tom prevailed in Southwold, and that was when Master Sharpen, who had
his abode at Sotterley, preached at Southwold once a month. There were
Independents in the towns in those days, and 'his indulgence,' writes a
local historian, 'favoured the Separatists with the liberty and free use
of the church, where they resorted weekly, or oftener, and every fourth
Sunday both ministers met and celebrated divine service alternately. He
that entered the church first had the precedency of officiating, the
other keeping silence until the congregation received the Benediction
after sermon.' Most of the people attended all the while. It was before
the year 1680 that these things were done. After that time there came to
the church 'an orthodox man, who suffered many ills, and those not the
lightest, for his King and for his faith, and he compelled the
Independents not only to leave the church, but the town also. We read
they assembled in a malt-house beyond the bridge, where, being disturbed,
they chose more private places in the town until liberty of conscience
was granted, when they publicly assembled in a fish-house converted to a
place of worship.' At that time many people in the town were Dissenters;
but it was not till 1748 that they had a church formed. Up to that time
the Southwold Independents were members of the Church at Wrentham, one of
the Articles of Association of the new church being to take the Bible as
their sole guide, and when in difficulties to resort to the neighbouring
pastor for advice and declaration. Such was Independency when it
flourished all over East Anglia.

A writer in the _Harleian Miscellany_ says that 'Southwold, of sea-coast
town, is the most beneficial unto his Majesty of all the towns in
England, by reason all their trade is unto Iceland for lings.' In the
little harbour of Southwold you see nowadays only a few colliers, and I
fear that the place is of little advantage to her Majesty, however
beneficial it may be as a health-resort for some of her Majesty's
subjects. It is a place, gentle reader, where you can wander undisturbed
at your own sweet will, and can get your cheeks fanned by breezes unknown
in London. The beach, I own, is shingly, and not to be compared with the
sands of Yarmouth and Lowestoft; but, then, you are away from the Cockney
crowds that now infest these places at the bathing season, and you are
quiet--whether you wander on its common, till you come to the Wolsey
Brid