Chapter Twelve.
The beams of the evening sun were streaming through a deep bay window of the country house of Worminghurst, in Sussex, on the heads of two men seated at a large oak writing table in a room which, lined as it was with bookcases, showed that it was devoted to study.
The heads of both of them betokened high intellect, traces of care and thought being especially discernible on the countenance of the elder,—that lofty intellect to be quenched, ere a few short years were over, by the executioner’s axe,—a deed as cruel and unjust as any caused by the cowardice and tyranny of a monarch.
The table was covered with parchments, papers, books, and writing materials. Both were holding pens in their hands, now and then making note from the documents before them, at other times stopping and addressing each other. The younger man was William Penn, who, lately having obtained a grant of a large tract of country on the American continent, was now engaged in drawing up a constitution for its government, assisted by the elder,—the enlightened patriot and philosopher, Sidney.
“See! such a constitution as this for Carolina will not suit a free people such as will be our colonists!” said the former, pointing to a document before him, “albeit it emanated from the brain of John Locke. Here we have a king, though with the title of palatine, with a whole court and two orders of nobility. Laws to prevent estates accumulating or diminishing. The children of leet men to be leet men for ever, while every free man is to have power over his negro slaves. Truly, society will thus be bound hand and foot. All political rights to be taken from the cultivators of the soil. Trial by jury virtually set aside. The Church of England to be alone the true and orthodox, and to be supported out of the coffers of the State.”
“In truth, no,” said Sidney. “John Locke has not emancipated himself from his admiration of the feudal system. Let this be our principle,—that those whose lives, properties, and liberties are most concerned in the administration of the laws shall be the people to form them. Let there be two bodies to be elected by the people,—a council and an assembly. Let the council consist of seventy-two persons, to be chosen by universal suffrage, for three years, twenty-four of them retiring every year, their places to be supplied by new election. Let the members of the assembly be elected annually, and all votes taken by ballot. The suffrage to be universal. Let it have the privilege of making out the list of persons to be named as justices and sheriffs, and let the governor be bound to select one half of those thus recommended. Now we must consider numerous provisional laws relating to liberty of conscience, provision for the poor, choice of civil officers, and so on, which can be in force until accepted by the council. We shall thus, dear friend, I trust, have secured freedom of thought, the sacredness of person and property, popular control over all powers of the state; and we will leave our new democracy to develop itself in accordance with its own genius, unencumbered with useless formalities and laws.”
“Yes; I trust that the simplicity of our constitution will secure its permanence,” said Sidney. “I will take the papers home with me to Penshurst, and there maturely consider over all the points.”
Left alone, William Penn might have been seen lifting up his hands in earnest prayer to heaven that his noble scheme might prosper. He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a servant announced a visitor. In another minute a young man entered the room with modest air and in sober costume.