CHAPTER XI.
The civil wars, and the changes consequent upon the taking of Oxford, left the University in a deplorable condition. Many Fellows and Scholars were dead. Men of learning and high character had been ejected. No admissions from Westminster, Eton, St. Paul's, Merchant Tailors, or other public schools had taken place during five or six years; and parents, in times so troubled, had naturally felt unwilling to send their sons to a place which was almost as much of a camp as of a school.
But prospects brightened after the war. Some who had fled when the city of Oxford was garrisoned now returned, and were promoted according to seniority. Graduates too came from Cambridge, and helped to fill up vacancies; also young men long kept at home, entered their names upon the college books, and supplies from public schools were to some extent renewed.
Scenes of festivity revived. On the 17th of May, 1649, the University prepared for the arrival of two distinguished visitors. Fairfax and Cromwell, with a staff of officers, were on their way to receive academic honours; and on their arrival, being welcomed with great rejoicing, they were at once conducted to the apartments of the Warden of All Souls, where they received a magnificent entertainment. Heads of houses paid their respects, and one of the fellows of the hospitable college in which they were lodged delivered a congratulatory speech, which Wood reports to have been a bad one, "but good enough for the occasion." The hero of Naseby assured the authorities that he and his companions were well aware no commonwealth could flourish without learning, and that whatever the world said to the contrary they meant to encourage it more and more. He and his companions, with their suite, dined at the table of the President of Magdalen, and afterwards played bowls on the college green. In the afternoon, the degree of Doctor of Laws was conferred on the generals, and that of Master of Arts on the principal officers. The chieftains were robed in scarlet, and with the exception of the hood and square cap—which some Puritans scrupled to wear—and the silver staves—which the beadles had not been able to obtain from their predecessors in office—the appearance of things in the Convocation House remained much as usual. All the members standing bareheaded, Proctor Zanchy presented the guests to the Vice-Chancellor, and delivered a short speech. The speech is not reported, but if an incident, such as occurred when South was conducting a soldier to receive an honorary degree, had taken place on this occasion, the witticism of that orator would have been very appropriate:—"Præsento vobis virum hunc bellicosissmum," commenced the speaker. Just then the warrior happened suddenly to turn round, "Qui nunquam antea tergiversatus est," added the ready wit.
The Earl of Pembroke, who had been Chancellor, died in January, 1650. At a convocation held twelve months afterwards, the University elected Cromwell to the vacant office. Warriors seem not the fittest persons for such a post, but as respects the University which placed Wellington in the chair once occupied by Cromwell many will agree with Kohl: "These are the two most remarkable Chancellors of Oxford, ever heard of."
When Dr. Fell had been ejected from the Deanery of Christ Church, Dr. Edward Reynolds, a Presbyterian, succeeded him for a short period, after which Dr. Owen, the Independent filled the office. Although he had been a student in the University his Independency had excited such strong prejudices, that on his taking a Doctor's degree some did "intend to battle him, when he came to dispute, thinking that as he had been so long time absent from the University, he would be unready both in speaking Latin and disputing. He was better prepared, however, than they were aware of, and keeping them to the strict rules of disputation, he managed the whole exercise with such exactness as frustrated their expectations."[244]
Owen was admirably fitted for the station which he occupied. To a rare amount of theological learning he united personal endowments and accomplishments, such as carry with them an indefinable influence, and command respect even from the prejudiced. He had a dignified presence, a face not soon to be forgotten, eyes of penetrating brightness, lips of firm resolve, a countenance generally very grave, and which could be very stern, profuse locks curling over the shoulder, and altogether the air and bearing of a gentleman. His appearance had arrested Cromwell's notice. "Sir," said the general, laying his hand on Owen's shoulder, "you are a person I must be acquainted with." "That," replied the Divine; with the courtliness of a cavalier, "will be much more to my advantage than yours." They became friends. Cromwell honoured Owen, and nominated him to the Vice-Chancellorship after the Parliament had appointed him to the Deanery.
Although Owen rose to the Vice-Chancellorship in September, 1652, it is remarkable that there is no annual oration by him for the year 1653.[245] The circumstance becomes significant on a perusal of the oration for 1654, and some light is thrown on the state of the University during the year when the oration was omitted. In 1654, the speaker pointedly alludes to some extraordinary perils the University had just survived.[246] There had been a conflict, he said, out of which the University rose, not with trophies, spoils, and garlands, but with scars, and with torn standards, dragged in dust. He and his learned colleagues had fought for what had been handed down from antiquity—the depository of past ages, and the seed-plot of precious hopes. They had put to flight wine-shops, ale-sellers, mimics, farces, buffoons, the public riots, and disgraceful scenes infesting the streets. Halls and edifices had been deserted and insulted, tottering to their fall, supporters had gone, props were removed, and things presented a melancholy spectacle; but God had preserved and wonderfully restored the University, after winds and storms had assailed it in vain. Under Owen's rhetorical Latin, so characteristic of the age, we discover the fact that the former year, when the annual oration had been omitted, was one of strange confusion in Oxford.
The oration of 1657 further indicates the difficulties of the year 1653, and touches upon some which seemed far more threatening than any mentioned in the former speech. Five years—said Owen—had passed since his elevation to office, and for two years after that elevation the critical situation of the University had been a subject for astrologers and newspapers—to such a pitch did things arrive that to have advocated public schools would have been reckoned offensive to religion. Everything disgraceful was imputed to the advocates of learning. Affairs were in confusion, and on the edge of the pit, and the University was saved by a miracle. "When," he adds, "it appeared to what length audacity, rage, and ignorance would carry those from whom better things might have been expected, the Supreme Arbiter of Events so frustrated their efforts in a moment, that with all their strength they scarcely could take care of themselves who three days before were in the act of devouring us. Nothing remained to these wretched creatures except great disgrace, everlasting infamy of the unprincipled attempt upon the seats of learning, which God in His displeasure averted."[247]
This passage points to a kind of danger different from that which is deplored in the earlier oration. Then the Vice-Chancellor spoke of internal confusions, of the undisciplined condition of the colleges, and of the riotous conduct of the gownsmen and townspeople: now his speech relates to external attacks, to opinions afloat in the country, and to unprincipled attempts made by enemies of learning for the overthrow of the Universities altogether. The "three days" are most significant words, and we cannot help connecting the expression with that critical period when the Little Parliament was arrested by Cromwell in its destructive career.
The tendencies of that Parliament have been indicated, and although Clarendon is a prejudiced witness in the case, yet making on that ground some abatement from his evidence, it appears there is truth in his remark, that the House proposed the sale of lands belonging to the Universities, and that the moneys arising from such sale should be employed for the public service. No proof exists, as far as we are aware, of any resolution or motion to that effect, yet it seems more than possible that such things might be talked of in the Little Parliament by some of the more fanatical of its members. There must have been some good reason for the remark which Cromwell made in a speech he delivered in the year 1657. "What the issue of that meeting (the Little Parliament) would have been 'seemed questionable,' and was feared; upon which the sober men of that meeting did withdraw; and came and returned my power as far as they could,—they did actually the greater part of them,—into my hands, professing and believing that the issue of that meeting would have been the subversion of your laws, and of all the liberties of this nation, the destruction of the ministers of this nation, in a word the confusion of all things."[248] Further evidence might be cited to the same effect,[249] nor are there wanting proofs, as will be seen hereafter, that perilous changes were contemplated, and that even certain ministers of religion at that time so undervalued learning as to lead the attack which was made on the Universities. Dell and Webster, who made themselves conspicuous in this respect, will be noticed in connection with Cambridge.
During the period in which Owen held the Vice-Chancellorship at Oxford, he devoted himself to the accomplishment of academical reforms. He was anxious to abolish the use of unnecessary oaths, to multiply public exercises for the improvement of students, to prevent gownsmen from leading idle lives, to modify the public acts so as to render them occasions for useful discussion, and to abolish the custom of allowing the terræ filius (as he was called) to indulge in unseemly satire and vulgar abuse. But he did not succeed in all his plans, in consequence of the opposition which was made by parties in the University.
One curious custom abolished by the Parliamentary visitors before Owen became Vice-Chancellor may be mentioned here. Upon the decease of any one of the heads of houses, or of any other distinguished person, the University bellman put on the gown and formalities of the defunct, and with his bell proclaimed in every hall and college that it had pleased God to take out of this world the individual whom the official so strangely represented. He gave notice, at the same time, that on such a day the deceased would be solemnly interred. Besides abolishing this odd practice, the visitors prohibited the bellman's going before the corpse from the college to the church.[250]
Anthony Wood is sadly distressed at the Vice-Chancellor's irregular proceedings with regard to college habits,[251] and, indeed, this is the principal complaint which he urges against his administration. "Instead of short hair, collar-band, and cassock in the pulpit," the Oxford historian complains, "we might have beheld long powdered hair, large hands, and shirts half hanging out at their sleeve, and they themselves accounting nothing more ridiculous than starch formality. As for caps, square or round, none were worn publicly only in some colleges at refection or scholastic exercises." Hoods, he says, were used at length by none but the Proctors, and the Vice-Chancellor sat with his hat on, 'and that cockt.' He went "in quirpo like a young scholar, with powdered hair, snake-bone bandstrings, (or bandstrings having large tassels), lawn band, a large set of ribands pointed, at his knees, and Spanish leather boots with large lawn tops."[252] The representation brings the Puritan before us in the costume of a Cavalier, and, if correct, is certainly irreconcilable with the pictures commonly drawn of the class of persons to whom Owen belonged. A Roundhead thus attired is a very anomalous being, and the description makes us suspect that, let the Dean have dressed as he might, he could not have pleased his angry critic. Indeed the Puritans have been represented by certain historians in such a way as to remind one of the pictures of Brueghel, who so accustomed himself to paint witches and imps, that when he tried to depict a man he was sure to make him look like a devil.[253]
It may be interesting here to pause for a moment, and to notice some of the remarkable individuals who were connected with the University at the time of the Commonwealth.
Amongst the Canons of Christchurch was Ralph Button, who, on his election to a Fellowship at Exeter College, won from Dr. Prideaux the witty compliment, that all who were elected besides him were "not worth a button;" and, amongst the gownsmen, who in those days paced the quadrangle, or loitered in the green meadows of that magnificent foundation, were other men of whom Oxford has since been proud. A pale, delicate young student might have been seen there, who was destined to carry his genius into the regions of metaphysics, and to expound with rare sagacity and power the principles of religious toleration. There, also, was a hearty-looking Bachelor of Arts, with a keen, but scarcely good-humoured expression, whose eloquence and wit afterwards rendered him one of the cleverest, if not one of the best preachers of the Church of England. John Locke and Robert South were both Christchurch men, and another distinguished contemporary of a different character was Philip Henry.
On reaching the grey tower of Magdalen we might have seen presiding over that foundation, Dr. Thomas Goodwin, one of "the two atlasses and patriarchs of Independency,"[254] as Wood calls him—already mentioned in this work as a member of the Westminster Assembly—and we might have met with two of the Fellows—John Howe[255] and Theophilus Gale—who, by their increasing familiarity with Greek literature, were then laying up ample stores for the construction of their great works, "The Living Temple," and "The Court of the Gentiles."
Dr. Daniel Greenwood, whom Neal styles "a Profound Scholar and Divine," and whom Wood admits to have been "a severe and good governor," was Principal of Brazen Nose, and Dr. John Conant was Rector of Exeter, respecting whom Prideaux, amongst his numerous witticisms, observed, "Conanti nihil difficile." Dr. Robert Harris, President of Trinity, is described as skilful in Hebrew Chronology, Church History, and Patristic Literature; and Dr. Edmund Staunton, President of Corpus, has been called a Walking Concordance, on account of his minute knowledge of the Holy Scriptures. Dr. Joshua Hoyle, Master of University College, previous to his residence in Oxford, had been Divinity Professor in Dublin, where he spent more than fifteen years in studying the Popish controversy, and in answering the works of Bellarmine. Henry Wilkinson—commonly styled Dean Harry—Principal of Magdalen Hall, secured so much esteem from the Royalists, that at the Restoration they were anxious to retain his services, but he refused to conform. He is described by Wood as "courteous in speech and carriage, communicative of his knowledge, generous and charitable to the poor; and so public-spirited—that he always minded the common good more than his own private concerns." Dr. John Wilkins, of Wadham, who married Oliver Cromwell's sister, and was afterwards promoted to the mastership of Trinity College, Cambridge, was almost equally eminent as a theologian, a critic, a preacher, and a mathematician. The University of Oxford at the same time counted in the number of her professors, Pocock, the Orientalist; Seth Ward, the astronomer; Wallis, the geometrician; and Lewis De Moulin, a learned foreigner: besides others who, though now little known, were of high reputation in their own day. Owen said, in 1653, and, perhaps, with still more confidence, he might have said it a few years afterwards, that the heads of Houses at that time merited honour of the Church for candour, diligence, erudition, and politeness; and that the University had never been surpassed by any society in the world, in point of proper respect and esteem for piety, for manners, orderly and Christian, and for a due regard to doctrines, arts, languages, and science.[256] In addition to those now mentioned there were other remarkable persons dwelling within the University precincts. In the Bodleian library, Henry Stubbe held the office of second keeper. A reader of all kinds of books, at home in ecclesiastical and profane history, as well as in mathematical studies, he also spoke Greek and Latin with much ease; and, according to his eulogists, could "talk on various sciences with an eloquent tongue, or with his dexterous pen write so as none could equal, answer, or come near him."[257] In a recess of the library, Elias Ashmole often sat pouring over old coins, for he had come to make a catalogue of the numismatic collection given to the Bodleian by Archbishop Laud. Among the gownsmen were many young scholars and divines rising into distinction, whose names were afterwards to command respect in the republic of letters, or in the offices of the Church: Wadham could point to Sprat, afterwards Bishop of Rochester—Queen's to Compton, who became Bishop of London—Lincoln, Magdalen, Hart Hall, and Corpus Christi all numbered amongst their students future prelates. Sir Christopher Wren, at that time accounted a prodigy of genius,[258] Dr. Whitby, the fierce but able anti-Calvinist; Matthew Poole, the commentator; and Anthony Wood, the antiquary and historian, were also educated at Oxford during the Commonwealth.
It is interesting to find that John Evelyn visited Oxford on the 6th of July, 1654, "the eve of the Act," and that he fully records in his diary what he witnessed during his stay at the University.
There were exercises, he informs us, in the schools, and after dinner the proctor opened the Act at St. Mary's. The prevaricators indulged in drollery, and the doctors engaged in disputations. On Sunday, Dr. French preached to the students, advising them to seek true wisdom, not in books of philosophy, but in the Scriptures alone. The same day, Dr. Owen delivered a sermon, in which he "gave Episcopacy a brush." The following afternoon came long speeches from Proctors and Professors, and the Vice-Chancellor; and these were followed by the bestowment of diplomas (four in theology, and three in medicine), with the ancient ceremonies of cap, ring, and kiss. The Presbyterian "Inceptor" had a rub at the Episcopalians. A magnificent entertainment in Wadham Hall closed the day, and the next morning a Latin sermon was delivered.
Barlow, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, was librarian of the Bodleian, and shewed his friend the following rarities:—An old English Bible, "wherein the Eunuch mentioned to be baptized by Philip is called the gelding;" the Acts of the Council of Basle, with its bulla, or leaden affix; a MS. by Bede; the old Sarum ritual; a curious piece of penmanship by a French lady; and an hieroglyphical table, painted on asses' hide. But the thousand MSS., furnishing part of the library built by Archbishop Laud, especially the Oriental ones, of all the Oxford wonders which Evelyn saw, were most illustrious. In the closet of the tower were exhibited Indian weapons, urns, and lamps, together with the Koran, written on a sheet of calico, made up into a priest's vesture or cope.
The Convocation House, the pleasant diarist goes on to inform us, was finely wainscoted. The Divinity School had a gothic carved roof, and the Schools of Physic and Anatomy were adorned with "the skin of a jackal, a rarely-coloured jackatoo (or prodigious large parrot), two hummingbirds, not much bigger than our humble bees," and other curiosities. St. John's Library had two skeletons, and a store of mathematical instruments—the gift of Archbishop Laud. New College still wore its "ancient garb," and at Magdalen the library and chapel were in pontifical order, with a double organ, and the altar turned tablewise. Christ Church Library contained an Office of Henry VIII., brilliantly illuminated, the gift of Cardinal Wolsey. The physic garden contained canes, olive trees, rhubarb, and the sensitive plant.
Wadham College had become a receptacle for curiosities under the scientific Dr. Wilkins. Transparent apiaries,—built like castles and palaces,—preserved honey without destroying the bees. A speaking figure, with a concealed pipe in its mouth, dials, thermometer, a "waywiser," a "monstrous magnet," and divers objects, artificial, mathematical, and magical, crowded the Warden's lodgings and gallery. The Royal Society had its cradle in the quaint rooms over the college gateway. There met "the invisibles," as Boyle called them, "the virtuosi," as they termed themselves:—eschewing politics and divinity, and preferring to discourse upon "the circulation of the blood," "the valves of the veins," "the lymphatic vessels," "the Copernican hypothesis," and kindred themes. We may add, that music-meetings occurred in the house of William Ellis, late organist of St. John's, "opposite to that place whereon the theatre was built." There George Stradling, Fellow of All Souls, shewed himself "an admirable Lutinist;" whilst Ralph Sheldon,—a Roman Catholic, living in Halywell, near Oxford—was applauded for his "smooth way" of playing on the viol; and Ellis the host himself presided at the organ, or performed upon a virginal, or a counter-tenor violin. William Glexney, who had belonged to a choir before the wars, is mentioned as a good player on the bass viol; and Thomas James, of Magdalen, is named as holding weekly meetings in his chamber, practising much on "the Theorbo lute."[259]
The University of Oxford, under the Protectorate, professed as much loyalty to his Highness Oliver Cromwell, as it had ever done to his Majesty King Charles. No addresses could be more deeply charged with grateful expressions and ingenious compliments than those laid at the feet of the great warrior and prince of the Commonwealth. Some curious specimens of them are preserved in a little volume, entitled, "Musarum Oxoniensium ΕΛΑΙΟΦΟΡΙΑ"—written to celebrate the peace which Cromwell concluded with the Dutch in 1654. Owen takes the lead, and for once invokes the muse. Zouch, Harmer, Bathurst, Busby, Locke, Philip Henry, and others, dwell on the same subject in Greek, Latin, or English verse; but what is most remarkable, South figures among the most glowing eulogists—he who, thirty years afterwards, in the pulpit of Westminster Abbey, denounced Cromwell as a bankrupt, beggarly fellow, and ridiculed him as first entering the Parliament-house with a threadbare, torn cloak, and a greasy hat, perhaps neither of them paid for.[260]
We subjoin part of his eulogy, having first ventured to render it into English rhyme:—
Before leaving Oxford, notice should be taken of a learned work published during the Commonwealth, and in which Oxford scholars took a principal part. A prospectus for the publication of "Walton's Polyglott" appeared in 1652; the publication was completed in 1658, having occupied four years. Pocock, the professor of Hebrew and Arabic, was one of Walton's principal helpers. Walton, himself—a Cambridge man, who had fled to Oxford during the wars, and lost all his preferments by the changes of the times,—employed his leisure from public duties by the indefatigable toil which has immortalized his name. Other ejected Episcopalians shared prominently in the undertaking,[261] and their names are found attached to the prospectus; but perhaps no one yielded so much literary assistance as did Professor Pocock. The credit of the enterprise and of its admirable accomplishment belongs to the Episcopalians,—with whom Pocock, although permitted to hold office at Oxford under the reign of Independency, was identified. In the hour of their humiliation they achieved what deserves the gratitude and praise of posterity; and, at the same time, it is much to the honour of Cromwell that he patronized and assisted them in their work—notwithstanding they were his political antagonists, and the work itself upon which they were engaged crossed the prejudices of some of his favourite theologians. The duty on the paper which was employed in the printing of the volumes was, through the influence of the Protector,[262] remitted by an order of the Council of State; and the same favour was granted to Bee, the editor of the "Critici Sacri." This favour induced Castell, the author of the "Heptaglott Lexicon," to seek the like indulgence. That work, however, was not published until after the Restoration.
When Walton's Magnum Opus left the press,[263] it awakened great interest in the critical world. The science which has been so much advanced by the discoveries of a Mill, a Griesbach, and a Tischendorf, was then only in its infancy. Jealously watched by the old-fashioned students of Hebrew and Greek, who feared injury to the authority of the Bible and the cause of religion, from any reflection on the perfect integrity of the textus receptus, no wonder that "the voluminous bulk of various lections as nakedly exhibited"—and likely, it was thought, "to beget scruples and doubts in the minds of men"—excited alarm in some who were deeply anxious for the welfare of the Church. Dr. Owen was of this number, and his are the words just quoted. Zealous alike for the purity of the text, and the authority of the points, he followed Buxtorf and Glassius; and looked upon Capellus and Grotius as dangerous innovators. He went so far as to say: "What use hath been made and is as yet made, in the world, of this supposition, that corruptions have befallen the originals of the Scripture, which those various lections at first view seem to intimate, I need not declare. It is in brief the foundation of Mahometism, the chiefest and principal prop of Popery, the only pretence of fanatical anti-scripturists, and the root of much hidden Atheism in the world."[264] This is a curious passage in the history of literature. That so learned and liberal a man as Dr. Owen should have talked thus, may in our time provoke a smile from tyros in criticism. But he who wrote after this fashion must be judged by the state of things existing in his own time, not by the state of things at present. Owen, although as an Independent he would be deemed a revolutionist, really was in theology, and in some ecclesiastical respects likewise, a very decided Conservative. Zealous for what he counted reform, he dreaded removing old landmarks. Let him have the credit as well as the reproach of Conservatism. In his treatise on the integrity and purity of the Scripture text—from which the above passage is extracted—he animadverted upon the Polyglott, its prolegomena and appendix. The essay shews that he was more of a theologian than a critic—a fact of which he seems to have been conscious himself. It would have been better for his fame if he had not touched the subject: and most of his admirers will regret that, so far, he can be quoted as one of a class, too numerous still, who, trembling without cause for the ark of God, set themselves in opposition to the progress of Biblical enquiry. Without attempting to defend the Vice-Chancellor in this matter, we may add, that the tone of his criticisms is respectful and modest, and will bear honourable comparison with other controversial productions of that age.[265] Pocock answered Owen with critical learning, such as Owen had not at his command, and with a force of reasoning which Owen could not repel; but with a contempt and violence which Owen had done nothing to provoke.
To pass from Oxford to Cambridge, of which it has been said—and it is equally true of the sister University—that "separated as yet from the capital of the kingdom by a tedious horse journey of two days, and destitute of any better conveyance for letters than its well-known carrier," it was "still one of the great centres of the literature, the science, the talent, and, unhappily also, the religious strife of the nation."[266]
The Engagement was pressed upon the Masters and Fellows. The majority were Presbyterians, with some Episcopalians who, through private influence, had retained office without subscribing the Covenant. Opposed in almost equal degrees to the new test, both parties found their position and emoluments in immediate jeopardy. At first the enforcement was gentle, but in June, 1650, a committee received authority to examine those who had not taken the oath, and to fill up vacancies caused by their ejection. Yet, before the end of the month, Cromwell being at Cambridge, received the Vice-Chancellor and others, to whom he gave an assurance that there should be no further proceedings against non-subscribers, for he had used his influence with Parliament to put a stop to them.[267] Probably that influence checked the intended severity; for, during the next twelve months, persons who did not submit to the Engagement, were allowed to retain their fellowships. For a time friendly intercession prevailed: learning, piety, and social virtue shielded Episcopalian delinquents. It was a season of great suspense and excitement. Letters passed on the subject between Cambridge men and their distant friends. The former discussed University affairs in quadrangles, halls, and chambers, and in their walks by the banks of the Cam. Fellows of different parties were narrowly watched. Staunch Episcopalians were anxious to see whether boasters about decision would be true to their principles; and sad discouragement came from men who kept their fellowships by at last taking the oath, after having stoutly denied that they would ever do so. This we learn from the letters of Sancroft, whose conscientiousness then in his refusal of the Engagement—and afterwards at a still more critical period of his life as a non-juror—every one ought to honour. His own case illustrates in part what has been just remarked, inasmuch as friendly interference deferred his ejectment for a season. "The Committee," he writes to his brother, November the 17th, 1650, "sat last week here, and summoned some of St. John's to appear at London; but I heard nothing of them. Some would persuade me, and I am sometimes prone to believe it, that I have some secret friend who doth me good offices, though I know it not." When danger became imminent, and the Committee sat at the "Bear" and summoned Sancroft, he would not go;—he playfully describes himself as "trussing up his baggage, i.e., a viol wrapped in a dozen flannel napkins, two towels and two table-cloths, two old shirts, and a carpet; also a little box with his hanging watch; also an alarum with lines and weights." He was expelled in July.[268]
It is somewhat startling, amidst this story of anxieties, ejections, and impoverishments for conscience' sake, to turn to the oration delivered by young Isaac Barrow, on Commencement-day, the following year, 1651, and to hear him speaking thus:—"If it be true, as rumour tells, that you have so tired of all substantial fare as to nauseate the banquet of eloquence and the feast of sound philosophy—that nothing has for you any relish except painted comfits and unmeaning trifles—that not even wisdom will please you, unless without its own peculiar flavour; nor truth, unless seasoned with a jest; nor reason, unless soaked in fun; then in an unlucky hour have I been assigned as your purveyor, neither born nor bred to such a frivolous confectionary. The insatiable appetite of laughter keeps itself within no bounds. Have you crowded to this place for the purpose of listening and studying, and making progress; or only for the sake of laughing at this thing, and making a jest of that other? As if folly herself kept court amongst us—as if here were the market-place and universal emporium of nonsense, you drink in with greedy ears jibes, and squibs, and ribaldry, and then, when well considered and improved, set them all a-circulating again. There is nothing so remote from levity which you do not instantly—such is your alchemy—transmute into mirth and absurdity. And let a discourse be such as to move no laughter, nothing else will please—neither dignity, nor gravity, nor solidity—neither strength, nor point, nor polish."[269]
One cannot suppose that this description applies to the Fellows or older members. But it must have been true of undergraduates and other young men. They—unless Barrow has gone beyond all bounds in his declamation—were a very noisy, boisterous, laughter-loving set. In truth, undergraduates were then what undergraduates have been ever since, full of fun, which at times leaped up in unseemly forms. Cambridge and Oxford commemorations, in the middle of the seventeenth century, were no contrasts to Cambridge and Oxford commemorations in the nineteenth. On reading Barrow's grandiloquent speech, it is easy to fancy shouts rolling round the hall in wit and humour—not unlike what our newspapers report of University festivals in our own time. And although Heads of houses and Fellows would decorously behave themselves on those occasions—from official prudence no less than from Puritanical propriety—let it not be supposed that the Puritans were men who never laughed and joked; for it is remarkable how often in their memoirs we find allusions to the "facetiousness" of persons, who, judged of from their portraits, were as solemn as the grave.
Even after the University had, in some good measure, been brought within the terms of the Engagement, military visitors seem to have given trouble; for Oliver Cromwell caused the following order to be posted up at head quarters, addressed to all under his command, and to all whom it might concern:—"These are to charge and require you upon sight hereof not to quarter any officers or soldiers in any of the colleges, halls, or other houses belonging to the University of Cambridge, nor to offer any injury or violence to any of the students or members of any of the colleges or houses of the said University, as you shall answer the contrary at your peril. Given under my hand and seal the first of July, 1652."[270]
The following year saw troublers of the peace far worse than any of Cromwell's troopers. Sydrach Simpson, one of the five brethren of the Westminster Assembly, who had been appointed Master of Pembroke Hall, in the room of Mr. Vines—a Presbyterian ejected for refusing the Engagement—had, at the commemoration of 1653, defended the University. He had said, in his oration, that they who had endeavoured to pull down schools were men formed to be enemies of religion, like Julian the Apostate—that all Divinity is swaddled in human learning—that Paul was brought up at the feet of Gamaliel—that if the Spirit taught without means, men might as well be without ordinances as colleges—that knowledge is to be obtained not by inspiration, but study—that arts and tongues are the cups in which God drinks to us. After this fashion—in phraseology often very peculiar and yet expressing considerable wisdom—the Independent Master of Pembroke had appeared in defence of his University. Thereby he incurred the ire of William Dell,[271] Master of Caius—whose conduct in the army excited the displeasure of Richard Baxter, and who, for his very broad advocacy of toleration, incurred no small reproach from other Presbyterians. His opinions as to the manner of supporting religion approached much nearer to those of modern voluntaries than did the opinions of many persons at that time; but they were coupled with views of human learning, an educated ministry, and collegiate institutions, such as happily most modern voluntaries would disallow. Entertaining no hostility to learning on its own account, Dell protested against it as a qualification for instructing men in Christianity. He denied that it assisted in the understanding of Scripture. He maintained that the grace of God, and an inward experience of religion, were alone requisite for saving souls.[272] And the irrational declaration of this singular individual (who, however, it is only just to say, declared his willingness to sacrifice his office in support of his views) was coupled with the most vehement denunciation of University statutes, school divinity, and academic dress—of caps and scarlet robes, gloves, rings, kisses, doctrinal dinners, and music—and of the Cambridge "prevaricator," so like, he said, to the Oxford "Terræ filius." Diplomas he lightly esteemed, and drew an irreverent comparison and contrast between school degrees and Christ's degrees—meaning by the latter our Lord's sonship, unction, victory over temptation, teaching of the Word, and the like; in which respects Christians are to be conformed to their Master, taking their degrees in the school of spiritual discipleship.[273] In connection with Dell's attack upon University studies may be mentioned the publications of John Webster, in 1653, entitled "The Saint's Guide," and "Academiarum Examen," works in which the author enforced "the same principles as were advocated by Dell," and that "not without some shrewdness and ability." The "Examen" was answered by two Oxford men, Wilkins and Ward. Webster had been educated at Cambridge, and he, together with William Erbery, a Baptist preacher of considerable talents, held a public discussion in the October of 1653, "at a church in Lombard-street, against the establishment of the Universities and the maintenance of a national clergy."[274]
Excitement and habits of free speech would produce a good deal of extravagant talk in the University, and reports—sometimes inaccurate—would reach the ears of persons in authority. Cromwell heard that blasphemy and Atheism were uttered at Cambridge. He made enquiries. Evidence on the point against a person named Akehurst, vice-master of Trinity, having been collected by Dr. Lazarus Seaman and Dr. John Arrowsmith, they reported the facts to his Highness.[275] But a friend, in defence, wrote the following remarkable letter:—
"May it please your Highness—To receive my report concerning Mr. Akehurst, vice-master of Trinity-college, who is accused before thee of Atheism and blasphemy, &c. Mr. Akehurst is a man known to myself, who hath been of late in great troubles both of body and mind, and his ease and refreshment hath not been comparable to the misery he hath endured, so that my very soul hath mourned over him. And what will not a man say sometimes in the bitterness and anguish of his spirit, when the arrows of the Almighty stick fast in his sides, especially when the torment of his mind hath been such sometimes, that he could give no account whence it proceeded, nor whither it tended, it being occasioned by no foregoing thoughts, which might disturb his soul? Mr. Akehurst is one whose soul cannot be satisfied with blind tradition in the things of God, and therefore has travailed to find out a reason of His ways by reading, meditation, by discourse with men; and finding them weak and insufficient, and sometimes not favouring their own discourse, hath in the anguish of his spirit reproached their shortness, parrot-language, in such expressions as seem to reflect upon God, whereas it might be but a charging of their apprehensions, misconceptions, scantness, unsavouriness, &c. I am persuaded that whatsoever proceeded from Mr. Akehurst, was not to wound or weaken the true faith of any; but an earnest desire to receive satisfaction himself, and withal to shake all presumptuous and careless faith, which produced nothing; not to withdraw any from God, but settle himself and others on more rational foundations. All the course of his life, of late, hath been a perpetual breathing after complete satisfaction, that he might justify God in all his proceedings; so that he hath been wholly careless of his credit, if so be any whereof he might find rest to his soul. These things have I written, not that I would excuse any levity of spirit, or lavishness of humour, which sometimes probably might possess him; but all things being considered, the bruised reed may not be broken, nor the smoking flax quenched. The Lord direct thy Highness to steer betwixt, and to judge aright. Thus have I declared my mind. Let not my folly in this address, if there be any, be prejudicial to another; for this paper proceeded from me alone.
"My Lord, I call to witness the living God, that I desire, not that any contempt of his Majesty may not pass unreproved, or any slighting of his truths, but that there may be a due balancing of things, that the glory of God may suffer on no hand; and therefore have I writ with much fear, lest I should be found a liar for either party. The Lord make you as wise as Solomon!"[276]