Samuel Wesley was born a little more than two hundred years ago; and a brief review of the state of the nation and of the Church at that period will be useful in illustrating some parts of his history.
From March 1629 to April 1640, the houses of legislature had not assembled; never in English history had there been an interval of eleven years between one parliament and another. Charles I. had systematically attempted to make himself a despot, and to reduce the parliament to a nullity.
To make bad things worse, Archbishop Laud, in the year 1640, convened Convocation, which ordered that every clergyman should instruct his parishioners once a quarter, in the divine right of kings, and the damnable sin of resistance to authority. By the divine right of kings was meant, that the Supreme Being regarded hereditary monarchy, as opposed to other forms of government, with peculiar favour; that the rule of succession, in order of primogeniture, was a divine institution anterior to the Christian, and even to the Mosaic dispensation; that no human power, not even that of the whole legislature, could deprive the legitimate prince of his rights; and that the laws by which, in England and in other countries, the prerogative was limited, were to be regarded merely as concessions, which the sovereign had freely made, and which he might at his pleasure resume.
By the same ecclesiastical parliament, all clergymen and all graduates in the universities were required to take an oath, that everything necessary for salvation was contained in the doctrine and discipline of the Church of England, as distinguished from Presbyterianism and Papistry; and they were also required to swear that they would not consent to any alteration of the government of the Church, by archbishops, bishops, priests, and deacons. Those refusing to take such oaths were threatened with heavy penalties.
This assumption of ecclesiastical power, on the part of Convocation, was most offensively absurd. The nation for years had been divided both in politics and religion; and it was not to be expected that such decrees could be issued without provoking resistance and creating trouble. Hence, in the same year, and in the year following, we find a crowd of events which exerted a most powerful influence on the subsequent history of the nation. The House of Commons, which, after an interval of eleven years, was again brought together, appointed a grand committee of the whole house to inquire into the scandalous immoralities of the clergy. Above two thousand cases were presented, and the work of cleansing the Augean stable became so heavy, that the grand committee had to divide itself into four or five sub-committees, called White’s, Corbett’s, Harlow’s, and Dearing’s committees, after the chairman of each. An act also was passed by the House of Commons, that the clergy should not be magistrates, neither should officiate as judges in civil courts. Lord Strafford—eloquent and bold, but imperious and cruel, Charles’s most trusted counsellor, and one whose object it had been to make his royal master as absolute a monarch as any in Europe—was arrested, tried, and beheaded. The Star Chamber and the High Commission courts, the former a political, the latter a religious inquisition, were abolished. Thirteen bishops were impeached by the Lower House of Parliament, Archbishop Laud being one of them. The London apprentices began their riots. Two hundred thousand Protestant men, women, and children, were massacred in Ireland, and thousands more had to flee to England, naked and famished, to obtain subsistence. The papistical butchers, not satisfied with this, proceeded to threaten that, when they had wreaked their vengeance on the handful left in Ireland, they would come to England, and inflict upon the Protestants there the same barbarities.
It was impossible for such events to happen without public feeling being excited to the highest pitch. The parliament was aroused; the country rose to arms; and the civil wars commenced. The Commons passed a resolution that they would never consent to any toleration of the popish religion, either in Ireland or any other part of his majesty’s dominions; and another bill was passed excluding bishops from the House of Lords. From this date, the Church of England, if not entirely demolished, may be regarded as a ruin.
In 1642, a committee was appointed by the House of Commons to inquire “what malignant clergymen had benefices in and about London, which benefices, being sequestered, might be supplied by others, who should receive their profits;” and in the year following, the “Scandalous Committee” of 1640, and the “Plundering Committee” of 1642, (as the royalists called them,) were empowered to act in concert; and, by their united efforts, the Church was well-nigh cleared both of the clergymen who were immoral, and of those whose opinions did not harmonise with the opinions generally entertained by parliament. Many left their cures, and took sanctuary in the king’s armies; others were put under confinement in Lambeth, Winchester, and Ely; and about twenty were imprisoned beneath deck in ships on the river Thames, no friend being allowed to come near them. Several pious and worthy bishops and other clergymen, who desired to live peaceably without joining either side, had their estates and livings sequestered, and their houses and goods plundered, and were themselves reduced to live upon the fifths, a small pension from parliament. Among these may be mentioned, Archbishop Usher, Bishops Morton and Hall, and the no less renowned Jeremy Taylor, who, driven from his living at Uppingham, retired into Wales, and, while supporting himself and his family by teaching a school, there composed some of the greatest of his immortal works.
For the space of about two years, the country might be said to be without any established form of worship. The clergy were left to read the liturgy, or not to read it, as they pleased, and to use equal discretion as to wearing the canonical habits, or the Geneva cloak. The ecclesiastical polity of the realm was in total confusion. Episcopacy was the form of government prescribed by the old law of the land, which was not repealed; but the form of government prescribed by parliamentary ordinance was presbyterian; and yet, neither the old law, nor the parliamentary ordinance, was practically in force. The Church actually established may be described as an irregular body, made up of a few presbyteries, and of many independent congregations, all held down and held together by the authority of government. Cathedral worship was almost everywhere abolished, and many of the sacred edifices themselves defaced and injured. By the parliamentary ordinance of 1643, clergymen, both bad and good, were ejected from their benefices by thousands; altars and stone tables in churches were destroyed; candlesticks, tapers, and basins standing upon communion tables were unsparingly removed; and all crosses, crucifixes, images, and superstitious pictures and paintings demolished. Churches and sepulchres, fine works of art and curious remains of antiquity, met with the same ruthless treatment. In Chichester Cathedral, the rabble, meeting with the portrait of King Edward VI., picked out its eyes, because Edward had established the Book of Common Prayer. In Canterbury Cathedral, where they found the arras-hangings, representing the history of Christ, they swore they would stab the picture of our Saviour, and rip up its bowels, which they did accordingly; while at the south gate, they discharged forty muskets at a carved figure of Christ, and rejoiced exceedingly when they hit it on the head or face. At Lichfield, they stabled their horses in the body of the church, polluted the orchestra, baptized a calf at the baptismal font, and hunted a cat with hounds every day throughout the windings of the sacred edifice.
While such proceedings were taking place in cathedrals and churches, parliament was passing sharp laws against betting, and enacting that adultery should be punished with death. Public amusements, from masques in the mansions of the great, down to wrestling and grinning matches on village greens, were vigorously attacked. All the May-poles in England were ordered to be hewn down. Play-houses were to be dismantled, the spectators fined, and the actors whipped at the cart’s tail. Magistrates dispersed festive meetings, and put fiddlers in the stocks. The zeal of the soldiers was still more formidable, for in every village where they happened to appear, there was an end of dancing, bell-ringing, and hockey.
Meanwhile several sects sprung into existence, whose eccentricities surpassed anything that had ever been seen in England. A mad tailor, named Ludowick Muggleton, wandered from pothouse to pothouse, tippling ale, and denouncing eternal torments against those who refused to believe, on his testimony, that the Supreme Being was only six feet high, and that the sun was just four miles from the earth. Another sect of fanatics, which now sprung up, were the Fifth Monarchy Men, so called because they taught that the four great monarchies of the world were about to be succeeded by the monarchy of Christ, who would reign among mankind for a thousand years. The powers of earth were to be utterly destroyed, and Christ to be king alone. Acting upon their fanatical principles, in 1660 they scoured the streets of London, committing murder, without distinction of age or sex, till they came to Aldersgate Street, where they halted, and proclaimed king Jesus, crying out, “No king but Christ.” These enthusiasts fought like lions; but, of course, were overpowered. A number of them were killed in the skirmish that took place in scattering them; and sixteen, who were taken prisoners, were drawn on sledges from Newgate through Cheapside to a place opposite their meeting-house in Swan Ally, Coleman Street, where they were hanged and quartered, their quarters being afterwards set upon the four gates of the city. George Fox, also, raised a tempest of derision by proclaiming that it was a violation of Christian sincerity to designate a single person by a plural pronoun; and that it was an idolatrous homage to Janus and Woden to talk about January and Wednesday. He hated Episcopacy, steeple houses, and the liturgy; and propounded the most extravagant whimsies concerning postures, dress, and diversions. One of his coadjutors was John Hinks, first a shepherd’s boy, and then a shoemaker, prodigiously ignorant, and yet an enthusiast, who pretended to be inspired. James Naylor was another of Fox’s mad associates, a man who, when he entered Bristol, stripped himself stark naked, had his horse led in triumph by two women, while his nasal-twanged followers strewed branches in his way, and shouted “Hosannah.” Solomon Eccles, one of the Quakers’ chief teachers, went naked into the church at Aldermanbury, in the time of divine service, bedaubed all over with filth, as an emblem of the nakedness and filth of the minister who was preaching. And two women, at Kendal, of the names of Adlington and Collinson, are said to have walked through the streets of that town in the same state of nudity, and who, when friendly hands tried to cover them, rebuked such kindness, by declaring that “it hindered the work of the Lord.”
Such, substantially, was the state of affairs, when, in 1643, the Assembly of Divines met, by an ordinance of parliament, in the city of Westminster, for “settling the government and liturgy of the Church of England, and for vindicating and clearing the said Church from false aspersions and interpretations.” The Assembly consisted of thirty members of parliament, including six noblemen; and of one hundred and twenty-one ministers, including Dr Lightfoot, Edmund Calamy, and Joseph Caryl. Baxter says, the divines were men of eminent learning and godliness, ministerial abilities and fidelity. Each member of the Assembly had four shillings a—day allowed by parliament towards his expenses. They sat five years, six months, and twenty-two days, during which time they had 1163 sessions. A few of the members were attached to Episcopacy; but, finding themselves in a hopeless minority, they soon retired. The great majority were in favour of Presbyterianism; but these, to the last, were vigorously opposed by a minority, consisting of two sections, who, although they generally acted in concert against the common enemy, were also distinguishable from each other. These were, first, the Independents; and, secondly, the Erastians, so called because of their adoption of the principles of Erastus, a German divine of the preceding century, who maintained that the Church, or the clergy, as such, possessed no inherent legislative power of any kind, and that the National Church was, in all respects, the mere subject and creature of the civil magistrate.
Such were the men to whom was committed the work of building up a new ecclesiastical polity. By their advice alterations were made in the Thirty-nine Articles, the intention being to render their sense more express and determinate in favour of Calvinism. In 1645, their “Directory of Public Worship” supplanted the liturgy, and was established by an ordinance of parliament. They also agreed in introducing and enforcing the Solemn League and Covenant, by which Episcopacy was abjured. In 1646, the name, style, and dignity of archbishops and bishops were formally abolished; and, in 1649, the “Confession of Faith,” which laid down a Presbyterian system of ecclesiastical polity, received the sanction of an Act of Parliament.
Many difficulties, however, stood in the way of the actual extension of this new system over the whole kingdom; and, in fact, it never obtained more than a very limited and imperfect establishment. Accordingly, the National Church of England, during the Commonwealth, was by no means exclusively composed of Presbyterians, (though they were the most numerous,) for some of the benefices were still retained by their old Episcopal incumbents; a considerable number were held by Independents, and a few were filled even by the minor sects, that now swarmed in the sunshine of the Protector’s all but universal toleration.
King Charles was beheaded in 1649, and Oliver Cromwell was appointed Lord Protector in 1653. A quarter of a century before he was raised to this high position, Cromwell had openly deserted the Church of England, and attached himself to the Puritans, who were just then rising into wealth and power. Under the Commonwealth, the Dissenters increased in numbers, and exercised a predominating influence in national affairs. Besides being incumbents of parish churches, their ministers officiated as chaplains of political bodies; and preached to mayors and aldermen, as they sat arrayed in golden chains and scarlet robes at Guildhall festivals. The rights of presentation to church livings were still retained to patrons; but, to prevent abuses, Cromwell, in 1653, appointed a Board of Commissioners to examine all candidates for holy orders, and without whose sanction none could be admitted to a church benefice. These “Triers,” as they were called, were thirty-eight in number. Part of them were Presbyterians, part were Independents, and a few were Baptists. Among them were Dr Thomas Goodwin, Dr John Owen, Joseph Caryl, the author of the gigantic Commentary on the Book of Job, and Thomas Manton, whose writings, so full of sanctified genius, will be prized by the Church of Christ to the end of time. Baxter tells us that the Triers, with all their faults, did a great amount of good. They saved many a congregation from ignorant, ungodly, drunken teachers. All that either preached against a godly life, or preached as though they knew not what it was; and all those that used the ministry as a common trade, and merely as a means of getting bread, were usually rejected; while all who were able, serious preachers, and whose lives were holy, were admitted, of whatsoever opinions they were, so long as their opinions were “tolerable.” The authority of Cromwell’s Triers was almost unlimited, and, certainly, was not unneeded. Previous to their appointment, any one who wished might set up to be a preacher, and so give himself a chance of obtaining a living in the Church. Now, every candidate for the pulpit and emoluments of a parish church had to bring to the Board of Triers, sitting at Whitehall, a testimonial, subscribed by the hands of three persons of known goodness and integrity, one of whom, at least, had to be a preacher of the gospel in some constant settled place. On the candidate passing his examination, he was inducted to the church living, to which he had been presented, by a document, given in the name of the Triers, signed by the State Registrar, and sealed with the seal of the Commonwealth. He then took possession, cultivated the glebe lands, prayed, if he choose, without book or surplice, and administered the eucharist to communicants seated at long tables. In some instances there was also formed a sort of independent church outside the parish church, to whom the preacher administered the sacraments, not in the parochial edifice, but in private houses. It is impossible to ascertain the exact number of these beneficed Dissenters, under the Commonwealth, but it may be safely inferred, that they were numerous, when it is borne in mind that, after the elevation of Cromwell to the Protectorate, they were favoured by the ruling powers; and, after the Restoration, were regarded by their opponents with great anxiety.
Of the two, the Presbyterians were more numerous than the Independents, and, in many instances, the feeling between the parties was anything but brotherly. Cromwell had tried to be impartial, and to allow all classes, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists, to have a fair share of church emoluments, and thereby he hoped to secure something like church amity, but the effort was futile and the hope not realised.
Among the ministers who, during the Commonwealth, occupied the pulpits of England, there were not a few who will always rank among England’s most powerful preachers, and most profound divines. Besides these there were likewise men in the country belonging to other classes, whose names will ever be invested with a halo of honour. Dr Busby was master of Westminster School, and celebrated alike for his classical abilities and unflinching discipline. Vandyke was putting on canvas his unequalled portraits; and Inigo Jones reviving classical architecture. There were also Andrew Marvell, renowned as the first of patriots and of wits; George Withers, some of whose earlier poetry, especially, abounds in the finest bursts of sunshine; John Milton, Cudworth, Sir Thomas Browne, and others of a like character.
The morals of the nation, up to the time of Charles’s execution, were about as bad as badness could make them. The chief amusements of the court were masques, and emblematic pageants, some of which cost more than £20,000 each. Extravagance in dress and personal adornment had become an absolute phrenzy. James I., when transported from the scantily-furnished halls of Holyrood to the plentiful palaces of the south, burst from a clumsy, ungainly figure into a gilded coxcomb, almost daily figuring in a new suit, and his courtiers copying his example. When Buckingham was sent ambassador to the court of France, his suit of white velvet was set all over with diamonds, valued at £80,000; and, besides this, he had another suit of purple satin, embroidered with pearls worth £20,000. In fact, the beaux of this period were animated trinkets. Prodigality in feasting soon became as conspicuous as extravagance in dress; and gambling kept pace with both. The manners of the court, and of both sexes in the higher classes, were gross in the extreme. English taverns were dens of filth, tobacco smoke, roaring songs, and roysterers; and yet, even in such places, women of rank allowed themselves to be entertained, and tolerated those freedoms from their admirers which are described with such startling plainness in our old plays and poems. The streets of London, and even of the inferior towns, were filled with prowling sharpers; and the highways of England were equally infested with robbers, concealing their faces with visors, and carrying in their pockets false tails for their otherwise well-known horses. Divination was a thriving business; and fortune-telling was frequently a cover to the worse trades of pandering and poisoning. The stars were more eagerly studied than the diurnals; and both cavaliers and roundheads thronged to astrologers to learn the events of the succeeding week. Exorcising devils was common, and the belief in witches became the master superstition of the age; so that between three and four thousand persons are said to have been executed for witchcraft between the year 1640 and the Restoration.
Of course, during the Commonwealth, when Puritan principles were in the ascendancy, a great change came over the general manners and morals of the land. Republican simplicity prevailed in the banquets at Whitehall; Scotch collops, marrow puddings, and hog’s-liver sausages forming standing dishes of Lady Cromwell’s cookery. Religion was the language of the court, and also its garb; prayer and fasting were fashionable exercises; and a godly profession was the road to preferment. Not a play was acted in all England for many years, and from the prince to the peasant and common soldier, the features of Puritanism were almost universally exhibited. Many doubtless were fanatics and others designing knaves, whose whole religion consisted in the use of a religious vocabulary and hypocritical grimace; but making all due allowance for a large amount of unscriptural enthusiasm and pious fraud, there were unquestionably among those sickly dreamers and canting fanatics, thousands and tens of thousands of enlightened, sincere, and earnest Christians.
Cromwell died in 1658. Immediately after his death, the Protectorate broke down under his son Richard, and confusion became worse confounded. The army was unsettled, the parliament divided, the republic was discouraged, trade decayed, and the exchequer empty. The majority of the nation were weary of change, and had no faith in ideal republics; and, by the spring of 1660, public feeling was strongly in favour of the restoration of Charles II. In the month of March, the Rump Parliament was finally dissolved. All the bells in London were set a ringing; and, as Pepys tells us, bonfires blazed on every side, there being not fewer than fourteen burning, at the same time, between St Dunstan’s and Temple Bar.
The Presbyterians now stood foremost, and, in Parliament, were the leaders. The League and Covenant was hung on the walls of the House of Commons, and was ordered to be read in every church once a year; but in March 1660, as an indication of other changes coming, Dr John Owen, Cromwell’s chaplain, was removed from the deanery of Christ’s Church, Oxford, and Dr, afterwards Bishop, Reynolds was appointed in his place. On the 30th of April, a public fast was held, Reynolds and Hardy preaching before the House of Lords; and Gauden, Calamy, and Baxter before the House of Commons. On the 1st of May, Sir John Granville arrived from Breda with despatches from Charles II.; one being addressed to the House of Lords, and another to the House of Commons. The latter contained the famous “Declaration of Breda,” offering indemnity for the past, and liberty of conscience for the future. The declaration was, “We do declare a liberty to tender consciences, and that no man shall be disquieted, or called in question for difference of opinions, which do not disturb the peace of the kingdom.” Within a fortnight after this, Charles was proclaimed king, amid “festivals, bells, and bonfires,” Richard Baxter preaching a sermon on the occasion, before the Lord Mayor and Corporation of London.
The restoration of Charles being settled, several members of the Lords and Commons, on the 11th of May, started off to Holland to meet him. The city of London sent commissioners, and with them went certain Presbyterian ministers, as Reynolds, Manton, and Calamy. These reverend brethren told the king that they had urged the people to restore him to the throne of his father, and declared themselves as no enemies to moderate Episcopacy; but begged that his Majesty would dispense with the surplice being worn, and that, instead of adopting the use of the Common Prayer entirely and formally, he would direct that only some parts of it should be read, with some superadded prayers by his chaplains. At the end of the month Charles landed at Dover. The castle guns bid him welcome. Thousands upon thousands, standing upon the beach and cliffs, waved their hats, and gave right hearty cheers. When he arrived in London, the corporation waited in a tent at St George’s-in-the-Fields to receive him. All the houses in Southwark, Cheapside, Fleet Street, and the Strand were hung with banners and adorned with tapestry. The Livery companies turned out in their velvet coats, silver doublets, and rich green scarfs; while kettle-drums and trumpets made all London ring again. Addresses flowed in from all quarters welcoming the king back to Old England, and, among others, one from the county of Devon, bearing among others the signature of the celebrated Joseph Caryl.
All seemed to be unanimous and jubilant; and yet all this was but the beginning of the tug of war. Charles was a constitutional king, and was to rule through parliaments. The Presbyterians, who were still in power, expected royal favour for recent services, and to be comprehended in some wide church establishment. Independents, Baptists, and Quakers asked for toleration. Roman Catholics, who had been friends to the beheaded father and the exiled son, thought themselves entitled to consideration. While the Episcopalians claimed the new monarch as their own, sought exclusive re-establishment, wished to cast out all Presbyterian intruders, and were inwardly resolved to tolerate no sectaries whatever. Charles’s position was difficult and perplexing.
Alterations were soon made. The dioceses in England had bishops appointed to them, though it was not until the next parliament, in 1661, that the bishops took their places among the peers. The Liturgy was immediately introduced into those parish churches, where the ministers avowed themselves Episcopalians; and, already, the reign of persecution had commenced. Even before the king had landed at Dover, the Episcopal party in Wales were busy sending sixty-eight Quakers to gaol; while the prison at Montgomery was so full of Independents and Baptists that the governor had to pack them into garrets. John Milton was committed to the custody of the sergeant-at-arms, and was declared to be disqualified for the public service; while his “Defence of the English People” and his “Eikonoclastes” were ordered to be publicly burned. Oliver Heywood was insolently harassed for a twelvemonth with citations to appear before the Consistory Court at York. Philip Henry was prosecuted for not reading the Common Prayer, and John Howe was accused of treason for some utterance in the pulpit. During the summer of 1660, a bill was passed by parliament, which aimed at the expulsion of all who had been inducted into church livings during the Commonwealth, and the immediate restoration of all the clergy who had been expelled. This bill included a proviso to the effect that the Presbyterian and Independent ministers should not be bound to give back livings which were legally vacant when they obtained them; but there was another that almost rendered null the previous one, viz., that every incumbent should be excluded that had not been ordained by an ecclesiastic, or had renounced his ordination, or had petitioned for bringing the late king to trial, or had justified his trial and execution, in preaching or in writing, or had committed himself in the vexed question of infant baptism.
The bill failed to give satisfaction to any party. The Episcopalians complained that it was a thing of mean subterfuges and compromises; while the Dissenters alleged that the Episcopalians were monopolists of honours and preferments, and were waiting to renew the persecutions of Archbishop Laud.
Archbishop Usher, who died in 1656, had left behind him a scheme of union, and a proposed plan of church government by suffragan bishops, and synods, and presbyteries conjointly. By this plan he had fondly hoped to reconcile the two great religious parties, the Episcopalians and the Presbyterians; and the latter, being now hopeless of obtaining an entire supremacy, professed their willingness to make Usher’s scheme the basis of negotiation. The principal ministers, who were parties to this proposal, were Dr Reynolds, Dr Manton, Dr Bates, Edward Calamy, and Richard Baxter. They were promised a meeting with some Episcopal divines in the presence of the king; but when the time appointed came, instead of a meeting, the Presbyterians received a paper rejecting their proposal, but telling them that they were all to meet the king on October 22d, at the house of Lord Clarendon, in the Strand, and that his Majesty would then adjust all their religious differences. At the appointed meeting there were present, besides the king, the Dukes of Albemarle and Ormond, the Earls of Manchester and Anglesea, the six bishops of London, Worcester, Salisbury, Durham, Exeter, and Lichfield, and six Presbyterian ministers, viz., Reynolds, Spurstow, Wallis, Manton, Calamy, and Baxter. The Presbyterians entrusted their cause to the eloquence and learning of Calamy and Baxter; while the chief speakers on the Episcopalian side were Dr Gunning and Bishop Morley.
Three days after this important meeting, Charles published what is commonly called “The Healing Declaration.” This royal manifesto, after commending the Episcopalians, and acknowledging the moderation of the Presbyterians, promised—1, To encourage religion; 2, To appoint suffragan bishops where dioceses were thought to be too large; 3, Not to allow church censures to be pronounced by bishops without the advice and assistance of the presbyters; 4, To give deaneries to the most learned and pious presbyters of the diocese; 5, Not to allow persons to come to the Lord’s Supper without confirmation and a credible profession of their faith; and 6, To appoint an equal number of learned divines belonging to the Episcopalians and Presbyterians to revise the Liturgy.
As soon as this Declaration was made public, bishoprics were offered to Reynolds, Baxter, and Calamy. Reynolds accepted the see of Norwich; Baxter and Calamy declined. A fortnight after, royal letters were issued commanding the University of Cambridge to confer the diploma of D.D. on the three eminent Presbyterian ministers, William Bates, Thomas Jacombe, and Robert Wilde, the king being fully satisfied “of their integrity and loyalty;” and, at the same time, a bill was brought into the House of Commons to make the king’s “Healing Declaration” law, but the bill was lost.
As time advanced, the prospects of the Dissenters became more gloomy. On January 2, 1661, an Order in Council was made against Baptists, Quakers, and other sectaries meeting in large numbers and at unusual times. The order also forbade any of their assemblies being held out of their own parishes.
Shortly after this, at the request of Baxter, Lord Clarendon made an arrangement for carrying into effect that part of the king’s “Healing Declaration” which promised a revision of the Liturgy. Twelve bishops and nine coadjutors were appointed to represent the Episcopal party, and twelve leading divines and nine coadjutors to represent the Presbyterian party. The twelve bishops belonged to the dioceses of York, London, Durham, Rochester, Chichester, Sarum, Worcester, Lincoln, Peterborough, Chester, Carlisle, and Exeter. Among their coadjutors were some of the most eminent men of the day, as Dr Heylin, and Dr Pearson, immortalised by his profoundly able work on the Apostles’ Creed. The twelve Presbyterian divines included Reynolds, Manton, Calamy, and Baxter; and their coadjutors included the “silver-tongued” William Bates and Dr Lightfoot. The place of meeting was the old Savoy Palace, and the first day of their coming together was April 15, 1661. Baxter proposed an entirely new Liturgy; and, in the short space of a fortnight, prepared one. His brethren meanwhile were employed in preparing exceptions to the old one, which Baxter wished to set aside. Baxter seemed to be equal to any amount of work assigned to him. When he brought his completed draft of the new Liturgy to his co-commissioners, instead of finding their exceptions to the old Liturgy finished, he found them only just begun; and, as both the draft and the exceptions had to be submitted to the Savoy Conference at the same time, there was no alternative but to wait another fortnight; during which Baxter himself prepared as many exceptions to the old prayer-book as filled eight closely-printed folio pages.
On the Conference reassembling, the Presbyterians read their paper, pleading that, as the first Reformers composed the Liturgy so as to draw the Papists into their communion, the Liturgy ought now to be so revised as to unite all substantial Protestants. Hence it was suggested that certain repetitions should be omitted; that the Litany should be turned into one continued prayer; that neither Lent nor Saints’ Days should continue to be observed; that free prayer should be allowed; that the Apocrypha should not be read in the daily lessons; that the word “minister” should be used instead of the word “priest;” and “Lord’s-day” instead of “Sunday;” that the Liturgy was defective in praise and thanksgiving; that the Confession and Catechism were imperfect; and that the surplice, the cross, and kneeling at the Lord’s Supper, were unwarrantable. All these, however, were regarded as minor objections; and the main ones that were raised were against the baptismal service, the marriage service, the service for the visitation of the sick, and the burial service.
When the objections had been submitted to the Conference, the bishops and their coadjutors rejected them in toto. Baxter was appointed to answer the reply of the bishops, and went out of town, to Dr Spurstow’s house in Hackney, for that purpose. In eight days his rejoinder was finished. Unprofitable disputes followed; the Conference broke up; and nothing but vexation and sorrow came out of it.
The Presbyterians were now treated as the vanquished party; and Baxter especially became the butt for malignant marksmen. Almost every time he preached he was accused of treason; and even his prayers were listened to with suspicion. Still, as the parliament now sitting had been elected before the Restoration, the Presbyterians in that assembly were too numerous and troublesome to permit of summary suppression. Hence, in March 1661, a new election was ordered, and great excitement followed. Alderman Thompson, “a godly man of good parts, and a congregationalist,” was one of the candidates for London; but the Royalists objected to him, because he was “so fond of smoking that his breath would poison a whole committee.” Dr Caryl and other eminent ministers held a fast. Zachary Crofton preached against bishops “every Sunday night, with an infinite auditory, itching, and applause;” and Mr Graffen had a crowd of two thousand in the streets, who could not get into his meeting-house to hear him “bang the bishops.”
The new parliament met on the 8th of May 1661; and the change from Presbyterian to Episcopalian predominancy was manifested in one of the earliest orders,—viz., that the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, on the Sunday seven night, should be administered, at St Margaret’s Church, according to the form prescribed in the Liturgy of the Church of England; and that no one should be admitted a member of that House who neglected to partake of the Communion, either there publicly, or afterwards in the presence of two or more witnesses. In addition to this, it was resolved that “the Solemn League and Covenant,” the well-known symbol of Presbyterian ascendancy—which, for a year past, had been taken down from the walls of the House of Commons—should be burnt by the common hangman; and this was done, the hangman first tearing the document into pieces, and then burning the fragments in succession,—he all the while lifting up his hands and eyes in pious indignation, until not a shred was left.[1]
Before the year was ended, the bishops took their place in the House of Lords; and a bill was passed requiring all members of corporations to swear that the “Solemn League and Covenant was unlawful; and declaring that no one was eligible for office who had not, within one year before, taken the sacrament according to the rites of the Church of England.”
Added to this, another and a far more important bill was introduced:—“A Bill for the Uniformity of Public Prayers and Administration of the Sacraments.” The bill was first submitted to Parliament in December 1661, and became law on the 19th of May 1662. During this interval of five months the greatest excitement prevailed throughout the nation. Loud and fierce were the diatribes uttered from the Episcopal pulpit against Roundheads, Anabaptists, and Quakers. Swarms of pamphlets and broadsides were issued, to support Church and State by argument, but more frequently by ridicule and satire. Many of these, as “Noctroft’s Maid Whipt,” and the “Antidote of Melancholy made up in Pills,” were coarse and filthy in a high degree. Of course, sharp and bitter things were said and written on the Nonconformists’ side, but in none of their publications is there anything like the abominable and indecent scurrility which the royalist press published against them.
Before giving a synopsis of the Act of Uniformity, it may be well to say, that the Book of Common Prayer, which it mentions, was the book as revised by Convocation in November 1661. About six hundred alterations had been made in the body of the volume. Forms respecting the weather, prayers to be used at sea, and emendations in the commination, and in the churching of women services were introduced. The calendar was revised, and the Apocrypha appointed to be read in the daily lessons. The absolution was to be pronounced by the “priest,” instead of by the “minister.” In the Litany, the words “rebellion and schism” were added to the petition against sedition; and the words, “bishops, priests, and deacons,” were substituted for “bishops, pastors, and ministers of the Church.” A few new collects were added, and, in one of them, a new epithet was added to the title of Charles I., he being styled “our most religious king.” None of these things were calculated to make the prayer-book more palatable to the Presbyterian and Dissenting parties, and hence the terrible rupture occasioned by the passing of the Act of Uniformity.
By that act it was provided, that “every parson, vicar, or other minister whatsoever, now enjoying any ecclesiastical benefice or promotion, within this realm of England,” who neglected or refused to declare publicly, before his congregation, his “unfeigned assent and consent to the use of all things contained and prescribed” in the Book of Common Prayer, on some Lord’s-day before the feast of St Bartholomew, in 1662, should be deprived of all his spiritual promotions; and that, henceforth, it should be lawful for all patrons and donors of such church livings to present others to the same, as though the person or persons so offending or neglecting were dead. The act further provided, that all deans, canons, and prebendaries; also all heads, fellows, and tutors of colleges; and likewise all schoolmasters, keeping any public or private schools, should, before the same feast of St Bartholomew, subscribe a declaration to the effect that they would conform to the liturgy of the Church of England, as now by law established; and that they renounced all obligation from the oath commonly called “The Solemn League and Covenant,” and regarded it as an unlawful oath, contrary to the laws and liberties of the kingdom. It likewise enacted that all the church functionaries above-mentioned who refused to subscribe to this declaration were to be deprived of their promotions; and all schoolmasters who refused were to suffer three months’ imprisonment. It also provided that if any minister, not being a foreigner, who was not episcopally ordained, should presume to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper after St Bartholomew’s day, he should, for every such offence, forfeit the sum of £100; and if he presumed to lecture or preach in any church, chapel, or other place of worship whatever, within the realm of England, he should suffer three months’ imprisonment in the common gaol. And another, though minor provision was, that the parishioners of every parish church, at their own cost, should provide for such church, before the feast of St Bartholomew, a true printed copy of the revised Book of Common Prayer; and that they should be fined £3 for every month, after St Bartholomew’s, that they neglected to obey such a mandate.
Such was the substance of that most momentous Act of Parliament. What were the results? Terrible were the struggles in many a good man’s breast during the fourteen weeks elapsing between the 19th of May and the 24th of August 1662. As the corn ripened, and the country rector sat with his wife in the snug parlour, and looked out of the latticed windows on the children chasing the butterflies in the garden, or gathering daisies on the glebe, he had to decide in his heart and conscience whether he should leave all this, or whether he should keep it. He must either conform, or he and his family must go. Such was the ugly alternative. The vicarage was comfortable and commodious; the means of usefulness had bright attractions; and hardest wrench of all it was, to snap the union between the shepherd and his flock. To resolve to go, required now and then a woman’s quiet fortitude to reinforce a man’s more loud resolve.
Meanwhile, mutterings of discontent and growlings of sedition began to be heard on every hand. Rumours circulated that some of the king’s regiments were disaffected; that trained bands were refractory or negligent; that gunsmiths were dressing arms; and that Lancashire ministers talked little less than treason. The Court was uncertain whether to execute or to suspend the Act. Presbyterian lords pleaded for indulgence; but Sheldon was opposed to it. It was the long vacation, and few of the council remained in town to decide the point. The nobility were at their country seats enjoying the summer months. The bishops were performing their visitations. Charles was at Hampton Court, joking with his lords, toying with his mistresses, watching games in the tennis court, and feeding ducks in the royal ponds. Time travelled on, and the 23d of August came. All Quakers imprisoned in the gaols of London and Middlesex were released, because on that day Charles’s consort, Queen Catherine, first came “to our royal palace at Westminster.” The Thames was covered with boats almost without number. Music floated on the water, and thundering peals roared from huge cannon on the shore. Charles and his queen sailed in an open vessel covered with a canopy of cloth of gold, which was supported by Corinthian pillars wreathed with flowers, festoons, and garlands. This was Saturday.
The previous Sunday had been a day such as England never knew, either before or since.[2] Hundreds of faithful ministers on that day preached farewell sermons to heart-broken, weeping flocks. Churches were crowded; aisles and stairs were crammed to suffocation; and people clung to the open windows like swarms of bees. It would have been pardonable if the ministers had mingled with the loving exhortations addressed to the distressed crowds before them sentiments of indignation at the legislative act which was the means of their removal. But, instead of that, the discourses were as calm as the pastors had ever preached, and some of them scarcely alluded to the peculiar circumstances of the time.
A week after, on the day after Queen Catherine’s jubilant reception, the Act of Uniformity was enforced in all its rigour, and upwards of two thousand ministers, with their families, were ejected from their livings.[3]
“What a scene,” says John Wesley, “is opened here. The poor Nonconformists were used without either justice or mercy; and many of the Protestant bishops of King Charles had neither more religion nor humanity than the Popish bishops of Queen Mary.”[4] “By this Act of Uniformity, thousands of men, guilty of no crime,—nothing contrary either to justice, mercy, or truth,—were stripped of all they had—of their houses, lands, revenues—and driven to seek where they could, or beg their bread. For what? Because they did not dare to worship God according to other men’s consciences!”[5]
A large majority of the ministers in the Church conformed; and these may be divided into three classes—first, those who had been Presbyterians or Independents, or other sectaries, and who on former occasions had more or less opposed Episcopacy and the Book of Common Prayer; secondly, those who had already conformed to previous changes—passively submitting to their superiors for the time being, be they who they might; and, thirdly, a class of consistent Episcopalians, including—1. such as had been allowed to hold their livings, and to use the Prayer-book even during the Commonwealth; 2. such as had been ejected from their benefices, but had been reinstated since the Restoration; and, 3. such as had been recently ordained, and inducted into livings during the last twelve months. Many of these Conformists—as Tillotson, Gurnall, Stillingfleet, Cudworth, and others—were men of high character; but many others were low, mean, grovelling spirits, who valued the priest’s office only because it gave them a piece of bread. In a publication of that period, “the parsonage house” is described “as holding scarcely anything but a budget of old stitched sermons, hung up behind the door, with a few broken girths, two or three yards of whipcord, and perhaps a saw and a hammer to prevent dilapidations.” Macaulay, speaking of the rural clergy, says: “Those who could, sported a few Greek and Latin words for the benefit of the squire, and pitched their discourses so as to accommodate themselves to the fine clothes and ribbons in the highest seats of the church, instead of seeking to instruct those of the congregation who had to mind the plough and to mend the hedge.” And again, in reference to the clergy in cities and corporations, he writes: “There were men whose parts and education were no more than sufficient for their reading the lessons, after twice conning over. An unlearned rout of contemptible men,” says he, “rushed into holy orders just to read the prayers, and who understood very little more of their meaning than a hollow pipe would, made of tin or wainscot.” Some idea may be formed of the character of many of the clergy who conformed in 1662, from the fact that three years after, during the great plague in London, instead of firmly remaining at the post of duty when most needed, numbers of the London clergy, like craven spirits, rushed off into the country, leaving their pulpits to be occupied, and their afflicted and dying parishioners to be cared for, by the very ministers who had been ejected by the Act of Uniformity.
The Nonconformist ministers may be divided into several classes:—1. Some were moderate Episcopalians, and would have conformed to the Prayer-book and to the Church government that were in use previous to the Commonwealth, but could not give their unfeigned assent to all things in the Prayer-book as revised by the Convocation of 1661. 2. Some were of no sect or party, but liked what was good in all, without being able to adopt the Prayer-book as prescribed. 3. Some were Presbyterians, of whom Baxter says: “They were the soberest and most judicious, unanimous, peaceable, faithful, able, and constant ministers that he had ever heard or read of in the Christian world.” 4. Some were Independents, of whom the same writer says: “They were serious, godly men, some of them moderate, little differing from the Presbyterians, and as well ordered as any; but others were more raw and self-conceited, and addicted to separations and divisions, their zeal being greater than their knowledge.” Perhaps Baxter was hardly an unprejudiced witness respecting either the Presbyterians or the Independents.
Amongst the ministers expelled by the Act of Uniformity, there were not a few of the most remarkable men that the Church in this country has ever had. Most of them were excellent scholars, judicious divines, faithful and laborious pastors; men full of zeal for God and religion, undaunted in the service of their Master, diligent students, and powerful preachers. Especially were they men of great devotion, pleading for almost hours together at the throne of grace, and there inspired with faith, and love, and zeal, which raised them to the highest rank of heroes, and made them willing, not only to lose their livings, but to suffer even martyrdom itself, rather than to prove traitorous to Christ and to the liberties of His Church. More than two thousand of such men were ejected from the Church benefices of this country in 1662, and a passing glance at some of them may help the reader to remember others.
In this portrait-gallery, let us point to Edmund Calamy, who studied at the rate of sixteen hours a-day, was one of the most popular preachers in the capital, and whose week-day lectures were attended by such numbers of the nobility, that there were seldom fewer than sixty carriages at his church’s gates. William Bates, of graceful mien and comely person, generally reputed one of the best orators of the age,—his voice charming, his language neat, his style pleasing, his learning vast, his piety conspicuous, and his “Harmony of the Divine Attributes” alone sufficient to immortalise his memory. Samuel Annesley, who declared he remembered not the time when he was not converted; the descendant of a good family, whose estate was considerable; a man of a large soul, of flaming zeal, and of extensive usefulness; faithful in the ministry for fifty-five long years, during the last thirty of which he enjoyed an uninterrupted assurance of God’s forgiving love; a man of moderate learning, though an LL.D., but a most devoted Christian, and the father of Susannah Wesley. Joseph Caryl, a man of great piety, learning, and modesty, and author of a marvellous Commentary on the Book of Job, originally published in eleven volumes quarto. Thomas Brookes, a very affecting and useful preacher, rich in homely phrases and familiar figures, and whose “Apples of Gold” are still prized as much as ever. Matthew Pool, who spent ten years upon his “Synopsis Criticorum,” in five volumes folio, and who, during its compilation, used to rise between three and four o’clock every morning. Thomas Manton, a man of great learning, judgment, and integrity, and respected by all who knew him; endowed with extraordinary knowledge of the Holy Scriptures; his sermons clear and convincing; his delivery natural, eloquent, quick, and powerful; his piety answerable to his doctrines; and, to say nothing of his other publications, which were very numerous, his discourses, including those on the 119th Psalm, published in five volumes folio. Thomas Gouge, who, besides preaching and visiting, catechised his church every morning the year round; seldom merry, and yet never sad; a man who set up and established three or four hundred schools in Wales, which, to a great extent, were supported by himself. Thomas Watson, eminent in the gift of prayer, a hard student, a popular preacher, and author of “A Body of Divinity,” in the shape of sermons on the “Assembly’s Catechism.” John Goodwin, learned, clear-headed, and fluent; a thorough Arminian, and the author of “Redemption Redeemed.” John Owen, whose proficiency in learning was such, that he was admitted to the University when he was a child only twelve years old; and who pursued his studies with such diligence that, for several years, he allowed himself but four hours’ sleep a-night; tall in stature, affable in temper, charitable in spirit, and a friend of peace; a man of enormous learning, and whose labours as a minister were almost incredible; eminent for piety, an excellent preacher, and whose writings are almost enough to fill a library. Stephen Charnock, who spent most of his time in his study, except on Sundays, when, by his sermons in the pulpit, he showed how well he had employed the week; a man of strong judgment and lively imagination; well skilled in the Hebrew and Greek of the Old and New Testaments; a recluse, whose library was burnt in the great fire of London, and who was writing his discourses on the “Attributes of God,” when a peaceful death removed him to heaven. Thomas Harrison, of whom Lord Thomund used to say, “He had rather hear Dr Harrison say grace over an egg, than hear the bishops pray and preach.” John Flavel, an unwearied student, with an immense amount of both divine and human learning; a plain but popular preacher, and the well-known author of “Husbandry Spiritualised.” Isaac Ambrose, who, once a year, for the space of a month, retired to a hut, in a wood near Preston, and, avoiding all human converse, devoted himself to religious contemplation. Richard Alleine, pious, prudent, diligent, and whose well-known practical writings have been blessed to thousands. Joseph Alleine, of solid intellect and great piety; a man whose imprisonment for preaching hastened his death at the early age of thirty-five, and whose “Alarm to the Unconverted” has been read by myriads. Oliver Heywood, who, besides his stated work on Sundays, one year preached more than a hundred times, kept fifty fast days and nine days of thanksgiving, and, in the service of his Master, travelled fourteen hundred miles. Philip Henry, who preached a funeral sermon for every person whom he buried, but whose excessive modesty was such that he would publish nothing that he wrote. John Howe, who, when a young minister in Devonshire, used to perform divine service on fast-days (at that time frequent) as follows:—At nine in the morning he prayed for a quarter of an hour; then read the Scriptures and expounded three quarters of an hour; then prayed an hour; then preached another; then prayed half an hour, after which the people sung for fifteen minutes; he then prayed an hour more, preached another, and then, with a prayer of half an hour, concluded a service which lasted from nine in the morning until a quarter past three in the afternoon;—John Howe, in person tall and graceful; with a piercing but pleasant eye; singularly great in ministerial qualifications; his power in prayer marvellous, and his writings too well known to need description. And last, but not least, Richard Baxter, a man to whom Lord Chancellor Clarendon offered a bishopric, and whom Judge Jeffries, another government official, addressed thus:—“Richard, Richard! thou art an old knave.knave. Thou hast written books enow to fill a cart, every one of them as full of sedition, indeed treason, as an egg is full of meat;”—Baxter, “a man,” says his contemporary, William Bates, “with a noble negligence of style; for his great mind could not stoop to the affected eloquence of words;”—a man animated with the Holy Spirit, and breathing celestial fire to inspire life into sinners dead in trespasses and sins; a man whose expulsion from the Church gave him time to write and publish most of his invaluable books, some of which have been the means of converting more men from sin to holiness than any other books in modern times;—a man, says Dr Barrow, “whose practical writings were never mended, and his controversial ones seldom confuted;”—a man holding constant communion with God, and living in charity with men; whose life was a living sermon, and his conversation becoming a citizen of heaven.
Such were some of the two thousand martyr spirits who were ruthlessly ejected from their churches and their homes in 1662, and, for years afterwards, had to live in obscurity and silence; yea more, not only were they doomed to silence, but to suffering. In 1664 the “Conventicle Act” was passed, which provided that “every person above sixteen years of age present at any meeting of more than five persons besides the household, under a pretence of any exercise of religion, in other manner than is the practice of the Church of England, shall, for the first offence, be sent to gaol three months, till he pay a £5 fine; for the second offence, six months, till he pay a £10 fine; and for the third offence, be transported to some of the American plantations.” The execution of this execrable act, to a great extent, was committed to the king’s soldiers, who broke open every house where they fancied a few Nonconformists might be gathered together for sacred service. Close, unhealthy prisons were soon crammed with conscientious victims, men and women, old and young; whilst others were ruined in their estates by bribing the corrupt and rapacious myrmidons of a licentious and persecuting court. If a few of these persecuted people happened to be driven to madness and insurrection, as now and then occurred, they were strung up on the gallows, a dozen at a time, the good-natured king rarely exercising the prerogative of mercy on their behalf.
In 1665 the plague broke out in London, and swept away one hundred thousand of the inhabitants. The poltroon ministers in the city churches fled, and the ejected ministers re-entered the forsaken pulpits, and tried to benefit the terror-stricken people, whom the new-fledged parsons had cowardly left to the pestilence and the devil. The parliament, frightened from London, met in Oxford; but there, instead of showing kindness to the men who were so bravely doing duty in the city of the plague, they actually added injury to injury, by passing the execrable “Five Mile Act,” which provided that it should be a penal offence for any Nonconformist minister to teach in a school, or to come within five miles (except as a traveller in passing) of any city, borough, or corporate town, or of any place in which he had preached or taught since the passing of the Act of Uniformity, unless he had previously taken the oath of non-resistance—to wit, that it is not lawful, under any pretence whatever, to take arms against the king, or against those that are commissioned by him, or to endeavour to make any alteration of the government, either in Church or State.
What was the result of all this? An amount of suffering was endured far greater than had been inflicted, in the same space of time, since the days of the Reformation. Jeremy White collected a list of the names of Nonconformist sufferers, amounting to sixty thousand, and he states that of these sufferers five thousand died in prison. Informers skulked about cottages, garrets, back rooms, stables, and outhouses, wherever they suspected a handful of quiet Christians might be assembled to hear the word of life from the lips of an old pastor; and despite curtains, shutters, trap-doors, and other simple devices to ensure safety, seized on their hapless victims, and dragged them before merciless magistrates, who, with savage joy, doomed them to deep, dark prisons. Some, in search of godly quietude, wandered far away, others secreted themselves in fields and woods, but the more daring remained in their former dwellings, and met to worship God, in consequence of which they were led off to prison. Students, deprived of all means of subsistence, had to lay aside their books, take up the spindle, earn a few pence at knitting, and live on the coarsest fare. Closets, beds, tubs, hay-ricks, and other places of concealment were haunted by ruffian soldiers, pointing a musket at the door, or thrusting a sword into the straw. Troopers made no scruple of rushing into a good man’s house, while he was at prayer, and of threatening, while holding a pistol at his head, to blow out his brains, unless he ceased from his whining cant.
These were days of terror and of suffering such as Englishmen now seldom think about. Thousands of disgraceful and heart-rending facts might be stated. Suffice it to remark that, notwithstanding the severity of law, the harshness of magistrates, the brutality of constables, the deceitfulness of spies, and the rudeness of the rabble, Nonconformists continued as numerous as ever. Their firmness of character, their plain, practical, and awakening ministry, the purity of their morals, their strict observance of the Sabbath, their care for family religion, their succession of able and learned preachers, the disgust at the persecutions they were made to suffer, and the reaction produced by pushing High Church principles to an unbearable extent, in the short space of a quarter of a century, brought about the English Revolution of 1688, and obtained for them that which is the birthright of all, liberty to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences.
Samuel Wesley began life amid all this royal perfidy, legalised suffering, and national excitement, and, as we shall shortly see, he was the son of one of the two thousand persecuted and martyr-like ministers, ejected from their churches and their homes by the tyrannic Act of Uniformity, passed and enforced in the year 1662.
[This chapter has been compiled principally from Baxter’s Life and Times; Calamy’s Nonconformist Memorials; Calamy’s Life and Times; Macaulay’s History; Knight’s Pictorial History of England; Stoughton’s Church and State Two Hundred Years Ago; Alleine’s Memorial, by Stanford; Gauden’s Ecclesiæ Anglicanæ Suspiria, 1659; Walker’s Sufferings of the Clergy, 1714; History of Modern Enthusiasm, 1757; Rees’ Encyclopædia; Encyclopædia Britannica; and from tracts and pamphlets too numerous to mention.]