But to return. Such was the excitement created by Oates’s allegations, that, in 1679, one of the first acts of the House of Commons was to pass a resolution, “that the Duke of York, being a Papist, and the hopes of his coming such to the crown, had given the greatest countenance to the present conspiracies and designs against the king and the Protestant religion.” The House also voted an address to the king, requesting him to banish all Papists in London twenty miles from its borders, and to put all sea-ports, fortresses, and ships into trusty hands. In the meantime, Charles induced his unpopular popish brother to retire to Brussels; but, before he went, James exacted from the king a formal declaration that the young Duke of Monmouth was illegitimate. The Commons, not satisfied with what they had already done, proceeded with their famous Bill of Exclusion, by which the crown of England was to pass from Charles to the next Protestant heir, as if the Duke of York were dead. This bill was read a second time, when Charles suddenly dissolved parliament.

Whilst all this was going on in England, exciting events were occurring in Scotland. There, dragoons were dispersing field-meetings, and many a moor was made wet with the blood of Covenanters. At one field conventicle, upwards of one hundred men were killed in cold blood. Balfour had mortally wounded Archbishop Sharp; and Russell had finished the work by hacking his skull to pieces; while the rest of their companions retired to a cottage on the moor, and spent the remainder of the day in thanksgiving to Almighty God for the accomplishment of a work so glorious. The Duke of Monmouth was sent, with five thousand troops, to put an end to a state of things like this; and the battle of Bothwell Bridge was fought. Then James, Duke of York, succeeded him, and exercised the functions of a Viceroy, under the title of “King’s Commissioner.”

Shortly after the battle of Bothwell Bridge, a band of the most enthusiastic of the Covenanters rallied round a man called Cameron, a preacher, from whom they derived the name of Cameronians. Cameron affixed to the market-cross of Sanquhar “A Declaration and Testimony of the true Presbyterian, anti-prelatic, anti-erastian, and persecuted party of Scotland.” In this document, he renounced and disowned Charles Stuart, and declared war against him as a tyrant and usurper. Cameron, with a mere handful of men, was surprised by three troops of dragoons, and, with his brother and ten of his followers, died fighting. A few escaped with Cargill, another preacher, who, at Torwood, pronounced excommunication against Charles II., king of Scotland, for his mocking of God, his perjury, adultery, incest, drunkenness, and dissembling with both God and man. Cargill was taken prisoner on July 26, 1681, and, with four of his followers, was the next day hanged. Farther proceedings followed. Lord Belhaven was imprisoned; and the Earl of Argyle was committed on the charge of treason, but escaped from a murderous death by escaping from his dungeon. Covenanters, Cameronians, and all who were suspected of associating with them, or of rendering them merciful assistance in their hour of need, were punished. Courts of judicature, with their “boots” and other instruments of torture, were set up, both in the south and west of Scotland. Above two thousand persons were outlawed; and the soldiers were authorised to shoot all delinquents refusing to renounce Cameron’s and Cargill’s declarations. Thousands of Presbyterians, who had taken no part with these desperate enthusiasts, began to think of emigrating to America.

In June 1683, the famous Rye-House Plot against Charles’s life was unfolded. The Duke of Monmouth immediately absconded, showing a delicate regard for his own safety, and a cowardly disregard for the safety of his friends. William Lord Russell was committed to the Tower. Howard, his relative, was discovered hidden in a chimney; was taken in his shirt, and carried before the Council; where the kneeling, puling, sobbing caitiff made such confessions as led to the immediate arrest of the Earl of Essex, Algernon Sydney, and Hampden, who were sent to join Lord Russell in the Tower. Many others, Scots as well as English, were arrested, and were true, to the edge of the axe, to their friends and party. When Baillie, of Jerviswoode, was offered his life if he would turn evidence, the proud Scot smiled, and said, “They who make such a proposal know neither me nor my country.” The steps taken by the authorities produced a different effect upon others. The magistrates of London and of Middlesex were terrified into loyalty, and presented petitions, praying for the suppression of dissenting conventicles; for justice upon “atheistical persons, rebellious spirits, infamous miscreants, and monsters;” and for the condign punishment of those “execrable villains and traitors” convicted of a design against his Majesty’s precious life. A month after his arrest, Lord Russell was brought to trial; and, on the same day, the Earl of Essex either committed suicide, or was murdered by the procurement of the king and the Duke of York. The base Howard was the principal witness against Russell. The Earl of Bedford offered to the king £100,000, if he would release his son; but Charles replied, “If I do not take his life, he will soon take mine.” And, accordingly, on July 21, attended by Tillotson and Burnett, the unfortunate Russell was led to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and was beheaded. On the same day, the University of Oxford published its decree in support of passive obedience, or the right of kings to govern wrong, without resistance or challenge from their suffering subjects. Seven weeks after, Algernon Sydney was brought to trial before Judge Jeffries, the legal bravo, who was as bold with his law books as Charles’s other personal favourite, Colonel Blood, was with pistols, daggers, and dark lanterns. Lord Howard was again the chief witness; and Sydney, on the 8th of December, was decapitated on Tower Hill.

This brings us down to the time when Samuel Wesley’s school days ended; and, with this brief survey of the reign of Charles II., we must content ourselves, only adding a few remarks respecting the morals of this disgraceful period of English history.

The Restoration brought with it a tide, not only of levity, but of licentiousness;—an inundation of all the debaucheries of the French court, in which Charles and his followers had chiefly spent their exile. The passions and tastes of the people, which, under the rule of the Puritans, had been sternly repressed, and, if gratified at all, had been gratified by stealth, now broke forth with ungovernable violence; and, as soon as the check was withdrawn, men flew to frivolous amusements, and to criminal pleasures, with the greediness which long and enforced abstinence naturally produces. Little restraint was imposed by public opinion; and there was no excess which was not encouraged by the ostentatious profligacy of Charles, and of his favourite courtiers. It is an unquestionable, and a most instructive fact, that the years during which the political power of the Anglican hierarchy was in the zenith, were precisely the years during which national virtue was at the lowest point.[[15]]

Swearing and profligate conversation were now so prevalent, that a young nobleman or man of family, was accounted no gentleman, that allowed two hours to pass in company without inventing some new modish oath, or without laughing at the fopperies of priests, or without making lampoons and drolleries on the Holy Bible. In the highest ranks, talent was employed in bedizening the carrion carcase, and rouging the yellow cheeks of the foul goddess of wantonness. Worthless actresses, and royal and noble concubines, became the patronesses[patronesses], and even the wives of the highest nobility. Gaming was a fashionable phrenzy, and a noble house was incomplete without a basset-table. Court ladies became so equivocal in character, that few cared to venture the selection of a wife from among them. Mrs Jenyngs, a maid of honour, afterwards Duchess of Tyrconnel, dressed herself like an orange wench, and cried oranges about the streets. Gentlemen arrayed themselves like ladies, and ladies disguised themselves like gentlemen, Duelling was of daily occurrence. Members of Parliament adjourned to refresh themselves at taverns, from which they returned half drunk to finish their senatorial discussions. Younger sons of good families, heirs of wealthy citizens, and raw young country squires huzzaed for the king, and then broke the king’s peace, to show their love for him; scoured the streets in nocturnal bands; stormed taverns; broke windows; wrenched off door-knockers; daubed and defaced tradesmen’s signs; routed apple-merchants, fishmongers, and butter-women; attacked and knocked down all chance passengers; and generally ended by a conflict with the watch. Gallantry was general, from the half-fledged stripling fresh from the teacher’s rod, to the hoary-headed veteran, whose dim eyes could scarcely see the charms with which his heart was smitten. Foppery in dress resulted, and gallants endeavoured to make themselves irresistible by the newest cut of a French suit, or an enormous fleece of periwig.

Still, amid all this profligate frivolity of the higher classes, the bulk of the community retained much of the old English spirit. Many still adhered to the primitive hours of their forefathers for going to bed, getting up, and transacting business. In diet, notwithstanding the French cookery that had become prevalent, they stoutly stood by old English fare. The people, also, were intensely musical, and almost every person of education could sing by the scale, and play upon some kind of instrument. These were days, when the banks of the Thames were as melodious as the shores of the Adriatic. In the country, the baronial table was still heart of oak, and was laden with the old festive hospitality. Huge sirloins and mighty plum-puddings seemed to laugh to scorn the continental innovations that had become so fashionable in the capital. Country squires gave landlord-feasts to their tenants; while farmers gave harvest-homes and sheep-shearings to their labourers. Swimming, foot-racing, skating, horse-racing, bear and bull-baiting, tennis, and bowls were the people’s favourite out-door sports; whilst cards, billiards, chess, backgammon, cribbage, and ninepins, furnished amusement within. On Valentine’s day, gentlemen sent presents of gloves, silk stockings and garters, to their fair valentines; and, on the morning of May-day, young ladies, and even grave matrons, repaired to the bright green fields to gather dew to beautify their complexions; while milk-maids danced in the public streets, their milk-pails wreathed with garlands, and a fiddler playing tunes before them.

The age was light-hearted, frivolous, and wicked; and yet there flourished in it some of the greatest men that England has ever had. Abraham Cowley, replete with learning, was embellishing his poetic pages with all the ornaments that books could furnish him. Samuel Butler, marvellously acquainted with human life, was furnishing, in the grossly familiar versification of his “Hudibras,” sententious distiches and proverbial axioms for the use of future generations. Edmund Waller was honoured as the most elegant and harmonious versifier of his time. Dryden’s prolific, but extremely licentious pen, displayed a versatility of talent almost without parallel. Otway wrote some of the most pathetic tragedies in the English language, and terminated a miserable life at the early age of thirty-four. Ralph Cudworth was employing his extensive learning and profound philosophy in the production of his “True Intellectual System of the Universe.” Henry More was weeping over the miseries of his country, and studying how to check the Atheism of Thomas Hobbes. Isaac Barrow was labouring for words to express the amplitude and energy of his thoughts, often preaching sermons three hours long, and immoderately using tobacco as his “panpharmacon” to compose and regulate his mind. John Bunyan was preaching his wondrous sermons when out of prison; and, when in it, making tagged laces for a livelihood, and writing his “Pilgrim’s Progress.” Peter Lely was commanding admiration and acquiring a fortune by his portrait-painting; and Christopher Wren, a great philosopher, and one of the most eminent of architects, was drawing plans for rebuilding London and St Paul’s Cathedral.

It was amid such events, in the midst of such profligacy, and surrounded by such men, that Samuel Wesley spent his school-days’ life.