Part 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WILLIAM PENN,

THE

FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA.

PREFACE.

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

WILLIAM PENN,

THE

FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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