Part 6

After spending some two years in Pennsylvania and seeing Philadelphia grow until it had 2,500 inhabitants, William Penn returned home in 1684. He had two special reasons for doing so. He had had many disputes with Lord Baltimore, the Roman Catholic proprietor of Maryland, respecting boundaries, and having failed to come to terms, he was applying to the Lords of Plantations to decide the case. Then again the persecution of the Quakers was very bitter, and he hoped he might be able by means of the royal favour to check its severity. He reached home early in October. As to the persecution nothing was done to purpose until James II. ascended the throne, when 1200 Quakers were liberated from prison. But the credit of inclining the royal mind to clemency must not be given to Penn alone. Barclay and George Whitehead had much to do with it (see sketch of Barclay).

James at once showed Penn marked favour. He would converse with him whilst peers were kept waiting. He told him frankly "he would deal openly with his subjects. He himself was a Catholic, and he desired no peaceable person to be disturbed on account of his opinions; but ... with the new parliament would rest the power legally to establish liberty of conscience." No way of gaining the king's ear would compare with securing the Friend as advocate. So greatly was he sought that we are told by Gerard Croese (certainly not a very trustworthy authority) that two hundred applicants sometimes thronged his house at once to secure his interest. We must remember however that Barclay's influence was almost as great. The king was bent on securing the good will of the Quaker leaders. They alone amongst Protestants demanded religious liberty for Catholics; they alone showed them charity. Besides, to shew kindness to the Quakers gave a colour to the king's profession that he was for general toleration, not merely for favour to the Catholics. Whilst James II. was king, therefore, Penn exerted great influence at court. Rightly or wrongly he believed that James and some of his friends, notably the duke of Buckingham, were disposed to labour heartily for liberty of conscience. His friend Barclay had the same confidence as regards the king. It is easy for us to be wise after the event, and to believe that in all this James was scheming for Catholic ascendancy; but that must not prevent our giving Penn credit for good faith. Penn used his utmost influence to strengthen this disposition. In 1686, when on a "religious visit" to Holland, he undertook a commission from the king to the Prince of Orange to induce him to favour a general toleration of religious opinions in England, and the removal of all tests. This commission brought him into collision with Burnett, who was at the same court pleading for toleration but for retaining tests. Their intercourse left such a bitterness in the mind of Burnett that he can never mention Penn but with acrimony.

For this attendance at court he had to pay the penalty of being 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.