Penn. These are but so many vain exclamations. Is this justice or true judgment? Must I, therefore, be taken away, because I plead for the fundamental laws of England? However, this I leave on your consciences who are of the jury, and my sole judges, that if those ancient fundamental laws which relate to liberty and property, and are not limited to particular persuasions in matters of religion, — must not be indispensably maintained and observed, who can say he hath right to the coat on his back? Certainly, our liberties are openly to be invaded, our wives to be ravished, our children slaved, our families ruined, and our estates led away in triumph by every sturdy beggar and malicious informer, as their trophies, but our pretended forfeits for conscience' sake; the Lord of heaven and earth will be judge between us in this matter! Rec. Be silent, there! Penn. I am not to be silent in a cause wherein I am so much concerned; and not only myself, but many ten thousand families besides. It was now Mead's turn, who defended himself no less manfully. He defined a riot, and showed that his conduct had borne no relation to that offence. He was interrupted by the recorder, who, contemptuously pulling off his hat, said, "I thank you, sir, that you will tell me what the law is. You deserve to have your tongue cut out." He, too, was ordered to the bail dock. The judge then proceeded to charge the jury. As Penn, however, was not out of hearing, he protested, with raised voice, against so illegal an act as that of charging the jury in the absence of the prisoner. The recorder, in a state of violent excitement, cried out, "Take him away into the hole! To hear them talk thus does not become the honor of the court." After an hour and a half, eight of the jury came down, the court sent an officer for the other four. After much menacing language, they were sent back to agree upon a verdict. At length they returned. Clerk. Look upon the prisoners at the bar. How say you? Is William Penn guilty of the matter whereof he stands indicted, in matter and form, or not guilty? Foreman. Guilty of speaking in Gracious-street. Court. Is that all? Foreman. That is all I have in commission. Rec. You had as good say nothing. Mayor. Was it not an unlawful assembly? You mean he was speaking to a tumult of people there? Foreman. My lord, this was all I had in commission. After much scurrilous browbeating, the jury requested to give in their verdict in writing, which they did, finding still Penn guilty of speaking, and acquitting Mead. Still the court threatened and reviled. But Penn boldly required the clerk to record it, and turning to the jury said, "You are Englishmen; mind your privilege; give not away your right." Several persons were sworn to keep the jury all night in seclusion, without meat, drink, fire, or any ordinary conveniences. But again they repeated their verdict. "I knew," said one on the bench, "that Mr. Bushell would not yield." Bush. I have done according to my conscience. Mayor. That conscience of yours would cut my throat. Mayor. But I will cut yours so soon as I can. After more threatening and bullying, silence was proclaimed, and the question deliberately put to the jury once more. Clerk. What say you? Is William Penn guilty of the matter whereof he stands indicted, in matter and form aforesaid, or not guilty? Foreman. Guilty of speaking in Grace-church-street. Once more the court bullied; once more Penn remonstrated, on behalf of his jury. Rec. My lord, you must take a course with that same fellow. Mayor. Stop his mouth! Jailer, bring fetters, and stake him to the ground. Penn. Do your pleasure. I matter not your fetters. Rec. Till now I never understood the policy and prudence of the Spaniards in suffering the inquisition among them; and certainly it never will be well with us till something like unto the Spanish inquisition be in England. After more objurgation, the recorder said, "Draw up another verdict, that they may bring it in special." The clerk said that he knew not how to do it. The recorder declared he would have another verdict, or that they should starve. The jury was remanded once more, till seven o'clock the next morning. Then the question was again put: “Is William Penn guilty or not guilty?" Foreman. Not guilty. Clerk. Is William Mead guilty or not guilty? The assembly showed their satisfaction, but the recorder demanded that each separate juror should declare for himself the verdict. It was done. Penn then demanded his liberty, but it was denied him, because his fines were not paid. In the issue, Penn, Mead and the jury, were consigned to Newgate. How they recovered their liberty is unknown.* The trials undergone by the quakers under the six oppressive acts of Charles II. were very severe. On the accession of the king they had enjoyed a momentary respite, and had been delivered from the confinement in which they were held. Their bold and unflinching testimony had been, however, of the greatest service in advancing the recognition of the principles of religious liberty, and none more warmly recognized their services than the baptists, themselves very prominent sufferers in the sacred cause. The interval was a brief one. Like other dissenters, they became, after the restoration, the prey of unprincipled informers, and were harassed by all the variety of penal enactments, by fines, distraints, imprisonment. In 1683 there were, it was computed, seven hundred members of their society in the different prisons of England. *This whole trial may be found in "Phoenix; or, a Revival of Scarce and Valuable Pieces. London, 1707." Its effect on the cause of liberty was prodigious. CHAPTER IX. "CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." "Tyrants! could not misfortune teach That man has rights beyond your reach ? Which even in woman's breast withstood HICH is the way to Bothwell-bridge?" was my question, as, alighting from one of the Glasgow railroads near the village of Uddingstone, I sought my course onwards. "There is a regular road to it, sir; turn to your left, and you'll be there." No course could be more agreeable than that to which my informant just pointed. It was what it became a road to be which passed through the estates of the Douglases and Hamiltons, broad, trim, well-sheltered by trees, and affording plentiful accommodation for the foot-passenger. The country around was bold and charming; smiling, luxuriant, open scenery, never rugged and precipitous, made up of recurrent "lines of beauty." I know of no sensations more agreeable than those which attend a fine day in a rich country, especially if, with an unexhausted body, one treads over ground which has been the seat of ancient story, expecting, at each turn or ascent, sume characteristic view, or some object of historical COVENANTERS' BANNER. interest. It was in this mood that, under the shadow of the park-wall of Lord Douglas, I drew near to the pleasant but very modern village of Bothwell, or Both'll as it is called by the natives, encountering in my way, however, very little of that which I sought, though the graceful Free Church, and the imposing tower of the Established one, might have claimed, at another time, some passing admiration. But I knew that I was within reach of scenes which, slowly as they might develop themselves, are attractive to the tourist, and full of interest to the eager antiquary. Somewhere to my right, though I could not yet see it, was the ruin of the ancient castle of Bothwell, associated with the memories of Wallace, Edward I., Bruce, and the dark and desperate husband of Mary Queen of Scots. I knew that I was not far distant from the ruins of Blantyre Priory, founded by Alexander II., and from "Bothwell banks, that bloom so fair," situated upon its opposite side. Each eminence I climbed might, for aught I knew, bring into view the palace and park of the Duke of Hamilton might open a prospect which would comprehend the estate whence the injured and revengeful assassin of the Regent Murray derived his title; or introduce me to the remnants of the ancient Caledonian forest, once famous for its breed of wild cattle, now almost extinct; or to the ruins of the fortress of Craignethan, better known under the name of Tillietudlem. Such, at least, are the localities which solicit, in this neighborhood, the regards of the passing traveller. I was not far, moreover, from the historical town of Hamilton, which I afterwards visited, and found to resemble, in its better parts, a slip-shod damsel caught in her slovenliest déshabille upon a washing-day; and in its worst, nothing to which an Englishman's notion of a country town could, for filth and wretchedness, furnish a comparison; and this, too, though lying in the immediate adjacency of the duke's "peelace" itself. Some one has said that, were he a monarch, the first thing he would do would be to run away with his crown. Methinks, were I the Duke of Hamilton, my first measure would be to annihilate, if I could |