent. William Penn opened to the people our belief of the
virtue and efficacy of the blessed blood shed on the Cross;
and also shewed the people the reason why we did not so
frequently press Christ's death and sufferings as in the
Apostles' days, they being concerned among such as believed
not his outward coming, but among Christiandom was the
notion generally held, but that of the inward denied and
opposed. When he had done, George Keith would be speaking,
but Friends went away, and left him in a great anger and
quarrell."
In Barclay's "Inner Life, &c.," it is rightly said that Keith's
expulsion was not for unsound doctrine, though he charged the brethren
with being unsound, but for contempt of authority. He tried to gather
a congregation in London, but his following seems to have very soon
dwindled, for a letter to Robert Barclay, junr., dated London, 22nd of
December, 1696, after speaking of the fierce counterfires of pamphlets
concerning his controversy, says "Last Fifth-day (Thursday) George
Keith had but 10 or 12 at his meeting. His show is much over. But his
enmity remains. Oh, that he might see his declension, and repent of the
evil he hath done, if it be the Lord's will."
George Keith had been Penn's fellow-labourer and fellow-sufferer. To
see him now attacking his old friends, and manifesting such a bitter
and factious spirit, was most painful. In 1696, after Keith was
disowned by the Society Penn endeavoured to neutralize the effect of
his misrepresentations by a work entitled "More work for George Keith."
In this, he reproduces from Keith's former publications abundant
replies to his present statements. There is ample proof that, as in
Nayler's case, Friends clung lovingly to the misguided man to the very
last.[12] [For his after confession of his fault see sketch of Barclay.]
[12] To this period belongs also the following letter, inserted as a
specimen of Penn's familiar correspondence with his brethren. The three
or four months service, to which he refers, is the journey in the West,
already spoken of.
W. Penn to R. B., junr.
London, the 7th of the 12th mo., 1694.
Dear and well-beloved Friend,
My heart is much affected with the Lord's goodness to thee
and thy dear relations, that he has remembered you, among
the many in Israel, whom this day he is visiting with his
loving power and spring of life, so that they had have
sitten dry and barren, are now blossoming as a rose and
bringing forth to the praises of Him that has called them.
Wherefore, dear Robert, let thine eye be above the world
and the comforts that fade, to the unfading glory, and keep
close to the Lord, that thou mayest come through openings
and visions to possessions, and like a good souldier
encounter the enemy in his appearances as well to ensnare
by the lawful as the unlawful things; and approve thy
heart to the Lord in the way of the Cross and daily dying
and living. O! great is the mystery of godliness, but the
grace is sufficient! I rejoice at Peter Gardiner's good
service; the Lord will work when, how, and by whom He will.
I have had three or four months sore travel with blessed
success; blessed be His Name.... Dear Robert, in the love
of the precious truth, in which I desire thou maist grow up
to fill thy dear and honorable father's place, I bid thee
farewell. I am,
Thy reall and affectionate friend,
WILLIAM PENN.
P. S.--My journey for Ireland will not be soon, as I hoped,
but shall inform thee. Vale.
It has ever been a custom of the Quakers to seek the presence of the
great and the powerful, not for personal advantages, but in order
to urge on them the claims of religion, and the opportunities and
responsibilities of their position. In many instances, the results of
these interviews speak for themselves, but as they justly hold, duty
does not depend on results. In such a spirit, William Penn sought Peter
the Great, in 1696, when he was working as a shipwright, at Greenwich.
The young Czar asked many questions about the Friends and their views.
It is amusing to find him asking Thomas Story of what use would they be
to any kingdom if they would not fight. That he was more than amused
by the peculiar views and manners of the Friends, is evident from his
remark after a sermon preached by a Friend in Denmark, that whoever
could live according to such doctrines, would be happy.
Penn made a second, and as it proved, a final voyage to America, in
1699. He intended to settle there with his wife and family, and made
his arrangements accordingly. But events were too strong for him, and
he returned in about two years, and never again crossed the Atlantic.
It is certain, however, that even after this, he intended to return and
spend the rest of his days in the colony. In a letter written three
years afterwards, he said, "Had you settled a reasonable revenue, I
would have returned and laid my bones among you, and my wife's, too,
after her mother's death."
Yet, in this short time, he had done much for Pennsylvania. Bills
against piracy and smuggling, and for the just treatment of negroes,
had been passed; better arrangements for the health and improvement of
Philadelphia had been made, and a new Charter or frame of Government,
and a just system of taxation had been introduced, the expense of
governing the Province having, hitherto, fallen on the Governor. Even
now, no provision was made for his claims as proprietor. Treaties
were made with the Susquehannah and other tribes of Indians; and
finally, just on the eve of the Governor's departure, Philadelphia
was incorporated. Many minor acts were passed, some of them curiously
illustrating the colonists' ideas of a paternal and religious
government. Not only were sins against purity and honesty to be
punished, but, amongst others, bills were passed on the following
matters: the spreading of false news, the names of the days and months
of the year, to prevent cursing and swearing, against scolding, for the
dimensions of casks, and true packing of meat, against drunkenness and
drinking healths, and against selling rum to the Indians. This much was
accomplished by the Assembly; probably, more would have been done, but
for abounding jealousies. The Province and the other Territories (the
districts purchased from the Duke of York) were jealous of each other,
and both were jealous of the Governor.
In July, 1701, Penn received a communication from the king, which
sorely puzzled him. It demanded that the American proprietaries should
unite for the defence of the Colonies, and that Pennsylvania should
contribute £350 for the defence of the New York frontier. Apostle of
peace though he was, he could do no otherwise than lay the letter
before the Assembly. That body delayed and finessed, and finally,
saying nothing of peace principles, pleaded their poverty as a reason
for postponing the further consideration of the matter, until it was
more urgent. Thus, this question of peace, which so long divided
Pennsylvania, was for the present shelved. But it is the boast of
Friends that for 70 years Pennsylvania had no army, and though so
near both Indians and Frenchmen, suffered nothing through the lack of
one. That State "subsisted in the midst of six Indian nations," says
Oldmixon, "without so much as a militia for her defence. Whatever the
quarrels of the Pennsylvanian Indians were with others, they uniformly
respected and held as it were sacred, the territories of William Penn.
The Pennsylvanians never lost man, woman, or child by them, which
neither the colony of Maryland, nor that of Virginia could say, no more
than the great colony of New England." To complete the argument for
non-resistance, see what occurred when Pennsylvania got an army. "From
that hour the Pennsylvanians transferred their confidence in Christian
principles to a confidence in their arms; and from that hour to the
present they have been subject to war." (Dymond's Essays, 4th edition,
p. 192.)
But it must not be supposed that the refusal to fight meant either
unwillingness or inability to use moral means for self-protection. In
1701, Penn heard of a riot in East Jersey, and set off at once with
some friends to quell it. It was put down before he reached the spot,
but gave him occasion fully to state his views. "If lenitives would not
do, coercives should be tried. The leaders should be eyed, and some
should be forced to declare them by the rigour of the law; and those
who were found to be such should bear the burden of such sedition,
which would be the best way to behead the body without danger."