It was in the midst of such disreputable proceedings that Samuel Wesley finished his collegiate training, and left the excited seat of learning where he had spent the last five years. As already stated, he was present when James lectured the Fellows of Magdalen College in such unkingly fashion; and Dr Clarke relates, on the authority of the Rev. Thomas Stedman, that the spirit of young Wesley rose in rebellion against this exhibition of royal arrogance, and that he afterwards remarked: “When I heard him say to the Master and Fellows of Magdalen College, lifting up his lean arm, ‘If you refuse to obey me, you shall feel the weight of a king’s right hand,’ I saw he was a tyrant. And though I was not inclined to take an active part against him, I was resolved from that time to give him no kind of support.”

This may be true, and yet there is considerable difficulty in reconciling it with another fact which must be mentioned.

It was during the summer of 1687 that King James played the tyrant in Magdalen College, and it was on the 10th of June 1688 that the Prince of Wales was born. The words of young Wesley, as cited by Dr Clarke, are evidence that he had formed the purpose to take no part with those who were intent upon the dethronement of James. He was a man far too loyal to become a rebel; and yet it cannot be denied that he regarded the interests of James with indifference. “I was resolved,” says he, “from that time to give him no support.” While James was king he would obey him; but while bowing to the royal will, he would do nothing to maintain and to establish the royal cause. Such was Wesley’s position in the summer of 1687—one of neutrality, or, at the most, of mere obedience.

But twelve months afterwards, at the birth of the Prince of Wales, a change seems to have come over him. The nation took but little interest in this event; in fact, it, was alleged that the birth of a royal prince was a royal imposition; and though the court commanded London to make bonfires, and to exhibit other signs of rejoicing, London was sullen, and would provide no rejoicings, except for the seven bishops which were then imprisoned in the Tower, but for whose rescue from the royal tyranny of James the country was most earnestly hoping. Among other means which were used to extort congratulations respecting the royal birth, was a more than mere gentle hint to the University of Oxford that it would be expected to furnish a volume of congratulatory poems, and that even Magdalen College itself would join in this.[[26]] Strange to say, the hint was adopted, and a book was written containing more than a hundred poetic pieces professing joy at the birth of a Prince of Wales.

That volume is now before us. Its title-page bears the following inscription:—“Strenæ Natalitiæ Academiæ Oxoniensis, in Clarissimum Principem: Oxonii E Theatro Sheldoniano. An. Dom. 1668.” It consists of 86 folio pages, each of which is headed, “In Natalem Sereniss. Principis Walliæ.” About ninety of the poems are in Latin, two are in Greek, four in Arabic, one in Hebrew, and twelve in English. The celebrated Hebrew professor, Dr Edward Pococke, wrote his in Arabic. Samuel Wesley and eleven others wrote theirs in English. Most of the colleges, Magdalen included, are represented. The writers belonging to Exeter College are, Sir Henry Northcote, Bart., John Read, Henry Maundrell, and Samuel Wesley. Wesley’s poem is the last but two in the book, and fills two pages. The poem is too long for insertion here, but the reader will find it complete, with the exception of about half a dozen small errors, in Dr Clarke’s “Wesley Family.” Suffice it to say, that Wesley represents Ariosto as bringing his lyre from heaven to join in the rejoicings. Ariosto also draws “a vocal picture” of the royal group. The “dazzling lustre” of all the graces shines around the eyes of the happy Queen; “Great James’s” joy is “too bright to be expressed,” and therefore the poet puts “a modest veil around his radiant head;” while the infant prince has his mother’s eyes, through which, however, shines his father’s soul. The child is “a child of miracles,” and a “son of prayers;” he is to defend “his father’s mighty throne,” and to give “Europe peace;” he is to have “valiant brothers,” who will “share in his triumphs;” and when he visits Oxford, the “venerable men, who met Great James his father, will also crowd around him.” As the result of his reign, there will be no “cloudy foreheads,” and “no contracted brows;”—in fact, a “new world” will “begin,” and a “golden age” commence.

This is the substance of Samuel Wesley’s poem. The young prince is most lavishly extolled; but the only praise bestowed on the father is that he was “great,” and perhaps “brave” and loving. At first sight, the poem seems to clash with the statement that Samuel Wesley had resolved, twelve months before, to yield to James nothing more than mere obedience; but, in reality, there is no such collision. Wesley had no sympathy with James’s tyrannical proceedings; but, at the same time, he could not deny, what most historians acknowledge, that James was a knave rather than a fool. If James’s reign was still continued, he would take no part against him; and if James was succeeded by his infant son, he augurs and hopes that he will be able to give brightness to foreheads at present “cloudy,” and to smooth the brows which are now contracted; in short, that he will be able to defend the throne of his father, and to give peace to Europe.

We have felt it necessary to go at greater length than we wished into this part of Samuel Wesley’s history, because of the importance which has been attached to it by a most able article on “The Ancestry of the Wesleys,” in the London Quarterly Review for April 1864. Our conviction is, that Samuel Wesley was an intensely loyal man; and that, notwithstanding all the outrageous tyranny of King James, he would never have taken part against him; but when James ignominiously[ignominiously] fled, and William and Mary, by the voice of the nation, were proclaimed his successors, Wesley felt that he owed to them the loyalty and obedience that he had paid to James; and, to use his own words, as a proof of his loyalty, he wrote, in answer to an out-of-door speech, the first defence of the government that appeared after William and Mary’s accession; and afterwards published many other pieces, both in prose and verse, having the same end in view.[[27]]

CHAPTER V.
NATIONAL AFFAIRS—1685–1688.

A quarter of a century was the time that Charles II. occupied the throne of Great Britain. His reign was a continued scene of royal perfidy and sensual dissipation. He was a deceiver, a despot, and a defiler. He was the slave of women, and his court was the school of vice. For five-and-twenty years he played the hypocrite, by professing himself an orthodox Protestant, when, all the while, he was, in fact, an infidel. In all the relations of life, public and private, he was unprincipled, profligate, false, vicious, and corrupt; whilst, from the example of his debauched and licentious court, public morals contracted a taint which it required little less than a century to obliterate, and which for a time wholly paralysed the character of the nation.[[28]] He had good talents, and in society was kind, familiar, communicative; but he was indolent, negligent of the interests of the nation, careless of its glory, averse to its religion, jealous of its liberty, lavish of its treasure, and sparing only of its blood. It has been remarked of him, and with some amount of reason, that he never said a foolish thing, nor ever did a wise one. He had enormous vices, without the tincture of any virtue to correct them. He died in 1685, begging forgiveness of his neglected queen, blessing his bastard children, asking for kindness to be shown to his mistresses, and receiving from a popish priest the Romish communion, extreme unction, and a popish pardon.[[29]]

The Duke of York succeeded his brother Charles II. to the throne, under the title of James II., in the spring of 1685. On the very first Sunday after his accession he went to mass with all the ensigns of royalty. While he was a subject, James was in the habit of hearing mass, with closed doors, in a small oratory which had been fitted up for his popish wife; but now that he was king, he ordered the doors to be thrown wide open, so that all who came to pay him homage might see the superstitious ceremonial. Soon, also, a new pulpit was erected in the palace, and, during Lent, sermons were preached there by popish divines, to the great disgust of zealous Protestants.