The Yarmouth Congregational Church Book bears witness to the effect produced by the Declaration just afterwards:—“It was ordered by the Church, that the Meeting-house should be made clean, and shutters be made for the upper windows, which was accordingly done by many of our maid-servants.” This curious minute affords an example of busy scenes of religious zeal, such, probably, as occurred in many towns and villages. The humble conventicle was repaired, the interior was cleansed and fitted up for a public assembly, and many a heart beat with joy at signs which promised they should once more “sit under their vine and fig-tree, none daring to make them afraid.”
About the same time Evelyn remarks:—“There was a wonderful concourse of people at the Dissenters’ meeting-house in this parish, and the parish church (Deptford) left exceeding thin. What this will end in, God Almighty only knows; but it looks like confusion, which I pray God avert.”[186]
DECLARATION OF INDULGENCE.
The Dissenters generally, whilst they accepted James’ Indulgence, saw through his designs. Not only did they oppose the King’s claim to dispense with laws, but many of them also, through fear of Popery, resisted the repeal of the Test Act; choosing rather to suffer exclusion from civil offices than open a door for the admission of Papists. Some indeed, who advocated occasional conformity (that is communicating at times with Episcopalians in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper), suffered no personal inconvenience from the Test Act, and therefore advocated its continuance. Among them was Sir John Shorter, the Presbyterian Lord Mayor of London, in the year 1687; he preferred occasional attendance at Church during his mayoralty, to an acceptance of the suspected benefits offered by the Indulgence. Considering such cases, one cannot help seeing, that if such persons confined conformity to their year of office, they laid themselves open to the charge of sacrificing their principles for personal ends.
1687.
The King, at this period, regarded the famous Quaker, William Penn, as his particular friend and supporter. The Admiral, his father, had been a favourite with James when Duke of York; that favour he transferred after the Admiral’s death, to the pious son. The Royal regard—added to the Quaker’s wealth and rank, his personal character, social qualities, and active habits—made him one of the most important and influential men of his day, and the early gathering of suitors at the door of his mansion at Kensington, resembled the resort of clients to some popular Roman patrician. Penn has been charged with involving himself in dishonourable transactions with the maids of honour for the purchase of a Royal pardon for girls at Taunton, who presented a banner to Monmouth; and also with attempting to bribe the Fellows of Magdalen College, Oxford, to submit to the King in certain illegal proceedings which we shall hereafter describe. But it appears in a very high degree probable, that the Penn, who acted as a pardon-broker for the Taunton young ladies was not Penn the Quaker: and the charge against the latter, in reference to the business at Magdalen College, is not established, even after the cleverest special pleading employed for the purpose.[187] But Penn certainly did all he could to support James in his policy of Indulgence, and to persuade Nonconformists to accept its benefits. As an Englishman this excellent person could not have had a clear understanding of the constitutional question involved in the measure; as a Nonconformist he showed a want of wisdom in countenancing the dispensing power; and he is to be reckoned as one of that class whose humanity, whose benevolence, and whose desire to secure present liberty under critical circumstances, are wont to interfere with their perception of fundamental principles and of ultimate results. Nor can any one, even with the greatest admiration of his eminent virtues, and of his conscientious adherence to his religion in the midst of persecution, regard him as free from infirmities. It may be fairly suspected that, with his courteous manners, he blended, in spite of his Quaker usages, a measure of obsequiousness to Royalty, that gratified by Royal attention, this Courtier Friend felt disposed to go further than other conscientious men could do in promoting Royal designs, and that a little spice of personal vanity was sprinkled over the better qualities of this very estimable person.
WILLIAM KIFFIN.
1687.
Upon a different character from Penn, James wasted his acts in vain. William Kiffin has been mentioned already as the victim of a scandalous forgery. This and other attempts upon his safety he overcame. Indeed, he was charged with designs upon the life of Charles II., a charge too absurd to be prosecuted, yet it exposed him to some degree of temporary inconvenience. Although not himself accused of complicity in the Rye House Plot, or in the Monmouth Rebellion, his family suffered from both—a son-in-law being tried for his connection with the first, and two grandsons, handsome youths, pious, and of great promise, being executed for their share in the second. Kiffin still continued a preacher of the Gospel in the Baptist denomination, as well as a prosperous merchant in the City of London, and it is curious to notice how this twofold character is indicated in his portrait: a Puritan skull-cap covers his head, whilst long curly locks flow from under it, and a richly embroidered lace collar covers his breast, with a loose cloak gracefully wrapped round his shoulders. His wealth and position in the City, together with his influence amongst Nonconformists, rendered him a person worthy of being conciliated. Upon his coming to Court, in obedience to the Royal command, the King told him that his name had been put down as an alderman in the new Charter. “Sire,” he replied, “I am a very old man, and have withdrawn myself from all kind of business for some years past, and am incapable of doing any service in such an affair, to your Majesty or the City—besides, Sire,” he continued, the tears running down his cheeks, “the death of my grandsons gave a wound to my heart, which is still bleeding, and never will close, but in the grave.” “Mr. Kiffin,” returned James, “I shall find a balsam for that sore.” The marble-hearted[188] monarch had no conception of such deep sorrow as filled Kiffin’s breast; and Kiffin showed himself proof against all attempts upon his political and ecclesiastical integrity. He felt obliged nominally to accept the aldermanship; but, after holding it for a few months, without meddling much in civic affairs, he obtained a discharge from his troublesome office.[189]