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."
Owen Vice-Chancellor.
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.
His Speeches.
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.
University Costume.
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]
Oxford Celebrities.
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.
Oxford Celebrities.
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.
Evelyn's Visit.
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:—
"Great ruler of the land and sea profound,
Thy praise the elements conspire to sound;
Thy genius deeper than the mighty deep,
Thy fame spreads wider than the billows sweep.
If thou ascend thy chariot, either pole
Bears up the wheels which still triumphant roll.
Thy martial scabbard, hanging by thy side,
Ensheaths thy country's power, and life, and pride.
'Tis thine alone to rule the raging main,
And bind proud Neptune in thy sovereign chain.
Thou bravest victor, with triumphant hand,
Scatt'rest thy trophies over sea and land.
In gentlest, noblest deeds, thy days abound,
The peaceful olive binds thy honours round.
Batavia's realm, rejoicing in thy smile,
Now shares the friendship of our British isle;
That isle, encircled by its ocean guard,
And by the victories of thy peerless sword."
Walton's Polyglott.
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.
Owen's Criticism.
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]
Cambridge University.
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]
Simpson—Dell.
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]
Akehurst.
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]
Evelyn at Cambridge.
John Evelyn, whom we have seen at Oxford, also visited Cambridge, and has left us notes of the state in which he found the University. He describes St. John's as being an edifice well built of brick, and having the best library of any of the colleges, with ornaments of pietra commessa (marble inlaid of various colours), and containing amongst its curiosities "a vast old song book" and other MSS., and a portrait of Archbishop Williams. Trinity was renowned for its quadrangle, which our diarist, however, considered inferior to that of Christ Church, Oxford, although he acknowledged that the fountain was graceful, and that the chapel and library were fair: the illuminated MSS. and the other antiquities greatly interested the Royalist visitor. King's College Chapel, with its groined stone roof, answered his expectation. Clare Hall, of "new and noble design," but "not finished;" Peter House having "a delicate chapel;" the fine college of Sidney; Catherine Hall, "a mean structure;" Emanuel, a "zealous house;" Jesus College, "one of the best built, but in a melancholy situation; and" Christ's College, the modern part, of "exact architecture," are all noticed: but Cambridge evidently was eclipsed in Evelyn's estimation by the glories of his own Alma Mater. He pronounces the schools "despicable," the public library "mean:" but he has a word of praise for the market-place of the town, and for "old Hobson, the pleasant carrier's beneficence of a fountain."[277]
Presbyterians in the University.
After what has been said of John Dell, no one can form a favourable idea of the state of Caius College under his administration. But other heads of Houses were persons of a very different stamp. Dr. Thomas Hill, master of Trinity, and Dr. John Arrowsmith, master of St. John's, were both old-fashioned Puritans. Both were decidedly Presbyterian. Both were Evangelical and devout, and both, fired with religious zeal, were anxious for the spiritual welfare of the University. Neither of them, perhaps, possessed much scholarship or any refinement of taste, and their quaint writings, long since forgotten, seem to be such as the most intense admirers of quaintness could hardly read now-a-days with any interest—yet they alike encouraged theological studies, and valued learning as an indispensable pre-requisite for a good Divine. Dr. Lazarus Seaman, also a Presbyterian—who had succeeded Dr. Cosin as master of Peter House—appears from Wood's testimony to have been skilled in Oriental languages, in casuistry, and in the history of ecclesiastical controversies. He had even won favour from Charles I., when attending him in the Isle of Wight, as one of the Parliamentary Commissioners. Dr. Tuckney, another Presbyterian—who had succeeded Dr. Holdsworth in the mastership of Emanuel, and afterwards Dr. Arrowsmith in the mastership of St. John's—when exhorted to have regard to the godly in his elections, replied, with a dash of humour—"No one should have greater regard to the truly godly than himself, but he was determined to choose none but scholars; adding, they may deceive me in their godliness, they cannot in their scholarship."[278] The number of Presbyterians at Cambridge, as compared with Oxford, is accounted for by the fact that the change at Cambridge occurred at the beginning of the wars, when the Presbyterians were in power, and that the change at Oxford took place at the end of the wars, when the Independents were in the ascendant. Under the circumstances, Oxford would naturally be more of an Independent, and Cambridge more of a Presbyterian University.
Dr. Minshall, a Conformist at the Restoration—chosen, according to the statutes, master of Sidney, on the death of Dr. Ward—held that post for life with a high reputation. Dr. Simpson, as master of Pembroke, acquitted himself with a love of learning, and a zeal for godliness corresponding with his oration at the commencement of 1653; he died in 1658 with joy befitting his holy life.
The college presidents at Cambridge during the Commonwealth best known to fame are Witchcot, Lightfoot, and Cudworth.
Witchcot—Lightfoot.
On the ejection of Dr. Collins—who would not take the Engagement—Dr. Witchcot became provost of King's. Neither a Presbyterian, nor an Independent, he held Episcopal views, with extreme moderation; and afterwards conformed to the Church of the Restoration, as he did to the Church of the Commonwealth. He had never sworn to the Covenant; he probably looked upon the Engagement simply as a bond of political submission; and on the whole, he seems to have belonged to the class of persons who do not hold the Divine right of any particular form of ecclesiastical government, but decide that question upon grounds of expediency;—adopting what they consider to be the best practical method for propagating the principles and promoting the morals of Christianity. The few posthumous publications of this Divine, collected by his admirers, are not sufficient to support his fame, which arose no doubt from his preaching and conversation, his candour and catholicity, his amiableness and benevolence. Witchcot's reputation is a striking example of the power of personal influence. "He had great credit," says Burnet, writing many years afterwards, "with some that had been eminent in the late times, but made all the use he could of it to protect good men of all persuasions. He was much for liberty of conscience; and being disgusted with the dry, systematical way of those times, he studied to raise those who conversed with him to a nobler set of thoughts, and to consider religion as a seed of a deiform nature (to use one of his own phrases). In order to this he set young students much on reading the ancient philosophers, chiefly Plato, Tully, and Plotinus; and on considering the Christian religion as a doctrine sent from God, both to elevate and sweeten human nature, in which he was a great example, as well as a wise and kind instructor."[279] A man must have had some extraordinary qualities to produce such influence, and to create such a reputation, leaving them behind for years afterwards surrounded by such a lustrous halo.
Dr. Brownrigg had been ejected from Catherine Hall as a non-Covenanter, and Dr. Spurstow, who had succeeded him there, was subsequently dismissed for refusing to take the Engagement.[280] The vacancy thus occasioned was supplied by the appointment to it of Dr. Lightfoot. Lightfoot, who has been already mentioned as one of the Assembly of Divines, surpassed both his predecessors at Catherine Hall in depth of learning and literary repute. Whilst his Erastian opinions would remove difficulties out of the way of his submission to the changes which occurred in the government of the Church and the University—his extraordinary attainments as a Rabbinical scholar, and the wide range of his general knowledge, eminently fitted him for the high scholastic position which he attained at Cambridge. Perhaps no other Englishman ever possessed such a consummate acquaintance with the whole range of Hebrew and Biblical literature, so far as it existed in his own time; and although his works bear a somewhat varied and fragmentary appearance, and include questions of chronology, as well as enquiries into texts and versions, comments and paraphrases—they all relate more or less to that which was the great object of his life—a harmony of the four Evangelists, and the elucidation of the sacred narrative from the writings of the Rabbis. We are not aware of any other writer who has done so much in the same way to aid the study of the New Testament.[281]
The brilliant reputation of Dr. Cudworth—who succeeded the Episcopalian Dr. Pask—in the mastership of Clare Hall, and who afterwards held the mastership of Christ's college, is almost enough, in some respects, to eclipse the lustre of the other two. Like his contemporary, Lightfoot, he addicted himself much to the study of Hebrew antiquities, having been in the year 1645 chosen Regius Professor of Hebrew; and, also like both Lightfoot and Witchcot, he entertained very broad views of ecclesiastical polity; but his unrivalled acquaintance with Plato and the Platonists, and with the Alexandrian philosophers and fathers, was a peculiar distinction which has made him a sign and a wonder ever since. His "Intellectual System" is a marvel in literature. Yet, strange to say, though it be the most patient sifting Atheism ever received, this book from its candour, and its honest scrutiny into everything which can be advanced against the fundamental truth of all religion, brought upon the author the most cruel and absurd attacks—attacks which proceeded so far that he was even charged with holding the very Atheism which his prodigious powers and resources had been employed to overturn. This unrighteous controversy however, is, after all, but a specimen of the blinding fury which even in our own day inspires certain persons—as ignorant as they are honest—in their championship of orthodoxy, and in their suspicion of error. It also illustrates the prejudice and malignity often existing in the hearts of bigots against persons, who with the deepest convictions of truth, combine a candid disposition, a tolerant temper, and a charitable judgment of their adversaries.
Cudworth—Patrick—More—Smith.
At the same time there existed at Cambridge a noted band, including men of great learning, intellect, and piety—who sympathized with Lightfoot, Witchcot, and Cudworth—especially with the last two, in their more select studies, and in their most generous sentiments. Simon Patrick, Fellow of Queen's, was a man whom the turn of his mind—though more devout and practical than speculative—did not prevent from appreciating and admiring the endowments and culture of his more gifted friends. Henry More—the Platonist and mystic, and a disciple of Descartes, with his "Song of the Soul," and his "Conjectura Cabalistica"—written at the request of a Quaker—full of admiration for Pythagoras—remained Fellow and Tutor in Christ's college, although he was offered the mastership of that foundation before it fell to the lot of Cudworth. But in the same direction, John Smith, fellow of Queen's, went far beyond Simon Patrick and Henry More—combining as he did much of the practical piety of the first, with all the speculative genius of the second. His sermons are extraordinary productions, full of deep and comprehensive thought; which, whilst tinged with mysticism, are truly Evangelical, and eminently adapted to build up a holy life.
Burnet remarks respecting the individuals whom we have named, "All these, and those who were formed under them, studied to examine further into the nature of things than had been done formerly. They declared against superstition on the one hand, and enthusiasm on the other. They loved the constitution of the Church, and the Liturgy, and could well live under them. But they did not think it unlawful to live under another form. They wished that things might have been carried with more moderation. And they continued to keep a good correspondence with those who had differed from them in opinion, and allowed a great freedom both in philosophy and in divinity. From whence they were called men of latitude, and upon this, men of narrower thoughts and fiercer tempers fastened upon them the name of Latitudinarians. They read Episcopius much; and the making out the reasons of things being a main part of their studies—their enemies called them Socinians. They were all very zealous against Popery. And so, they becoming soon very considerable, the Papists set themselves against them to decry them as Atheists, Deists, or at best Socinians."[282]
It is curious to find such men in the very heart of a Puritan age. They were founders of a new order of religious thought, new, at least, in reference to the mental habits in general of that period. They did not assail Puritanism, nor, indeed, assume an attitude of opposition to other good men of any class—they preferred to build up rather than to pull down, to heal rather than to wound; but certainly their sympathies did not run in Puritan lines. They appreciated the eminent piety of many contemporaries of that school, and they lived with them upon terms of friendship; but, for their own part, they maintained broader views of theology than did their brethren. Their interest in the study of Plato and Plotinus, and their elevation of what is moral over what is merely intellectual gave to their method of enquiry, and to the conclusions which they reached, a certain cast, which plainly distinguished them from the kind of teaching found in the Westminster Confession, and in the standard works of the Puritan Divines.
Cambridge Studies.
Differences have always obtained in the mode of contemplating Christianity, according with various types of mind and with various descriptions of culture and circumstances. Aristotelian and Platonic forms of thought, so obvious in theological history, are amongst its common facts; and when we recollect that such forms are the inevitable consequences of original varieties in the intellectual nature of mankind, they appear also to belong to its greatest mysteries. Occasionally overlooked, even by philosophers, and habitually forgotten by controversialists, the remembrance of them is so important, that if forgotten, the changes and collisions which occur in the progress of theological enquiry—whether in primitive, mediæval, or modern times—must remain unintelligible. And the spectacle of the logical dogmatist on the one hand, and the sentimental mystic on the other, deriving different impressions from the same object—and then looking each other in the face, with expressions of marvellous surprise, that they cannot both see one and the same thing in one and the same way—can never be explained by those who do not keep before them the fact just noticed. As there were different ineradicable idiosyncracies in Clement and Tertullian, in Origen and Augustine, in Bernard and Abelard, in Bonaventura and Thomas Aquinas, in John Tauler and John Calvin—so there were idiosyncracies equally ineradicable in John Smith and John Owen, in Ralph Cudworth and in Richard Baxter. The influence of circumstances in reference to the Cambridge school coincided with the intellectual character of the members, and contributed to the development of its theological peculiarities. Early education, the stimulus derived from other minds, in some respects very different, and the reactions consequent upon the unfolding of tendencies to their furthest extreme, are all to be reckoned amongst the factors of religious opinion. The theology of the men to whom we now refer was partly the result of that training which they had received in Greek philosophy, and which had formed part of the Cambridge system in their early days[283]; and of that study of the Greek fathers, which had been promoted, perhaps, by the example of Andrewes; partly, also, it was a reaction both against the stiff ritualism of the Laudian party, and against the rigid and severe doctrinalism of the Puritans. A good example of what constituted the pith of the teaching which we have briefly noticed, occurs in an introduction to "Smith's Select Discourses," written by his friend, Dr. John Worthington.[284]
Cambridge Theology.
Godliness he explains as signifying "infinitely more than a power to dispute with heat and vehemency about some opinions, or to discourse volubly about some matters in religion, and in such forms of words as are taking with the weak and unskilful; more than a power to pray without a form of words; for these and the like may be, and frequently are done by the formal and unspiritual Christian; more than a power to deny themselves in some things that are easy to part with, and do not much cross their inclinations, their self-will, their corrupt designs and interests, nor prejudice their dear and more beloved lusts and pleasures, their profitable and advantageous sins; and more than a power to observe some lesser and easier commands, or to perform an outward obedience arising out of slavish fear, void of inward life and love, and a complacency in the law of God." And further, he dwells with delight on "the mighty acts and noble achievements of the more excellent, though less ostentatious Christians, who, through faith in the goodness and power of God, have been 'enabled to do all things through Christ, knowing both how to abound, and how to be abased;' enabled to overcome the world without them, and the love of the world within them; enabled to overcome themselves—and for a man 'to rule his own spirit' is a greater instance of power and valour than 'to take a city,' as Solomon judgeth;—enabled to resist the powers of darkness, and to quit themselves like men and good soldiers of Jesus Christ—giving many signal overthrows to those lusts that war against their souls, and to the mightiest and strongest of them, the sons of Anak; and by engaging in the hardest services of this spiritual warfare, wherein the Pharisaical boasters dare not follow them, they shew that there is a spirit of power in them, and that they can do more than others."[285]
Yet, whilst we are quite disposed to do justice to these admirable individuals, we cannot but discover in the later effects of their example some things which must be exceedingly deplored. Their breadth of charity was followed by an amount of latitudinarianism with which they themselves were not chargeable. And their attempts to determine and establish the higher position of what is moral, in comparison with what is intellectual in Church life and in Church creeds, led ultimately to an inexcusable neglect of the distinctive doctrines of Christianity. The profitableness of virtue, and the reasonableness of religion, became the all-absorbing themes. Hard, dry Rationalism, bearing a Christian name, with never-ending discussions on evidences, appears throughout the first half of the eighteenth century as a development of the weak side of the Cambridge divinity in the seventeenth.
Cambridge and Oxford Compared.
Between this and the Oxford theology of the Commonwealth period, a remarkable contrast presents itself. The most distinguished Oxford Divines then were Owen and Goodwin. Howe—who in genius and feeling was far less remote than they were from Cudworth and Smith, and who possessed a still nobler intellect, and also presented a life of still rarer beauty than either of his fellow Independents—was but a young man at the time of which we speak, and could exercise no such influence as belonged to the Dean of Christ Church and the President of Magdalen. The theology of these two Divines was Puritan to the core, and whilst betraying Puritan defects, it exhibited, in a high degree, Puritan excellencies. It sometimes assigned to a really subordinate theory the place belonging to a supremely important fact; it failed to distinguish adequately between Divine premises and human inferences; also it was deficient in sympathy with pure thought, spiritual desire, and honest endeavours after goodness beyond its own circle; and it lacked that breadth of sympathy which was cultivated by the Cambridge worthies, which redounded so much to their honour. But then let it be remembered, that on the part of the Oxford Puritans there existed a loyalty to that which is peculiar, and characteristic in the Gospel of Christ—a loyalty which redeemed their worst weaknesses. They loved the Gospel as a message of free mercy to the children of Adam, as a revelation of redeeming grace through the mystery of the cross; and they dwelt largely, emphatically, and in a way not to be misunderstood, upon what makes the New Testament a book of life and joy to conscience-stricken men. And the veins of gold running through their works rendered them a mine of wealth a hundred years afterwards, when people impoverished by Rationalism flocked to it as to a spiritual California. Indeed, the Methodism ultimately fixed outside the establishment by Whitefield and the two Wesleys—who were all three nurtured at Oxford—was largely dug out of Puritan beds of Christian ore. In the largest measure, and in the directest way, this was the case with Whitefield's theology. With respect to John Wesley, although Oxford Puritanism was not without influence upon his mind, yet that influence was less direct than it seems to have been in the history of his Calvinistic friend, and in Wesley's case it was certainly mixed with powerful ingredients which were derived from Cambridge sources. The school of Divines just noticed stood high in his estimation,[286] and he was affected by them not only through the perusal of their writings, but likewise through the medium of an eminent disciple of theirs—William Law, who was one of Wesley's personal friends.
Still more decidedly the Evangelicalism of the last century fostered within the establishment by Romaine, and Berridge, and Venn, was derived from the influence of Owen and his companions; and thus defects attaching to the theology which had sprung up at Cambridge were supplied by the theology which had been cherished and promoted at Oxford. Too long these schools of thought have stood apart. Is not the time come for uniting evangelical faith and zeal, as decided and fervent as were those of Owen and Goodwin, with a sympathy for all truth—with a recognition of the relations of Christianity to the entire universe of thought—with a catholic charity in judging other men—and with an estimate of the supremacy of spiritual goodness, in no respect less broad, but in every respect more healthy than that which prevailed in some of the colleges within the University of Cambridge two hundred years ago?
We shall terminate, without endeavouring to complete the list of Cambridge notabilities, by simply mentioning Edward Stillingfleet, Fellow of St. John's, afterwards Bishop of Worcester; David Clarkson, Fellow of Clare, an eminent Nonconformist Divine; John Tillotson, who succeeded Clarkson in his Fellowship, and at last attained the Primacy; Francis Holcroft, another Fellow on the same foundation, occupying, along with Tillotson, a chamber over the college gate—and distinguished alike by his attainments and by his sufferings for conscience' sake; John Ray, the well-known naturalist, Fellow of Trinity; and William Cave, the author of "Primitive Christianity," who graduated in the year 1656, and who died Canon of Windsor.
University of Durham.
A new University was attempted. The Grand Jury of the county of Durham, at the summer assizes in the year 1650, presented a petition to Parliament, praying that lands of the Dean and Chapter not then sold might be granted for founding a college of students in that city. After the winter assizes of 1651-2, another petition from the Grand Jury was dispatched to Westminster, pressing the subject upon the attention of the legislature. The project went to sleep a while; and then, in the year 1656, Oliver Cromwell—who had from the first favoured the plan, in spite of characteristic remonstrances from George Fox—issued an ordinance for a collegiate establishment in the Palatinate. The credit of the suggestion is due to gentlemen of the county: the merit of proceeding to carry it into effect to the Lord Protector. Lambert, Montague, and Rouse—a Committee of his Highness's council—had recommended the scheme as of great advantage to the northern parts of England, both in reference to promoting the preaching of the Gospel, and the wise education of young men; and in accordance with the recommendation, the ordinance ordained and appointed the institution under the name of the Master or Provost, Fellows and Scholars of the College in Durham, of the foundation of Oliver, Lord Protector of the Commonwealth. It was to occupy the site of the Deanery, Prebendal houses, Cathedral Church, and Castle, and to continue a College for ever. The charter authorized one Provost, two Preachers or senior Fellows, and twelve other Fellows—four to be Professors, four to be Tutors, four to be Schoolmasters. Moreover, it created twenty-four scholarships. Philip Hunton was nominated Provost, and was to receive above £200 per annum out of the rich Rectory of Sedgefield, in the Bishopric of Durham, besides holding the living of Westbury, in Wilts, whence he was ejected in 1662. A concise treatise, "Concerning Monarchy," published by this person in the year 1643, entitles him, in the estimation of some, to be considered a worthy precursor of Sidney and Locke—of which, at least, this proof appears, that the book was burnt in the school quadrangle of Oxford in 1683.[287] To William Spinage, Fellow of Exeter, Oxford—"a good Divine," "a great philosopher and disputant," and "a man of much integrity and zeal"—and to Joseph Hill, Fellow of Magdalen, Cambridge—a popular tutor, and a zealous Proctor—were assigned the positions of first Preachers or senior Fellows. Thomas Vaughan, John Kister, Robert Wood, and John Peachil—all University graduates—were to be the first four Professors. Nathaniel Vincent—pronounced by Wood a "considerable scholar," described by Calamy as serious, humble, godly, of sober principles, and great zeal and diligence, and known as the author of several practical treatises—was appointed one of the first four Schoolmasters.[288]
The Cathedral Church, Churchyard, and Free School, with the unsold estates of the Dean and Chapter, and an annual revenue, in addition, of £900 out of certain manors, rectories, and impropriations, constituted the endowment. Moreover, the library of books, the manuscripts, and the mathematical and other instruments belonging to the Cathedral were made over to the same institution. The Provost, Fellows, and Scholars were to be a Corporation for purchasing and holding property, having a common seal, and to be governed by laws made by the Lord Protector and his Council. The ordinance gives a long list of visitors, including Sir Thomas Widdrington, Speaker of the House of Commons, Lords Fairfax, Grey, Wharton, and Falconbridge, Sir Henry Vane, and Sir Arthur Haselrig. Amongst the clerical visitors occur the names of the eminent Edward Bowles of York, and of Richard Gilpin—a name of great honour in the north. Like Bernard Gilpin, who was of the same family, he refused the bishopric of Carlisle, and like that illustrious preacher and parish priest, he was preeminent for pastoral diligence and for pulpit eloquence.[289] The Corporation of the College was empowered to set up "a printing press and a rolling press," and to buy "paper, iron, tin, and letters," free of customs. The right was granted of printing Bibles, and of licensing books for publication, together with the monopoly of all works issuing from their press. The Provost, Fellows, and Scholars were to be exempt from "watching, warding, or mustering, or any hue and cry," and from all civic and rural offices, from that of mayor down to that of scavenger. They were also exempted from all customs, and their horses were not subjected to any liability—as the charter expresses it—"to ride post." The instrument bears date the 15th of May, 1657.[290] The next year Oliver Cromwell died, upon which came a petition to the Protector Richard, praying that he would complete what his father had begun. But opposition arose on the part of Oxford and Cambridge. They petitioned against a third University, and especially against conferring degrees—which, by the way, is a power not mentioned in any part of Oliver's ordinance. The whole project of course fell to the ground at the Restoration.
University of Durham.
Sir William Petty, in a letter to Hartlib, Milton's friend, proposed a third University in the Metropolis, and also a school for all classes—none to be excluded by reason of the poverty and inability of their parents; "for hereby," says the writer, "many are now holding the plough which might have been made fit to steer the State."[291] The unsuccessful schemes of the Commonwealth have been accomplished, to some extent, in our own time, in the Durham and London Universities, and it is to the credit of the men of that day that they anticipated the wisdom of posterity.
Before closing this chapter, we may glance at certain ancient foundations in which religion was blended with chivalry and with education. The order of the Garter disappeared. One of the Canons of St. George's Chapel, Windsor, in the reign of James I., had dwelt with intense admiration upon its worship and service. God was there daily and continually served—said this writer in a spirit of amazing superstition—like a God with the greatest magnificence, and with all means of devotion, such as music and outward ceremonies. The knights had made solemn vows for the protection of the Church, and the relief of orphans and widows. There the grounds of their courage and fortitude were laid, and with sacrifices of silver and gold, they offered their hearts to the Most High. Thus the Canon painted in glowing colours the installations which he had witnessed in the gorgeous chapel within the castle precincts—not forgetting to notice the blue coats and chains of gold worn by the attendants. Indeed, it had been a display little in harmony with Protestantism, and it all vanished like "the baseless fabric of a vision" under the touch of the Presbyterian Parliament.[292] Deans, Canons, Minor Canons, and Clerks were ejected, with only liberty left "to carry forth all their goods, utensils, household stuffs, and books to their several abodes." The furniture and decorations of the Chapel were seized; Edward the Fourth's coat of mail, with its gold, and pearls, and rubies, being amongst the most valuable portions of the spoil. The church plate, handed over to the treasury at Guildhall, went into the melting pot, and was coined into money to pay the soldiers. The sacred edifice, cleansed of "all such matters as are justly offensive to godly men," was used for a lecture, set up "to be exercised every Lord's Day, in the afternoon, to begin when other sermons usually end, and one day in the week." Yet after this ecclesiastical revolution so little was the building injured, that, when one June day in 1654, Evelyn and his wife drove down to Windsor in a coach and four, he alluded in his Diary to "the church and workmanship in stone" as "admirable."
Public Schools.
The old public schools of England,—whose glory it is to unite Christian instruction with classical learning—were ecclesiastical foundations; and these, under the rule of Parliament, and during the reign of the Protector, met with little interruption and sustained no real injury. Eton, after a temporary suspension of its statutes, had, in the year 1645, its former usages restored; and the election of scholars then recommenced "in manner as had theretofore been accustomed."[293] Francis Rouse—who translated the Psalter into English verse, who was one of the Protector's Council, who became Speaker of the Little Parliament, and who obtained a seat in Cromwell's House of Lords—had been Provost of the College from the time of the ejection of Dr. Stewart in the year 1644. Rouse died in 1658, and was buried at Eton with much pomp. Upon the consequent occurrence of a vacancy, Whitelocke, then Constable of Windsor Castle, by the advice of his friends, endeavoured to secure the vacant office—which he described as "a thing of good value, quiet and honourable, and fit for a scholar;" but on applying to his Highness, the candidate found the place reserved as "a bait for some others."[294] Nicholas Lockyer, an Oxford man, one of Oliver's chaplains, received the appointment.
Public Schools.
The election of scholars at Westminster had, in the year 1645, been vested in Commissioners, and also in the Master of the school, the Master of Trinity, Cambridge, and the Dean of Christ Church, Oxford—if "the said Dean were not a delinquent." The ordinance would give to Dr. Owen, when he presided over Christ Church, the rights with regard to the school which had been exercised by such dignitaries of old. In the Act of April, 1649, for the sale of ecclesiastical property, the foundations of Westminster, Winchester, and Eton were expressly excepted from its operation.[295] The old Westminster school-room, with its chesnut roof—which once covered the dormitory of the monks of St. Peter—had its rows of boys (Puritans amongst the rest), under the tuition of Puritan teachers, occupying the forms and studying their Latin primers, as in days of yore. The then Head Master, appointed about 1639, was no other than the famous Richard Bushy, whose portrait—reminding one a little of the spare-looking but keen-eyed Richard Baxter—still adorns the Deanery. There he wielded his ferule for fifty-seven years, not sparing the rod lest he should spoil the child.[296] One of his under-masters was the once well-known but now forgotten Edward Bagshawe, an Oxford student, who had shewn himself a turbulent and domineering person, not only in his college, but in the University—where he disturbed the Vice-Chancellor "with interposed speeches without formalities, and with his hat cocked," in which guise he was wont to read his catechetical lecture. But Master Richard Busby would not allow in office such a "pragmatical and ungrateful" personage, and therefore "outed" him in 1658, when Littleton, a Christ Church man, was put in his room.[297] The revenues of the public schools of England were more or less affected by the disturbances of the period, but in other respects they seem to have held on the even tenor of their way.
