CHAPTER XII.
IX. Family life amongst the Nonconformists, in the reign of the later Stuarts, framed itself after the Puritan model; and in the memoirs of Oliver Heywood and Philip Henry, windows are open through which we discover their domestic habits. Saint Bartholomew’s Day became a solemn fast in commemoration of the ejectment,—sometimes held in fellowship with a neighbouring minister or ministers,—when “the Lord helped His servants, with strong cries, many tears, and mighty workings to acknowledge sin, accept of punishment, and implore mercy.”[323] Sometimes, when none but the family were present, each person prayed in turn, the minister, the wife, the two sons, and the maid, beginning with the youngest. Heywood, in his Diary, alludes to a particular friend—“a solid, gracious, useful, peaceable, tender-hearted Christian,” with whom he had “many a sweet day of prayer; and,” he says, “a few days before he died, we were at a private fast together in Ovenden-wood; and, oh! oh! how melting and affectionate was his heart for his children, a son and daughter, both here this day!” At another time, the same minister speaks of a private fast with two of his brethren, “about a special business, and our judgment was desired in an intricate matrimonial case, which seems something dark.”[324]
It is said of Thomas Aquinas that he had “the gift of tears;” and his weeping at church is mentioned amongst the signs of his saintship. The same gift seems to have been possessed by this Nonconformist family. When Heywood’s two sons devoted themselves to the work of the Christian ministry, and a solemn domestic service of worship celebrated the event, as one of the ministers read the 48th chapter in Genesis, and came to the words, “The angel which redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads,” tears stopped him; all wept. He says in prayer “God helped all;” and he adds: “God wrought strangely in my heart; oh! what a flood of tears, what pleadings with God! I can scarce remember the like.” At night again, they prayed, “sobbing and weeping,” like David and Jonathan, “until David exceeded.”[325]
Loyalty to the Stuarts beat in the bosoms of these Nonconformists, notwithstanding the treatment which they received; for we learn that, in the month of May, Mr. Heywood, his children, and his servant, spent several days with Mr. Angier at Denton, one of which days was the anniversary of Charles’ return, when there was a service in which Heywood took part.[326]
FAMILY LIFE.
They had their family meetings. Nathaniel Heywood, with his wife and his sons, visited Oliver; and the brother and uncle felt it a comfort to have “these three couples of Heywoods to meet together”—“a rising generation, all very hopeful.”[327] We fancy how they talked that April time—in the oak parlour, as the window was thrown open, during a burst of sunshine, after a shower which had drenched the fruit-blossoms and the rose-buds. We may guess the topics from incidents in connection with the Stanley family: Nathaniel might relate the story of his being taken by a party of soldiers, while preaching in the chapel at Bickerstaff, when Lady Stanley, who attended the service, came out of her gallery, and placed herself near the pulpit door, hoping to overawe their spirits and obstruct their designs; and how, when he attended the sessions at Wigan, Lady Stanley came with her husband, and others, to speak on behalf of the persecuted clergyman.[328] And Oliver might be led to recur, by the force of association, to the visit of himself and Mr. Angier to Sir Thomas Stanley of Alderley, when, being requested to pray in that large family, the first morning he was tempted to study and speak “handsome words from respect to the company;” but, reflecting to whom he prayed, and that it was no trifling matter, he set himself to the exercise in serious earnestness, and God helped him to speak devoutly, with respect to the state of their souls.[329] The hospitalities of Broad Oak were the praise of all the country round. The dwelling stood by the roadside, and any one travelling that way met with a cordial welcome at the bright fire-side, where the silenced Presbyter, Philip Henry, exemplified the virtues of a Bishop, “like Abraham sitting at his tent-door in quest of opportunities to do good. If he met with any poor near his house and gave them alms in money, yet he would bid them go to his door besides, for relief there. He was very tender and compassionate towards poor strangers and travellers, though his charity and candour were often imposed upon by cheats and pretenders.”[330] “This man,” says a competent witness, “(ever since I knew him, and whilst I was his neighbour) was careful to rise early on Sunday mornings, to spend a considerable portion of his time in his private devotions and preparations, then to come down and call his family together, and, after some short, preparatory prayer, to sing a Psalm (commonly the 100th), and then read some part of the sacred Scripture, and expound it very largely and particularly, and at last kneel down with all his family and pray devoutly; with particular references to the day and duties of it, and the minister that was to officiate. After which a short refection for breakfast, he made haste to church, and took care that all his family that could be spared, should go in due time likewise: sometime he was before the preacher, and often before the rest of the congregation; (as once particularly, when I gave them a sermon in that place, he and I walked together a considerable time before the people came;) he behaved himself reverently and very gravely in the church during the service; stood up commonly at prayers, and always, in my time, wrote a sermon after the minister. When the morning service was ended, he commonly invited the minister to dine with him, who seldom refused; and many others, who either lived at a distance, as Mrs. Hanmer, Sir Job Charleton’s daughter, married to a Justice of Peace in that country, or else such as were poor and needy. His discourse homewards was sweet and spiritual; at table it was seasoned as well as his meat; edifying, and yet pleasant, and taking; never wild or offensive. After meat and thanks returned, they commonly (I think constantly) before departure from table, sung the 23rd Psalm. Sometime after, when the servants had dined, he propounded to such guests as he thought in prudence he should not be too free with, to retire into the parlour for a while, till he had attended upon his family, repeated over the sermon and prayed with them; after which he returned to his guests again, and having entertained them with some short discourse, he retired awhile himself, and by and by, called upon his family to go to church. After evening service and sermon ended, he retired again till six o’clock (then called for prayers, catechised, took an account of children and servants of what they remembered at church, which accounts were given sometimes very largely and particularly), sung a Psalm, kneeled down to prayers (which consisted more of praise and benediction than at other times), and at last, his children kneeling down before him (to beg his blessing), he blessed them all, and concluded the service of the day with the 123rd Psalm; save that after supper, he retired for about half-an-hour more into his study before bed-time. Sometimes after the public service ended at church, he gave some spiritual instructions, and preached in his house to as many as would come to hear him; and in his last years, when the Incumbents grew careless in providing supplies for two or three neighbouring churches and chapels, and the people cried out for lack of vision, he set up a constant ministration and preaching at home, never taking anything by way of reward for his pains, unless with a purpose to give it away to those who were in greater necessities.”[331]
FAMILY LIFE.
That a sad colour tinged the joys of the Nonconformists must be confessed. How their Anglo-Saxon gravity might become more grave, and the light which sparkled over the home-life of their neighbours, might, in their own case, be darkened,—we see plainly enough when we recollect the perils which brooded over them even in seasons of calm, and the cruel interruptions which they suffered in the cloudy and dark day. Heywood speaks of officers sweeping away his chests, his tables, his chairs, his bed,—in short all his goods, except a cupboard and a few seats; and the same person was, for holding a religious meeting, imprisoned in York Castle.[332] How could such men, with all their tenderness, help being stern in their faith, and solemn in their pleasures? If genial they could not be light-hearted. They did not weep, as their enemies often said of them that they did, with a hypocritical whine; nor did they laugh, as some of their enemies really did, with affected glee,—their tears and smiles were genuine as the rain and the sunshine from heaven. Life was not to them, as to some others, a gay comedy,—it had in it a tragic cast; yet they never regarded it as a drama acted on the stage, but always as a real, earnest battle, fought in the open field, under the eye of God.
FAMILY LIFE.
Let us pass from the homes of Oliver Heywood and the two Henrys to the mansion of a Nonconformist nobleman already noticed—Philip Lord Wharton, the good Lord Wharton, as he is called, to distinguish him from a descendant of a far different character. In the pleasant village of Woburn, in Buckinghamshire, situated on the river Wick, a tributary to the Thames,—which in its course through a delightful district, turns the wheel of many a paper mill,—there stands, under the shadow of richly-wooded hills, and adorned by a stately row of poplars, a goodly house; connected with which are stables and fish-ponds, pertaining to a far nobler residence which once occupied the site. The estate, before it came into the possession of the Whartons, exhibited much magnificence, of the feudal stamp, containing a palace for the Bishops of Lincoln, and a chapel with a small cell adjoining, called Little Ease,—where Thomas Chase, of Amersham, was, in 1506, privately strangled for heresy, and where Thomas Harding, of Chesham, was confined in 1532, previously to his being burnt at the stake. This ancient and stately house became a great place of resort for Nonconformist Divines. Manton and Bates, Howe and Owen, were often entertained under the hospitable roof, and the shadows of these departed ones still pleasantly haunt the spot, as the Puritan residents of the neighbourhood conduct strangers through the gardens, and relate to them the legends of the old dwelling. There—during one of the severe attacks of his fatal malady—Owen wrote his last and justly admired letters to his Church; and there, under the operation of the Five Mile Act—the house being above that distance from High Wycombe—the Nonconformists of the neighbouring town used to assemble for worship. The chapel formed a convenient place for the purpose; and within its walls the voices of eminent Divines, Owen and Howe, for example, might be often heard. Thither came Puritans from Wycombe and Farnham, and Langley and other places; and one can see them in the dress of the period, with their steeple-crowned hats, and their short cloaks, coming down the hill-side, or crossing the green—not in large groups, but singly, stealthily picking their way to avoid observation, a peasant from a neighbouring farm wading on foot, a burgess from the good town of Wycombe, riding his little cob. When the service was over on Sunday forenoon, and the Wycombe people and other folks from Marlow and Beaconsfield, and stragglers from a greater distance, were putting on their hats and cloaks, and preparing to unfasten their nags and to turn homewards, the noble host would invite the people, in Buckinghamshire phraseology, “to stop and take a sop in the pan,” that they might avail themselves of the privilege of attending worship again in the afternoon.[333]