x^*W 
 
PROSE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 
 1866. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, 
 in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS : WELCH, BIGELOW, & Co., 
 CAMBRIDGE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MARGARET SMITH S JOURNAL i 
 
 OLD PORTRAITS AND MODERN SKETCHES . . 201 
 
 JOHN BUNYAN . . . . . . . 205 
 
 THOMAS ELLWOOD 234 
 
 JAMES NAYLER 268 
 
 ANDREW MARVELL 287 
 
 JOHN ROBERTS 306 
 
 SAMUEL HOPKINS 333 
 
 RICHARD BAXTER 350 
 
 WILLIAM LEGGETT 391 
 
 NATHANIEL PEABODY ROGERS .... 426 
 
 ROBERT DINSMORE 457 
 
MARGARET SMITH S JOURNAL 
 
 IN THE 
 
 PROVINCE OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY. 
 1678-9. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 HHHE intelligent reader of the following record can- 
 *- not fail to notice occasional inaccuracies in re 
 spect to persons, places, and dates ; and, as a matter 
 of course, will make due allowance for the prevailing 
 prejudices and errors of the period to which it relates. 
 That there are passages indicative of a comparatively 
 recent origin, and calculated to cast a shade of doubt 
 over the entire narrative, the Editor would be the last 
 to deny, notwithstanding its general accordance with 
 historical verities and probabilities. Its merit consists 
 mainly in the fact, that it presents a tolerably lifelike 
 picture of the Past, and introduces us familiarly to the 
 hearths and homes of New England in the seventeenth 
 century. 
 
 A full and accurate account of Secretary Rawson and 
 his family is about to be published by his descendants, 
 to which the reader is referred who wishes to know 
 more of the personages who figure prominently in this 
 Journal. 
 
MARGARET SMITH S JOURNAL. 
 
 BOSTON, May 8th, 1678. 
 
 I REMEMBER I did promise my kind Cousin 
 Oliver (whom I pray God to have always in his 
 keeping), when I parted with him nigh unto three 
 months ago, at mine Uncle Grindall s, that, on com 
 ing to this new country, I would, for his sake and 
 perusal, keep a little journal of whatsoever did hap 
 pen both unto myself and unto those with whom I 
 might sojourn ; as also, some account of the coun 
 try and its marvels, and mine own cogitations 
 thereon. So I this day make a beginning of the 
 same ; albeit, as my cousin well knoweth, not from 
 any vanity of authorship, or because of any undue 
 confiding in my poor ability to edify one justly held 
 in repute among the learned, but because my heart 
 tells me that what I write, be it ever so faulty, will 
 be read by the partial eye of my kinsman, and not 
 with the critical observance of the scholar, and 
 that his love will not find it difficult to excuse what 
 offends his clerkly judgment. And, to embolden 
 me withal, I will never forget that I am writing for 
 
 VOL. I. I A 
 
,2 * | [Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 mine old playmate at hide-and-seek in the farm 
 house at Hilton, the same who used to hunt 
 after flowers for me in the spring, and who did fill 
 my apron with hazel-nuts in the autumn, and who 
 was then, I fear, little wiser than his still foolish 
 cousin, who, if she hath not since learned so many 
 new things as himself, hath perhaps remembered 
 more of the old. Therefore, without other preface, 
 I will begin my record. 
 
 Of my voyage out I need not write, as I have 
 spoken of it in my letters already, and it greatly 
 irks me to think of it. Oh, a very long, dismal 
 time of sickness and great discomforts, and many 
 sad thoughts of all I had left behind, and fears of 
 all I was going to meet in the New England ! I 
 can liken it only to an ugly dream. When we got 
 at last to Boston, the sight of the land and trees, 
 albeit they were exceeding bleak and bare (it being 
 a late season, and nipping cold), was like unto a 
 vision of a better world. As we passed the small 
 wooded islands, which make the bay very pleasant, 
 and entered close upon the town, and saw the 
 houses, and orchards, and meadows, and the hills 
 beyond covered with a great growth of wood, my 
 brother, lifting up both of his hands, cried out, "How 
 goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy habitations, O 
 Israel 7" and for my part I did weep for joy and 
 thankfulness of heart, that God had brought us 
 safely to so fair a haven. Uncle and Aunt Raw- 
 son met us on the wharf, and made us very com 
 fortable at their house, which is about half a mile 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 3 
 
 from the water-side, at the foot of a hill, with an 
 oaken forest behind it, to shelter it from the north 
 wind, which is here very piercing. Uncle is Secre 
 tary of the Massachusetts, and spends a great part 
 of his time in town ; and his wife and family are 
 with him in the winter season, but they spend their 
 summers at his plantation on the Merrimack River, 
 in Newbury. His daughter, Rebecca, is just about 
 my age, very tall and lady-looking ; she is like her 
 brother John, who was at Uncle Hilton s last year. 
 She hath, moreover, a pleasant wit, and hath seen 
 much goodly company, being greatly admired by 
 the young men of family and distinction in the 
 Province. She hath been very kind to me, telling 
 me that she looked upon me as a sister. I have 
 been courteously entertained, moreover, by many 
 of the principal people, both of the reverend clergy 
 and the magistracy. Nor must I forbear to men 
 tion a visit which I paid with Uncle and Aunt 
 Rawson at the house of an aged magistrate of 
 high esteem and influence in these parts. He 
 saluted me courteously, and made inquiries con 
 cerning our family, and whether I had been ad-C. 
 mitted into the Church. On my telling him that I < 
 had not, he knit his brows, and looked at me very^J 
 sternly. 
 
 " Mr. Rawson," said he, " your niece, I fear me, 
 has much more need of spiritual adorning than of 
 such gewgaws as these," and took hold of my lace j 
 ruff so hard that I heard the stitches break - } and 
 then he pulled out my sleeves, to see how wide 
 

 4 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 they were, though they were only half an ell. 
 Madam ventured to speak a word to encourage 
 me, for she saw I was much abashed and flustered, 
 yet he did not heed her, but went on talking very 
 loud against the folly and the wasteful wantonness 
 of the times. Poor Madam is a quiet, sickly-look 
 ing woman, and seems not a little in awe of her 
 husband, at the which I do not marvel, for he hath 
 a very impatient, forbidding way with him, and, I 
 must say, seemed to carry himself harshly at times 
 towards her. Uncle Rawson says he has had 
 much to try his temper ; that there have been many 
 and sore difficulties in Church as well as State ; 
 and he hath bitter enemies, in some of the mem 
 bers of the General Court, who count him too 
 severe with the Quakers and other disturbers and 
 ranters. I told him it was no doubt true ; but 
 that I thought it a bad use of the Lord s chasten- 
 ings to abuse one s best friends for the wrongs 
 done by enemies ; and, that to be made to atone 
 for what went ill in Church or State, was a kind of 
 vicarious suffering that, if I was in Madam s place, 
 I should not bear with half her patience and sweet 
 ness. 
 
 IPSWICH, near Agawam, May 12th. 
 
 We set out day before yesterday on our journey 
 
 to Newbury. There were six of us, Rebecca 
 
 Rawson and her sister, Thomas Broughton, his 
 
 wife, and their man-servant, my brother Leonard 
 
Margaret Smittis Journal. 5 
 
 and myself, and young Robert Pike, of Newbury, 
 who had been to Boston on business, his father 
 having great fisheries in the river as well as the 
 sea. He is, I can perceive, a great admirer of my 
 cousin, and indeed not without reason ; for she 
 hath in mind and person, in her graceful carriage 
 and pleasant discourse, and a certain not unpleas- 
 ing waywardness, as of a merry child, that which 
 makes her company sought of all. Our route the 
 first day lay through the woods and along the bor 
 ders of great marshes and meadows on the sea 
 shore. We came to Linne at night, and stopped 
 at the house of a kinsman of Robert Pike s, a 
 man of some substance and note in that settle 
 ment. We were tired and hungry, and the supper 
 of warm Indian bread and sweet milk relished 
 quite as well as any I ever ate in the Old Country. 
 The next day we went on over a rough road to 
 Wenham, through Salem, which is quite a pleasant 
 town. Here we stopped until this morning, when 
 we again mounted our horses, and reached this 
 place, after a smart ride of three hours. The 
 weather in the morning was warm and soft as our 
 summer days at home ; and, as we rode through 
 the woods, where the young leaves were fluttering, 
 and the white blossoms of the wind-flowers, and the 
 blue violets and the yellow blooming of the cow 
 slips in the low grounds, were seen on either hand, 
 and the birds all the time making a great and 
 pleasing melody in the branches, I was glad of 
 heart as a child, and thought if my beloved friends 
 
6 Margaret Smit/is Journal. 
 
 and Cousin Oliver were only with us, I could never 
 wish to leave so fair a country. 
 
 Just before we reached Agawam, as I was riding 
 a little before my companions, I was startled great 
 ly by the sight of an Indian. He was standing 
 close to the bridle-path, his half-naked body partly 
 hidden by a clump of white birches, through which 
 he looked out on me with eyes like two live coals. 
 I cried for my brother and turned my horse, when 
 Robert Pike came up and bid me be of cheer, for 
 he knew the savage, and that he was friendly. 
 Whereupon, he bade him come out of the bushes, 
 which he did, after a little parley. He was a tall 
 man, of very fair and comely make, and wore a red 
 woollen blanket with beads and small clam-shells 
 jingling about it. His skin was swarthy, not black 
 like a Moor or Guinea-man, but of a color not un 
 like that of tarnished copper coin. He spake but 
 little, and that in his own tongue, very harsh and 
 strange-sounding to my ear. Robert Pike tells me 
 that he is Chief of the Agawams, once a great na 
 tion in these parts, but now quite small and broken. 
 As we rode on, and from the top of a hill got a fair 
 view of the great sea off at the east, Robert Pike 
 bade me notice a little bay, around which I could 
 see four or five small, peaked huts or tents, stand 
 ing just where the white sands of the beach met 
 the green line of grass and bushes of the uplands. 
 "There," said he, "are their summer-houses, 
 which they build near unto their fishing-grounds 
 and corn-fields. In the winter they go far back 
 
Margaret SmitJts Journal. 7 
 
 into the wilderness, where game is plenty of all 
 kinds, and there build their wigwams in warm val 
 leys thick with trees, which do serve to shelter them 
 from the winds." 
 
 " Let us look into them," said I to Cousin Re 
 becca ; " it seems but a stone s throw from our 
 way." 
 
 She tried to dissuade me, by calling them a dir 
 ty, foul people ; but seeing I was not to be put off, 
 she at last consented, and we rode aside down the 
 hill, the rest following. On our way we had the 
 misfortune to ride over their corn-field ; at the 
 which, two or three women and as many boys set 
 up a yell very hideous to hear ; whereat Robert 
 Pike came up, and appeased them by giving them 
 some money and a drink of Jamaica spirits, with 
 which they seemed vastly pleased. I looked into 
 one of their huts ; it was made of poles like unto 
 a tent, only it was covered with the silver-colored 
 bark of the birch, instead of hempen stuff. A bark 
 mat, braided of many exceeding brilliant colors, 
 covered a goodly part of the space inside ; and 
 from the poles we saw fishes hanging, and strips 
 of dried meat. On a pile of skins in the corner 
 sat a young woman with a child a-nursing; they 
 both looked sadly wild and neglected ; yet had she 
 withal a pleasant face, and as she bent over her lit 
 tle one, her long, straight, and black hair falling 
 over him, and murmuring a low and very plaintive 
 melody, I forgot everything save that she was a 
 woman and a mother, and I felt my heart greatly 
 
8 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 drawn towards her. So, giving my horse in charge, 
 I ventured in to her, speaking as kindly as I could, 
 and asking to see her child. She understood me, 
 and with a smile held up her little papoose, as 
 she called him, who, to say truth, I could not 
 call very pretty. He seemed to have a wild, shy 
 look, like the offspring of an untamed animal. The 
 woman wore a blanket, gaudily fringed, and she 
 had a string of beads on her neck. She took down 
 a basket, woven of white and red willows, and 
 pressed me to taste of her bread ; which I did, 
 that I might not offend her courtesy by refusing. 
 It was not of ill taste, although so hard one could 
 scarcely bite it, and was made of corn meal un 
 leavened, mixed with a dried berry, which gives it 
 a sweet flavor. She told me, in her broken way, 
 that the whole tribe now numbered only twenty- 
 five men and women, counting out the number very 
 fast with yellow grains of corn, on the corner of 
 her blanket. She was, she said, the youngest wo 
 man in the tribe ; and her husband, Peckanaminet, 
 was the Indian we had met in the bridle-path. I 
 gave her a pretty piece of ribbon, and an apron for 
 the child ; and she thanked me in her manner, go 
 ing with us on our return to the path ; and when I 
 had ridden a little onward, I saw her husband run 
 ning towards us ; so, stopping my horse, I awaited 
 until he came up, when he offered me a fine large 
 fish, which he had just caught, in acknowledgment, 
 as I judged, of my gift to his wife. Rebecca and 
 Mistress Broughton laughed, and bid him take the 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 9 
 
 thing away ; but I would not suffer it, and so Rob 
 ert Pike took it, and brought it on to our present 
 tarrying place, where truly it hath made a fair sup 
 per for us all. These poor heathen people seem 
 not so exceeding bad as they have been reported ; 
 they be like unto ourselves, only lacking our knowl 
 edge and opportunities, which, indeed, are not our 
 own to boast of, but gifts of God, calling for hum 
 ble thankfulness, and daily prayer and watchful 
 ness, that they be rightly improved. 
 
 NEWBURY on the Merrimack, May I4th, 1678. 
 We were hardly on our way yesterday, from Aga- 
 wam, when a dashing young gallant rode up very 
 fast behind us. He was fairly clad in rich stuffs,, 
 and rode a nag of good mettle. He saluted us 
 with much ease and courtliness, offering especial 
 compliments to Rebecca, to whom he seemed well 
 known, and who I thought was both glad and sur 
 prised at his coming. As I rode near, she said it 
 gave her great joy to bring to each other s ac 
 quaintance, Sir Thomas Hale, a good friend of her 
 father s, and her cousin Margaret, who, like him 
 self, was a new-comer. He replied, that he should 
 look with favor on any one who was near to her in 
 friendship or kindred ; and, on learning my father s 
 name, said he had seen him at his uncle s, Sir 
 Matthew Hale s, many years ago, and could vouch 
 for him as a worthy man. After some pleasant 
 i* 
 
IO Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 and merry discoursing with us, he and my brother 
 fell into converse upon the state of affairs in the 
 Colony, the late lamentable war with the Narragan- 
 set and Pequod Indians, together with the growth 
 of heresy and schism in the churches, which latter 
 he did not scruple to charge upon the wicked 
 policy of the home government in checking the 
 wholesome severity of the laws here enacted against 
 the schemers and ranters. " I quite agree," said 
 he, " with Mr. Rawson, that they should have 
 hanged ten where they did one." Cousin Rebecca 
 here said she was sure her father was now glad the 
 laws were changed, and that he had often told her 
 that, although the condemned deserved their pun 
 ishment, he was not sure that it was the best way 
 to put down the heresy. If she was ruler, she con- 
 ( tinued, in her merry way, she would send all the 
 schemers and ranters, and all the sour, crabbed, 
 .busybodies in the churches, off to Rhode Island, 
 where all kinds of folly, in spirituals as well as 
 temporals, were permitted, and one crazy head 
 could not reproach another. 
 
 Falling back a little, and waiting for Robert 
 Pike and Cousin Broughton to come up, I found 
 them marvelling at the coming of the young gen 
 tleman, who it did seem had no special concern 
 ment in these parts, other than his acquaintance 
 with Rebecca, and his desire of her company. 
 Robert Pike, as is natural, looks upon him with no 
 great partiality, yet he doth admit him to be well- 
 bred, and of much and varied knowledge, acquired 
 
Margaret Smittts Journal. n 
 
 by far travel as well as study. I must say, I like 
 not his confident and bold manner and bearing to 
 ward my fair cousin ; and he hath more the like 
 ness of a cast-off dangler at the court, than of a 
 modest and seemly country gentleman, of a staid 
 and well-ordered house. Mistress Broughton says 
 he was not at first accredited in Boston, but that 
 her father, and Mr. Atkinson, and the chief people 
 there now, did hold him to be not only what he 
 professeth, as respecteth his gentlemanly lineage, 
 but also learned and ingenious, and well-versed in 
 the Scriptures, and the works of godly writers, both 
 of ancient and modern time. I noted that Robert 
 was very silent during the rest of our journey, and 
 seemed abashed and troubled in the presence of 
 the gay gentleman ; for, although a fair and comely 
 youth, and of good family and estate, and ac 
 counted solid and judicious beyond his years, he 
 does, nevertheless, much lack the ease and ready 
 wit with which the latter commendeth himself to 
 my sweet kinswoman. 
 
 We crossed about noon a broad stream near to 
 the sea, very deep and miry, so that we wetted our 
 hose and skirts somewhat ; and soon, to our great 
 joy, beheld the pleasant cleared fields and dwell 
 ings of the settlement, stretching along for a good 
 ly distance ; while, beyond all, the great ocean 
 rolled, blue and cold, under an high easterly wind. 
 Passing through a broad path, with well-tilled 
 fields on each hand, where men were busy plant 
 ing corn, and young maids dropping the seed, we 
 
12 Margaret SmitJis Joiimal. 
 
 came at length to Uncle Rawson s plantation, look 
 ing wellnigh as fair and broad as the lands of 
 Hilton Grange, with a good frame house, and large 
 bams thereon. Turning up the lane, we were met 
 by the housekeeper, a respectable kinswoman, who 
 received us with great civility. Sir Thomas, al 
 though pressed to stay, excused himself for the 
 time, promising to call on the morrow, and rode on 
 to the ordinary. I was sadly tired with my jour 
 ney, and was glad to be shown to a chamber and a 
 comfortable bed. 
 
 I was awakened this morning by the pleasant 
 voice of my cousin, who shared my bed. She had 
 arisen and thrown open the window looking to 
 wards the sunrising, and the air came in soft and 
 warm, and laden with the sweets of flowers and 
 green-growing things. And when I had gotten 
 myself ready, I sat with her at the window, and I 
 think I may say it was with a feeling of praise and 
 thanksgiving that mine eyes wandered up and down 
 over the green meadows, and corn-fields, and orch 
 ards of my new home. Where, thought I, foolish 
 one, be the terrors of the wilderness, which troub 
 led thy daily thoughts and thy nightly dreams ! 
 Where be the gloomy shades, and desolate moun 
 tains, and the wild beasts, with their dismal howl- 
 ings and rages ! Here all looked peaceful, and 
 bespoke comfort and contentedness. Even the 
 great woods which climbed up the hills in the dis 
 tance looked thin and soft, with their faint young 
 leaves a yellowish-gray, intermingled with pale, 
 
Margaret Smittis Journal. 13 
 
 silvery shades, indicating, as my cousin saith, the 
 different kinds of trees, some of which, like the 
 willow, do put on their leaves early, and others 
 late, like the oak, with which the whole region 
 aboundeth. A sweet, quiet picture it was, with a 
 warm sun, very bright and clear, shining over it, 
 and the great sea, glistening with the exceeding 
 light, bounding the view of mine eyes, but bearing 
 my thoughts, like swift ships, to the land of my 
 birth, and so uniting, as it were, the New World 
 with the Old. Oh, thought I, the merciful God, 
 who reneweth the earth and maketh it glad and 
 brave with greenery and flowers of various hues 
 and smells, and causeth his south winds to blow 
 and his rains to fall, that seed-time may not fail, 
 doth even here, in the ends of his creation, prank 
 and beautify the work of his hands, making the 
 desert places to rejoice, and the wilderness to blos 
 som as the rose. Verily his love is over all, the ^ 
 Indian heathen as well as the English Christian. \ 
 And what abundant cause for thanks have I, that 
 I have been safely landed on a shore so fair and 
 pleasant, and enabled to open mine eyes in peace 
 and love on so sweet a May morning ! And I was 
 minded of a verse which I learned from my dear 
 and honored mother when a child, 
 
 " Teach me, my God, thy love to know, 
 
 That this new light, which now I see, 
 May both the work and workman show ; 
 Then by the sunbeams I will climb to thee." 
 
 When we went below, we found on the window- 
 
14 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 seat which looketh to the roadway, a great bunch 
 of flowers of many kinds, such as I had never seen 
 in mine own country, very fresh, and glistening 
 with the dew. Now, when Rebecca took them up, 
 her sister said, "Nay, they are not Sir Thomas s 
 gift, for young Pike hath just left them." Where 
 at, as I thought, she looked vexed, and ill at ease. 
 " They are yours, then, Cousin Margaret," said she, 
 rallying, " for Robert and you did ride aside all the 
 way from Agawam, and he scarce spake to me the 
 day long. I see I have lost mine old lover, and 
 my little cousin hath found a new one. I shall 
 write Cousin Oliver all about it." " Nay," said I, 
 " old lovers are better than new ; but I fear my 
 sweet cousin hath not so considered it." She 
 blushed, and looked aside, and for some space of 
 time I did miss her smile, and she spake little. 
 
 May 2Oth. 
 
 We had scarcely breakfasted, when him they call 
 Sir Thomas called on us, and with him came also a 
 Mr. Sewall, and the minister of the church, Mr. 
 Richardson, both of whom did cordially welcome 
 home my cousins, and were civil to my brother and 
 myself. Mr. Richardson and Leonard fell to con 
 versing about the state of the Church; and Sir 
 Thomas discoursed us in his lively way. After 
 some little tarry, Mr. Sewall asked us to go with 
 him to Deer s Island, a small way up the river, 
 where he and Robert Pike had some men splitting 
 staves for the Bermuda market. As the day was 
 
Margaret Smith s journal. 15 
 
 clear and warm, we did readily agree to go, and 
 forthwith set out for the river, passing through the 
 woods for nearly a half mile. When we came to 
 the Merrimack, we found it a great and broad stream. 
 We took a boat, and were rowed up the river, en 
 joying the pleasing view of the green banks, and 
 the rocks hanging over the water, covered with 
 bright mosses, and besprinkled with pale, white 
 flowers. Mr. Sewall pointed out to us the differ 
 ent kinds of trees, and their nature and uses, and 
 especially the sugar-tree, which is very beautiful in 
 its leaf and shape, and from which the people of 
 this country do draw a sap wellnigh as sweet as the 
 juice of the Indian cane, making good treacle and 
 sugar. Deer s Island hath rough, rocky shores, 
 very high and steep, and is well covered with a 
 great growth of trees, mostly evergreen pines and 
 hemlocks, which looked exceeding old. We found 
 a good seat on the mossy trunk of one of these 
 great trees, which had fallen from its extreme age, 
 or from some violent blast of wind, from whence 
 we could see the water breaking into white foam 
 on the rocks, and hear the melodious sound of the 
 wind in the leaves of the pines, and the singing of 
 birds ever and anon ; and lest this should seem too 
 sad and lonely, we could also hear the sounds of 
 the axes and beetles of the workmen, cleaving the 
 timber not far off. It was not long before Robert 
 Pike came up and joined us. He was in his work 
 ing dress, and his face and hands were much dis 
 colored by the smut of the burnt logs, which Re- 
 
1 6 Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 becca playfully remarking, he said there were no 
 mirrors in the woods, and that must be his apology ; 
 that, besides, it did not become a plain man, like 
 himself, who had to make his own fortune in the 
 world, to try to imitate those who had only to open 
 their mouths, to be fed like young robins, without 
 trouble or toil. Such might go as brave as they 
 would, if they would only excuse his necessity. I 
 thought he spoke with some bitterness, which, in 
 deed, was not without the excuse, that the manner 
 of our gay young gentleman towards him savored 
 much of pride and contemptuousness. My beloved 
 cousin, who hath a good heart, and who, I must 
 think, apart from the wealth and family of Sir 
 Thomas, rather inclineth to her old friend and 
 neighbor, spake cheerily and kindly to him, and 
 besought me privately to do somewhat to help her 
 remove his vexation. So we did discourse of many 
 things very pleasantly. Mr. Richardson, on hear 
 ing Rebecca say that the Indians did take the mel 
 ancholy noises of the pine-trees in the winds to be 
 the voices of the Spirits of the woods, said that 
 that they always called to his mind the sounds in 
 the mulberry-trees which the Prophet spake of. 
 Hereupon Rebecca, who hath her memory well 
 provided with divers readings, both of the poets 
 and other writers, did cite very opportunely some 
 ingenious lines, touching what the heathens do re 
 late of the Sacred Tree of Dodona, the rustling of 
 whose leaves the negro priestesses did hold to be 
 the language of the gods. And a late writer, she 
 
Margaret Smith s journal. 17 
 
 said, had something in one of his pieces, which 
 might well be spoken of the aged and dead tree- 
 trunk, upon which we were sitting. And when we 
 did all desire to know their import, she repeated 
 them thus, 
 
 " Sure thou didst flourish once, and many springs, 
 
 Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, 
 Passed o er thy head ; many light hearts and wings, 
 
 Which now are dead, lodged in thy living towers. 
 And still a new succession sings and flies, 
 
 Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot 
 Towards the old and still enduring skies, 
 
 While the low violet thriveth at their root." 
 
 These lines, she said, were written by one Vaughn, 
 a Brecknockshire Welsh Doctor of Medicine, who 
 had printed a little book not many years ago. Mr. 
 Richardson said the lines were good, but that he 
 did hold the reading of ballads and the conceits 
 of rhymers a waste of time, to say nothing worse. 
 Sir Thomas hereat said that, as far as he could 
 judge, the worthy folk of New England had no 
 great temptation to that sin from their own poets, 
 and did then, in a drolling tone, repeat some verses 
 of the 13 7th Psalm, which he said were the best he 
 had seen in the Cambridge Psalm Book : 
 
 " The rivers on of Babylon, 
 
 There when we did sit down, 
 Yea, even then we mourned when 
 
 We remembered Sion. 
 Our harp we did hang it amid 
 
 Upon the willow-tree ; 
 Because there they that us away 
 
 Led to captivity 
 VOL. I. B 
 
1 8 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 Required of us a song, and thus 
 Asked mirth us waste who laid, 
 
 Sing us among a Sion s song 
 Unto us as then they said." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Thomas," quoth Mr. Richardson, " it 
 is not seemly to jest over the Word of God. The 
 writers of our Book of Psalms in metre held rightly 
 that God s altar needs no polishing ; and truly they 
 have rendered the words of David into English 
 verse with great fidelity." 
 
 Our young gentleman, not willing to displeasure 
 a man so esteemed as Mr. Richardson, here made 
 an apology for his jesting, and said that, as to the 
 Cambridge version, it was indeed faithful ; and that 
 it was no blame to uninspired men, that they did 
 fall short of the beauties and richness of the Lord s 
 Psalmist. It being now near noon, we crossed 
 over the river, to where was a sweet spring of wa 
 ter, very clear and bright, running out upon the 
 green bank. Now, as we stood thirsty, having no 
 cup to drink from, seeing some people near, we 
 called to them, and presently there came running 
 to us a young and modest woman, with a bright 
 pewter tankard, which she filled and gave us. I 
 thought her sweet and beautiful, as Rebecca of old, 
 at her father s fountain. She was about leaving, 
 when Mr. Richardson said to her, it was a foul 
 shame for one like her to give heed to the ranting 
 of the Quakers, and bade her be a good girl, and 
 come to the meeting." 
 
 " Nay," said she, " I have been there often, to 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 19 
 
 small profit. The spirit which thou persecutest 
 testifieth against thee and thy meeting." 
 
 Sir Thomas jestingly asked her if the spirit she 
 spoke of was not such an one as possessed Mary 
 Magdalen. 
 
 " Or the swine of the Gadarenes ? " asked Mr. 
 Richardson. 
 
 I did smile with the others, but was presently 
 sorry for it ; for the young maid answered not a 
 word to this, but turning to Rebecca, she said, 
 "Thy father hath been hard with us, but thou 
 seemest kind and gentle, and I have heard of thy 
 charities to the poor. The Lord keep thee, for thou 
 walkest in slippery places ; there is danger, and 
 thou seest it not ; thou trustest to the hearing of 
 the ear and the seeing of the eye ; the Lord alone 
 seeth the deceitfulness and the guile of man ; and 
 if thou wilt cry mightily to Him, He can direct thee 
 rightly." 
 
 Her voice and manner were very weighty and 
 solemn. I felt an awe come upon me, and Rebec 
 ca s countenance was troubled. As the maiden left 
 us, the minister, looking after said, "There is a 
 deal of poison under the fair outside of yonder ves 
 sel, which I fear is fitted for destruction." " Peggy 
 Brewster is indeed under a delusion," answered 
 Robert Pike, " but I know no harm of her. She 
 is kind to all, even to them who evil entreat her." 
 
 " Robert, Robert ! " cried the minister, " I fear 
 me you will follow your honored father, who has 
 made himself of ill repute, by favoring these peo- 
 
2O Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 pie." " The Quaker hath bewitched him with her 
 bright eyes, perhaps," quoth Sir Thomas. " I 
 would she had laid a spell on an uncivil tongue 
 I wot of," answered Robert, angrily. Hereupon, 
 Mr. Sewall proposed that we should return, and in 
 making ready and getting to the boat, the matter 
 was dropped. 
 
 NEWBURY, June ist, 1678. 
 
 To-day Sir Thomas took his leave of us, being 
 about to go back to Boston. Cousin Rebecca is, I 
 can see, much taken with his outside bravery and 
 courtliness, yet she hath confessed to me that her 
 sober judgment doth greatly incline her towards 
 her old friend and neighbor, Robert Pike. She 
 hath even said that she doubted not she could live 
 a quieter and happier life with him than with such 
 an one as Sir Thomas ; and that the words of the 
 Quaker maid, whom we met at the spring on the 
 river side, had disquieted her not a little, inas 
 much as they did seem to confirm her own fears 
 and misgivings. But her fancy is so bedazzled 
 with the goodly show of her suitor, that I much 
 fear he can have her for the asking, especially as 
 her father, to my knowledge, doth greatly favor 
 him. And, indeed, by reason of her gracious man 
 ner, witty and pleasant discoursing, excellent breed 
 ing, and dignity, she would do no discredit to the 
 choice of one far higher than this young gentleman 
 in estate and rank. 
 
Margaret Smittis Journal. 21 
 
 June loth. 
 
 I went this morning with Rebecca to visit Elna- 
 than Stone, a young neighbor, who has been lying 
 sorely ill for a long time. He was a playmate of 
 my cousin when a boy, and was thought to be of 
 great promise as he grew up to manhood ; but, en 
 gaging in the war with the heathen, he was wound 
 ed and taken captive by them, and after much 
 suffering was brought back to his home a few 
 months ago. On entering the house where he lay, 
 we found his mother, a careworn and sad woman, 
 spinning in the room by his bedside. A very great 
 and bitter sorrow was depicted on her features ; it 
 was the anxious, unreconciled, and restless look of 
 one who did feel herself tried beyond her patience, 
 and might not be comforted. For, as I learned, 
 she was a poor widow, who had seen her young 
 daughter tomahawked by the Indians ; and now 
 her only son, the hope of her old age, was on his 
 death-bed. She received us with small civility, tell 
 ing Rebecca that it was all along of the neglect of 
 the men in authority that her son had got his 
 death in the wars, inasmuch as it was the want of 
 suitable diet and clothing, rather than his wounds, 
 which had brought him into his present condition. 
 Now, as Uncle Rawson is one of the principal 
 magistrates, my sweet cousin knew that the poor 
 afflicted creature meant to reproach him ; but her 
 good heart did excuse and forgive the rudeness and 
 distemper of one whom the Lord had sorely chast 
 ened. So she spake kindly and lovingly, and gave 
 
22 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 her sundry nice dainty fruits and comforting cor 
 dials, which she had got from Boston for the sick 
 man. Then, as she came to his bedside, and took 
 his hand lovingly in her own, he thanked her for 
 her many kindnesses, and prayed God to bless her. 
 He must have been a handsome lad in health, for 
 he had a fair, smooth forehead, shaded with brown, 
 curling hair, and large, blue eyes, very sweet and 
 gentle in their look. He told us that he felt him 
 self growing weaker, and that at times his bodily 
 suffering was great. But through the mercy of his 
 Saviour he had much peace of mind. He was con 
 tent to leave all things in His hand. For his poor 
 mother s sake, he said, more than for his own, he 
 would like to get about once more ; there were 
 many things he would like to do for her, and for 
 all who had befriended him ; but he knew his 
 Heavenly Father could do more and better for 
 them, and he felt resigned to His will. He had, he 
 said, forgiven all who ever wronged him, and he 
 had now no feeling of anger or unkindness left to 
 wards any one, for all seemed kind to him beyond 
 his deserts, and like brothers and sisters. He had 
 much pity for the poor savages even, although he 
 had suffered sorely at their hands ; for he did be 
 lieve that they had been often ill-used, and cheated, 
 and otherwise provoked to take up arms against 
 us. Hereupon, Goodwife Stone twirled her spin 
 dle very spitefully, and said she would as soon pity 
 the Devil as his children. The thought of her 
 mangled little girl, and of her dying son, did seem 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 23 
 
 to overcome her, and she dropped her thread, and 
 cried out with an exceeding bitter cry, " Oh, the 
 bloody heathen ! Oh, my poor murdered Molly ! 
 Oh, my son, my son ! " - " Nay, mother," said the 
 sick man," reaching out his hand and taking hold 
 of his mother s, with a sweet smile on his pale 
 face, " what does Christ tell us about loving our 
 enemies, and doing good to them that do injure 
 us ? Let us forgive our fellow-creatures, for we 
 have all need of God s forgiveness. I used to feel 
 as mother does," he said, turning to us ; " for I 
 went into the war with a design to spare neither 
 young nor old of the enemy. But I thank God 
 that even in that dark season my heart relented at 
 the sight of the poor starving women and children, 
 chased from place to place like partridges. Even 
 the Indian fighters, I found, had sorrows of their 
 own, and grievous wrongs to avenge ; and I do be 
 lieve, if we had from the first treated them as poor 
 blinded brethren, and striven as hard to give them 
 light and knowledge, as we have to cheat them in 
 trade, and to get away their lands, we should have 
 escaped many bloody wars, and won many precious 
 souls to Christ." 
 
 I inquired of him concerning his captivity. He 
 was wounded, he told me, in a fight with the Soko- 
 kis Indians two years before. It was a hot skir 
 mish in the woods ; the English and the Indians 
 now running forward, and then falling back, firing 
 at each other from behind the trees. He had shot 
 off all his powder, and, being ready to faint by rea- 
 
24 Margaret Smith s Journal, 
 
 son of a wound in his knee, he was fain to sit down 
 against an oak, from whence he did behold, with 
 great sorrow and heaviness of heart, his compan 
 ions overpowered by the number of their enemies, 
 fleeing away and leaving him to his fate. The sav 
 ages soon came to him with dreadful whoopings, 
 brandishing their hatchets and their scalping-knives. 
 He thereupon closed his eyes, expecting to be 
 knocked in the head, and killed outright. But 
 just then a noted chief coming up in great haste, 
 bade him be of good cheer, for he was his prisoner, 
 and should not be slain. He proved to be the 
 famous Sagamore Squando, the chief man of the 
 Sokokis. 
 
 "And were you kindly treated by this chief?" 
 asked Rebecca. " I suffered much in moving with 
 him to the Sebago Lake, owing to my wound," he 
 replied ; " but the chief did all in his power to give 
 me comfort, and he often shared with me his scant 
 fare, choosing rather to endure hunger himself, 
 than to see his son, as he called me, in want of 
 food. And one night, when I did marvel at this 
 kindness on his part, he told me that I had once 
 done him a great service ; asking me if I was not 
 at Black Point, in a fishing vessel, the summer be 
 fore ? I told him I was. He then bade me re 
 member the bad sailors who upset the canoe of a 
 squaw, and wellnigh drowned her little child, and 
 that I had threatened and beat them for it ; and 
 also how I gave the squaw a warm coat to wrap up 
 the poor wet papoose. It was his squaw and child 
 
Margaret Smiths Journal. 2$ 
 
 that I had befriended ; and he told me that he had 
 often tried to speak to me, and make known his 
 gratitude therefor ; and that he came once to the 
 garrison at Sheepscot, where he saw me ; but being 
 fired at, notwithstanding his signs of peace and 
 friendship, he was obliged to flee into the woods. 
 He said the child died a few days after its evil 
 treatment, and the thought of it made his heart 
 bitter ; that he had tried to live peaceably with the 
 white men, but they had driven him into the war. 
 
 " On one occasion," said the sick soldier, " as 
 we lay side by side in his hut, on the shore of the 
 Sebago Lake, Squando, about midnight, began to 
 pray to his God very earnestly. And on my query 
 ing with him about it, he said he was greatly in 
 doubt what to do, and had prayed for some sign of 
 the Great Spirit s will concerning him. He then 
 told me that some years ago, near the place where 
 we then lay, he left his wigwam at night, being un 
 able to sleep, by reason of great heaviness and dis 
 temper of mind. It was a full moon, and as he 
 did walk to and fro, he saw a fair, tall man in a 
 long black dress, standing in the light on the lake s 
 shore, who spake to him and called him by name. 
 
 " Squando, he said, and his voice was deep and 
 solemn, like the wind in the hill pines, the God 
 of the white man is the God of the Indian, and 
 he is angry with his red children. He alone is 
 able to make the corn grow before the frost, and 
 to lead the fish up the rivers in the spring, and to 
 fill the woods with deers and other game, and the 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
26 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 ponds and meadows with beavers. Pray to him 
 always. Do not hunt on his day, nor let the 
 squaws hoe the corn. Never taste of the strong 
 fire-water, but drink only from the springs. It is 
 because the Indians do not worship Him, that he 
 has brought the white men among them ; but if 
 they will pray like the white men, they will grow 
 very great and strong, and their children born in 
 this moon will live to see the English sail back in 
 their great canoes, and leave the Indians all their 
 fishing-places and hunting-grounds. 
 
 " When the strange man had thus spoken, 
 Squando told me that he went straightway up to 
 him, but found where he had stood only the shad 
 ow of a broken tree, which lay in the moon across 
 the white sand of the shore. Then he knew it was 
 a spirit, and he trembled, but was glad. Ever 
 since, he told me, he had prayed daily to the Great 
 Spirit, had drank no rum, nor hunted on the Sab 
 bath. 
 
 " He said he did for a long time refuse to dig up 
 his hatchet, and make war upon the whites, but 
 that he could not sit idle in his wigwam, while his 
 young men were gone upon their war-path. The 
 spirit of his dead child did moreover speak to him 
 from the land of souls, and chide him for not seek 
 ing revenge. Once, he told me, he had in a dream 
 seen the child crying and moaning bitterly, and 
 that when he inquired the cause of its grief, he was 
 told that the Great Spirit was angry with its father, 
 and would destroy him and his people unless he 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 27 
 
 did join with the Eastern Indians to cut off the 
 English." 
 
 " I remember," said Rebecca, " of hearing my 
 father speak of this Squando s kindness to a young 
 maid taken captive some years ago at Presump- 
 scot." 
 
 " I saw her at Cocheco," said the sick man. 
 " Squando found her in a sad plight, and scarcely 
 alive, took her to his wigwam, where his squaw did 
 lovingly nurse and comfort her ; and when she was 
 able to travel, he brought her to Major Waldron s, 
 asking no ransom for her. He might have been 
 made the fast friend of the English at that time, 
 but he scarcely got civil treatment." 
 
 " My father says that many friendly Indians, by 
 the ill conduct of the traders, have been made our 
 worst enemies," said Rebecca. " He thought the 
 bringing in of the Mohawks to help us a sin com 
 parable to that of the Jews, who looked for deliver 
 ance from the King of Babylon at the hands of the 
 Egyptians." 
 
 " They did nothing but mischief," said Elnathan 
 Stone ; " they killed our friends at Newichawan- 
 nock, Blind Will and his family." 
 
 Rebecca here asked him if he ever heard the 
 verses writ by Mr. Sewall concerning the killing of 
 Blind Will. And when he told her he had not, 
 and would like to have her repeat them, if she 
 could remember, she did recite them them thus : 
 
 " Blind Will of Newichawannock ! 
 He never will whoop again, 
 
28 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 For his wigwam s burnt above him, 
 And his old, gray scalp is ta en ! 
 
 " Blind Will was the friend of white men, 
 
 On their errands his young men ran, 
 And he got him a coat and breeches, 
 And looked like a Christian man. 
 
 " Poor Will of Newichawannock ! 
 
 They slew him unawares, 
 Where he lived among his people, 
 Keeping Sabbath and saying prayers. 
 
 " Now his fields will know no harvest, 
 
 And his pipe is clean put out, 
 And his fine, brave coat and breeches 
 The Mohog wears about. 
 
 " Woe the day our rulers listened 
 To Sir Edmund s wicked plan, 
 Bringing down the cruel Mohogs 
 Who killed the poor old man, 
 
 " O ! the Lord he will requite us ; 
 
 For the evil we have done, 
 There 11 be many a fair scalp drying 
 In the wind and in the sun ! 
 
 " There 11 be many a captive sighing, 
 
 In a bondage long and dire ; 
 There 11 be blood in many a corn-field, 
 And many a house a-fire. 
 
 " And the Papist priests the tidings 
 
 Unto all the tribes will send ; 
 They 11 point to Newichawannock, 
 * So the English treat their friend ! 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 29 
 
 " Let the Lord s anointed servants 
 Cry aloud against this wrong, 
 Till Sir Edmund take his Mohogs 
 Back again where they belong. 
 
 " Let the maiden and the mother 
 In the nightly watching share, 
 While the young men guard the block-house, 
 And the old men kneel in prayer. 
 
 " Poor Will of Newichawannock ! 
 
 For thy sad and cruel fall, 
 And the bringing in of the Mohogs, 
 May the Lord forgive us all ! " 
 
 A young woman entered the house just as Re 
 becca finished the verses. She bore in her hands 
 a pail of milk and a fowl neatly dressed, which she 
 gave to Elnathan s mother, and, seeing strangers 
 by his bedside, was about to go out, when he called 
 to her and besought her to stay. As she came up 
 and spoke to him, I knew her to be the maid we 
 had met at the spring. The young man, with tears 
 in his eyes, acknowledged her great kindness to 
 him, at which she seemed troubled and abashed. 
 A pure, sweet complexion she hath, and a gentle 
 and loving look, full of innocence and sincerity. 
 Rebecca seemed greatly disturbed, for she no 
 doubt thought of the warning words of this maid 
 en, when we were at the spring. After she had 
 left, Goodwife Stone said she was sure she could 
 not tell what brought that Quaker girl to her house 
 so much, unless she meant to inveigle Elnathan ; 
 
3O Margaret Smit/ts Journal. 
 
 but, for her part, she would rather see him dead 
 than live to bring reproach upon his family and the 
 Church by following after the blasphemers. I ven 
 tured to tell her that I did look upon it as sheer 
 kindness and love on the young woman s part ; at 
 which Elnathan seemed pleased, and said he could 
 not doubt it, and that he did believe Peggy Brew- 
 ster to be a good Christian, although sadly led 
 astray by the Quakers. His mother said that, with 
 all her meek looks, and kind words, she was full 
 of all manner of pestilent heresies, and did remind 
 her always of Satan in the shape of an angel of 
 light. 
 
 We went away ourselves soon after this, the sick 
 man thanking us for our visit, and hoping that he 
 should see us again. " Poor Elnathan," said Re 
 becca, as we walked home, " he will never go 
 abroad again ; but he is in such a good and loving 
 frame of mind, that he needs not our pity, as one 
 who is without hope." 
 
 " He reminds me," I said, " of the comforting 
 promise of Scripture, f Thou unit keep him in per 
 fect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee " 
 
 June 30th, 1678. 
 
 Mr. Rawson and Sir Thomas Hale came yester 
 day from Boston. I was rejoiced to see mine 
 uncle, more especially as he brought for me a 
 package of letters, and presents and tokens of re 
 membrance from my friends on the other side of 
 the water. As soon as I got them, I went up to 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 31 
 
 my chamber, and, as I read of the health of those 
 who are very dear to me, and who did still regard 
 me with unchanged love, I wept in my great joy, 
 and my heart overflowed in thankfulness. I read 
 the 22d Psalm, and it did seem to express mine 
 own feelings in view of the great mercies and 
 blessings vouchsafed to me. " My head is anoint 
 ed with oil ; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness 
 and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life 
 
 This morning, Sir Thomas and Uncle Rawson 
 rode over to Hampton, where they will tarry all 
 night. Last evening, Rebecca had a long talk 
 with her father concerning Sir Thomas, who hath 
 asked her of him. She came to bed very late, and 
 lay restless and sobbing ; whereupon I pressed her 
 to know the cause of her grief, when she told me 
 she had consented to marry Sir Thomas, but that 
 her heart was sorely troubled and full of misgiv 
 ings. On my querying whether she did really love 
 the young gentleman, she said she sometimes feared 
 she did not ; and that when her fancy had made a 
 fair picture of the life of a great lady in England, 
 there did often come a dark cloud over it like the 
 shade of some heavy disappointment or sorrow. 
 " Sir Thomas," she said, " was a handsome and 
 witty young man, and had demeaned himself to the 
 satisfaction and good repute of her father and the 
 principal people of the Colony ; and his manner 
 towards her had been exceeding delicate and mod 
 est, inasmuch as he had presumed nothing upon 
 his family or estate, but had sought her with much 
 
32 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 entreaty and humility, although he did well know 
 that some of the most admired and wealthy young 
 women in Boston did esteem him not a little, even 
 to the annoying of herself, as one whom he espe 
 cially favored." 
 
 " This will be heavy news to Robert Pike," said 
 I ; " and I am sorry for him, for he is indeed a 
 worthy man." 
 
 " That he is," quoth she ; " but he hath never 
 spoken to me of aught beyond that friendliness 
 which, as neighbors and school companions, we do 
 innocently cherish for each other." 
 
 " Nay," said I, " my sweet cousin knows full 
 well that he entertaineth so strong an affection for 
 her, that there needeth no words to reveal it." 
 
 " Alas ! " she answered, "it is too true. When 
 I am with him, I sometimes wish I had never seen 
 Sir Thomas. But my choice is made, and I pray 
 God I may not have reason to repent of it." 
 
 We said no more, but I fear she slept little, for 
 on waking about the break of day, I saw her sitting 
 in her night-dress by the window. Whereupon I 
 entreated her to return to her bed, which she at 
 length did, and folding me in her arms, and sobbing 
 as if her heart would break, she besought me to 
 pity her, for it was no light thing which she had 
 done, and she scarcely knew her own mind, nor 
 whether to rejoice or weep over it. I strove to 
 comfort her, and, after a time, she did, to my great 
 joy, fall into a quiet sleep. 
 
 This afternoon, Robert Pike came in, and had a 
 
Margaret Smiths Journal. 33 
 
 long talk with Cousin Broughton, who told him 
 how matters stood between her sister and Sir 
 Thomas, at which he was vehemently troubled, and 
 would fain have gone to seek Rebecca at once, and 
 expostulate with her, but was hindered on being told 
 that it could only grieve and discomfort her, inas 
 much as the thing was well settled, and could not 
 be broken off. He said he had known and loved 
 her from a child ; that for her sake he had toiled 
 hard by day and studied by night ; and that in all 
 his travels and voyages, her sweet image had al 
 ways gone with him. He would bring no accusa 
 tion against her, for she had all along treated him 
 rather as a brother than as a suitor : to which last 
 condition he had indeed not felt himself at liberty 
 to venture, after her honored father, some months 
 ago, had given him to understand that he did de 
 sign an alliance of his daughter with a gentleman 
 of estate and family. For himself, he would bear 
 himself manfully, and endure his sorrow with 
 patience and fortitude. His only fear was, that 
 his beloved friend had been too hasty in deciding 
 the matter ; and that he who was her choice might 
 not be worthy of the great gift of her affection. 
 Cousin Broughton, who has hitherto greatly favored 
 the pretensions of Sir Thomas, told me that she 
 wellnigh changed her mind in view of the manly 
 and noble bearing of Robert Pike ; and that if her 
 sister were to live in this land, she would rather 
 see her the wife of him than of any other man 
 therein. 
 
 VOL. i. 2* c 
 
34 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 July 3 d. 
 
 Sir Thomas took his leave to day. Robert Pike 
 hath been here to wish Rebecca great joy and hap 
 piness in her prospect, which he did in so kind and 
 gentle a manner, that she was fain to turn away her 
 head to hide her tears. When Robert saw this, he 
 turned the discourse, and did endeavor to divert 
 her mind in such sort that the shade of melancholy 
 soon left her sweet face, and the twain talked to 
 gether cheerfully as had been their wont, and as 
 became their years and conditions. 
 
 July 6th. 
 
 Yesterday a strange thing happened in the meet 
 ing-house. The minister had gone on in his dis 
 course, until the sand in the hour-glass on the rails 
 before the deacons had wellnigh run out, and Dea 
 con Dole was about turning it, when suddenly I 
 saw the congregation all about me give a great 
 start, and look back. A young woman, barefooted, 
 and with a coarse canvas frock about her, and her 
 long hair hanging loose like a periwig, and sprink 
 led with ashes, came walking up the south aisle. 
 Just as she got near Uncle Rawson s seat she 
 stopped, and turning round towards the four cor 
 ners of the house, cried out : " Woe to the perse 
 cutors ! Woe to them who for a pretence make long 
 prayers ! Humble yourselves, for this is the day of 
 the Lord s power, and I am sent as a sign among 
 you /" As she looked towards me I knew her to be 
 the Quaker maiden, Margaret Brewster. " Where 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 35 
 
 is the constable?" asked Mr. Richardson. "Let 
 the woman be taken out." Thereupon the whole 
 congregation arose, and there was a great uproar, 
 men and women climbing the seats, and many cry 
 ing out, some one thing and some another. In the 
 midst of the noise, Mr. Sewall, getting up on a 
 bench, begged the people to be quiet, and let the 
 constable lead out the poor deluded creature. Mr. 
 Richardson spake to the same effect, and, the tu 
 mult a little subsiding, I saw them taking the 
 young woman out of the door ; and, as many fol 
 lowed her, I went out also, with my brother, to see 
 what became of her. 
 
 We found her in the middle of a great crowd of 
 angry people, who reproached her for her wicked 
 ness in disturbing the worship on the Lord s day, 
 calling her all manner of foul names, and threaten 
 ing her with the stocks and the whipping-post. The 
 poor creature stood still and quiet ; she was death 
 ly pale, and her wild hair and sackcloth frock gave 
 her a very strange and pitiable look. The con 
 stable was about to take her in charge until the 
 morrow, when Robert Pike came forward, and said 
 he would answer for her appearance at the court 
 the next day, and besought the people to let her 
 go quietly to her home, which, after some parley, 
 was agreed to. Robert then went up to her, and 
 taking her hand, asked her to go with him. She 
 looked up, and being greatly touched by his kind 
 ness, began to weep, telling him that it had been a 
 sorrowful cross to her to do as she had done ; but 
 
36 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 that it had been long upon her mind, and that she 
 did feel a relief now that she had found strength for 
 obedience. He, seeing the people still following, 
 hastened her away, and we all went back to the 
 meeting-house. In the afternoon, Mr. Richardson 
 gave notice that he should preach, next Lord s day, 
 from the i2th and i3th verses of Jude, wherein the 
 ranters and disturbers of the present day were very 
 plainly spoken of. 
 
 This morning she hath been had before the 
 magistrates, who, considering her youth and good 
 behavior hitherto, did not proceed against her so 
 far as many of the people desired. A fine was laid 
 upon her, which both she and her father did pro 
 fess they could not in conscience pay, whereupon 
 she was ordered to be set in the stocks ; but this 
 Mr. Sewall, Robert Pike, and my brother would 
 by no means allow, but paid the fine themselves, 
 so that she was set at liberty, whereat the boys and 
 rude women were not a little disappointed, as they 
 had thought to make sport of her in the stocks. 
 Mr. Pike, I hear, did speak openly in her behalf 
 before the magistrates, saying that it was all along 
 of the cruel persecution of these people that did 
 drive them to such follies and breaches of the 
 peace. Mr. Richardson, who hath heretofore been 
 exceeding hard upon the Quakers, did, moreover, 
 speak somewhat in excuse of her conduct, believ 
 ing that she was instigated by her elders ; and he 
 therefore counselled the court that she should not 
 be whipped. 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 37 
 
 August ist. 
 
 Captain Sewall, R. Pike, and the minister, Mr. 
 Richardson, at our house to-day. Captain Sewall, 
 who lives mostly at Boston, says that a small vessel 
 loaded with negroes, taken on the Madagascar 
 coast, came last week into the harbor, and that the 
 owner thereof had offered the negroes for sale as 
 slaves, and that they had all been sold to magis 
 trates, ministers, and other people of distinction in 
 Boston and thereabouts. He said the negroes 
 were principally women and children, and scarcely 
 alive, by reason of their long voyage and hard fare. 
 He thought it a great scandal to the Colony, and 
 a reproach to the Church, that they should be 
 openly trafficked, like cattle in the market. Uncle 
 Rawson said it was not so formerly ; for he did re 
 member the case of Captain Smith and one Kesar, 
 who brought negroes from Guinea thirty years ago. 
 The General Court, urged thereto by Sir Richard 
 Saltonstall and many of the ministers, passed an 
 order that, for the purpose of " bearing a witness 
 against the heinous sin of man-stealing, justly ab 
 horred of all good and just men," the negroes 
 should be taken back to their own country at the 
 charge of the Colony ; which was soon after done. 
 Moreover, the two men, Smith and Kesar, were 
 duly punished. 
 
 Mr. Richardson said he did make a distinction 
 between the stealing of men from a nation at peace 
 with us, and the taking of captives in war. The 
 Scriptures did plainly warrant the holding of such, 
 and especially if they be heathen. 
 
38 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 Captain Sewall said he did, for himself, look 
 upon all slave-holding as contrary to the Gospel 
 and the New Dispensation. The Israelites had a 
 special warrant for holding the heathen in servi 
 tude ; but he had never heard any one pretend 
 that he had that authority for enslaving Indians 
 and blackamoors. 
 
 Hereupon Mr. Richardson asked him if he did 
 not regard Deacon Dole as a godly man ; and if 
 he had aught to say against him and other pious 
 men who held slaves. And he cautioned him to 
 be careful, lest he should be counted an accuser of 
 the brethren. 
 
 Here Robert Pike said he would tell of a matter 
 which had fallen under his notice. " Just after the 
 war was over," said he, " owing to the loss of my 
 shallop in the Penobscot Bay, I chanced to be in 
 the neighborhood of him they call the Baron of 
 Castine, who hath a strong castle, with much 
 cleared land and great fisheries at Byguyduce. I 
 was preparing to make a fire and sleep in the 
 woods, with my two men, when a messenger came 
 from the Baron, saying that his master, hearing 
 that strangers were in the neighborhood, had sent 
 him to offer us food and shelter, as the night was 
 cold and rainy. So without ado we went with him, 
 and were shown into a comfortable room in a wing 
 of the castle, where we found a great fire blazing, 
 and a joint of venison with wheaten loaves on the 
 table. After we had refreshed ourselves, the Baron 
 sent for me, and I was led into a large, fair room, 
 
Margaret Smittis Journal. 39 
 
 where he was, with Modockawando, who was his 
 father-in-law, and three or four other chiefs of the 
 Indians, together with two of his priests. The 
 Baron, who was a man of goodly appearance, re 
 ceived me with much courtesy; and when I told 
 him my misfortune, he said he was glad it was in 
 his power to afford us a shelter. He discoursed 
 about the war, which he said had been a sad thing 
 to the whites as well as the Indians, but that he 
 now hoped the peace would be lasting. Where 
 upon, Modockawando, a very grave and serious 
 heathen, who had been sitting silent with his friends, 
 got up and spoke a loud speech to me, which I did 
 not understand, but was told that he did complain 
 of the whites for holding as slaves sundry Indian 
 captives, declaring that it did provoke another war. 
 His own sister s child, he said, was thus held in 
 captivity. He entreated me to see the great Chief 
 of our people (meaning the Governor), and tell 
 him that the cries of the captives were heard by his 
 young men, and that they were talking of digging up 
 the hatchet which the old men had buried at Casco. 
 I told the old savage that I did not justify the hold 
 ing of Indians after the peace, and would do what 
 I could to have them set at liberty, at which he 
 seemed greatly rejoiced. Since I came back from 
 Castine s country, I have urged the giving up of 
 the Indians, and many have been released. Slav 
 ery is a hard lot, and many do account it worse 
 than death. When in the Barbadoes, I was told 
 that on one plantation, in the space of five years, a 
 score of slaves had hanged themselves." 
 
4O Margaret Smiths Journal 
 
 " Mr. Atkinson s Indian," said Captain Sewall, 
 "whom he bought of a Virginia ship-owner, did, 
 straightway on coming to his house, refuse meat ; 
 and although persuasions and whippings were tried 
 to make him eat, he would not so much as take a 
 sip of drink. I saw him a day or two before he 
 died, sitting wrapped up in his blanket, and mut 
 tering to himself. It was a sad sight, and I pray 
 God .1 may never see the like again. From that 
 time I have looked upon the holding of men as 
 slaves as a great wickedness. The Scriptures 
 themselves do testify, that he that Icaddh into cap 
 tivity shall go into captivity" 
 
 After the company had gone, Rebecca sat silent 
 and thoughtful for a time, and then bade her young 
 serving-girl, whom her father had bought, about a 
 year before, of the master of a Scotch vessel, and 
 who had been sold to pay the cost of her passage, 
 to come to her. She asked her if she had aught 
 to complain of in her situation. The poor girl 
 looked surprised, but said she had not " Are you 
 content to live as a servant?" asked Rebecca. 
 " Would you leave me if you could ? " She here 
 fell a-weeping, begging her mistress not to speak of 
 her leaving. " But if I should tell you that you are 
 free to go or stay, as you will, would you be glad 
 or sorry?" queried her mistress. The poor girl 
 was silent. " I do not wish you to leave me, Erne," 
 said Rebecca, " but I wish you to know that you 
 are from henceforth free, and that if you serve me 
 hereafter, as I trust you will, it will be in love and 
 
Margaret Smittts Journal. 41 
 
 good will, and for suitable wages." The bonds 
 woman did not at the first comprehend the design 
 of her mistress, but, on hearing it explained once 
 more, she dropped down on her knees, and clasp 
 ing Rebecca, poured forth her thanks after the 
 manner of her people ; whereupon Rebecca, great 
 ly moved, bade her rise, as she had only done what 
 the Scriptures did require, in giving to her servant 
 that which is just and equal. 
 
 " How easy it is to make others happy, and our 
 selves also ! " she said, turning to me, with the tears 
 shining in her eyes. 
 
 August 8, 1678. 
 
 Elnathan Stone, who died two days ago, was 
 buried this afternoon. A very solemn funeral, 
 Mr. Richardson preaching a sermon from the 23d 
 Psalm, 4th verse : " Yea, though I walk through the 
 valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, 
 for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they 
 comfort me" Deacon Dole provided the wine and 
 spirits, and Uncle Rawson the beer, and bread, and 
 fish for the entertainment, and others of the neigh 
 bors did, moreover, help the widow to sundry mat 
 ters of clothing suitable for the occasion, for she 
 was very poor, and, owing to the long captivity and 
 sickness of her son, she hath been much straitened 
 at times. I am told that Margaret Brewster hath 
 been like an angel of mercy unto her, watching 
 often with the sick man, and helping her in her 
 work, so that the poor woman is now fain to con- 
 
42 Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 fess that she hath a good and kind heart. A little 
 time before Elnathan died, he did earnestly com 
 mend the said Margaret to the kindness of Cousin 
 Rebecca, entreating her to make interest with the 
 magistrates, and others in authority, in her behalf, 
 that they might be merciful to her in her outgoings, 
 as he did verily think they did come of a sense of 
 duty, albeit mistaken. Mr. Richardson, who hath 
 been witness to her gracious demeanor and charity, 
 and who saith she does thereby shame many of his 
 own people, hath often sought to draw her away 
 from the new doctrines, and to set before her the 
 dangerous nature of her errors ; but she never lack- 
 eth answer of some sort, being naturally of good 
 parts, and well read in the Scriptures. 
 
 August roth. 
 
 I find the summer here greatly unlike that of 
 mine own country. The heat is great, the sun 
 shining very strong and bright ; and for more than 
 a month it hath been exceeding dry, without any 
 considerable fall of rain, so that the springs fail in 
 many places, and the watercourses are dried up, 
 which doth bring to mind very forcibly the lan 
 guage of Job, concerning the brooks which the 
 drouth consumeth : " What time they wax warm 
 they vanish ; when it is hot they are consumed out of 
 their place. The paths of their way are turned aside ; 
 they go to nothing and perish The herbage and 
 grass have lost much of the brightness which they 
 did wear in the early summer ; moreover, there be 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 43 
 
 fewer flowers to be seen. The fields and roads are 
 dusty, and all things do seem to faint and wax old 
 under the intolerable sun. Great locusts sing sharp 
 in the hedges and bushes, and grasshoppers fly up 
 in clouds, as it were, when one walks over the dry 
 grass which they feed upon, and at nightfall mos- 
 quitos are no small torment. Whenever I do look 
 forth at noonday, at which time the air is all aglow, 
 with a certain glimmer and dazzle like that from an 
 hot furnace, and see the poor fly-bitten cattle 
 whisking their tails to keep off the venomous in 
 sects, or standing in the water of the low grounds 
 for coolness, and the panting sheep lying together 
 under the shade of trees, I must needs call to mind 
 the summer season of Old England, the cool sea 
 air, the soft-dropping showers, the fields so thick 
 with grasses, and skirted with hedge-rows like green 
 walls, the trees and shrubs all clean and moist, and 
 the vines and creepers hanging over walls and gate 
 ways, very plenteous and beautiful to behold. Ah 
 me ! often in these days do I think of Hilton 
 Grange, with its great oaks, and cool breezy hills 
 and meadows green the summer long. I shut mine 
 eyes, and lo ! it is all before me like a picture ; I 
 see mine uncle s gray hairs beneath the trees, and 
 my good aunt standeth in the doorway, and Cousin 
 Oliver comes up in his field-dress, from the croft or 
 the mill ; I can hear his merry laugh, and the sound 
 of his horse s hoofs ringing along the gravel-way. 
 Our sweet Chaucer telleth of a mirror in the which j 
 he that looked did see all his past life ; that magi- 
 
44 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 cal mirror is no fable, for in the memory of love 
 old things do return and show themselves as fea 
 tures do in the glass, with a perfect and most be 
 guiling likeness. 
 
 Last night, Deacon Dole s Indian One-eyed 
 Tom, a surly fellow broke into his master s 
 shop, where he made himself drunk with rum, and, 
 coming to the house, did greatly fright the women 
 folk by his threatening words and gestures. Now, 
 the Deacon coming home late from the church- 
 meeting, and seeing him in this way, wherreted 
 him smartly with his cane, whereupon he ran off, 
 and came up the road howling and yelling like an 
 evil spirit. Uncle Rawson sent his Irish man 
 servant to see what caused the ado ; but he straight 
 way came running back, screaming " Murther ! 
 murther ! " at the top of his voice. So uncle him 
 self went to the gate, and presently called for a 
 light, which Rebecca and I came with, inasmuch 
 as the Irishman and Effie dared not go out. We 
 found Tom sitting on the horse-block, the blood 
 running down his face, and much bruised and 
 swollen. He was very fierce and angry, saying 
 that if he lived a month, he would make him a to 
 bacco-pouch of the Deacon s scalp. Rebecca ven 
 tured to chide him for his threats, but offered to 
 bind up his head for him, which she did with her 
 own kerchief. Uncle Rawson then bade him go 
 home and get to bed, and in future let alone strong 
 drink, which had been the cause of his beating. 
 This he would not do, but went off into the woods, 
 muttering as far as one could hear him. 
 
Margaret Smit/is Journal. 45 
 
 This morning Deacon Dole came in, and said 
 his servant Tom had behaved badly, for which he . 
 did moderately correct him, and that he did there 
 upon run away, and he feared he should lose him. 
 He bought him, he said, of Captain Davenport, - 
 who brought him from the Narragansett country, 
 paying ten pounds and six shillings for him, and he 
 could ill bear so great a loss. I ventured to tell 
 him that it was wrong to hold any man, even an 
 Indian or Guinea black, as a slave. My uncle, 
 who saw that my plainness was not well taken, 
 bade me not meddle with matters beyond my 
 depth ; and Deacon Dole, looking very surly at 
 me, said I was a forward one ; that he had noted ; ; 
 that I did wear a light and idle look in the meet 
 ing-house ; and, pointing with his cane to my hair, / 
 he said I did render myself liable to presentment -, 
 by the Grand Jury for a breach of the statute of 
 the General Court, made the year before, against 
 " the immodest laying out of the hair," &c. He 
 then went on to say that he had lived to see strange 
 times, when such as I did venture to oppose them 
 selves to sober and grave people, and to despise 
 authority, and encourage rebellion and disorder ; 
 and bade me take heed lest all such be numbered 
 with the cursed children which the Apostle did re- / 
 buke : " Who, as natural brute beasts, speak evil of 
 things they understand not, and shall utterly perish in 
 their corruption My dear Cousin Rebecca here 
 put in a word in my behalf, and told the Deacon 
 that Tom s misbehavior did all grow out of the 
 
46 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 * keeping of strong liquors for sale, and that he was 
 ) wrong to beat him so cruelly, seeing that he did 
 himself place the temptation before him. There- 
 upon the Deacon rose up angrily, bidding uncle 
 look well to his forward household. " Nay, girls," 
 quoth mine uncle, after his neighbor had left the 
 house, "you have angered the good man sorely." 
 " Never heed," said Rebecca, laughing and 
 clapping her hands, " he hath got something to , 
 think of more profitable, I trow, than Cousin Mar 
 garet s hair or looks in meeting. He has been 
 tything of mint and anise and cummin long enough, 
 and t is high time for him to look after the weight 
 ier matters of the law." 
 
 The selling of beer and strong liquors, Mr. Sew- 
 all says, hath much increased since the troubles 
 of the Colony and the great Indian war. The 
 General Court do take some care to grant licenses 
 only to discreet persons ; but much liquor is sold 
 without warrant. For mine own part, I think old 
 Chaucer hath it right in his Pardoner s Tale : 
 
 " A likerous thing is wine, and drunkenness 
 Is full of striving and of wretchedness. 
 O drunken man ! disfigured is thy face, 
 Sour is thy breath, foul art thou to embrace ; 
 Thy tongue is lost, and all thine honest care, 
 For drunkenness is very sepulture 
 Of man s wit and his discretion." 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 47 
 
 AGAMENTICUS, August i8th. 
 
 The weather being clear and the heat great, last 
 week uncle and aunt, with Rebecca and myself, 
 and also Leonard and Sir Thomas, thought it a fit 
 ting time to make a little journey by water to the 
 Isles of Shoals, and the Agamenticus, where dwell- 
 eth my Uncle Smith, who hath strongly pressed me 
 to visit him. One Caleb Powell, a seafaring man, 
 having a good new boat, with a small cabin, did 
 undertake to convey us. He is a drolling odd fel 
 low, who hath been in all parts of the world, and 
 hath seen and read much, and, having a rare mem 
 ory, is not ill company, although uncle saith one 
 must make no small allowance for his desire of 
 making his hearers marvel at his stories and con 
 ceits. We sailed with a good westerly wind down 
 the river, passing by the great salt marshes, which 
 stretch a long way by the sea, and in which the 
 town s people be now very busy in mowing and 
 gathering the grass for winter s use. Leaving on 
 our right hand Plum Island (so called on account 
 of the rare plums which do grow upon it), we struck 
 into the open sea, and soon came in sight of the 
 Islands of Shoals. There be seven of them in all, 
 lying off the town of Hampton on the main-land, 
 about a league. We landed on that called the 
 Star, and were hospitably entertained through the 
 day and night by Mr. Abbott, an old inhabitant of 
 the islands, and largely employed in fisheries and 
 trade, and with whom uncle had some business. 
 In the afternoon Mr. Abbott s son rowed us about 
 
48 Margaret Smit/ts Journal. 
 
 among the islands, and showed us the manner of 
 curing the dun-fish, for which the place is famed. 
 They split the fishes, and lay them on the rocks in 
 the sun, using little salt, but turning them often. 
 There is a court-house on the biggest island, and a 
 famous school, to which many of the planters on 
 the main-land do send their children. We noted a 
 great split in the rocks, where, when the Indians 
 came to the islands many years ago, and killed 
 some and took others captive, one Betty Moody 
 did hide herself, and which is hence called Betty 
 Moody s Hole. Also, the pile of rocks set up by 
 the noted Captain John Smith, when he did take 
 possession of the Isles in the year 1614. We saw 
 our old acquaintance Peckanaminet and his wife, in 
 a little birch canoe, fishing a short way off. Mr. 
 Abbott says he well recollects the time when the 
 Agawams were wellnigh cut off by the Tarratine 
 Indians; for that early one morning, hearing a 
 loud yelling and whooping, he went out on the 
 point of the rocks, and saw a great fleet of canoes 
 filled with Indians, going back from Agawam, and 
 the noise they made he took to be their rejoicing 
 over their victor}*. 
 
 In the evening a cold easterly wind began to 
 blow, and it brought in from the ocean a damp fog, 
 so that we were glad to get within doors. Sir 
 Thomas entertained us by his lively account of 
 things in Boston, and of a journey he had made to 
 the Providence plantations. He then asked us if 
 it was true, as he had learned from Mr. Mather, of 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal 49 
 
 Boston, that there was an house in Newbury dole- 
 fully beset by Satan s imps, and that the family 
 could get no sleep because of the doings of evil 
 spirits. Uncle Rawson said he did hear some 
 thing of it, and that Mr. Richardson had been sent 
 for to pray against the mischief. Yet as he did 
 count Goody Morse a poor silly woman, he should 
 give small heed to her story ; but here was her near 
 neighbor, Caleb Powell, who could doubtless tell 
 more concerning it. Whereupon, Caleb said it was 
 indeed true that there was a very great disturbance in 
 Goodman Morse s house ; doors opening and shut 
 ting, household stuff whisked out of the room, and 
 then falling down the chimney, and divers other 
 strange things, many of which he had himself seen. 
 Yet he did believe it might be accounted for in a 
 natural way, especially as the old couple had a 
 wicked, graceless boy living with them, who might 
 be able to do the tricks by his great subtlety and 
 cunning. Sir Thomas said it might be the boy ; 
 but that Mr. Josselin, who had travelled much 
 hereabout, had told him that the Indians did prac 
 tice witchcraft, and that, now they were beaten 
 in war, he feared they would betake themselves to 
 it, and so do by their devilish wisdom what they 
 could not do by force ; and verily this did look 
 much like the beginning of their enchantments. 
 " That the Devil helpeth the heathen in this mat 
 ter, I do myself know for a certainty," said Caleb 
 Powell "for when I was at Port Royal, many 
 years ago, I did see with mine eyes the burning of 
 VOL. i. 3 D 
 
50 Margaret SmitJis Journal 
 
 an old negro wizard, who had done to death many 
 of the whites, as well as his own people, by a 
 charm which he brought with him from the Guinea 
 country." Mr. Hull, the minister of the place, who 
 was a lodger in the house, said he had heard one 
 Foxwell, a reputable planter at Saco, lately de 
 ceased, tell of a strange affair that did happen to 
 himself, in a voyage to the eastward. Being in a 
 small shallop, and overtaken by the night, he lay at 
 anchor a little way off the shore, fearing to land on 
 account of the Indians. Now, it did chance that 
 they were waked about midnight by a loud voice 
 from the land, crying out, Foxwcll, come ashore! 
 three times over ; whereupon, looking to see from 
 whence the voice did come, they beheld a great 
 circle of fire on the beach, and men and women 
 dancing about it in a ring. Presently they van 
 ished, and the fire was quenched also. In the 
 morning he landed, but found no Indians nor Eng 
 lish, only brands ends cast up by the waves ; and 
 he did believe, unto the day of his death, that it 
 was a piece of Indian sorcery. " There be strange 
 stories told of Passaconaway, the chief of the 
 River Indians," he continued. " I have heard one 
 say who saw it, that once, at the Patucket Falls, 
 this chief, boasting of his skill in magic, picked 
 up a dry skin of a snake, which had been cast off, 
 as is the wont of the reptile, and making some 
 violent motions of his body, and calling upon his 
 Familiar, or Demon, he did presently cast it down 
 upon the rocks, and it became a great black ser- 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 51 
 
 pent, which mine informant saw crawl off into some 
 bushes, very nimble. This Passaconaway was ac 
 counted by his tribe to be a very cunning conjurer, 
 and they do believe that he could brew storms, 
 make water burn, and cause green leaves to grow 
 on trees in the winter; and, in brief, it may be 
 said of him, that he was not a whit behind the 
 magicians of Egypt in the time of Moses." 
 
 "There be women in the cold regions about 
 Norway," said Caleb Powell, " as I have heard the 
 sailors relate, who do raise storms and sink boats 
 at their will." 
 
 " It may well be," quoth Mr. Hull, " since Satan 
 is spoken of as the prince and power of the air." 
 
 " The profane writers of old time do make men 
 tion of such sorceries," said Uncle Rawson. " It 
 is long since I have read any of them ; but Virgil 
 and Apulius do, if I mistake not, speak of this 
 power over the elements." 
 
 " Do you not remember, father," said Rebecca, 
 "some verses of Tibullus, in which he speaketh of 
 a certain enchantress ? Some one hath rendered 
 them thus : 
 
 " Her with charms drawing stars from heaven, I, 
 And turning the course of rivers, did espy. 
 She parts the earth, and ghosts from sepulchres 
 Draws up, and fetcheth bones away from fires, 
 And at her pleasure scatters clouds in the air, 
 And makes it snow in summer hot and fair." 
 
 Here Sir Thomas laughingly told Rebecca, that 
 he did put more faith in what these old writers did 
 
52 Margaret SinitJis Journal. 
 
 tell of the magic arts of the sweet-singing sirens, 
 and of Circe and her enchantments, and of the 
 Illyrian maidens, so wonderful in their beauty, who 
 did kill with their looks such as they were angry 
 with. 
 
 " It was, perhaps, for some such reason," said 
 Rebecca, " that, as Mr. Abbott tells me, the Gen 
 eral Court many years ago did forbid women to live 
 on these islands." 
 
 " Pray, how was that ? " asked Sir Thomas. 
 
 " You must know," answered our host, " that in 
 the early settlement of the Shoals, vessels coming 
 for fish upon this coast did here make their harbor, 
 bringing hither many rude sailors of different na 
 tions ; and the Court judged that it was not a fit 
 ting place for women, and so did by law forbid 
 their dwelling on the islands belonging to the Mas 
 sachusetts." 
 
 He then asked his wife to get the order of the 
 Court concerning her stay on the islands, remark 
 ing that he did bring her over from the Maine in 
 despite of the law. So his wife fetched it, and 
 Uncle Rawson read it, it being to this effect, 
 " That a petition having been sent to the Court, 
 praying that the law might be put in force in re 
 spect to John Abbott his wife, the Court do judge 
 it meet, if no further complaint come against her, 
 that she enjoy the company of her husband." Where 
 at we all laughed heartily. 
 
 Next morning, the fog breaking away early, we 
 set sail for Agamenticus, running along the coast 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 53 
 
 and off the mouth of the Piscataqua River, passing 
 near where my lamented Uncle Edward dwelt, 
 whose fame as a worthy gentleman and magistrate 
 is still living. We had Mount Agamenticus before 
 us all day, a fair stately hill, rising up as it were 
 from the water. Towards night a smart shower 
 came on, with thunderings and lightnings such as 
 I did never see or hear before ; and the wind blow 
 ing and a great rain driving upon us, we were for a 
 time in much peril : but, through God s mercy, it 
 suddenly cleared up, and we went into the Aga 
 menticus River with a bright sun. Before dark we 
 got to the house of my honored uncle, where, he 
 not being at home, his wife and daughters did 
 receive us kindly. 
 
 September loth. 
 
 I do find myself truly comfortable at this place. 
 My two cousins, Polly and Thankful, are both 
 young, unmarried women, very kind and pleasant, 
 and, since my Newbury friends left, I have been 
 learning of them many things pertaining to house 
 keeping, albeit I am still but a poor scholar. Uncle 
 is Marshal of the Province, which takes him much 
 from home ; and aunt, who is a sickly woman, 
 keeps much in her chamber ; so that the affairs of 
 the household and of the plantation do mainly rest 
 upon the young women. If ever I get back to 
 Hilton Grange again, I shall have tales to tell of 
 my baking and brewing, of my pumpkin-pies, and 
 bread made of the flour of the Indian corn ; yea, 
 
54 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 more, of gathering of the wild fruit in the woods, 
 and cranberries in the meadows, milking the cows, 
 and looking after the pigs and barn-yard fowls. 
 Then, too, we have had many pleasant little jour 
 neys by water and on horseback, young Mr. Jordan, 
 of Spurwink, who hath asked Polly in marriage, 
 going with us. A right comely youth he is, but a 
 great Churchman, as might be expected, his father 
 being the minister of the Black Point people, and 
 very bitter towards the Massachusetts and its cler 
 gy and government. My uncle, who meddles little 
 with Church matters, thinks him a hopeful young 
 man, and not an ill suitor for his daughter. He 
 hath been in England for his learning, and is ac 
 counted a scholar ; but, although intended for the 
 Church service, he inclineth more to the life of a 
 planter, and taketh the charge of his father s plan 
 tation at Spurwink. Polly is not beautiful and 
 graceful like Rebecca Rawson, but she hath fresh 
 ness of youth and health, and a certain good-heart- 
 eclness of look and voice, and a sweetness of 
 temper which do commend her in the eyes of all. 
 Thankful is older by some years, and, if not as 
 cheerful and merry as her sister, it needs not be 
 marvelled at, since one whom she loved was killed 
 in the Narragansett country two years ago. O 
 these bloody wars ! There be few in these East 
 ern Provinces who have not been called to mourn 
 the loss of some near and dear friend, so that of a 
 truth the land mourns. 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal 55 
 
 September i8th. 
 
 Meeting much disturbed yesterday, a ranting y 
 Quaker coming in and sitting with his hat on in 
 sermon time, humming and groaning, and rocking 
 his body to and fro like one possessed. After a 
 time he got up, and pronounced a great woe upon 
 the priests, calling them many hard names, and 
 declaring that the whole land stank with their hy 
 pocrisy. Uncle spake sharply to him, and bid hold 
 his peace, but he only cried out the louder. Some 
 young men then took hold of him, and carried him 
 out. They brought him along close to my seat, he 
 hanging like a bag of meal, with his eyes shut, as 
 ill-favored a body as I ever beheld. The magis 
 trates had him smartly whipped this morning, and 
 sent out of the jurisdiction. I was told he was no 
 true Quaker ; for, although a noisy, brawling hang 
 er-on at their meetings, he is not in fellowship with " 
 the more sober and discreet of that people. 
 
 Rebecca writes me that the witchcraft in William 
 Morse s house is much talked of, and that Caleb 
 Powell hath been complained of as the wizard. 
 Mr. Jordan the elder says he does in no wise mar- ^ 
 vel at the Devil s power in the Massachusetts, since 
 at his instigation the rulers and ministers of the 
 Colony have set themselves against the true and 
 Gospel order of the Church, and do slander and 
 persecute all who will not worship at their conven 
 ticles. 
 
 A Mr. Van Valken, a young gentleman of Dutch 
 descent, and the agent of Mr. Edmund Andross, 
 
56 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 of the Duke of York s Territory, is now in this 
 place, being entertained by Mr. Godfrey, the late 
 Deputy-Governor. He brought a letter for me 
 from Aunt Rawson, whom he met in Boston. He 
 is a learned, serious man, hath travelled a good 
 deal, and hath an air of high breeding. The min 
 ister here thinks him a Papist, and a Jesuit, espe 
 cially as he hath not called upon him, nor been to 
 the meeting. He goes soon to Pemaquid, to take 
 charge of that fort and trading station, which have 
 greatly suffered by the war. 
 
 September 3oth. 
 
 Yesterday, Cousin Polly and myself, with young 
 Mr. Jordan, went up to the top of the mountain, 
 which is some miles from the harbor. It is not 
 hard to climb in respect to steepness, but it is so 
 tangled with bushes and vines, that one can scarce 
 break through them. The open places were yellow 
 with golden rods, and the pale asters were plenty 
 in the shade, and by the side of the brooks, that 
 with pleasing noise did leap down the hill. When 
 we got upon the top, which is bare and rocky, we 
 had a fair view of the coast, with its many windings 
 and its islands, from the Cape Ann, near Boston, 
 to the Cape Elizabeth, near Casco, the Piscataqua 
 and Agamenticus Rivers ; and away in the north 
 west we could see the peaks of mountains looking 
 like summer clouds or banks of gray fog. These 
 mountains lie many leagues off in the wilderness, 
 and are said to be exceeding lofty. 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 57 
 
 But I must needs speak of the color of the woods, 
 which did greatly amaze me, as unlike anything 
 I had ever seen in old England. As far as mine 
 eyes could look, the mighty wilderness, under 
 the bright westerly sun, and stirred by a gentle 
 wind, did seem like a garden in its season of 
 flowering ; green, dark, and light, orange, and pale 
 yellow, and crimson leaves, mingling and inter 
 weaving their various hues, in a manner truly won 
 derful to behold. It is owing, I am told, to the 
 sudden frosts, which in this climate do smite the 
 vegetation in its full life and greenness, so that in 
 the space of a few days the colors of the leaves are 
 marvellously changed and brightened. These col 
 ors did remind me of the stains of the windows of 
 old churches, and of rich tapestry. The maples 
 were all aflame with crimson, the walnuts were or 
 ange, the hemlocks and cedars were wellnigh black ; 
 while the slender birches, with their pale yellow 
 leaves, seemed painted upon them as pictures are 
 laid upon a dark ground. I gazed until mine eyes 
 grew weary, and a sense of the wonderful beauty 
 of the visible creation, and of God s great good 
 ness to the children of men therein, did rest upon 
 me, and I said in mine heart, with one of old : " O 
 Lord ! how manifold are thy works : in wisdom hast 
 thou made them all, and the earth is full of thy 
 riches." 
 
58 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 October 6th. 
 
 Walked out to the iron mines, a great hole digged 
 in the rocks, many years ago, for the finding of 
 iron. Aunt, who was then just settled in house 
 keeping, told me many wonderful stories of the man 
 who caused it to be digged, a famous doctor of 
 physic, and, as it seems, a great wizard also. He 
 bought a patent of land on the south side of the 
 Saco River, four miles by the sea, and eight miles 
 up into the main-land of Mr. Vines, the first owner 
 thereof; and being curious in the seeking and 
 working of metals, did promise himself great riches 
 in this new country ; but his labors came to noth 
 ing, although it was said that Satan helped him, in 
 the shape of a little blackamoor man-servant, who 
 was his constant familiar. My aunt says she did 
 often see him, wandering about among the hills 
 and woods, and along the banks of streams of 
 water, searching for precious ores and stones. He 
 had even been as far as the great mountains, be 
 yond Pigwackett, climbing to the top thereof, 
 where the snows lie wellnigh all the year, his way 
 thither lying through doleful swamps and lonesome 
 woods. He was a great friend of the Indians, who 
 held him to be a more famous conjurer than their 
 own powahs ; and, indeed, he was learned in all 
 curious and occult arts, having studied at the great 
 College of Padua, and travelled in all parts of the 
 old countries. He sometimes stopped in his 
 travels at my uncle s house, the little blackamoor 
 sleeping in the barn, for my aunt feared him, as he 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 59 
 
 was reputed to be a wicked imp. Now it so 
 chanced that on one occasion my uncle had lost a 
 cow, and had searched the woods many days for 
 her to no purpose, when, this noted doctor coming 
 in, he besought him to find her out by his skill and 
 learning ; but he did straightway deny his power to 
 do so, saying he was but a poor scholar, and lover 
 of science, and had no greater skill in occult mat 
 ters than any one might attain to by patient study 
 of natural things. But as mine uncle would in no 
 wise be so put of, and still pressing him to try his 
 art, he took a bit of coal, and began to make marks 
 on the floor, in a very careless way. Then he made 
 a black dot in the midst, and bade my uncle take 
 heed that his cow was lying dead in that spot ; and 
 my uncle looking at it, said he could find her, for 
 he now knew where she was, inasmuch as the doc 
 tor had made a fair map of the country round about 
 for many miles. So he set off, and found the cow 
 lying at the foot of a great tree, close beside a 
 brook, she being quite dead, which thing did show 
 that he was a magician of no mean sort. 
 
 My aunt further said, that in those days there 
 was great talk of mines of gold and precious stones, 
 and many people spent all their substance in wan 
 dering about over the wilderness country seeking a 
 fortune in this way. There was one old man, who, 
 she remembered, did roam about seeking for hid 
 den treasures, until he lost his wits, and might be 
 seen filling a bag with bright stones and shining 
 sand, muttering and laughing to himself. He was 
 
60 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 at last missed for some little time, when he was 
 found lying dead in the woods, still holding fast in 
 his hands his bag of pebbles. 
 
 On my querying whether any did find treasures 
 hereabout, my aunt laughed, and said she never 
 heard of but one man who did so, and that was old 
 Peter Preble of Saco, who, growing rich faster than 
 his neighbors, was thought to owe his fortune to 
 the finding of a gold or silver mine. When he was 
 asked about it, he did by no means deny it, but 
 confessed he had found treasures in the sea as well 
 as on the land ; and, pointing to his loaded fish- 
 flakes and his great cornfields, said, " Here are my 
 mines." So that afterwards, when any one pros 
 pered greatly in his estate, it was said of him by 
 his neighbors, " He has been working Peter Preble s 
 mine" 
 
 October 8th. 
 
 Mr. Van Valken, the Dutchman, had before Mr. 
 Rishworth, one of the Commissioners of the Prov 
 ince, charged with being a Papist and a Jesuit. 
 He bore himself, I am told, haughtily enough, de 
 nying the right to call him in question, and threat 
 ening the interference of his friend and ruler, Sir 
 Edmund, on account of the wrong done him. My 
 uncle and others did testify that he was a civil and 
 courteous gentleman, not intermeddling with mat 
 ters of a religious nature ; and that they did regard 
 it as a foul shame to the town that he should be 
 molested in this wise. But the minister put them 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 6 1 
 
 to silence, by testifying that he (Van Valken) had 
 given away sundry Papist books ; and, one of them 
 being handed to the Court, it proved to be a Latin 
 Treatise, by a famous Papist, intituled, " The Imi 
 tation of Christ" Hereupon, Mr. Godfrey asked 
 if there was aught evil in the book. The minister 
 said it was written by a monk, and was full of her 
 esy, favoring both the Quakers and the Papists ; 
 but Mr. Godfrey told him it had been rendered 
 into the English tongue, and printed some years 
 before in the Massachusetts Bay ; and asked him 
 if he did accuse such men as Mr. Cotton and Mr. 
 Wilson, and the pious ministers of their day, of 
 heresy. " Nay," quoth the minister, " they did see 
 the heresy of the book, and, on their condemning 
 it, the General Court did forbid its sale." Mr. 
 Rishworth hereupon said he did judge the book to 
 be pernicious, and bade the constable burn it in 
 the street, which he did. Mr. Van Valken, after 
 being gravely admonished, was set free; and he 
 now saith he is no Papist, but that he would not 
 have said that much to the Court to save his life, 
 inasmuch as he did deny its right of arraigning 
 him. Mr. Godfrey says the treatment whereof he 
 complains is but a sample of what the people here 
 away are to look for from the Massachusetts juris 
 diction. Mr. Jordan, the younger, says his father 
 hath a copy of the condemned book, of the Boston 
 printing ; and I being curious to see it, he offers to 
 get it for me. 
 
 Like unto Newbury, this is an old town for so 
 
62 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 new a country. It was made a city in 1642, and 
 took the name of Gorgcana, after that of the lord 
 proprietor, Sir Ferdinando Gorges. The govern 
 ment buildings are spacious, but now falling into 
 decay somewhat. There be a few stone houses, 
 but the major part are framed, or laid up with 
 square logs. The look of the land a little out of 
 the town is rude and unpleasing, being much cov 
 ered with stones and stumps ; yet the soil is said 
 to be strong, and the pear and apple do flourish 
 well here ; also they raise rye, oats, and barley, and 
 the Indian corn, and abundance of turnips, as well 
 as pumpkins, squashes, and melons. The war with 
 the Indians, and the troubles and changes of govern 
 ment, have pressed heavily upon this and other towns 
 of the Maine, so that I am told that there be now 
 fewer wealthy planters here than there were twenty 
 years ago, and little increase of sheep or horned 
 cattle. The people do seem to me less sober and 
 grave, in their carriage and conversation, than they 
 of the Massachusetts, hunting, fishing, and fowl 
 ing more, and working on the land less. Nor do 
 they keep the Lord s Day so strict ; many of the 
 young people going abroad, both riding and walk 
 ing, visiting each other, and diverting themselves, 
 especially after the meetings are over. 
 
 October pth. 
 
 Goodwife Nowell, an ancient gossip of mine aunt s, 
 looking in this morning, and talking of the trial of 
 the Dutchman, Van Valken, spake of the coming into 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 63 
 
 these parts many years ago of one Sir Christopher 
 Gardiner, who was thought to be a Papist. He 
 sought lodgings at her house for one whom he 
 called his cousin, a fair young woman, together 
 with her serving girl, who did attend upon her. 
 She tarried about a month, seeing no one, and go 
 ing out only towards the evening, accompanied by 
 her servant. She spake little, but did seem melan 
 choly and exceeding mournful, often crying very 
 bitterly. Sir Christopher came only once to see 
 her, and Nowell saith she well remembers seeing 
 her take leave of him on the roadside, and come 
 back weeping and sobbing dolefully; and that a 
 little time after, hearing that he had gotten into 
 trouble in Boston as a Papist and man of loose 
 behavior, she suddenly took her departure in a 
 vessel sailing for the Massachusetts, leaving to 
 her, in pay for house-room and diet, a few coins, 
 a gold cross, and some silk stuffs and kerchiefs. 
 The cross being such as the Papists do worship, 
 and therefore unlawful, her husband did beat it 
 into a solid wedge privately, and kept it from the 
 knowledge of the minister and the magistrates. 
 But as the poor man never prospered after, but 
 lost his cattle and grain, and two of their chil 
 dren dying of measles the next year, and he him 
 self being sickly, and near his end, he spake to her 
 of the golden cross, saying that he did believe it 
 was a great sin to keep it, as he had done, and that 
 it had wrought evil upon him, even as the wedge 
 of gold, and the shekels, and Babylonish garment 
 
64 Margaret Smith s Journal 
 
 did upon Achan, who was stoned, with all his house, 
 in the valley of Achor ; and the minister coming 
 in, and being advised concerning it, he judged that 
 although it might be a sin to keep it hidden from a 
 love of riches, it might, nevertheless, be safely used 
 to support Gospel preaching and ordinances, and 
 so did himself take it away. The goodwife says, 
 that notwithstanding her husband died soon after, 
 yet herself and household did from thenceforth be 
 gin to amend their estate and condition. 
 
 Seeing me curious concerning this Sir Christo 
 pher and his cousin, Goodwife Nowell said there 
 was a little parcel of papers which she found in her 
 room after the young woman went away, and she 
 thought they might yet be in some part of her 
 house, though she had not seen them for a score 
 of years. Thereupon, I begged of her to look for 
 them, which she promised to do. 
 
 October I4th. 
 
 A strange and wonderful providence ! Last night 
 there was a great company of the neighbors at my 
 uncle s, to help him in the husking and stripping 
 of the corn, as is the custom in these parts. The 
 barn-floor was about half-filled with the corn in its 
 dry leaves; the company sitting down on blocks 
 and stools before it, plucking off the leaves, and 
 throwing the yellow ears into baskets. A pleas 
 ant and merry evening we had; and when the 
 corn was nigh stripped, I went into the house with 
 Cousin Thankful, to look to the supper and the 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 65 
 
 laying of the tables, when we heard a loud noise in 
 the barn, and one of the girls came running in, cry 
 ing out, " O Thankful ! Thankful ! John Gibbins 
 has appeared to us ! His spirit is in the barn ! " 
 The plates dropt from my cousin s hand, and, with 
 a faint cry, she fell back against the wall for a little 
 space ; when, hearing a man s voice without, speak 
 ing her name, she ran to the door, with the look of 
 one beside herself ; while I, trembling to see her in 
 such a plight, followed her. There was a clear moon, 
 and a tall man stood in the light close to the door. 
 
 " John," said my cousin, in a quick, choking 
 voice, " is it you ? " 
 
 "Why, Thankful, don t you know me? I m 
 alive ; but the folks in the barn will have it that 
 I m a ghost," said the man, springing towards her. 
 
 With a great cry of joy and wonder, my cousin 
 caught hold of him : " O John, you are alive ! " 
 
 Then she swooned quite away, and we had a deal 
 to do to bring her to life again. By this time, the 
 house was full of people, and among the rest came 
 John s old mother and his sisters, and we all did weep 
 and laugh at the same time. As soon as we got a 
 little quieted, John told us that he had indeed been 
 grievously stunned by the blow of a tomahawk, 
 and been left for dead by his comrades, but that 
 after a time he did come to his senses, and was 
 able to walk ; but, falling into the hands of the In 
 dians, he was carried off to the French Canadas, 
 where, by reason of his great sufferings on the way, 
 he fell sick, and lay for a long time at the point of 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
66 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 death. That when he did get about again, the 
 savage who lodged him, and who had taken him as 
 a son, in the place of his own, slain by the Mo 
 hawks, would not let him go home, although he did 
 confess that the war was at an end. His Indian 
 father, he said, who was feeble and old, died not 
 long ago, and he had made his way home by the way 
 of Crown Point and Albany. Supper being ready, 
 we all sat down, and the minister, who had been 
 sent for, offered thanks for the marvellous preserv 
 ing and restoring of the friend who was lost and 
 now was found, as also for the blessings of peace, 
 by reason of which every man could now sit under 
 his ow?i vine and fig-tree, with none to molest or make 
 him afraid, and for the abundance of the harvest, 
 and the treasures of the seas, and the spoil of the 
 woods, so that our land might take up the song of 
 the Psalmist : " The Lord doth build up Jerusalem ; 
 he gathereth the outcasts of Israel ; he healeth the 
 broken in heart. Praise thy God, oh Zion ! For he 
 strengthened the bars of thy gates, he maketh peace 
 in thy borders, and filleth thee with the finest of 
 wheat" O ! a sweet supper we had, albeit little 
 was eaten, for we were filled full of joy, and needed 
 not other food. When the company had gone, my 
 dear cousin and her betrothed went a little apart, 
 and talked of all that had happened unto them 
 during their long separation. I left them sitting 
 lovingly together in the light of the moon, and a 
 measure of their unspeakable happiness did go 
 with me to my pillow. 
 
Margaret Smiths Journal. 67 
 
 This morning, Thankful came to my bedside to 
 pour out her heart to me. The poor girl is like a 
 new creature. The shade of her heavy sorrow, 
 which did formerly rest upon her countenance, 
 hath passed off like a morning cloud, and her eye 
 hath the light of a deep and quiet joy. 
 
 " I now know," said she, " what David meant 
 when he said, We are like them that dream ; our 
 mouth is filled with laughter , and our tongue with 
 singing ; the Lord hath done great things for us, 
 whereof we are glad /" 
 
 October i8th. 
 
 A cloudy wet day. Goody Nowell brought me 
 this morning a little parcel of papers, which she 
 found in the corner of a closet. They are much 
 stained and smoked, and the mice have eaten them 
 sadly, so that I can make little of them. They 
 seem to be letters, and some fragments of what did 
 take place in the life of a young woman of quality 
 from the North of England. I find frequent men 
 tion made of Cousin Christopher, who is also spok 
 en of as a soldier in the wars with the Turks, and 
 as a Knight of Jerusalem. Poorly as I can make 
 out the meaning of these fragments, I have read 
 enough to make my heart sad, for I gather from 
 them that the young woman was in early life be 
 trothed to her cousin, and that afterwards, owing, 
 as I judge, to the authority of her parents, she did 
 part with him, he going abroad, and entering into 
 the wars, in the belief that she was to wed another. 
 But it seemed that the heart of the young woman 
 
68 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 did so plead for her cousin, that she could not be 
 brought to marry as her family willed her to do ; 
 and, after a lapse of years, she, by chance hearing 
 that Sir Christopher had gone to the New England, 
 where he was acting as an agent of his kinsman, 
 Sir Ferdinando Gorges, in respect to the Maine 
 Province, did privately leave her home, and take 
 passage in a Boston bound ship. How she did 
 make herself known to Sir Christopher, I find no 
 mention made ; but, he now being a Knight of the 
 Order of St. John of Jerusalem, and vowed to fore 
 go marriage, as is the rule of that Order, and being, 
 moreover, as was thought, a priest or Jesuit, her 
 great love and constancy could meet with but a 
 sorrowful return on his part. It does appear, how 
 ever, that he journeyed to Montreal, to take coun 
 sel of some of the great Papist priests there, touch 
 ing the obtaining of a dispensation from the Head 
 of the Church, so that he might marry the young 
 woman ; but, getting no encouragement therein, 
 he went to Boston to find a passage for her to Eng 
 land again. He was there complained of as a 
 Papist; and the coming over of his cousin being 
 moreover known, a great and cruel scandal did 
 arise from it, and he was looked upon as a man of 
 evil life, though I find nothing to warrant such a 
 notion, but much to the contrary thereof. What 
 became of him and the young woman, his cousin, 
 in the end, I do not learn. 
 
 One small parcel did affect me even unto tears. 
 It was a paper containing some dry, withered leaves 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 69 
 
 of roses, with these words written on it : " To 
 Anna, from her loving cousin, Christopher Gardi 
 ner, being the first rose that hath blossomed this 
 season in the College garden. St. OmeSs, June, 
 1630." I could but think how many tears had 
 been shed over this little token, and how often, 
 through long, weary years, it did call to mind the 
 sweet joy of early love, of that fairest blossom of 
 the spring of life of which it was an emblem, alike 
 in its beauty and its speedy withering. 
 
 There be moreover among the papers sundry 
 verses, which do seem to have been made by Sir 
 Christopher ; they are in the Latin tongue, and in 
 scribed to his cousin, bearing date many years be 
 fore the twain were in this country, and when he 
 was yet a scholar at the Jesuits College of St. 
 Omer s, in France. I find nothing of a later time, 
 save the verses which I herewith copy, over which 
 there are, in a woman s handwriting, these words : 
 
 "VERSES 
 
 " Writ by Sir Christopher when a prisoner among the Turks 
 in Moldavia, and expecting death at their hands. 
 
 " Ere down the blue Carpathian hills 
 
 The sun shall fall again, 
 Farewell this life and all its ills, 
 Farewell to cell and chain ! 
 
 " These prison shades are dark and cold, 
 But darker far than they 
 
7O Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 The shadow of a sorrow old 
 Is on mine heart alway. 
 
 3- 
 " For since the day when Warkworth wood 
 
 Closed o er my steed and I, 
 An alien from my name and blood, 
 A weed cast out to die ; 
 
 4- 
 " When, looking back, in sunset light 
 
 I saw her turret gleam, 
 And from its window, far and white, 
 Her sign of farewell stream ; 
 
 5- 
 " Like one who from some desert shore 
 
 Does home s green isles descry, 
 And, vainly longing, gazes o er 
 The waste of wave and sky. 
 
 6. 
 " So, from the desert of my fate, 
 
 Gaze I across the past ; 
 And still upon life s dial-plate 
 The shade is backward cast ! 
 
 7- 
 " I ve wandered wide from shore to shore, 
 
 I ve knelt at many a shrine, 
 And bowed me to the rocky floor 
 Where Bethlehem s tapers shine ; 
 
 8. 
 " And by the Holy Sepulchre 
 
 I Ve pledged my knightly sword, 
 To Christ his blessed Church, and her 
 The Mother of our Lord ! 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 71 
 
 9- 
 
 " O, vain the vow, and vain the strife ! 
 
 How vain do all things seem ! 
 My soul is in the past, and life 
 To-day is but a dream. 
 
 10. 
 
 " In vain the penance strange and long, 
 
 And hard for flesh to bear ; 
 The prayer, the fasting, and the thong, 
 And sackcloth shirt of hair : 
 
 II. 
 
 " The eyes of memory will not sleep, 
 
 Its ears are open still, 
 And vigils with the past they keep 
 Against or with my will. 
 
 " And still the loves and hopes of old 
 
 Do evermore uprise ; 
 I see the flow of locks of gold, 
 The shine of loving eyes. 
 
 " Ah me ! upon another s breast 
 Those golden locks recline ; 
 I see upon another rest 
 The glance that once was mine ! 
 
 14. 
 
 " O, faithless priest ! O, perjured knight ! 
 
 I hear the master cry, 
 Shut out the vision from thy sight, 
 Let earth and nature die. 
 
72 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 " The Church of God is now my spouse, 
 
 And thou the bridegroom art ; 
 
 Then let the burden of thy vows 
 
 Keep down thy human heart. 
 
 16. 
 
 " In vain ! This heart its grief must know, 
 
 Till life itself hath ceased, 
 And falls beneath the self-same blow 
 The lover and the priest ! 
 
 17- 
 
 " O, pitying Mother ! souls of light, 
 
 And saints and martyrs old, 
 Pray for a weak and sinful knight, 
 A suffering man uphold. 
 
 18. 
 
 " Then let the Paynim work his will, 
 
 Let death unbind my chain, 
 Ere down yon blue Carpathian hill 
 The sunset falls again ! " 
 
 My heart is heavy with the thought of these unfor 
 tunates. Where be they now ? Did the knight 
 forego his false worship and his vows, and so marry 
 his beloved Anna ? Or did they part forever, 
 she going back to her kinsfolk, and he to his com 
 panions of Malta ? Did he perish at the hands of 
 the infidels, and does the maiden sleep in the fam 
 ily tomb, under her father s oaks ? Alas ! who can 
 tell ? I must needs leave them, and their sorrows 
 and trials, to Him who doth not willingly afflict the 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 73 
 
 children of men j and whatsoever may have been 
 their sins and their follies, my prayer is, that they 
 may be forgiven, for they loved much. 
 
 October 2Oth. 
 
 I do purpose to start to-morrow for the Massa 
 chusetts, going by boat to the Piscataqua River, 
 and thence by horse to Newbury. 
 
 Young Mr. Jordan spent yesterday and last night 
 with us. He is a goodly youth, of a very sweet and 
 gentle disposition ; nor doth he seem to me to lack 
 spirit, although his father (who liketh not his quiet 
 ways and easy temper, so contrary to his own, and 
 who is sorely disappointed in that he hath chosen 
 the life of a farmer to that of a minister, for which 
 he did intend him) often accuseth him of that infir 
 mity. Last night we had much pleasant discourse 
 touching the choice he hath made ; and when I 
 told him that perhaps he might have become a 
 great prelate in the Church, and dwelt in a palace, 
 and made a great lady of our cousin ; whereas now I 
 did see no better prospect for him than to raise corn 
 for his wife to make pudding of, and chop wood to 
 boil her kettle, he laughed right merrily, and said 
 he should never have gotten higher than a curate 
 in a poor parish ; and as for Polly, he was sure she 
 was more at home in making puddings than in 
 playing the fine lady. 
 
 " For my part," he continued, in a serious man 
 ner, "I have no notion that the pulpit is my place ; 
 I like the open fields and sky better than the grand-^ 
 
 VOL. i. 4 
 
74 Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 est churches of man s building ; and when the wind 
 sounds in the great grove of pines on the hill near 
 our house, I doubt if there be a choir in all Eng 
 land so melodious and solemn. These painted 
 autumn woods, and this sunset light, and yonder 
 clouds of gold and purple, do seem to me better 
 fitted to provoke devotional thoughts, and to awak 
 en a becoming reverence and love for the Creator, 
 than the stained windows and lofty arched roofs of 
 old minsters. I do know, indeed, that there be 
 many of our poor busy planters, who, by reason of 
 ignorance, ill-breeding, and lack of quiet for con 
 templation, do see nothing in these things, save as 
 they do affect their crops of grain or grasses, or 
 their bodily comforts in one way or another. But 
 to them whose minds have been enlightened and 
 made large and free by study and much reflection, 
 and whose eyes have been taught to behold the 
 beauty and fitness of things, and whose ears have 
 been so opened that they can hear the ravishing 
 harmonies of the creation, the life of a planter is 
 very desirable even in this wilderness, and notwith 
 standing the toil and privation thereunto appertain 
 ing. There be fountains gushing up in the hearts 
 of such, sweeter than the springs of water which 
 flow from the hillsides, where they sojourn ; and 
 therein, also, flowers of the summer do blossom all 
 the year long. The brutish man knoweth not this, 
 neither doth the fool comprehend it" 
 
 " See, now," said Polly to me, " how hard he is 
 upon us poor unlearned folk." 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 75 
 
 " Nay, to tell the truth," said he, turning to 
 wards me, " your cousin here is to be held not a 
 little accountable for my present inclinations ; for 
 she it was who did confirm and strengthen them. 
 While I had been busy over books, she had been 
 questioning the fields and the woods ; and, as if 
 the old fables of the poets were indeed true, she ) 
 did get answers from them, as the priestesses and / 
 sibyls did formerly from the rustling of leaves and^ 
 trees, and the sounds of running waters ; so that if 
 she could teach me much concerning the uses and 
 virtues of plants and shrubs, and of their time of 
 flowering and decay ; of the nature and habitudes 
 of wild animals and birds, the changes of the air, ^^ 
 and of the clouds and winds. My science, so / 
 called, had given me little more than the names of 
 things which to her were familiar and common. It 
 was in her company that I learned to read nature 
 as a book always open, and full of delectable teach 
 ings, until my poor school-lore did seem undesir 
 able and tedious, and the very chatter of the noisy 
 blackbirds in the spring meadows more profitable 
 and more pleasing than the angry disputes and the Jf 
 cavils and subtleties of schoolmen and divines." 
 
 My cousin blushed, and, smiling through her 
 moist eyes at this language of her beloved friend, 
 said that I must not believe all he said ; for, in 
 deed, it was along of his studies of the heathen 
 poets that he had first thought of becoming a 
 farmer. And she asked him to repeat some of 
 the verses which he had at his tongue s end. He 
 
76 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 laughed, and said he did suppose she meant some 
 lines of Horace, which had been thus Englished : 
 
 " I often wished I had a farm, 
 A decent dwelling, snug and warm, 
 A garden, and a spring as pure 
 As crystal flowing by my door, 
 Besides an ancient oaken grove, 
 Where at my leisure I might rove. 
 
 " The gracious gods, to crown my bliss, 
 Have granted this, and more than this, 
 They promise me a modest spouse, 
 To light my hearth and keep my house. 
 I ask no more than, free from strife, 
 To hold these blessings all my life ! " 
 
 I am exceedingly pleased, I must say, with the 
 prospect of my cousin Polly. Her suitor is alto 
 gether a worthy young man ; and, making allow 
 ances for the uncertainty of all human things, she 
 may well look forward to a happy life with him. 
 I shall leave behind on the morrow, dear friends, 
 who were strangers unto me a few short weeks ago, 
 but in whose joys and sorrows I shall henceforth 
 always partake, so far as I do come to the knowl 
 edge of them, whether or no I behold their faces 
 any more in this life. 
 
 HAMPTON, October 24th, 1678. 
 
 I took leave of my good friends at Agamenticus, 
 or York, as it is now called, on the morning after 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 77 
 
 the last date in my journal, going in a boat with 
 my uncle to Piscataqua and Strawberry Bank. It 
 was a cloudy day, and I was chilled through before 
 we got to the mouth of the river ; but, as the high 
 wind was much in our favor, we were enabled to 
 make the voyage in a shorter time than is common. 
 We stopped a little at the house of a Mr. Cutts, a 
 man of some note in these parts ; but he being 
 from home, and one of the children sick with a 
 quinsy, we went up the river to Strawberry Bank, 
 where we tarried over night. The woman who en 
 tertained us had lost her husband in the war, and 
 having to see to the ordering of matters out of 
 doors in this busy season of harvest, it was no 
 marvel that she did neglect those within. I made 
 a comfortable supper of baked pumpkin and milk, 
 and for lodgings I had a straw bed on the floor, in 
 the dark loft, which was piled wellnigh full with 
 corn-ears, pumpkins, and beans, besides a great 
 deal of old household trumpery, wool, and flax, and 
 the skins of animals. Although tired of my jour- - 
 ney, it was some little time before I could get 
 asleep ; and it so fell out, that after the folks of the 
 house were all abed, and still, it being, as I judge, 
 nigh midnight, I chanced to touch with my foot a 
 pumpkin lying near the bed, which set it a-rolling 
 down the stairs, bumping hard on every stair as it 
 went. Thereupon I heard a great stir below, the 
 woman and her three daughters crying out that the 
 house was haunted. Presently she called to me 
 from the foot of the stairs, and asked me if I did 
 
78 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 hear anything. I laughed so at all this, that it was 
 some time before I could speak ; when I told her 
 I did hear a thumping on the stairs. " Did it seem 
 to go up, or down ? " inquired she, anxiously ; and 
 on my telling her that the sound went downward, 
 she set up a sad cry, and they all came fleeing into 
 the corn-loft, the girls bouncing upon my bed, and 
 hiding under the blanket, and the old woman pray 
 ing and groaning, and saying that she did believe 
 it was the spirit of her poor husband. By this 
 time my uncle, who was lying on the settle in the 
 room below, hearing the noise, got up, and stumb 
 ling over the pumpkin, called to know what was 
 the matter. Thereupon the woman bade him flee up 
 stairs, for there was a ghost in the kitchen. " Pshaw ! " 
 said my uncle, " is that all ? I thought to be sure 
 the Indians had come." As soon as I could speak 
 for laughing, I told the poor creature what it was 
 that so frightened her ; at which she was greatly 
 vexed ; and, after she went to bed again, I could 
 \ hear her scolding me for playing tricks upon honest 
 people. 
 
 We were up betimes in the morning, which was 
 bright and pleasant. Uncle soon found a friend of 
 his, a Mr. Weare, who, with his wife, was to go to 
 his home, at Hampton, that day, and who did kind 
 ly engage to see me thus far on my way. At about 
 eight of the clock got upon our horses, the woman 
 riding on a pillion behind her husband. Our way 
 was for some miles through the woods, getting at 
 times a view of the sea, and passing some good, 
 
Margaret SmitHs Journal. 79 
 
 thriving plantations. The woods in this country 
 are by no means like those of England, where the 
 ancient trees are kept clear of bushes and under 
 growth, and the sward beneath them is shaven 
 clean and close; whereas here they be much 
 tangled with vines, and the dead boughs and logs 
 which have fallen, from their great age, or which 
 the storms do beat off, or the winter snows and 
 ices do break down. Here, also, through the thick 
 matting of dead leaves, all manner of shrubs and 
 bushes, some of them very sweet and fair in their 
 flowering, and others greatly prized for their heal 
 ing virtues, do grow up plenteously. In the sea 
 son of them, many wholesome fruits abound in the 
 woods, such as blue and black berries. We passed 
 many trees, well loaded with walnuts and oilnuts, 
 seeming all alive, as it were, with squirrels, striped, 
 red, and gray, the last having a large, spreading 
 tail, which Mr. Weare told me they do use as a 
 sail, to catch the wind, that it may blow them over 
 rivers and creeks, on pieces of bark, in some sort 
 like that wonderful shell-fish which transformeth it 
 self into a boat, and saileth on the waves of the 
 sea. We also found grapes, both white and pur 
 ple, hanging down in clusters from the trees, over 
 which the vines did run, nigh upon as large as 
 those which the Jews of old plucked at Eschol. 
 The air was sweet and soft, and there was a clear, 
 but not a hot, sun, and the chirping of squirrels, 
 and the noise of birds, and the sound of the waves 
 breaking on the beach a little distance off, and the 
 
8o Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 leaves, at every breath of the wind in the tree-tops, 
 whirling and fluttering down about me, like so 
 many yellow and scarlet-colored birds, made the 
 ride wonderfully pleasant and entertaining. 
 
 Mr. Weare, on the way, told me that there was 
 a great talk of the bewitching of Goodman Morse s 
 house at Newbury, and that the case of Caleb 
 Powell was still before the Court, he being vehe 
 mently suspected of the mischief. I told him I 
 thought the said Caleb was a vain, talking man, 
 but nowise of a wizard. The thing most against 
 him, Mr. Weare said, was this : that he did deny 
 at the first that the house was troubled by evil 
 spirits, and even went so far as to doubt that such 
 things could be at all. " Yet many wiser men than 
 Caleb Powell do deny the same," I said. " True," 
 answered he ; " but, as good Mr. Richardson, of 
 Newbury, well saith, there have never lacked Sad- 
 ducees, who believe not in angel or spirit." I told 
 the story of the disturbance at Strawberry Bank 
 the night before, and how so silly a thing as a roll 
 ing pumpkin did greatly terrify a whole household ; 
 and said I did not doubt this Newbury trouble was 
 something very like it Hereupon the good wo 
 man took the matter up, saying she had been over 
 to Newbury, and had seen with her own eyes, and 
 heard with her own ears ; and that she could say 
 of it as the Queen of Sheba did of Solomon s 
 glory, "The half had not been told her." She 
 then went on to tell me of many marvellous 
 and truly unaccountable things, so that I must 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 81 
 
 needs think there is an invisible hand at work 
 there. 
 
 We reached Hampton about one hour before 
 noon ; and riding up the road towards the meeting 
 house, to my great joy, Uncle Rawson, who had 
 business with the Commissioners then sitting, came 
 out to meet me, bidding me go on to Mr. Weare s 
 house, whither he would follow me when the Court 
 did adjourn. He came thither accordingly, to sup 
 and lodge, bringing with him Mr. Pike the elder, 
 one of the magistrates, a grave, venerable man, the 
 father of mine old acquaintance, Robert. Went in 
 the evening with Mistress Weare and her maiden 
 sister, to see a young girl in the neighborhood, said 
 to be possessed, or bewitched ; but for mine own 
 part I did see nothing in her behavior beyond that 
 of a vicious and spoiled child, delighting in mis 
 chief. Her grandmother, with whom she lives, 
 lays the blame on an ill-disposed woman, named 
 Susy Martin, living in Salisbury. Mr. Pike, who 
 dwells near this Martin, saith she is no witch, al 
 though an arrant scold, as was her mother before 
 her ; and as for the girl, he saith that a birch twig, 
 smartly laid on, would cure her sooner than the 
 hanging of all the old women in the Colony. Mis 
 tress Weare says this is not the first time the Evil 
 Spirit hath been at work in Hampton ; for they did 
 all remember the case of Goody Marston s child, 
 who was, from as fair and promising an infant as 
 one would wish to see, changed into the likeness 
 of an ape, to the great grief and sore shame of its 
 VOL. i. 4* F 
 
82 Margaret Sin it /is Journal. 
 
 parents j and, moreover, that when the child died, 
 there was seen by more than one person a little old 
 woman in a blue cloak, and petticoat of the same 
 color, following on after the mourners, and looking 
 very like old Eunice Cole, who was then locked 
 fast in Ipswich jail, twenty miles off. Uncle Raw- 
 son says he has all the papers in his possession 
 touching the trial of this Cole, and will let me see 
 them when we get back to Newbury. There was 
 much talk on this matter, which so disturbed my 
 fancy that I slept but poorly. This afternoon we 
 go over to Newbury, where, indeed, I do greatly 
 long to be once more. 
 
 NEWBURY, October 26th. 
 
 Cousin Rebecca gone to Boston, and not ex 
 pected home until next week. The house seems 
 lonely without her. R. Pike looked in upon us 
 this morning, telling us that there was a rumor in 
 Boston, brought by way of the New York Colon^r, 
 that a great Papist Plot had been discovered in 
 England, and that it did cause much alarm in Lon 
 don and thereabout. R. Pike saith he doubts not 
 the Papists do plot, it being the custom of their 
 Jesuits so to do ; but that, nevertheless, it would 
 be no strange thing if it should be found that the 
 Bishops and the Government did set this rumor 
 a-going, for the excuse and occasion of some new 
 persecutions of Independents and godly people. 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 83 
 
 October 27th. 
 
 Mr. Richardson preached yesterday, from Deu- ./ 
 teronomy xviii. loth, nth, and i2th verses. An 
 ingenious and solid discourse, in which he showed 
 that, as among the heathen nations surrounding the 
 Jews, there were sorcerers, charmers, wizards, and 
 consulters with familiar spirits, who were an abom 
 ination to the Lord, so in our time the heathen 
 nations of Indians had also their powahs and pani- 
 sees and devilish wizards, against whom the warning 
 of the text might well be raised by the watchmen on 
 the walls of our Zion. He moreover said that the 
 arts of the Adversary were now made manifest in 
 this place in a most strange and terrible manner, 
 and it did become the duty of all godly persons to 
 pray and wrestle with the Lord, that they who have 
 made a covenant with hell may be speedily discov 
 ered in their wickedness, and cut off from the con 
 gregation. An awful discourse, which made many 
 tremble and quake, and did quite overcome Good- , 
 wife Morse, she being a weakly woman, so that she 
 had to be carried out of the meeting. 
 
 It being cold weather, and a damp easterly wind 
 keeping me within doors, I have been looking over 
 with uncle his papers about the Hampton witch, 
 Eunice Cole, who was twice tried for her mischiefs ; 
 and I incline to copy some of them, as I know they 
 will be looked upon as worthy of record by my dear 
 Cousin Oliver and mine other English friends. I 
 find that as long ago as the year 1656, this same 
 Eunice Cole was complained of, and many wit- 
 
84 Margaret Smit/is Journal. 
 
 nesses did testify to her wickedness. Here follow- 
 eth some of the evidence on the first trial : 
 
 " The deposition of Goody Marston and Goodwife 
 Susanna Palmer, who, being sworn, sayeth, that Good- 
 wife Cole saith that she was sure there was a witch in 
 town, and that she knew where he dwelt, and who they 
 are, and that thirteen years ago she knew one bewitched 
 as Goodwife Marston s child was, and she was sure that 
 party was bewitched, for it told her so, and it was 
 changed from a man to an ape, as Goody Marston s 
 child was, and she had prayed this thirteen year that 
 God would discover that witch. And further the de 
 ponent saith not. 
 
 " Taken on oath before the Commissioners of Hamp 
 ton, the 8th of the 2nd mo., 1656. 
 
 "WILLIAM FULLER. 
 HENRY Dow. 
 
 " Vera copea : 
 
 THOS. BRADBURY, Recorder. 
 
 " Sworn before, the 4th of September, 1656, 
 
 " EDWARD RAWSON. 
 
 " Thomas Philbrick testifieth that Goody Cole told 
 him that if any of his calves did eat of her grass, she 
 hoped it would poison them ; and it fell out that one 
 never came home again, and the other coming home 
 died soon after. 
 
 " Henry Morelton s wife and Goodwife Sleeper de 
 pose that, talking about Goody Cole and Marston s 
 child, they did hear a great scraping against the boards 
 of the window, which was not done by a cat or dog. 
 
 " Thomas Coleman s wife testifies that Goody Cole 
 did repeat to another the very words which passed be 
 tween herself and her husband, in their own house, in 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 85 
 
 private ; and Thomas Ormsby, the constable of Salis 
 bury, testifies, that when he did strip Eunice Cole of 
 her shift, to be whipped, by the judgment of the Court 
 at Salisbury, he saw a witch s mark under her left 
 breast. Moreover, one Abra. Drake doth depose and 
 say, that this Goody Cole threatened that the hand of 
 God would be against his cattle, and forthwith two of 
 his cattle died, and before the end of summer a third 
 also." 
 
 J 
 
 About five years ago, she was again presented 
 by the Jury for the Massachusetts jurisdiction, for 
 having " entered into a covenant with the Devil, 
 contrary to the peace of our Sovereign Lord the 
 King, his crown and dignity, the laws of God and 
 this jurisdiction"; and much testimony was brought 
 against her, tending to show her to be an arrant 
 witch. For it seems she did fix her evil eye upon ** 
 a little maid named Ann Smith, to entice her to her 
 house, appearing unto her in the shape of a little 
 old woman, in a blue coat, a blue cap, and a blue 
 apron, and a white neckcloth, and presently chang 
 ing into a dog, and running up a tree, and then 
 into an eagle flying in the air, and lastly into a gray 
 cat, speaking to her, and troubling her in a griev 
 ous manner. Moreover, the constable of the town 
 of Hampton testifies, that, having to supply Goody 
 Cole with diet, by order of the town, she being 
 poor, she complained much of him, and after that 
 his wife could bake no bread in the oven which did 
 not speedily rot and become loathsome to the 
 smell, but the same meal baked at a neighbor s A 
 
86 filargarct SmitJis Journal. 
 
 made good and sweet bread ; and, further, that one 
 night there did enter into their chamber a smell 
 like that of the bewitched bread, only more loath 
 some, and plainly diabolical in its nature, so that, 
 as the constable s wife saith, " she was fain to rise 
 in the night and desire her husband to go to prayer 
 to drive away the Devil ; and he, rising, went to 
 prayer, and after that, the smell was gone, so that 
 they were not troubled with it." There is also 
 the testimony of Goodwife Perkins, that she did 
 
 ( see, on the Lord s day, while Mr. Dalton was 
 preaching, an imp in the shape of a mouse, fall 
 out the bosom of Eunice Cole down into her lap. 
 For all which, the County Court, held at Salisbury, 
 
 > did order her to be sent to the Boston Jail, to 
 await her trial at the Court of Assistants. This last 
 Court, I learn from mine uncle, did not condemn 
 her, as some of the evidence was old, and not re 
 liable. Uncle saith she was a wicked old woman, 
 who had been often whipped and set in the duck 
 ing-stool, but whether she was a witch or no, he 
 knows not for a certainty. 
 
 November 8th. 
 
 Yesterday, to my great joy, came my beloved 
 Cousin Rebecca from Boston. In her company 
 also came the worthy minister and doctor of med 
 icine, Mr. Russ, formerly of Wells, but now set 
 tled at a plantation near Cocheco. He is to 
 make some little tarry in this town, where at 
 this present time many complain of sickness. Re- 
 
Margaret Smit/is Journal. 87 
 
 becca saith he is one of the excellent of the earth, 
 and, like his blessed Lord and Master, delighteth 
 in going about doing good, and comforting both 
 soul and body. He hath a cheerful, pleasant coun 
 tenance, and is very active, albeit he is well strick 
 en in years. He is to preach for Mr. Richardson 
 next Sabbath, and in the mean time lodgeth at my 
 uncle s house. 
 
 This morning the weather is raw and cold, the 
 ground frozen, and some snow fell before sunrise. 
 A little time ago, Dr. Russ, who was walking in 
 the garden, came in a great haste to the window 
 where Rebecca and I were sitting, bidding us come 
 forth. So, we hurrying out, the good man bade us 
 look whither he pointed, and lo ! a flock of wild 
 geese, streaming across the sky, in two great files, 
 sending down, as it were, from the clouds, their 
 loud and sonorous trumpetings, " Cronk, cronk, 
 cronk! n These birds, the Doctor saith, do go 
 northward in March to hatch their broods in the 
 great bogs and on the desolate islands, and fly 
 back again when the cold season approacheth. 
 Our worthy guest improved the occasion to speak 
 of the care and goodness of God towards his crea 
 tion, and how these poor birds are enabled, by 
 their proper instincts, to partake of his bounty, and 
 to shun the evils of adverse climates. He never 
 looked, he said, upon the flight of these fowls, 
 without calling to mind the query which was of old 
 put to Job : " Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and 
 stretch her wings toward the south ? Doth the eagle 
 
88 Margaret Smit/is 
 
 mount up at thy command y and make her nest on 
 high ? " 
 
 November I2th, 1678. 
 
 Dr. Russ preached yesterday, having for his text 
 i Corinthians, chap. xiii. verse 5 : " Charity seeketh 
 not her oum" He began by saying that mutual 
 benevolence was a law of nature, no one being 
 a whole of himself, nor capable of happily subsist 
 ing by himself, but rather a member of the great 
 body of mankind, which must dissolve and perish, 
 unless held together and compacted in its various 
 parts by the force of that common and blessed law. 
 The wise Author of our being hath most manifestly 
 framed and fitted us for one another, and ordained 
 that mutual charity shall supply our mutual wants 
 and weaknesses, inasmuch as no man liveth to him 
 self, but is dependent upon others, as others be 
 upon him. It hath been said by ingenious men, 
 that in the outward world all things do mutually 
 operate upon and affect each other ; and that it is 
 by the energy of this principle that our solid earth 
 is supported, and the heavenly bodies are made to 
 keep the rhythmic harmonies of their creation, and 
 dispense upon us their benign favors ; and it may 
 be said, that a law akin to this hath been ordained 
 for the moral world, mutual benevolence being 
 the cement and support of families, and churches, 
 and states, and of the great community and broth 
 erhood of mankind. It doth both make and pre 
 serve all the peace, and harmony, and beauty, which 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 89 
 
 liken our world in some small degree to heaven, 
 and without it all things would rush into confusion 
 and discord, and the earth would become a place 
 of horror and torment, and men become as raven 
 ing wolves, devouring and being devoured by one 
 another. 
 
 Charity is the second great commandment, upon 
 which hang all the Law and the Prophets ; and it 
 is like unto the first, and cannot be separated from 
 it ; for at the great day of recompense we shall be 
 tried by these commandments, and our faithfulness 
 unto the first will be seen and manifested by our 
 faithfulness unto the last. Yea, by our love of one 
 another the Lord will measure our love of himself. 
 " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of 
 these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" The 
 grace of benevolence is therefore no small part of 
 our meetness for the inheritance of the saints in light ; 
 it is the temper of heaven ; the air which the an 
 gels breathe ; an immortal grace, for when faith 
 which supporteth us here, and hope which is as an 
 anchor to the tossed soul, are no longer needed, 
 charity remaineth forever, for it is native in heaven, 
 and partaketh of the divine nature, for God himself 
 is love. 
 
 " Oh, my hearers," said the preacher, his vener 
 able face brightening as if with a light shining from 
 within, " doth not the Apostle tell us that skill in 
 tongues and gifts of prophesy, and mysteries of 
 knowledge and faith, do avail nothing where char 
 ity is lacking ? What avail great talents, if they be 
 
90 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 not devoted to goodness? On the other hand, 
 where charity dwelleth, it maketh the weak strong 
 and the uncomely beautiful; it sheddeth a glory 
 about him who possesseth it, like that which did 
 shine on the face of Moses, or that which did sit 
 upon the countenance of Stephen, when his face was 
 as the face of an angel. Above all, it conformeth us 
 to the Son of God for through love he came among 
 us, and went about doing good, adorning his life 
 with miracles of mercy, and at last laid it down for 
 the salvation of men. What heart can resist his 
 melting entreaty : Even as I have loved you, love 
 ye also one another! 
 
 " We do all," he continued, " seek after happi 
 ness, but too often blindly and foolishly. The self 
 ish man, striving to live for himself, shutteth him 
 self up to partake of his single portion, and mar- 
 velleth that he cannot enjoy it. The good things 
 he hath laid up for himself fail to comfort him ; 
 and although he hath riches, and wanteth nothing 
 for his soul of all that he desireth, yet hath he not 
 power to partake thereof. They be as delicates 
 poured upon a mouth shut up, or as meats set upon a 
 grave. But he that hath found charity to be the 
 temper of happiness, which doth put the soul in a 
 natural and easy condition, and openeth it to the 
 solaces of that pure and sublime entertainment 
 which the angels do spread for such as obey the 
 will of their Creator, hath discovered a more subtle 
 alchemy than any of which the philosophers did 
 dream, for he transmuteth the enjoyments of 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 91 
 
 others into his own, and his large and open heart 
 partaketh of the satisfaction of all around him. 
 Are there any here who, in the midst of outwar d 
 abundance, are sorrowful of heart, who go mourn 
 ing on their way from some inward discomfort, 
 who long for serenity of spirit, and cheerful happi 
 ness, as the servant earnestly desireth the shadow ? 
 Let such seek out the poor and forsaken, they who 
 have no homes nor estates, who are the servants of 
 sin and evil habits, who lack food for both the 
 body and the mind. Thus shall they, in remem 
 bering others, forget themselves : the pleasure they 
 afford to their fellow-creatures shall come back 
 larger and fuller unto their own bosoms, and they 
 shall know of a truth how much the more blessed 
 it is to give than to receive. In love and compas 
 sion, God hath made us dependent upon each other, 
 to the end that by the use of our affections we may 
 find true happiness and rest to our souls. He 
 hath united us so closely with our fellows, that they 
 do make, as it were, a part of our being, and in 
 comforting them we do most assuredly comfort our 
 selves. Therein doth happiness come to us un 
 awares, and without seeking, as the servant who 
 goeth on his master s errand findeth pleasant fruits 
 and sweet flowers overhanging him, and cool foun 
 tains, which he knew not of, gushing up by the 
 wayside, for his solace and refreshing." 
 
 The minister then spake of the duty of charity 
 towards even the sinful and froward, and of win 
 ning them by love and good will, and making even 
 
92 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 their correction and punishment a means of awak 
 ening them to repentance, and the calling forth of 
 the fruits meet for it. He also spake of self-styled 
 prophets and enthusiastic people, who went about 
 to cry against the Church and the State, and to 
 teach new doctrines, saying that oftentimes such 
 were sent as a judgment upon the professors of the 
 truth, who had the form of godliness only, while 
 lacking the power thereof; and that he did believe 
 that the zeal which had been manifested against 
 such had not always been enough seasoned with 
 charity. It did argue a lack of faith in the truth, 
 to fly into a panic and a great rage when it was 
 called in question ; and to undertake to become 
 God s avengers, and to torture and burn heretics, 
 was an error of the Papists, which ill became those 
 who had gone out from among them. Moreover, 
 he did believe that many of these people, who had 
 so troubled the Colony of late, were at heart simple 
 and honest men and women, whose heads might 
 indeed be unsound, but who at heart sought to do 
 the will of God ; and, of a truth, all could testify to 
 the sobriety and strictness of their lives, and the 
 justice of their dealings in outward things. 
 
 He spake also somewhat of the Indians, who, 
 he said, were our brethren, and concerning whom 
 we would have an account to give at the Great 
 Day. The hand of these heathen people had been 
 heavy upon the Colonies, and many had suffered 
 from their cruel slaughterings, and the captivity of 
 themselves and their families. Here the aged min- 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 93 
 
 ister wept, for he doubtless thought of his son, who 
 was slain in the war ; and for a time the words did 
 seem to die in his throat, so greatly was he moved. 
 But he went on to say, that since God, in his great 
 and undeserved mercy, had put an end to the war, 
 all present unkindness and hard dealing towards 
 the poor benighted heathen was an offence in the 
 eyes of Him who respecteth not the persons of 
 men, but who regardeth with an equal eye the 
 white and the red men, both being the workman 
 ship of His hands. It is our blessed privilege to 
 labor to bring them to a knowledge of the true 
 God, whom, like the Athenians, some of them do 
 ignorantly worship ; while the greater part, as was 
 said of the heathen formerly, do not, out of the good 
 things that are seen, know Him that is ; neither by 
 considering the works do they acknowledge the work- 
 master^ but deem the fire or wind, or the swift air, or 
 the circle of the stars, or the violent water, or the 
 lights of heaven, to be the gods who govern the world. 
 He counselled against mischief-makers and stir- 
 rers up of strife, and such as do desire occasion 
 against their brethren. He said that it did seem 
 as if many thought to atone for their own sins by 
 their great heat and zeal to discover wickedness in 
 others ; and that he feared such might be the case 
 now, when there was much talk of the outward and 
 visible doings of Satan in this place ; whereas, the 
 enemy was most to be feared who did work privily 
 in the heart ; it being a small thing for him to be 
 witch a dwelling made of wood and stone, who did 
 
94 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 so easily possess and enchant the precious souls of 
 men. 
 
 Finally, he did exhort all to keep watch over 
 their own spirits, and to remember that what meas 
 ure they do mete to others shall be measured 
 to them again ; to lay aside all wrath, and malice, 
 and evil-speaking; to bear one another s burdens, 
 and so make this Church in the wilderness beauti 
 ful and comely, an example to the world of that 
 peace and good will to men, which the angels sang 
 i of at the birth of the blessed Redeemer. 
 
 I have been the more careful to give the sub 
 stance of Mr. Russ s sermon, as nearly as I can 
 remember it, forasmuch as it hath given offence to 
 some who did listen to it. Deacon Dole saith it 
 / was such a discourse as a Socinian or a Papist 
 I might have preached, for the great stress it laid 
 upon works ; and Goodwife Matson, a noisy, talk 
 ing woman, such an one, no doubt, as those 
 busybodies whom Saint Paul did rebuke for for 
 wardness, and command to keep silence in the 
 church, says the preacher did go out of his way 
 j to favor Quakers, Indians, and witches; and that 
 the Devil in Goody Morse s house was no doubt 
 well pleased with the discourse. R. Pike saith 
 he does no wise marvel at her complaints ; for 
 when she formerly dwelt at the Marblehead fishing- 
 haven, she was one of the unruly women who did 
 break into Thompson s garrison-house, and barbar- 
 *L ously put to death two Saugus Indians, who had 
 given themselves up for safe keeping, and who had 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 95 
 
 never harmed any, which thing was a great grief 
 and scandal to all well-disposed people. And yet 
 this woman, who scrupled not to say that she would 
 as lief stick an Indian as a hog, and who walked 
 all the way from Marblehead to Boston to see the 
 Quaker woman hung, and did foully jest over her 
 dead body, was allowed to have her way in the 
 church, Mr. Richardson being plainly in fear of 
 her ill tongue and wicked temper. 
 
 November I3th. 
 
 The Quaker maid, Margaret Brewster, came this 
 morning, inquiring for the Doctor, and desiring 
 him to visit a sick man at her father s house, a little 
 way up the river ; whereupon he took his staff and 
 went with her. On his coming back, he said he 
 must do the Quakers the justice to say, that, with 
 all their heresies and pestilent errors of doctrine, 
 they were a kind people ; for here was Goodman 
 Brewster, whose small estate had been wellnigh 
 taken from him in fines, and whose wife was a 
 weak, ailing woman, who was at this time kindly 
 lodging and nursing a poor, broken-down soldier, 
 by no means likely to repay him, in any sort. As 
 for the sick man, he had been hardly treated in the 
 matter of his wages, while in the war, and fined, 
 moreover, on the ground that he did profane the 
 holy Sabbath ; and though he had sent a petition 
 to the Honorable Governor and Council, for the 
 remission of the same, it had been to no purpose. 
 Mr. Russ said he had taken a copy of this petition, 
 
96 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 with the answer thereto, intending to make another 
 application himself to the authorities ; for although 
 the petitioner might have been blamable, yet his 
 necessity did go far to excuse it. He gave me the 
 papers to copy, which are as followeth : 
 
 " To the Hon. the Governor and Council, now sitting in 
 Boston, July 30, 1676. The Petition of Jonathan 
 Atherton humbly showeth : 
 
 " That your Petitioner, being a soldier under Captain 
 Henchman, during their abode at Concord, Captain H., 
 under pretence of your petitioner s profanation of the 
 Sabbath, had sentenced your petitioner to lose a fort 
 night s pay. Now, the thing that was alleged against 
 your petitioner was, that he cut a piece of an old hat to 
 put in his shoes, and emptied three or four cartridges. 
 Now, there was great occasion and necessity for his so 
 doing, for his shoes were grown so big, by walking and 
 riding in the wet and dew, that they galled his feet so 
 that he Was not able to go without pain ; and his car 
 tridges, being in a bag, were worn with continual travel, 
 so that they lost the powder out, so that it was danger 
 ous to carry them ; besides, he did not know how soon 
 he should be forced to make use of them, therefore he 
 did account it lawful to do the same ; yet, if it be 
 deemed a breach of the Sabbath, he desires to be hum 
 bled before the Lord, and begs the pardon of his people 
 for any offence done to them thereby. And doth hum 
 bly request the favor of your Honors to consider the 
 premises, and to remit the fine imposed upon him, and 
 to give order to the committee for the war for the pay 
 ment of his wages. So shall he forever pray." 
 
 " Aug. 1676. The Council sees no cause to grant the 
 petitioner any relief. 1 1 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal 97 
 
 NEWBURY, November i8th, 1678. 
 
 Went yesterday to the haunted house with Mr. 
 Russ and Mr. Richardson, Rebecca and Aunt 
 Rawson being in the company. Found the old 
 couple in much trouble, sitting by the fire, with the 
 Bible open before them, and Goody Morse weep 
 ing. Mr. Richardson asked Goodman Morse to 
 tell what he had seen and heard in the house; 
 which he did, to this effect : That there had been 
 great and strange noises all about the house, a 
 banging of doors, and a knocking on the boards, 
 and divers other unaccountable sounds ; that he 
 had seen his box of tools turn over of itself, and 
 the tools fly about the room ; baskets dropping 
 down the chimney, and the pots hanging over the 
 fire smiting against each other ; and, moreover, the , 
 irons on the hearth jumping into the pots, and 
 dancing on the table. Goodwife Morse said that 
 her bread-tray would upset of its own accord, and 
 the great woollen wheel would contrive to turn it- 
 self upside down, and stand on its end ; and that I 
 when she and the boy did make the beds, the 
 blankets would fly off as fast as they put them on, 
 all of which the boy did confirm. Mr. Russ asked 
 her if she suspected any one of the mischief; 
 whereupon, she said she did believe it was done 
 by the seaman Powell, a cunning man, who was 
 wont to boast of his knowledge in astrology and 
 astronomy, having been brought up under one Nor 
 wood, who is said to have studied the Black Art. 
 He had wickedly accused her grandson of the mis- 
 
 VOL. i. 5 G 
 
98 Margaret SmitJis Journal . 
 
 chief, whereas the poor boy had himself suffered 
 greatly from the Evil Spirit, having been often struck 
 with stones and bits of boards, which were flung 
 upon him, and kept awake o nights by the diaboli 
 cal noises. Goodman Morse here said that Powell, 
 coming in, and pretending to pity their lamentable 
 case, told them that if they would let him have the 
 boy for a day or two, they should be free of the 
 trouble while he was with him ; and that the boy 
 going with him, they had no disturbance in that 
 time ; which plainly showed that this Powell had 
 the wicked spirits in his keeping, and could chain 
 them up, or let them out, as he pleased. 
 
 Now, while she was speaking, we did all hear a 
 great thumping on the ceiling, and presently a 
 piece of a board flew across the room against the 
 chair on which Mr. Richardson was sitting ; where 
 at the two old people set up a dismal groaning, and 
 the boy cried out, " That s the witch ! " Goodman 
 Morse begged of Mr. Richardson to fall to praying, 
 which he presently did ; and, when he had done, he 
 asked Mr. Russ to follow him, who sat silent and 
 musing a little while, and then prayed that the work 
 er of the disturbance, whether diabolical or human, 
 might be discovered and brought to light. After 
 which there was no noise while we staid. Mr. 
 Russ talked awhile with the boy, who did stoutly 
 deny what Caleb Powell charged upon him, and 
 showed a bruise which he got from a stick thrown 
 at him in the cow-house. When we went away, 
 Mr. Richardson asked Mr. Russ what he thought 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 99 
 
 of it. Mr. Russ said, the matter had indeed a 
 strange look, but that it might be, nevertheless, the 
 work of the boy, who was a cunning young rogue, 
 and capable beyond his years. Mr. Richardson 
 said he hoped his brother was not about to coun 
 tenance the scoffers and Sadducees, who had all 
 along tried to throw doubt upon the matter. For 
 himself, he did look upon it as the work of invisible 
 demons, and an awful proof of the existence of 
 such, and of the deplorable condition of all who 
 fall into their hands ; moreover, he did believe that 
 God would overrule this malice of the Devil for 
 good, and make it a means of awakening sinners 
 and lukewarm church-members to a sense of their 
 danger. 
 
 Last night, brother Leonard, who is studying 
 with the learned Mr. Ward, the minister at Haver- 
 hill, came down, in the company of the worshipful 
 Major Saltonstall, who hath business with Esquire 
 Dummer and other magistrates of this place. Mr. 
 Saltonstall s lady, who is the daughter of Mr. Ward, 
 sent by her husband and my brother, a very kind 
 and pressing invitation to Rebecca and myself to 
 make a visit to her ; and Mr. Saltonstall did also 
 urge the matter strongly. So we have agreed to go 
 with them the day after to-morrow. Now, to say 
 the truth, I am not sorry to leave Newbury at this 
 time, for there is so much talk of the bewitched 
 house, and such dismal stories told of the power of 
 invisible demons, added to what I did myself hear 
 and see yesterday, that I can scarce sleep for the 
 
ioo Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 trouble and disquiet this matter causeth. Dr. 
 Russ, who left this morning, said, in his opinion, 
 the less that was said and done about the witch 
 craft the better for the honor of the Church and 
 the peace of the neighborhood ; for it might, after 
 all, turn out to be nothing more than an "old 
 wife s fable " ; but if it were indeed the work of 
 Satan, it could, he did believe, do no harm to sin 
 cere and godly people, who lived sober and prayer 
 ful lives, and kept themselves busy in doing good. 
 The doers of the Word seldom fell into the snare 
 of the Devil s enchantments. He might be com 
 pared to a wild beast, who dareth not to meddle 
 with the traveller who goeth straightway on his 
 errand, but lieth in wait for such as loiter and fall 
 asleep by the wayside. He feared, he said, that 
 some in our day were trying to get a great charac 
 ter to themselves, as the old monks did, by their 
 skill in discerning witchcrafts, and their pretended 
 conflicts with the Devil in his bodily shape ; and 
 thus, while they were seeking to drive the enemy 
 out of their neighbors houses, they were letting 
 him into their own hearts, in the guise of deceit 
 and spiritual pride. Repentance, and works meet 
 for it, were the best exorcism ; and the savor of a 
 good life driveth off Evil Spirits, even as that of 
 the fish of Tobit, at Ecbatana, drove the Devil from 
 the chamber of the bride into the uttermost parts 
 of Egypt. " For mine own part," continued the 
 worthy man, " I believe the Lord and Master, 
 whom I seek to serve, is over all the powers of 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. lot 
 
 Satan ; therefore do I not heed them, being afraid 
 only of mine own accusing conscience and the dis 
 pleasure of God." 
 
 We are all loath to lose the good Doctor s company. 
 An Israelite indeed ! My aunt, who once tarried 
 for a little time with him for the benefit of his skill 
 in physic, on account of sickness, tells me that he 
 is as a father to the people about him, advising 
 them in all their temporal concerns, and bringing 
 to a timely and wise settlement all their disputes, 
 so that there is nowhere a more prosperous and 
 loving society. Although accounted a learned 
 man, he doth not perplex his hearers, as the man 
 ner of some is, with dark and difficult questions, 
 and points of doctrine, but insisteth mainly on holi 
 ness of life and conversation. It is said that on 
 one occasion, a famous schoolman and disputer 
 from abroad, coming to talk with him on the matter 
 of the damnation of infants, did meet him with a 
 cradle on his shoulder, which he was carrying to a 
 young mother in his neighborhood, and when the man 
 told him his errand, the good Doctor bade him wait 
 until he got back, "for," said he, "I hold it to be 
 vastly more important to take care of the bodies of 
 the little infants which God in his love sends among 
 us, than to seek to pry into the mysteries of His 
 will concerning their souls." He hath no salary or 
 tithe, save the use of a house and farm, choosing 
 rather to labor with his own hands than to burden 
 his neighbors; yet, such is their love and good 
 will, that in the busy seasons of the hay and corn 
 
IO2 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 harvest, they all join together and help him in his 
 fields, counting it a special privilege to do so. 
 
 November i9th. 
 
 Leonard and Mr. Richardson, talking upon the 
 matter of the ministry, disagreed not a little. Mr. 
 Richardson says my brother hath got into his head 
 many unscriptural notions, and that he will never 
 be of service in the Church until he casts them off. 
 He saith, moreover, that he shall write to Mr. 
 Ward concerning the errors of the young man. 
 His words troubling me, I straightway discoursed 
 my brother as to the points of difference between 
 them ; but he, smiling, said it was a long story, 
 but that some time he would tell me the substance 
 of the disagreement, bidding me have no fear in his 
 behalf, as what had displeasured Mr. Richardson 
 had arisen only from tenderness of conscience. 
 
 HAVERHILL, November 22d. 
 
 Left Newbury day before yesterday. The day 
 cold, but sunshiny, and not unpleasant. Mr. Sal- 
 tonstall s business calling him that way, we crossed 
 over the ferry to Salisbury, and after a ride of about 
 an hour, got to the Falls of the Powow River, 
 where a great stream of water rushes violently 
 down the rocks, into a dark wooded valley, and 
 from thence runs into the Merrimac, about a mile 
 to the southeast. A wild sight it was, the water 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal 103 
 
 swollen by the rains of the season, foaming and 
 dashing among the rocks and the trees, which lat 
 ter were wellnigh stripped of their leaves. Leav 
 ing this place, we went on towards Haverhill. 
 Just before we entered that town, we overtook an 
 Indian, with a fresh wolf s skin hanging over his 
 shoulder, As soon as he saw us, he tried to hide 
 himself in the bushes ; but Mr. Saltonstall, riding 
 up to him, asked him if he did expect Haverhill 
 folks to pay him forty shillings for killing that 
 Amesbury wolf ? " How you know Amesbury 
 wolf ? " asked the Indian. " O," said Mr. Salton 
 stall, " you can t cheat us again, Simon. You 
 must be honest, and tell no more lies, or we will 
 have you whipped for your tricks." The Indian 
 thereupon looked sullen enough, but at length he 
 begged Mr. Saltonstall not to tell where the wolf 
 was killed, as the Amesbury folks did now refuse 
 to pay for any killed in their town ; and, as he was 
 a poor Indian, and his squaw much sick, and could 
 do no work, he did need the money. Mr. Salton 
 stall told him he would send his wife some corn- 
 meal and bacon, when he got home, if he would 
 come for them, which he promised to do. 
 
 When we had ridden off, and left him, Mr. Sal 
 tonstall told us that this Simon was a bad Indian, 
 who, when in drink, was apt to be saucy and quar 
 relsome ; but that his wife was quite a decent body 
 for a savage, having long maintained herself and 
 children and her lazy, cross husband, by hard 
 labor in the cornfields and at the fisheries. 
 
IO4 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 Haverhill lieth very pleasantly on the river-side ; 
 the land about hilly and broken, but of good qual 
 ity. Mr. Saltonstall liveth in a stately house for 
 these parts, not far from that of his father-in-law, 
 the learned Mr. Ward. Madam, his wife, is a fair, 
 pleasing young woman, not unused to society, their 
 house being frequented by many of the first people 
 hereabout, as well as by strangers of distinction 
 from other parts of the country. We had hardly 
 got well through our dinner (which was abundant 
 and savor} , being greatly relished by our hunger), 
 when two gentlemen came riding up to the door ; 
 and on their coming in, we found them to be the 
 young Doctor Clark, of Boston, a son of the old 
 Newbury physician, and a Doctor Benjamin Thomp 
 son, of Roxbury, who I hear is not a little famous 
 for his ingenious poetry and witty pieces on many 
 subjects. He was, moreover, an admirer of my 
 cousin Rebecca ; and on learning of her betrothal 
 to Sir Thomas, did write a most despairing verse 
 to her, comparing himself to all manner of lone 
 some things, so that when Rebecca showed it to 
 me, I told her I did fear the poor young gentle 
 man would put an end to himself, by reason of his 
 great sorrow and disquiet ; whereat she laughed 
 merrily, bidding me not fear, for she knew the 
 writer too well to be troubled thereat, for he loved 
 nobody so well as himself, and that under no prov 
 ocation would he need the Apostle s advice to the 
 jailer, " Do thyself no harm All which I found 
 to be true, he being a gay, witty man. full of a 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 105 
 
 fine conceit of himself, which is not so much to be 
 marvelled at, as he hath been greatly flattered and 
 sought after. 
 
 The excellent Mr. Ward spent the evening with 
 us a pleasant, social old man, much beloved by ( 
 his people. He told us a great deal about the ( 
 early settlement of the town, and of the grievous ; 
 hardships which many did undergo the first season, 
 from cold, and hunger, and sickness. He thought, ( 
 however, that, with all their ease and worldly pros- ; 
 perity, the present generation were less happy and 
 contented than their fathers ; for there was now a 
 great striving to outdo each other in luxury and 
 gay apparel ; the Lord s day was not so well kept 
 as formerly ; and the drinking of spirits and fre 
 quenting of ordinaries and places of public resort 
 vastly increased. Mr. Saltonstall said the war did 
 not a little demoralize the people, and that since 
 the soldiers came back, there had been much 
 trouble in Church and State. The General Court, 
 two years ago, had made severe laws against the 
 provoking evils of the times : profaneness, Sab 
 bath-breaking, drinking, and revelling to excess 
 loose and sinful conduct on the part of the young , 
 and unmarried, pride in dress, attending Quakers 
 meetings and neglect of attendance upon divine ) 
 worship ; but these laws had never been well en 
 forced ; and he feared too many of the magistrates 
 were in the condition of the Dutch Justice in the 
 New York Province, who, when a woman was 
 brought before him charged with robbing a hen- 
 5* 
 
io6 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 roost, did request his brother on the bench to pass 
 sentence upon her ; for, said he, if I send her to 
 the whipping-post, the wench will cry out against 
 me as her accomplice. 
 
 Dr. Clark said his friend Dr. Thompson had 
 written a long piece on this untoward state of 
 our affairs, which he hoped soon to see in print, 
 inasmuch as it did hold the looking-glass to the face 
 of this generation, and shame it by a comparison 
 with that of the generation which has passed. Mr. 
 Ward said he was glad to hear of it, and hoped his 
 ingenious friend had brought the manuscript with 
 him ; whereupon, the young gentleman said he did 
 take it along with him, in the hope to benefit it by 
 Mr. Ward s judgment and learning, and with the 
 leave of the company he would read the Prologue 
 thereof. To which we all agreeing, he read what 
 follows, which I copy from his book : 
 
 " The times wherein old PUMPKIN was a saint, 
 When men fared hardly, yet without complaint, 
 On vilest cates ; the dainty Indian maze 
 Was eat with clam-shells out of wooden trays. 
 Under thatched roofs, without the cry of rent, 
 And the best sauce to every dish, content 
 These golden times (too fortunate to hold) 
 Were quickly sinned away for love of gold. 
 T was then among the bushes, not the street, 
 If one in place did an inferior meet, 
 Good morrow, brother ! Is there ought you want ? 
 Take freely of me what I have, you ha n t. 
 Plain Tom and Dick would pass as current now, 
 As ever since Your servant, sir, and bow. 
 Deep-skirted doublets, puritanic capes, 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 107 
 
 Which now would render men like upright apes, 
 
 Was comlier wear, our wise old fathers thought, 
 
 Than the cast fashions from all Europe brought. 
 
 T was in those days an honest grace would hold 
 
 Till an hot pudding grew at heart a cold, 
 
 And men had better stomachs for religion, 
 
 Than now for capon, turkey-cock, or pigeon ; 
 
 When honest sisters met to pray, not prate, 
 
 About their own and not their neighbors state, 
 
 During Plain Dealing s reign, that worthy stud 
 
 Of the ancient planter-race before the Flood. 
 
 These times were good : merchants cared not a rush 
 
 For other fare than jonakin and mush. i 
 
 And though men fared and lodged very hard, 
 
 Yet innocence was better than a guard. 
 
 T was long before spiders and worms had drawn 
 
 Their dingy webs, or hid with cheating lawn 
 
 New England s beauties, which still seemed to me 
 
 Illustrious in their own simplicity. 
 
 T was ere the neighboring Virgin Land had broke 
 
 The hogsheads of her worse than hellish smoke j 
 
 T was ere the Islands sent their presents in, 
 
 Which but to use was counted next to sin ; 
 
 T was ere a barge had made so rich a freight 
 
 As chocolate, dust-gold, and bits of eight ; 
 
 Ere wines from France and Muscovado too, 
 
 Without the which the drink will scarcely do. 
 
 From Western Isles, ere fruits and delicacies 
 
 Did rot maids teeth and spoil their handsome faces, 
 
 Or ere these times did chance the noise of war 
 
 Was from our times and hearts removed far, 
 
 Then had the churches rest : as yet, the coals 
 
 Were covered up in most contentious souls ; 
 
 Freeness in judgment, union in affection, 
 
 Dear love, sound truth, they were our grand protection. 
 
 Then were the times in which our Councils sat, 
 
 These grave prognostics of our future state ; 
 
 If these be longer lived, our hopes increase, 
 
io8 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 These wars will usher in a longer peace ; 
 But if New England s love die in its youth, 
 The grave will open next for blessed truth. 
 
 " This theme is out of date ; the peaceful hours 
 When castles needed not, but pleasant bowers, 
 Not ink, but blood and tears now serve the turn 
 To draw the figure of New England s urn. 
 New England s hour of passion is at hand, 
 No power except Divine can it withstand. 
 Scarce hath her glass of fifty years run out, 
 Than her old prosperous steeds turn heads about ; 
 Tracking themselves back to their poor beginnings, 
 To fear and fare upon the fruits of sinnings. 
 So that this mirror of the Christian world 
 Lies burnt to heaps in part, her streamers furled. 
 Grief sighs, joys flee, and dismal fears surprise, 
 Not dastard spirits only, but the wise. 
 
 " Thus have the fairest hopes deceived the eye 
 Of the big-swoln expectants standing by : 
 So the proud ship, after a little turn, 
 Sinks in the ocean s arms to find its urn : 
 Thus hath the heir to many thousands born 
 Been in an instant from the mother torn ; 
 Even thus thy infant cheek begins to pale, 
 And thy supporters through great losses fail. 
 This is the Prologue to thy future woe 
 The Epilogue no mortal yet can know." 
 
 Mr. Ward was much pleased with the verses, 
 saying that they would do honor to any writer. 
 Rebecca thought the lines concerning the long 
 grace at meat happy, and said she was minded of 
 the wife of the good Mr. Ames, who prided her 
 self on her skill in housewifery and cookery ; and 
 on one occasion, seeing a nice pair of roasted 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 109 
 
 fowls growing cold under her husband s long grace, 
 was fain to jog his elbow, telling him that if he did 
 not stop soon, she feared they would have small 
 occasion for thankfulness for their spoiled dinner. 
 Mr. Ward said he was once travelling in company 
 with Mr. Phillips of Rowley, and Mr. Parker of 
 Newbury, and stopping all night at a poor house 
 near the sea-shore, the woman thereof brought into 
 the room for their supper a great wooden tray, full 
 of something nicely covered up by a clean linen 
 cloth. It proved to be a dish of boiled clams, in 
 their shells ; and as Mr. Phillips was remarkable 
 in his thanks for aptly citing passages of Scripture 
 with regard to whatsoever food was upon the table 
 before him, Mr. Parker and himself did greatly 
 wonder what he could say of this dish ; but he, 
 nothing put to it, offered thanks that now, as for 
 merly, the Lord s people were enabled to partake 
 of the abundance of the seas, and treastires hid in the 
 sands. " Whereat," said Mr. Ward, " we did find 
 it so hard so keep grave countenances, that our 
 good hostess was not a little disturbed, thinking we 
 were mocking her poor fare ; and we were fain to 
 tell her the cause of our mirth, which was indeed 
 ill-timed." 
 
 Dr. Clark spake of Mr. Ward s father, the re 
 nowned minister at Ipswich, whose book of " The 
 Simple Cobbler of Agawam," was much admired. 
 Mr. Ward said that some of the witty turns there 
 in did give much offence at the time of its print 
 ing, but that his father could never spoil his joke 
 
HO Margaret Smit/is Journal. 
 
 for the sake of friends, albeit he had no malice to 
 wards any one, and was always ready to do a good, 
 even to his enemies. He once even greatly an 
 gered his old and true friend, Mr. Cotton of Bos 
 ton. " It fell out in this wise," said Mr. Ward. 
 " When the arch heretic and fanatic Gorton and 
 his crew were in prison in Boston, my father and 
 Mr. Cotton went to the jail window to see them ; 
 and after some little discourse with them, he told 
 Gorton that if he had done or said anything which 
 he could with a clear conscience renounce, he 
 would do well to recant the same, and the Court, 
 he doubted not, would be merciful ; adding, that it 
 would be no disparagement for him to do so, as the 
 best of men were liable to err : as, for instance, his 
 brother Cotton here generally did preach that one 
 year which he publicly repented of before his con 
 gregation the next year." 
 
 Mr. Saltonstall told another story of old Mr. 
 Ward, which made us all merry. There was a 
 noted Antinomian, of Boston, who used to go 
 much about the country disputing with all who 
 would listen to him, who, coming to Ipswich one 
 night, with another of his sort with him, would fain 
 have tarried with Mr. Ward ; but he told them that 
 he had scarce hay and grain enough in his barn for 
 the use of his own cattle, and that they would do 
 well to take their horses to the ordinary, where they 
 would be better cared for. But the fellow, not 
 wishing to be so put off, bade him consider what 
 the Scripture said touching the keeping of stran- 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. in 
 
 gers, as some had thereby entertained angels un 
 awares. " True, my friend," said Mr. Ward, " but 
 we don t read that the angels came a-horseback ! " 
 
 The evening passed away in a very pleasant and 
 agreeable manner. We had rare nuts, and apples, 
 and pears, of Mr. Saltonstall s raising, wonderfully 
 sweet and luscious. Our young gentlemen, more 
 over, seemed to think the wine and ale of good 
 quality ; for, long after we had gone to our beds, 
 we could hear them talking and laughing in the 
 great hall below, notwithstanding that Mr. Ward, 
 when he took leave, bade Dr. Thompson take heed 
 to his own hint concerning the 
 
 " Wines from France and Muscovado too " ; 
 
 to which the young wit replied, that there was 
 Scripture warrant for his drinking, inasmuch as the 
 command was, to give wine to those that be of heavy 
 heart. Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and 
 remember his misery no more ; and, for his part, he 
 had been little better than miserable ever since he 
 heard of Rebecca s betrothal. A light, careless 
 man, but of good parts, and as brave a talker as I 
 have heard since I have been in the Colony. 
 
 November 24th. 
 
 Mr. Ward s negro girl Dinah came for me yester 
 day, saying that her master did desire to see me. 
 So, marvelling greatly what he wanted, I went 
 with her, and was shown into the study. Mr. 
 Ward said he had sent for me to have some dis- 
 
112 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 course in regard to my brother Leonard, who he 
 did greatly fear was likely to make shipwreck of 
 the faith ; and that Mr. Richardson had written 
 him concerning the young man, telling him that he 
 did visit the Quakers when at Newbury, and even 
 went over to their conventicle at Hampton, on the 
 Lord s day, in the company of the Brewster fam 
 ily, noted Quakers and ranters. He had the last 
 evening had some words with the lad, but with 
 small satisfaction. Being sorely troubled by this 
 account, I begged him to send for Leonard, which 
 he did, and, when he did come into the room, Mr. 
 Ward told him that he might see by the plight of 
 his sister (for I was in tears) what a great grief he 
 was like to bring upon his family and friends, by 
 running out into heresies. Leonard said he was 
 sorry to give trouble to any one, least of all to his 
 beloved sister ; that he did indeed go to the Qua 
 kers meeting, on one occasion, to judge for him 
 self concerning this people, who are everywhere 
 spoken against ; and that he must say he did hear 
 or see nothing in their worship contrary to the 
 Gospel. There was, indeed, but little said, but 
 the words were savory and Scriptural. " But they 
 deny the Scriptures," cried Mr. Ward, "and set 
 above them what they call the Light, which I take 
 to be nothing better than their own imaginations." 
 " I do not so understand them," said Leonard ; " I 
 think they do diligently study the Scripture, and 
 seek to conform their lives to its teachings ; and 
 for the Light of which they speak, it is borne wit- 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 113 
 
 ness to not only in the Bible, but by the early fa 
 thers and devout men of all ages. I do not go to 
 excuse the Quakers in all that they have done, nor 
 to defend all their doctrines and practices, many 
 of which I see no warrant in Scripture for, but be 
 lieve to be pernicious and contrary to good order ; 
 yet I must need look upon them as a sober, ear 
 nest-seeking people, who do verily think them 
 selves persecuted for righteousness sake." Here 
 upon Mr. Ward struck his cane smartly on the 
 floor, and, looking severely at my brother, bade 
 him beware how he did justify these canting and 
 false pretenders. " They are," he said, " either 
 sad knaves, or silly enthusiasts, they pretend to 
 Divine Revelation, and set up as prophets ; like 
 the Rosicrucians and Gnostics, they profess to a 
 knowledge of things beyond what plain Scripture 
 reveals. The best that can be said of them is, that 
 they are befooled by their own fancies, and the 
 victims of distempered brains and ill habits of 
 body. Then their ranting against the Gospel order 
 of the Church, and against the ministers of Christ, 
 calling us all manner of hirelings, wolves, and hypo 
 crites ; belching out their blasphemies against the 
 ordinances and the wholesome laws of the land 
 for the support of a sound ministry and faith, do 
 altogether justify the sharp treatment they have 
 met with ; so that, if they have not all lost their 
 ears, they may thank our clemency rather than their 
 own worthiness to wear them. I do not judge of 
 them ignorantly, for I have dipped into their books, 
 VOL. i. H 
 
114 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 where, what is not downright blasphemy and her 
 esy, is mystical and cabalistic. They affect a cloudy 
 and canting style, as if to keep themselves from 
 being confuted by keeping themselves from being 
 understood. Their divinity is a riddle, a piece of 
 black art ; the Scripture they turn into allegory and 
 parabolical conceits, and thus obscure and debauch 
 the truth. Argue with them, and they fall to 
 divining ; reason with them, and they straightway 
 prophesy. Then their silent meetings, so called, in 
 the which they do pretend to justify themselves by 
 quoting Revelation, " There was silence in heaven " ; 
 whereas they might find other authorities, as, for 
 instance, in Psalm 115, where hell is expressed by 
 silence, and in the Gospel, where we read of a 
 dumb devil. As to persecuting these people, we 
 have been quite too charitable to them, especially 
 of late, and they are getting bolder in consequence ; 
 as, for example, the behavior of that shameless 
 young wench in Newbury, who disturbed Brother 
 Richardson s church with her antics not long ago. 
 She should have been tied to the cart-tail and 
 whipped all the way to Rhode Island. 
 
 " Do you speak of Margaret Brewster ? " asked 
 Leonard, his face all a-crimson, and his lip quiver 
 ing. " Let me tell you, Mr. Ward, that you greatly 
 wrong one of Christ s little ones." And he called 
 me to testify to her goodness and charity, and the 
 blamelessness of her life. 
 
 " Don t talk to me of the blameless life of such 
 an one," said Mr. Ward, in a loud, angry tone ; " it is 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 115 
 
 the Devil s varnish for heresy. The Manichees, and 
 the Pelagians, and Socinians, all did profess great 
 strictness and sanctity of life ; and there never was 
 heretic yet, from they whom the Apostle makes 
 mention of, who fasted from meats, giving heed to 
 seducing spirits and doctrines of devils, down to the 
 Quakers, Dippers, and New Lights of this genera 
 tion who have not, like their fathers of old, put on 
 the shape of Angels of Light, and lived severe and 
 over-strict lives. I grant that the Quakers are 
 honest in their dealings, making great show of 
 sobriety and self-denial, and abhor the practice 
 of scandalous vices, being temperate, chaste, and 
 grave in their behavior, and thereby they win up 
 on unstable souls, and make plausible their dam 
 nable heresies. I warn you, young man, to take 
 heed of them, lest you be ensnared and drawn into 
 their Way." 
 
 My brother was about to reply, but, seeing Mr. 
 Ward so moved and vexed, I begged of him to say 
 no more j and, company coming in, the matter was 
 dropped, to my great joy. I went back much 
 troubled and disquieted for my brother s sake. 
 
 November 28th, 1678. 
 
 Leonard hath left Mr. Ward, and given up the 
 thought of fitting for the ministry. This will be a 
 heavy blow for his friends in England. He tells 
 me that Mr. Ward spake angrily to him after I left, 
 but that, when he come to part with him, the old 
 man wept over him, and prayed that the Lord 
 
n6 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 would enable him to see his error, and preserve 
 him from the consequences thereof. I have 
 discoursed with my brother touching his future 
 course of life, and he tells me he shall start in a 
 day or two to visit the Rhode Island, where he 
 hath an acquaintance, one Mr. Easton, formerly of 
 Newbury. His design is to purchase a small plan 
 tation there, and betake himself to farming, of the 
 which he hath some little knowledge, believing 
 that he can be as happy and do as much good to 
 his fellow-creatures in that employment as in any 
 other. 
 
 Here Cousin Rebecca, who was by, looking up 
 with that sweet archness which doth so well be 
 come her, queried with him whether he did think 
 to live alone on his plantation like a hermit, or 
 whether he had not his eye upon a certain fair- 
 haired young woman, as suitable to keep him com 
 pany. Whereat he seemed a little disturbed ; but 
 she bade him not think her against his prospect, 
 for she had known for some weeks that he did favor 
 the young Brewster woman, who, setting aside her 
 enthusiastic notions of religion, was worthy of any 
 man s love ; and turning to me, she begged of me 
 to look at the matter as she did, and not set myself 
 against the choice of my brother, which, in all 
 respects save the one she had spoken of, she could 
 approve with all her heart. Leonard goes back 
 with us to-morrow to Newbury, so I shall have a 
 chance of knowing how matters stand with him. 
 The thought of his marrying a Quaker would have 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 117 
 
 been exceedingly grievous to me a few months ago ; 
 but this Margaret Brewster hath greatly won upon me 
 by her beauty, gentleness, and her goodness of heart; 
 and, besides, I know that she is much esteemed by 
 the best sort of people in her neighborhood. 
 
 Dr. Thompson left this morning, but his friend 
 Dr. Clark goes with us to Newbury. Rebecca 
 found in her work-basket, after he had gone, some 
 verses, which amused us not a little, and which I 
 here copy. 
 
 " Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers, 
 
 And gone the Summer s pomp and show, 
 And Autumn in his leafless bowers 
 Is waiting for the Winter s snow. 
 
 " I said to Earth, so cold and gray, 
 
 An emblem of myself thou art : 
 Not so, the earth did seem to say, 
 For Spring shall warm my frozen heart. 
 
 " I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams 
 
 Of warmer sun and softer rain, 
 And wait to hear the sound of streams 
 And songs of merry birds again. 
 
 " But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone, 
 
 For whom the flowers no longer blow, 
 Who standest, blighted and forlorn, 
 Like Autumn waiting for the snow : 
 
 " No hope is thine of sunnier hours, 
 
 Thy winter shall no more depart ; 
 No Spring revive thy wasted flowers, 
 Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart." 
 
1 1 8 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 Dr. Clark, on hearing this read, told Rebecca 
 she need not take its melancholy to heart, for he 
 could assure her that there was no danger of his 
 friend s acting on her account the sad part of the 
 lover in the old song of Barbara Allen. As a med 
 ical man, he could safely warrant him to be heart- 
 whole ; and the company could bear him witness, 
 that the poet himself seemed very little like the 
 despairing one depicted in his verses. 
 
 The Indian Simon calling this forenoon, Re 
 becca and I went into the kitchen to see him. He 
 looks fierce and cruel, but he thanked Madam 
 Saltonstall for her gifts of food and clothing, and, 
 giving her in return a little basket wrought of curi 
 ously stained stuff, he told her that if there were 
 more like her, his heart would not be so bitter. 
 
 I ventured to ask him why he felt thus ; where 
 upon he drew himself up, and, sweeping about him 
 with his arms, said : " This all Indian land. The 
 Great Spirit made it for Indians. He made the 
 great river for them, and birch-trees to make their 
 canoes of. All the fish in the ponds, and all the 
 pigeons and deers and squirrels he made for In 
 dians. He made land for white men too ; but they 
 left it, and took Indian s land, because it was bet 
 ter. My father was a chief ; he had plenty meat 
 and corn in his wigwam. But Simon is a dog. 
 When they fight Eastern Indians, I try to live in 
 peace ; but they say, Simon, you rogue, you no go 
 into woods to hunt ; you keep at home. So when 
 squaw like to starve, I shoot one of their hogs, and 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 119 
 
 then they whip me. Look ! " And he lifted the 
 blanket off from his shoulder, and showed the 
 marks of the whip thereon. 
 
 " Well, well, Simon," said Mr. Saltonstall, " you 
 do know that our people then were much frightened 
 by what the Indians had done in other places, and 
 they feared you would join them. But it is all 
 over now, and you have all the woods to yourself 
 to range in ; and if you would let alone strong 
 drink, you would do well." 
 
 " Who makes strong drink ? " asked the Indian, 
 with an ugly look. " Who takes the Indian s 
 beaver-skins and corn for it?" Tell me that, 
 Captain ? " 
 
 So saying, he put his pack on his back, and call 
 ing a poor, lean dog, that was poking his hungry 
 nose into Madam s pots and kettles, he went off 
 talking to himself. 
 
 NEWBURY, December 6th. 
 
 We got back from Haverhill last night, Dr. 
 Clark accompanying us, he having business in 
 Newbury. When we came up to the door, Effie 
 met us with a shy look, and told her mistress that 
 Mrs. Prudence (uncle s spinster cousin) had got a 
 braw auld wooer in the east room ; and surely 
 enough we found our ancient kinswoman and Dea 
 con Dole, a widower of three years standing, sit 
 ting at the supper-table. We did take note that 
 the Deacon had on a stiff new coat ; and as for 
 
I2O Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 Aunt Prudence (for so she was called in the fam 
 ily), she was clad in her bravest, with a fine cap on 
 her head. They both did seem a little disturbed 
 by our coming, but plates being laid for us, we sat 
 down with them. After supper, Rebecca had a 
 fire kindled in uncle s room, whither we did betake 
 ourselves ; and being very merry at the thought of 
 Deacon Dole s visit, it chanced to enter our silly 
 heads that it would do no harm to stop the clock 
 in the entry a while, and let the two old folks 
 make a long evening of it. After a time Rebecca 
 made an errand into the east room, to see how 
 matters went, and coming back, said the twain 
 were sitting on the same settle by the fire, smok 
 ing a pipe of tobacco together. Moreover, our 
 foolish trick did work well, for Aunt Prudence com 
 ing at last into the entry to look at the clock, we 
 heard her tell the Deacon that it was only a little 
 past eight, when in truth it was near ten. Not 
 long after there was a loud knocking at the door, 
 and as Efrie had gone to bed, Rebecca did open it, 
 when, whom did she see but the Widow Hepsy 
 Barnet, Deacon Dole s housekeeper, and with her 
 the Deacon s son, Moses, and the minister, Mr. 
 Richardson, with a lantern in his hand ! " Dear 
 me," says the woman, looking very dismal, " have 
 you seen anything of the Deacon ? " By this time 
 we were all at the door, the Deacon and Aunt 
 Prudence among the rest, when Moses, like a great 
 lout as he is, pulled off his woollen cap and tossed 
 it up in the air, crying out, " There, Goody Barnet, 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 121 
 
 did n t I tell ye so ! There s father now ! " And 
 the widow, holding up both her hands, said she 
 never did in all her born days see the like of this, 
 a man of the Deacon s years and station stealing 
 away without letting folks know where to look for 
 him ; and then turning upon poor Mrs. Prudence, 
 she said she had long known that some folks were 
 sly and artful, and she was glad Mr. Richardson was 
 here to see for himself. Whereupon Aunt Prudence, 
 in much amazement, said, it was scarce past eight, as 
 they might see by the clock ; but Mr. Richardson, 
 who could scarce keep a grave face, pulling out his 
 watch, said it was past ten, and bade her note that 
 the clock was stopped. He told Deacon Dole, that 
 seeing Goody Barnet so troubled about him, he 
 had offered to go along with her a little way, and 
 that he was glad to find that the fault was in the 
 clock. The Deacon, who had stood like one in a 
 maze, here clapped on his hat, and snatched up his 
 cane and went off, looking as guilty as if he had 
 been caught a-housebreaking, the widow scolding 
 him all the way. Now, as we could scarce refrain 
 from laughing, Mr. Richardson, who tarried a mo 
 ment, shook his head at Rebecca, telling her he 
 feared by her looks she was a naughty girl, taking 
 pleasure in other folk s trouble. We did both feel 
 ashamed and sorry enough for our mischief, after it 
 was all over; and poor Mistress Prudence is so 
 sorely mortified, that she told Rebecca this morn 
 ing not to mention Deacon Dole s name to her 
 again, and that Widow Hepsy is welcome to him, 
 
122 Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 since he is so mean-spirited as to let her rule him 
 as she doth. 
 
 December 8th. 
 
 Yesterday I did, at my brother s wish, go with 
 him to Goodman Brewster s house, where I was 
 kindly welcomed by the young woman and her 
 parents. After some little tarry, I found means to 
 speak privily with her touching my brother s regard 
 for her, and to assure her that I did truly and free 
 ly consent thereunto ; while I did hope, for his 
 sake as well as her own, that she would, as far as 
 might be consistent with her notion of duty, for 
 bear to do or say anything which might bring her 
 into trouble with the magistrates and those in au 
 thority. She said that she was very grateful for my 
 kindness towards her, and that what I said was a 
 great relief to her mind ; for when she first met my 
 brother, she did fear that his kindness and sym 
 pathy would prove a snare to her ; and that she 
 had been sorely troubled, moreover, lest by encour 
 aging him she should not only do violence to her 
 own conscience, but also bring trouble and disgrace 
 upon one who was, she did confess, dear unto her, 
 not only as respects outward things, but by reason 
 of what she did discern of an innocent and pure 
 inward life in his conversation and deportment. 
 She had earnestly sought to conform her conduct 
 in this, as in all things, to the mind of her Divine 
 Master ; and, as respected my caution touching 
 those in authority, she knew not what the Lord 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal 123 
 
 might require of her, and she could only leave all 
 in his hands, being resigned even to deny herself 
 of the sweet solace of human affection, and to take 
 up the cross daily, if he did so will. " Thy visit 
 and kind words," she continued, " have removed a 
 great weight from me. The way seems more open 
 before me. The Lord bless thee for thy kindness." 
 
 She said this with so much tenderness of spirit, 
 and withal with such an engaging sweetness of 
 look and voice, that I was greatly moved, and, 
 pressing her in my arms, I kissed her, and bade 
 her look upon me as her dear sister. 
 
 The family pressing us, we stayed to supper, and 
 sitting down in silence at the table, I was about to 
 speak to my brother, but he made a sign to check 
 me, and I held my peace, although not then know 
 ing wherefore. So we all sat still for a little space 
 of time, which I afterwards found is the manner of 
 these people at their meat. The supper was plain, 
 but of exceeding good relish : warm rye loaves 
 with butter and honey, and bowls of sweet milk, 
 and roasted apples. Goodwife Brewster, who ap 
 peared much above her husband (who is a plain, 
 unlearned man) in her carriage and discourse, talked 
 with us very pleasantly, and Margaret seemed to 
 grow more at ease, the longer we stayed. 
 
 On our way back we met Robert Pike, who hath 
 returned from the eastward. He said Rebecca 
 Rawson had just told him how matters stood with 
 Leonard, and that he was greatly rejoiced to hear 
 of his prospect. He had known Margaret Brew- 
 
124 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 ster from a child, and there was scarce her equal in 
 these parts for sweetness of temper and loveliness 
 of person and mind ; and, were she ten times a 
 Quaker, he was free to say this in her behalf. I 
 am more and more confirmed in the belief that 
 Leonard hath not done unwisely in this matter, and 
 do cheerfully accept of his choice, believing it to 
 be in the ordering of Him who doeth all things 
 well. 
 
 BOSTON, December 3ist 
 
 It wanteth but two hours to the midnight, and 
 the end of the year. The family are all abed, and 
 I can hear nothing save the crackling of the fire 
 now burning low on the hearth, and the ticking of 
 the clock in the corner. The weather being sharp 
 with frost, there is no one stirring in the streets, and 
 the trees and bushes in the yard, being stripped of 
 their leaves, look dismal enough above the white 
 snow with which the ground is covered, so that 
 one would think that all things must needs die with 
 the year. But, from my window, I can see the stars 
 shining with marvellous brightness in the clear 
 sky, and the sight thereof doth assure me that God 
 still watcheth over the work of His hands, and that 
 in due season he will cause the flowers to appear on 
 the earth, and the time of sinking-birds to come, and 
 the voice of the turtle to be heard in the land. And I 
 have been led, while alone here, to think of the 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 125 
 
 many mercies which have been vouchsafed unto 
 me in my travels and sojourn in a strange land, 
 and a sense of the wonderful goodness of God to 
 wards me, and they who are dear unto me, both 
 here and elsewhere, hath filled mine heart with 
 thankfulness ; and as of old time they did use to 
 set up stones of memorial on the banks of deliver 
 ance, so would I at this season set up, as it were, 
 in my poor journal, a like pillar of thanksgiving to 
 the praise and honor of Him who hath so kindly 
 cared for His unworthy handmaid. 
 
 January :6th, 1679. 
 
 Have just got back from Reading, a small town 
 ten or twelve miles out of Boston, whither I went 
 along with mine Uncle and Aunt Rawson, and 
 many others, to attend the ordination of Mr. 
 Brock, in the place of the worthy Mr. Hough, 
 lately deceased. The weather being clear, and the 
 travelling good, a great concourse of people got 
 together. We stopped at the ordinary, which we 
 found wellnigh filled ; but uncle, by dint of scold 
 ing and coaxing, got a small room for aunt and 
 myself, with a clean bed, which was more than we 
 had reason to hope for. The ministers, of whom 
 there were many and of note (Mr. Mather and Mr. 
 Wilson of Boston, and Mr. Corbet of Ipswich, be 
 ing among them), were already together at the 
 house of one of the deacons. It was quite a sight 
 the next morning to see the people coming in from 
 the neighboring towns, and to note their odd 
 
126 Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 dresses, which were indeed of all kinds, from silks 
 and velvets to coarsest homespun woollens, dyed 
 with hemlock, or oil-nut bark, and fitting so ill that, 
 if they had all cast their clothes into a heap, and 
 then each snatched up whatsoever coat or gown 
 came to hand, they could not have suited worse. 
 Yet they were all clean and tidy, and the young 
 people especially did look exceeding happy, it be 
 ing with them a famous holiday. The young men 
 came with their sisters or their sweethearts riding 
 behind them on pillions ; and the ordinary and all 
 the houses about were soon noisy enough with 
 merry talking and laughter. The meeting-house 
 was filled long before the services did begin. There 
 was a goodly show of honorable people in the for 
 ward seats, and among them that venerable magis 
 trate, Simon Broadstreet, who acteth as Deputy- 
 Governor since the death of Mr. Leverett ; the 
 Honorable Thomas Danforth ; Mr. William Brown 
 of Salem ; and others of note, whose names I do 
 not remember, all with their wives and families, 
 bravely apparelled. The Sermon w r as preached by 
 Mr. Higginson of Salem, the Charge was given by 
 Mr. Phillips of Rowley, and the Right Hand of 
 Fellowship by Mr. Corbet of Ipswich. When we 
 got back to our inn, we found a great crowd of 
 young roysterers in the yard, who had got Mr. Cor 
 bet s negro man, Sam, on the top of a barrel, with 
 a bit of leather, cut in the shape of spectacles, 
 astride of his nose, where he stood swinging his 
 arms, and preaching, after the manner of his mas- 
 
Margaret Smittts Journal 127 
 
 ter, mimicking his tone and manner very shrewdly, 
 to the great delight and merriment of the young 
 rogues who did set him on. We stood in the door 
 
 O 
 
 a while to hear him, and, to say the truth, he did 
 wonderfully well, being a fellow of good parts and 
 much humor. But, just as he was describing the 
 Devil, and telling his grinning hearers that he was 
 not like a black but a white man, old Mr. Corbet, 
 who had come up behind him, gave him a smart 
 blow with his cane, whereupon Sam cried, 
 
 " Dare he be now ! " at which all fell to laughing. 
 
 " You rascal," said Mr. Corbet, " get down with 
 you ; I 11 teach you to compare me to the Devil." 
 
 " Beg pardon, massa ! " said Sam, getting down 
 from his pulpit, and rubbing his shoulder ; " How 
 you think Sam know you? He see nothing; he 
 only feel de lick." 
 
 " You shall feel it again," said his master, strik 
 ing at him a great blow, which Sam dodged. 
 
 " Nay, Brother Corbet," said Mr. Phillips, who 
 was with him, " Sam s mistake was not so strange 
 after all ; for if Satan can transform himself into 
 an Angel of Light, why not into the likeness of 
 such unworthy ministers as you and I." 
 
 This put the old minister in a good humor, and 
 Sam escaped without farther punishment than a 
 grave admonition to behave more reverently for the 
 future. Mr. Phillips, seeing some of his young 
 people in the crowd, did sharply rebuke them for 
 their folly, at which they were not a little abashed. 
 
 The inn being greatly crowded, and not a little 
 
128 Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 noisy, we were not unwilling to accept the invita 
 tion of the provider of the ordination-dinner, to sit 
 down with the honored guests thereat. I waited, 
 with others of the younger class, until the ministers 
 and elderly people had made an end of their meal. 
 Among those who sat at the second table, was a 
 pert, talkative lad, a son of Mr. Increase Mather, 
 who, although but sixteen years of age, graduated 
 at the Harvard College last year, and hath the rep 
 utation of good scholarship and lively wit. He 
 told some rare stories concerning Mr. Brock, the 
 minister ordained, and of the marvellous efficacy 
 of his prayers. He mentioned, among other things, 
 that, when Mr. Brock lived on the Isles of Shoals, 
 he persuaded the people there to agree to spend 
 one day in a month, beside the Sabbath, in religious 
 worship. Now, it so chanced that there was on 
 one occasion a long season of stormy, rough weath 
 er, unsuitable for fishing ; and when the day came 
 which had been set apart, it proved so exceeding 
 fair, that his congregation did desire him to put off 
 the meeting, that they might fish. Mr. Brock tried 
 in vain to reason with them, and show the duty of 
 seeking first the kingdom of God, when all other 
 things should be added thereto, but the major part 
 determined to leave the meeting. Thereupon he 
 cried out after them : " As for you who will neglect 
 God s worship, go, and catch fish if you can" There 
 were thirty men who thus left, and only five re 
 mained behind, and to these he said : " / will pray 
 the Lord for you , that you may catch fish till you are 
 
Margaret Smit/is Journal. 129 
 
 weary And it so fell out, that the thirty toiled 
 all day, and caught only four fishes ; while the five 
 who stayed at meeting went out, after the worship 
 was over, and caught five hundred ; and ever after 
 wards the fishermen attended all the meetings of 
 the minister s appointing. At another time, a poor 
 man, who had made himself useful in carrying peo 
 ple to meeting in his boat, lost the same in a storm, 
 and came lamenting his loss to Mr. Brock. " Go 
 home, honest man," said the minister ; " I will 
 mention your case to the Lord : you will have your 
 boat again to-morrow." And surely enough, the 
 very next day, a vessel pulling up its anchor near 
 where the boat sank, drew up the poor man s boat, 
 safe and whole, after it. 
 
 We went back to Boston after dinner, but it was 
 somewhat of a cold ride, especially after the night 
 set in, a keen northerly wind blowing in great gusts, 
 which did wellnigh benumb us. A little way from 
 Reading, we overtook an old couple in the road ; 
 the man had fallen off his horse, and his wife was 
 trying to get him up again to no purpose ; so young 
 Mr. Richards, who was with us, helped him up to 
 the saddle again, telling his wife to hold him care 
 fully, as her old man had drank -too much flip. 
 Thereupon the good wife set upon him with a vile 
 tongue, telling him that her old man was none oth 
 er than Deacon Rogers of Wenham, and as good 
 and as pious a saint as there was out of heaven ; 
 and it did ill become a young, saucy rake and 
 knave, to accuse him of drunkenness, and it would 
 
 VOL. i. 6* i 
 
130 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 be no more than his deserts if the bears did eat 
 him before he got to Boston. As it was quite clear 
 that the woman herself had had a taste of the mug, 
 we left them and rode on, she fairly scolding us 
 out of hearing. When we got home, we found 
 Cousin Rebecca, whom we did leave ill with a 
 cold, much better in health, sitting up and await 
 ing us. 
 
 January 2ist, 1679. 
 
 Uncle Rawson came home to-day in a great pas 
 sion, and, calling me to him, he asked me if I too 
 was going to turn Quaker, and fall to prophesying ? 
 Whereat I was not a little amazed ; and when I 
 asked him what he did mean, he said : " Your 
 brother Leonard hath gone off to them, and I dare 
 say you will follow, if one of the ranters should 
 take it into his head that you would make him a 
 proper wife, or company-keeper, for there s never 
 an honest marriage among them." Then looking 
 sternly at me, he asked me why I did keep this 
 matter from him, and thus allow the foolish young 
 man to get entangled in the snares of Satan. 
 Whereat I was so greatly grieved, that I could 
 answer never a word. 
 
 " You may well weep," said my uncle, " for you 
 have done wickedly. As to your brother, he will 
 do well to keep where he is in the plantations ; for 
 if he come hither a thecing and thouing of me, I 
 will spare him never a whit ; and if I do not chas 
 tise him myself, it will be because the constable 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 131 
 
 can do it better at the cart-tail. As the Lord lives, 
 I had ratter he had turned Turk ! " 
 
 I tried to say a word for my brother, but he cut 
 me straightway short, bidding me not to mention 
 his name again in his presence. Poor me ! I have 
 none here now to whom I can speak freely, Re 
 becca having gone to her sister s at Weymouth. My 
 young cousin Grindall is below, with his college 
 friend, Cotton Mather ; but I care not to listen 
 to their discourse, and aunt is busied with her 
 servants in the kitchen, so that I must even sit 
 alone with my thoughts, which be indeed but sad 
 company. 
 
 The little book which I brought with me from 
 the Maine, it being the gift of young Mr. Jordan, 
 and which I have kept close hidden in my trunk, 
 hath been no small consolation to me this day, for 
 it aboundeth in sweet and goodly thoughts, al 
 though he who did write it was a monk. Espe 
 cially in my low state, have these words been a 
 comfort to me : 
 
 " What thou canst not amend in thyself or others, ) 
 bear thou with patience until God ordaineth other- J 
 wise. When comfort is taken away, do not pre 
 sently despair. Stand with an even mind resigned 
 to the will of God, whatever shall befall, because 
 after winter cometh the summer ; after the dark 
 night the day shineth, and after the storm follow- 
 eth a great calm. Seek not for consolation which 
 shall rob thee of the grace of penitence ; for all 
 that is high is not holy, nor all that is pleasant 
 
132 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 ) good ; nor every desire pure ; nor is what is pleas 
 ing to us always pleasant in the sight of God." 
 
 January 23d 
 
 The weather is bitter cold, and a great snow on 
 the ground. By a letter from Newbury, brought 
 me by Mr. Sewall, who hath just returned from 
 that place, I hear that Goodwife Morse hath been 
 bound for trial as a witch. Mr. Sewall tells me 
 the woman is now in the Boston jail. As to Caleb 
 Powell, he hath been set at liberty, there being no 
 proof of his evil practice. Yet, inasmuch as he 
 did give grounds of suspicion by boasting of his 
 skill in astrology and astronomy, the Court de 
 clared that he justly deserves to bear his own 
 shame and the costs of his prosecution and lodg 
 ing in jail. 
 
 Mr. Sewall tells me that Deacon Dole has just 
 married his housekeeper, Widow Barnet, and that 
 Moses says he never knew before his father to get 
 the worst in a bargain. 
 
 January 3Oth. 
 
 Robert Pike called this morning, bringing me a 
 letter from my brother, and one from Margaret 
 Brewster. He hath been to the Providence Plan 
 tations and Rhode Island, and reporteth well of 
 the prospects of my brother, who hath a goodly 
 farm, and a house nigh upon finished, the neigh 
 bors being mostly Quakers, assisting him much 
 therein. My brother s tetter doth confirm this ac- 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 133 
 
 count of his temporal condition, although a great 
 part of it is taken up with a defence of his new 
 doctrines, for the which he doth ingeniously bring 
 to mind many passages of Scripture. Margaret s 
 letter being short, I here copy it : 
 
 THE PLANTATIONS, 2oth of the ist mo., 1679. 
 " DEAR FRIEND : I salute thee with much love 
 from this new country, where the Lord hath spread a 
 table for us in the wilderness. Here is a goodly com 
 pany of Friends, who do seek to know the mind of 
 Truth, aud to live thereby, being held in favor and 
 esteem by the rulers of the land, and so left in peace to 
 worship God according to their consciences. The 
 whole country being covered with snow, and the weath 
 er being extreme cold, we can scarce say much of 
 the natural gifts and advantages of our new home ; but 
 it lieth on a small river, and there be fertile meadows, 
 and old corn-fields of the Indians, and good springs 
 of water, so that I am told it is a desirable and pleasing 
 place in the warm season. My soul is full of thankful 
 ness, and a sweet inward peace is my portion. Hard 
 things are made easy to me ; this desert place, with its 
 lonely woods and wintry snows, is beautiful in mine 
 eyes. For here we be no longer gazing-stocks of the 
 rude multitude, we are no longer haled from our meet 
 ings, and railed upon as witches and possessed people. 
 O how often have we been called upon heretofore to re 
 peat the prayer of one formerly : Let me not fall into 
 the hands of man? Sweet, beyond the power of words 
 to express, hath been the change in this respect ; and in 
 view of the mercies vouchsafed unto us, what can we do 
 but repeat the language of David, Praise is come 
 ly ; yea, a joyful and pleasant thing it is to be thank- 
 
134 Margaret Smittis Journal. 
 
 ful. It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, to 
 sing praises unto thy name, O Most High ! to show 
 forth thy loving-kindness in the morning, and thy faith 
 fulness every night? 
 
 " Thou hast doubtless heard that thy dear brother 
 hath been favored to see the way of truth, according to 
 our persuasion thereof, and hath been received into 
 fellowship with us. I fear this hath been a trial to thee ; 
 but, dear heart, leave it in the hands of the Lord, whose 
 work I do indeed count it. Nor needest thou to fear 
 that thy brother s regard for the* will be lessened 
 thereby, for the rather shall it be increased by a meas 
 ure of that Divine love which, so far from destroying, 
 doth but purify and strengthen the natural affections. 
 Think, then, kindly of thy brother, for his love towards 
 thee is very great ; and of me, also, unworthy as I am, 
 for his sake. And so, with salutations of love and 
 peace, in which my dear mother joins, I remain thy 
 loving friend, 
 
 MARGARET BREWSTER." 
 
 " The Morse woman, I hear, is in your jail, to be 
 tried for a witch. She is a poor, weak creature, but I 
 know no harm of her, and do believe her to be more 
 silly than wicked in the matter of the troubles in her 
 house. I fear she will suffer much at this cold season 
 in the jail, she being old and weakly, and must needs 
 entreat thee to inquire into her condition. 
 
 M. B." 
 
 February loth. 
 
 Speaking of Goody Morse to-day, Uncle Rawson 
 says she will, he thinks, be adjudged a witch, as 
 there be many witnesses from Newbury to testify 
 against her. Aunt sent the old creature some 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 135 
 
 warm blankets and other necessaries, which she 
 stood much in need of, and Rebecca and I altered 
 one of aunt s old gowns for her to wear, as she 
 hath nothing seemly of her own. Mr. Richard 
 son, her minister, hath visited her twice since she 
 hath been in jail ; but he saith she is hardened in 
 her sin, and will confess nothing thereof. 
 
 February I4th. 
 
 The famous Mr. John Eliot, having business 
 with my uncle, spent the last night with us, a truly 
 worthy man, who, by reason of his great labors 
 among the heathen Indians, may be called the 
 chiefest of our apostles. He brought with him a 
 young Indian lad, the son of a man of some note 
 among his people, very bright and comely, and 
 handsomely apparelled after the fashion of his 
 tribe. This lad hath a ready wit, readeth and 
 writeth, and hath some understanding of Scrip 
 ture j indeed, he did repeat the Lord s Prayer in 
 a manner edifying to hear. 
 
 The worshipful Major Gookins coming in to sup 
 with us, there was much discourse concerning the 
 affairs of the Province : both the Major and his 
 friend Eliot being great sticklers for the rights and 
 liberties of the people, and exceeding jealous of 
 the rule of the home government, and in this mat 
 ter my uncle did quite agree with them. In a 
 special manner Major Gookins did complain of the 
 Acts of Trade, as injurious to the interests of the 
 Colony, and which he said ought not to be submit- 
 
136 Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 ted to, as the laws of England were bounded by 
 the four seas, and did not justly reach America. 
 He read a letter which he had from Mr. Stoughton, 
 one of the agents of the Colony in England, show 
 ing how they had been put off from time to time, 
 upon one excuse or another, without being able to 
 get a hearing ; and now the Popish Plot did so oc 
 cupy all minds there, that Plantation matters were 
 sadly neglected ; but this much was certain, the 
 laws for the regulating of trade must be consented 
 to by the Massachusetts, if we would escape a total 
 breach. My uncle struck his hand hard on the 
 table at this, and said if all were of his mind they 
 would never heed the breach ; adding, that he 
 knew his rights as a free-born Englishman, under 
 Magna Charta, which did declare it the privilege 
 of such to have a voice in the making of laws ; 
 whereas the Massachusetts had no voice in Parlia 
 ment, and laws were thrust upon them by strangers. 
 
 " For mine own part," said Major Gookins, " I 
 do hold our brother Eliot s book on the Christian 
 Commonwealth, which the General Court did make 
 haste to condemn on the coming in of the king, 
 to be a sound and seasonable treatise, notwith 
 standing the author himself hath in some sort 
 disowned it." 
 
 " I did truly condemn and deny the false and 
 seditious doctrines charged upon it," said Mr. Eliot, 
 " but for the book itself, rightly taken, and making 
 allowance for some little heat of discourse and cer 
 tain hasty and ill-considered words therein, I have 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 137 
 
 never seen cause to repent. I quite agree with 
 what my lamented friend and fellow-laborer, Mr. 
 Danforth, said, when he was told that the king was 
 to be proclaimed at Boston : Whatever form of 
 government may be deduced from Scripture, that 
 let us yield to for conscience sake, not forgetting 
 at the same time that the Apostle hath said, if thou 
 mayest be free use it rather! " 
 
 My uncle said this was well spoken of Mr. Dan 
 forth, who was a worthy gentleman and a true 
 friend to the liberties of the Colony ; and he asked 
 Rebecca to read some ingenious verses writ by him 
 in one of his almanacs, which she had copied not 
 long ago, wherein he compareth New England to a 
 goodly tree or plant. Whereupon, Rebecca read 
 them as followeth : 
 
 " A skilful husbandman he was, who brought 
 This matchless plant from far, and here hath sought 
 A place to set it in ; and for its sake 
 The wilderness a pleasant land doth make. 
 With pleasant aspect, Phoebus smiles upon 
 The tender buds and blooms that hang thereon ; 
 At this tree s root Astrea sits and sings, 
 And waters it, whence upright Justice springs, 
 Which yearly shoots forth laws and liberties 
 That no man s will or wit may tyrannize. 
 Those birds of prey that sometime have oppressed 
 And stained the country with their filthy nest, 
 Justice abhors, and one day hopes to find 
 A way to make all promise-breakers grind. 
 On this tree s top hangs pleasant Liberty, 
 Not seen in Austria, France, Spain, Italy. 
 True Liberty s there ripe, where all confess 
 They may do what they will, save wickedness. 
 
138 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 Peaft is another fruit which this tree bears, 
 
 The chiefest garland that the country wears, 
 
 Which o er all house-tops, towns, and fields doth spread, 
 
 And stuffs the pillow for each weary head. 
 
 It bloomed in Europe once, but now t is gone, 
 
 And glad to find a desert mansion. 
 
 Forsaken Truth, Time s daughter, groweth here, 
 
 More precious fruit what tree did ever bear, 
 
 Whose pleasant sight aloft hath many fed, 
 
 And what falls down knocks Error on the head." 
 
 After a little time, Rebecca found means to 
 draw the good Mr. Eliot into some account of his 
 labors and journeys among the Indians, and of their 
 manner of life, ceremonies, and traditions, telling 
 him that I was a stranger in these parts, and curi 
 ous concerning such matters. So he did address 
 himself to me very kindly, answering such questions 
 as I ventured to put to him. And first, touching 
 the Powahs, of whom I had heard much, he said 
 they were manifestly witches, and such as had fa 
 miliar spirits ; but that, since the Gospel has been 
 preached here, their power had in a great measure 
 gone from them. " My old friend, Passaconaway, 
 the Chief of the Merrimac River Indians," said he, 
 " was, before his happy and marvellous conversion, 
 a noted Powah and wizard. I once queried with 
 him touching his sorceries, when he said he had 
 done wickedly, and it was a marvel that the Lord 
 spared his life, and did not strike him dead with 
 his lightnings. And when I did press him to 
 tell me how he did become a Powah, he said he 
 liked not to speak of it, but would nevertheless tell 
 
Margaret SmitJts Journal. 139 
 
 me. His grandmother used to tell him many 
 things concerning the good and bad spirits, and in 
 a special manner of the Abomako, or Chepian, who 
 had the form of a serpent, and who was the cause 
 of sickness and pain, and of all manner of evils. 
 And it so chanced that on one occasion, when 
 hunting in the wilderness, three days journey from 
 home, he did lose his way, and wandered for a 
 long time without food, and night coming on, he 
 thought he did hear voices of men talking ; but, 
 on drawing near to the place whence the noise 
 came, he could see nothing but the trees and 
 rocks ; and then he did see a light, as from a wig 
 wam a little way off, but, going towards it, it moved 
 away, and, following it, he was led into a dismal 
 swamp, full of water, and snakes, and briers ; and 
 being in so sad a plight, he bethought him of all he 
 had heard of evil demons and of Chepian, who, he 
 doubted not was the cause of his trouble. At last, 
 coming to a little knoll in the swamp, he lay down 
 under a hemlock-tree, and being sorely tired, fell 
 asleep. And he dreamed a dream, which was in 
 this wise : 
 
 " He thought he beheld a great snake crawl up 
 out of the marsh, and stand upon his tail under a 
 tall maple-tree ; and he thought the snake spake to 
 him, and bade him be of good cheer, for he would 
 guide him safe out of the swamp, and make of him 
 a great chief and Powah, if he would pray to him 
 and own him as his god. All which he did prom 
 ise to do ; and when he awoke in the morning, he 
 
140 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 beheld before him the maple-tree under which he 
 had seen the snake in his dream, and, climbing to 
 the top of it, he saw a great distance off the smoke 
 of a wigwam, towards which he went, and found 
 some of his own people cooking a plentiful meal of 
 venison. When he got back to Patucket, he told 
 his dream to his grandmother, who was greatly re 
 joiced, and went about from wigwam to wigwam, 
 telling the tribe that Chepian had appeared to her 
 grandson. So they had a great feast and dance, 
 and he was thenceforth looked upon as a Powah. 
 Shortly after, a woman of the tribe falling sick, he 
 was sent for to heal her, which he did by praying 
 to Chepian and laying his hands upon her ; and at 
 divers other times the Devil helped him in his en 
 chantments and witcheries." 
 
 I asked Mr. Eliot whether he did know of any 
 women who were Powahs. He confessed he knew 
 none ; which was the more strange, as in Christian 
 countries the Old Serpent did commonly find instru 
 ments of his craft among the women. 
 
 To my query as to what notion the heathen had 
 
 of God and a future state, he said that, when he 
 
 did discourse them concerning the great and true 
 
 God, who made all things, and of heaven and hell, 
 
 they would readily consent thereto, saying that so 
 
 i their fathers had taught them ; but when he spake 
 
 to them of the destruction of the world by fire, and 
 
 \ the resurrection of the body, they would not hear 
 
 | to it, for they pretend to hold that the spirit of the 
 
 dead man goes forthwith, after death, to the happy 
 
Margaret Smittts Journal. 141 
 
 hunting-grounds made for good Indians, or to the 
 cold and dreary swamps and mountains, where the 
 bad Indians do starve and freeze, and suffer all 
 manner of hardships. 
 
 There was, Mr. Eliot told us, a famous Powah, who, 
 coming to Punkapog, while he was at that Indian 
 town, gave out among the people there that a little \ 
 humming-bird did come to him and peck at him ) 
 when he did aught that was wrong, and sing sweet- ) 
 ly to him when he did a good thing, or spake the 
 right words ; which coming to Mr. Eliot s ear, he j 
 made him confess, in the presence of the congre- \ 
 gation, that he did only mean, by the figure of the j 
 bird, the sense he had of right and wrong in his J 
 own mind. This fellow was, moreover, exceeding 
 cunning, and did often ask questions hard to be 
 answered touching the creation of the Devil, and 
 the fall of man. 
 
 I said to him that I thought it must be a great 
 satisfaction to him to be permitted to witness the 
 fruit of his long labors and sufferings in behalf of 
 these people, in the hopeful conversion of so many 
 of them to the light and knowledge of the Gospel ; 
 to which he replied that his poor labors had been 
 indeed greatly blest, but it was all of the Lord s 
 doing, and he could truly say he felt, in view of the 
 great wants of these wild people, and their dark 
 ness and misery, that he had by no means done all 
 his duty towards them. He said also, that when 
 ever he was in danger of being puffed up with 
 the praise of men, or the vanity of his own heart, 
 
142 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 the Lord had seen meet to abase and humble him, 
 by the falling back of some of his people to their 
 old heathenish practices. The war, moreover, was 
 a sore evil to the Indian churches, as some few of 
 their number were enticed by Philip to join him in 
 his burnings and slaughterings, and this did cause 
 even the peaceful and innocent to be vehemently 
 suspected and cried out against as deceivers and 
 murderers. Poor, unoffending old men, and pious 
 women, had been shot at and killed by our sol 
 diers, their wigwams burned, their families scat 
 tered, and driven to seek shelter with the ene 
 my ; yea, many Christian Indians, he did believe, 
 had been sold as slaves to the Barbadoes, which he 
 did account a great sin, and a reproach to our peo 
 ple. Major Gookins said that a better feeling to 
 wards the Indians did now prevail among the 
 people ; the time having been when, because of his 
 friendliness to them, and his condemnation of their 
 oppressors, he was cried out against and stoned in 
 the streets, to the great hazard of his life. 
 
 So, after some further discourse, our guests left 
 us, Mr. Eliot kindly inviting me to visit his Indian 
 congregation near Boston, whereby I could judge 
 for myself of their condition. 
 
 February 22d, 1679. 
 
 The weather suddenly changing from a warm 
 rain and mist to sharp, clear cold, the trees a little 
 way from the house did last evening so shine with 
 a wonderful brightness in the light of the moon, 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 143 
 
 now nigh unto its full, that I was fain to go out 
 upon the hill-top to admire them. And truly it 
 was no mean sight to behold every small twig be- 
 crusted with ice, and glittering famously like silver- 
 work or crystal, as the rays of the moon did strike 
 upon them. Moreover, the earth was covered with 
 frozen snow, smooth and hard like to marble, 
 through which the long rushes, the hazles, and 
 mulliens, and the dry blades of the grasses, did 
 stand up bravely, bedight with frost. And, looking 
 upward, there were the dark tops of the evergreen 
 trees, such as hemlocks, pines, and spruces, starred 
 and bespangled, as if wetted with a great rain of 
 molten crystal. After admiring and marvelling at 
 this rare entertainment and show of Nature, I said 
 it did mind me of what the Spaniards and Portu 
 guese relate of the great Incas of Guiana, who had 
 a garden of pleasure in the Isle of Puna, whither 
 they were wont to betake themselves when they 
 would enjoy the air of the sea, in which they had 
 all manner of herbs and flowers, and trees curiously 
 fashioned of gold and silver, and so burnished that 
 their exceeding brightness did dazzle the eyes of 
 the beholders. 
 
 " Nay," said the worthy Mr. Mather, who did go 
 with us, " it should rather, methinks, call to mind 
 what the Revelator hath said of the Holy City. I 
 never look upon such a wonderful display of the 
 natural world without remembering the description 
 of the glory of that city which descended out of heav 
 en from God, having the glory of God and her light 
 
144 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 like unto a stone most precious, even like unto a jasper 
 stone, dear as crystal. And the building of the wall 
 of it was of jasper, and the city was pure gold like 
 unto clear glass. And the twelve gates were twelve 
 pearls, every several gate was of one pearl, and the 
 street of the city was pure gold, as it were transpar 
 ent glass. 
 
 " There never was a king s palace lighted up and 
 adorned like this," continued Mr. Mather, as we 
 went homewards. " It seemeth to be God s design to 
 show how that He can glorify himself in the work 
 of His hands, even at this season of darkness and 
 death, when all things are sealed up, and there be 
 no flowers, nor leaves, nor running brooks, to 
 speak of His goodness and sing forth His praises. 
 Truly hath it been said, Great things doeth He, 
 which we cannot comprehend. For He saith to the 
 snow, Be thou on the earth ; likewise to the small rain 
 and the great rain of his strength. He sealeth up the 
 hand of every man, that all men may know His work. 
 Then the beasts go into their dens, and they remain in 
 their places. Out of the south cometh the whirlwind, 
 and cold out of the north. By the breath of God is 
 the frost given, and the breadth of the waters strait 
 ened: 1 
 
 March loth. 
 
 I have been now for many days afflicted with a 
 great cold and pleurisy, although, by God s bless 
 ing on the means used, I am wellnigh free from 
 pain, and much relieved, also, from a tedious 
 
Margaret Smittts Journal. 145 
 
 cough. In this sickness I have not missed the 
 company and kind ministering of my dear cousin 
 Rebecca, which was indeed a great comfort. She 
 tells me to-day that the time hath been fixed upon 
 for her marriage with Sir Thomas, which did not a 
 little rejoice me, as I an to go back to mine own 
 country in their company. I long exceedingly to 
 see once again the dear friends from whom I have 
 been separated by many months of time and a 
 great ocean. 
 
 Cousin Torrey, of Weymouth, coming in yester 
 day, brought with her a very bright and pretty In 
 dian girl, one of Mr. Eliot s flock, of the Natick 
 people. She was apparelled after the English 
 manner, save that she wore leggings, called moc 
 casins, in the stead of shoes, wrought over daintily 
 with the quills of an animal called a porcupine, and 
 hung about with small black and white shells. 
 Her hair, which was exceeding long and black, 
 hung straight down her back, and was parted from 
 her forehead, and held fast by means of a strip of 
 birch bark, wrought with quills and feathers, which 
 did encircle her head. She speaks the English 
 well, and can write somewhat, as well as read. 
 Rebecca, for my amusement, did query much with 
 her regarding the praying Indians ; and on her de 
 siring to know whether they did in no wise return 
 to their old practices and worships, Wauwoone- 
 meen (for so she was called by her people) told us 
 that they did still hold their Keutikaw, or Dance 
 for the Dead ; and that the ministers, although 
 
 VOL. i. 7 j 
 
146 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 X they did not fail to discourage it, had not forbidden 
 it altogether, inasmuch as it was but a civil custom 
 of the people, and not a religious rite. This dance 
 did usually take place at the end of twelve moons 
 after the death of one of their number, and finished 
 the mourning. The guests invited bring presents 
 to the bereaved family, of wampum, beaver-skins, 
 corn, and ground-nuts, and venison. These pres 
 ents are delivered to a speaker, appointed for the 
 purpose, who takes them, one by one, and hands 
 them over to the mourners, with a speech entreat 
 ing them to be consoled by these tokens of the 
 love of their neighbors, and to forget their sorrows. 
 After which, they sit down to eat, and are merry 
 k together. 
 
 Now it had so chanced that at a Keutikaw held 
 the present winter, two men had been taken ill, and 
 had died the next day ; and although Mr. Eliot, 
 when he was told of it, laid the blame thereof upon 
 their hard dancing until they were in a great heat, 
 and then running out into the snow and sharp air 
 to cool themselves, it was thought by many that 
 they were foully dealt with and poisoned. So two 
 noted old Powahs from Wauhktukook, on the great 
 river Connecticut, were sent for to discover the 
 murderers. Then these poor heathen got together 
 in a great wigwam, where the old wizards under 
 took, by their spells and incantations, to consult 
 the invisible powers in the matter. I asked Wau- 
 woonemeen if she knew how they did practise on 
 the occasion ; whereupon she said that none but 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 147 
 
 men were allowed to be in the wigwam, but that 
 she could hear the beating of sticks on the ground, 
 and the groans and howlings and dismal mutterings 
 of the Powahs, and that she, with another young 
 woman, venturing to peep through a hole in the 
 back of the wigwam, saw a great many people sit 
 ting on the ground, and the two Powahs before the 
 fire, jumping and smiting their breasts, and rolling 
 their eyes very frightfully. 
 
 " But what came of it ? " asked Rebecca. " Did 
 the Evil Spirit whom they thus called upon testify 
 against himself, by telling who were his instruments 
 in mischief?" 
 
 The girl said she had never heard of any discov 
 ery of the poisoners, if indeed there were such. 
 She told us, moreover, that many of the best people 
 in the tribe would have no part in the business, 
 counting it sinful ; and that the chief actors were 
 much censured by the ministers, and so ashamed 
 of it that they drove the Powahs out of the village, 
 the women and boys chasing them and beating 
 them with sticks and frozen snow, so that they had 
 to take to the woods in a sorry plight. 
 
 We gave the girl some small trinkets, and a fair 
 piece of cloth for an apron, whereat she was great 
 ly pleased. We were all charmed with her good 
 parts, sweetness of countenance, and discourse and 
 ready wit, being satisfied thereby that Nature know- 
 eth no difference between Europe and America in 
 blood, birth, and bodies, as we read in Acts 1 7 that 
 God hath made of one blood all mankind. I was 
 
148 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 specially minded of a saying of that ingenious but 
 schismatic man, Mr. Roger Williams, in the little 
 book which he put forth in England on the Indian 
 tomgue : 
 
 " Boast not, proud English, of thy birth and blood, 
 Thy brother Indian is by birth as good ; 
 Of one blood God made him and thee and all, 
 As wise, as fair, as strong, as personal. 
 By nature wrath s his portion, thine, no more, 
 Till grace his soul and thine in Christ restore. 
 Make sure thy second birth,*else thou shalt see 
 Heaven ope to Indians wild, but shut to thee ! " 
 
 March I5th. 
 
 One Master O Shane, an Irish scholar, of whom 
 my cousins here did learn the Latin tongue, com 
 ing in last evening, and finding Rebecca and I 
 alone, (uncle and aunt being on a visit to Mr. At 
 kinson s) was exceeding merry, entertaining us 
 rarely with his stories and songs. Rebecca tells 
 me he is a learned man, as I can well believe, but 
 that he is too fond of strong drink for his good, 
 having thereby lost the favor of many of the first 
 families here, who did formerly employ him. There 
 was one ballad, which he saith is of his own mak 
 ing, concerning the selling of the daughter of a 
 great Irish lord as a slave in this land, which great 
 ly pleased me ; and on my asking for a copy of it, 
 he brought it to me this morning, in a fair hand. 
 I copy it in my Journal, as I know that Oliver, 
 who is curious in such things, will like it. 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 149 
 
 KATHLEEN. 
 
 O Norah ! lay your basket down, 
 
 And rest your weary hand, 
 And come and hear me sing a song 
 
 Of our Old Ireland. 
 
 There was a lord of Galaway, 
 
 A mighty lord was he, 
 And he did wed a second wife, 
 
 A maid of low degree. 
 
 But he was old, and she was young, 
 
 And so in evil spite, 
 She baked the black bread for his kin, 
 
 And fed her own with white. 
 
 She whipped the maids, and starved the kern, 
 
 And drove away the poor ; 
 " Ah, woe is me ! " the old lord said, 
 
 " I rue my bargain sore ! " 
 
 This lord he had a daughter fair, 
 
 Beloved of old and young, 
 And nightly round the shealing fires 
 
 Of her the gleeman sung. 
 
 " As sweet and good is young Kathleen 
 
 As Eve before her fall " ; 
 So sang the harper at the fair, 
 
 So harped he in the hall. 
 
 " O come to me, my daughter dear ! 
 
 Come sit upon my knee, 
 For looking in your face, Kathleen, 
 
 Your mother s own I see ! " 
 
 He smoothed and smoothed her hair away, 
 
 He kissed her forehead fair : 
 " It is my darling Mary s brow, 
 
 It is my darling s hair ! " 
 
150 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 O then spake up the angry dame, 
 
 " Get up, get up," quoth she, 
 " I 11 sell ye over Ireland, 
 
 I 11 sell ye o er the sea ! " 
 
 She clipped her glossy hair away, 
 That none her rank might know, 
 
 She took away her gown of silk 
 And gave her one of tow, 
 
 And sent her down to Limerick town 
 
 And to a captain sold 
 This daughter of an Irish lord 
 
 For ten good pounds in gold. 
 
 The lord he smote upon his breast, 
 
 And tore his beard so gray ; 
 But he was old, and she was young, 
 
 And so she had her way. 
 
 Sure that same night the Banshee howled 
 
 To fright the evil dame, 
 And fairy folks, who loved Kathleen, 
 
 With funeral torches came. 
 
 She watched them glancing through the trees, 
 And glimmering down the hill ; 
 
 They crept before the dead-vault door, 
 And there they all stood still ! 
 
 " Get up, old man ! the wake-lights shine ! " 
 " Ye murthering witch," quoth he ; 
 
 " So I m rid of your tongue, I little care 
 If they shine for you or me. 
 
 " O whoso brings my daughter back, 
 My gold and land shall have ! " 
 
 O then spake up his handsome page, 
 " No gold nor land I crave ! 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 151 
 
 " But give to me your daughter dear, 
 
 And by the Holy Tree, 
 Be she on sea or on the land, 
 
 I 11 bring her back to thee." 
 
 " My daughter is a lady born, 
 
 And you of low degree, 
 But she shall be your bride the day 
 
 Ye bring her back to me." 
 
 He sailed east, he sailed west, 
 
 And north and south sailed he, 
 Until he came to Boston town, 
 
 Across the great salt sea. 
 
 " O have ye seen the young Kathleen, 
 
 The flower of Ireland ? 
 Ye 11 know her by her eyes so blue, 
 
 And by her snow-white hand ! " 
 
 Out spake an ancient man, " I know 
 
 The maiden whom ye mean ; 
 I bought her of a Limerick man, 
 
 And she is called Kathleen. 
 
 " No skill hath she in household work, 
 
 Her hands are soft and white, 
 Yet well by loving looks and ways 
 
 She doth her cost requite." 
 
 So up they walked through Boston town, 
 
 And met a maiden fair, 
 A little basket on her arm, 
 
 So snowy- white and bare. 
 
 " Come hither child, and say hast thou 
 
 This young man ever seen ? " 
 They wept within each other s arms, 
 
 The page and young Kathleen. 
 
152 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 " O give to me this darling child, 
 
 And take my purse of gold " : 
 " Nay, not by me," her master said, 
 
 " Shall sweet Kathleen be sold. 
 
 " We loved her in the place of one 
 
 The Lord hath early ta en ; 
 But since her heart s in Ireland, 
 
 We give her back again ! " 
 
 O for that same the saints in heaven 
 
 For his poor soul shall pray, 
 And Holy Mother wash with tears 
 
 His heresies away. 
 
 Sure now they dwell in Ireland, 
 
 As you go up Claremore 
 Ye 11 see their castle looking down 
 
 The pleasant Gal way shore. 
 
 And the old lord s wife is dead and gone, 
 
 And a happy man is he, 
 For he sits beside his own Kathleen, 
 
 With her darling on his knee. 
 
 March 27, 1697. 
 
 Spent the afternoon and evening yesterday at 
 Mr. Mather s, with uncle and aunt, Rebecca and 
 Sir Thomas, and Mr. Torrey of Weymouth, and his 
 wife ; Mr. Thacher, the minister of the South 
 Meeting, and Major Simon Willard of Concord, 
 being present also. There was much discourse of 
 certain Antinomians, whose loose and scandalous 
 teachings in respect to works were strongly con 
 demned, although Mr. Thacher thought there might 
 be danger, on the other hand, of falling into the 
 
Margaret Smittts Journal. 153 
 
 error of the Socinians, who lay such stress upon 
 works, that they do not scruple to undervalue and 
 make light of faith. Mr. Torrey told of some of 
 the Antinomians, who, being guilty of scandalous 
 sins, did nevertheless justify themselves, and plead 
 that they were no longer under the law. Sir 
 Thomas drew Rebecca and I into a corner of the 
 room, saying he was a-weary of so much disputa 
 tion, and began relating somewhat which befell him 
 in a late visit to the New Haven people. Among 
 other things, he told us that while he was there, a 
 maid of nineteen years was put upon trial for her 
 life, by complaint of her parents of disobedience 
 of their commands, and reviling them; that at 
 first the mother of the girl did seem to testify 
 strongly against her ; but when she had spoken a 
 few words, the accused crying out with a bitter 
 lamentation, that she should be destroyed in her 
 youth by the words of her own mother, the woman 
 did so soften her testimony that the Court, being 
 in doubt upon the matter, had a consultation with 
 the ministers present, as to whether the accused 
 girl had made herself justly liable to the punish 
 ment prescribed for stubborn and rebellious chil 
 dren in Deut xxi. 20, 21. It was thought that this 
 law did apply specially unto a rebellious son, ac 
 cording to the words of the text, and that a daugh 
 ter could not be put to death under it ; to which 
 the Court did assent, and the girl, after being ad 
 monished, was set free. Thereupon, Sir Thomas 
 told us, she ran sobbing into the arms of her moth- 
 7* 
 
154 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 er, who did rejoice over her as one raised from the 
 dead, and did moreover mightily blame herself for 
 putting her in so great peril, by complaining of her 
 disobedience to the magistrates. 
 
 Major Willard, a pleasant, talkative man, being 
 asked by Mr. Thacher some questions pertaining 
 to his journey into the New Hampshire, in the year 
 52, with the learned and pious Mr. Edward John 
 son, in obedience to an order of the General Court, 
 for the finding the northernmost part of the river 
 Merrimack, gave us a little history of the same, some 
 parts of which I deemed noteworthy. The com 
 pany, consisting of the two commissioners, and two 
 surveyors, and some Indians, as guides and hunt 
 ers, started from Concord about the middle of 
 July, and followed the river on which Concord lies, 
 until they came to the great Falls of the Merrimack, 
 at Patucket, where they were kindly entertained 
 at the wigwam of a chief Indian who dwelt there. 
 They then went on to the Falls of the Amoskeag, a 
 famous place of resort for the Indians, and en 
 camped at the foot of a mountain, under the shade 
 of some great trees, where they spent the next day, 
 it being the Sabbath. Mr. Johnson read a portion 
 of the Word, and a psalm was sung, the Indians 
 sitting on the ground a little way off, in a very rev 
 erential manner. They then went to Annahook- 
 line, where were some Indian cornfields, and thence 
 over a wild, hilly country, to the head of the Mer 
 rimack, at a place called by the Indians Aquedah- 
 can, where they took an observation of the latitude, 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 155 
 
 and set their names upon a great rock, with that of 
 the worshipful Governor, John Endicott. Here was 
 the great Lake Winnepiseogee, as large over as an 
 English county, with many islands upon it, very 
 green with trees and vines, and abounding with 
 squirrels and birds. They spent two days at the 
 lake s outlet, one of them the Sabbath, a wonder 
 fully still, quiet day of the midsummer. "/It is 
 strange," said the Major, " but so it is, that although 
 a quarter of a century hath passed over me since 
 that day, it is still very fresh and sweet in my mem 
 ory. Many times, in my musings, I seem to be 
 once more sitting under the beechen trees of Aque- 
 dahcan, with my three English friends, and I do 
 verily seem to see the Indians squatted on the lake 
 shore, round a fire, cooking their dishes, and the 
 smoke thereof curling about among the trees over 
 their heads ; and beyond them is the great lake and 
 the islands thereof, some big and others exceeding 
 small, and the mountains that do rise on the other 
 side, and whose woody tops show in the still water 
 as in a glass. And, withal, I do seem to have a 
 sense of the smell of flowers, which did abound 
 there, and of the strawberries with which the old In 
 dian cornfield near unto us was red, they being then 
 ripe and luscious to the taste. It seems, also, as 
 if I could hear the bark of my dog, and the chatter 
 of squirrels, and the songs of the birds, in the thick 
 woods behind us ; and, moreover, the voice of my 
 friend Johnson, as he did call to mind these words 
 of the 1 04th Psalm : "Bless the Lord, O my soul 7 
 
156 Margaret SmitJis Journal 
 
 who coverest thyself with light, as with a garment ; 
 who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain; who 
 layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters ; who 
 makcth the clouds his chariot ; and walkcth upon the 
 wings of the wind f" Ah me ! I shall never truly 
 hear that voice more, unless, through God s mercy, 
 I be permitted to join the saints of light in praise 
 and thanksgiving beside stiller waters and among 
 greener pastures than are those of Aquedahcan." 
 
 " He was a shining light, indeed," said Mr. 
 Mather, " and, in view of his loss and that of 
 other worthies in Church and State, we may well 
 say, as of old, Help, Lord, for the godly man 
 ccaseth I " 
 
 Major Willard said that the works of Mr. John 
 son did praise him, especially that monument of his 
 piety and learning, " The History of New Eng 
 land ; or, Wonder-Working Providence of Sion s 
 Saviour," wherein he did show himself in verse and 
 in prose a workman not to be ashamed. There 
 was a piece which Mr. Johnson writ upon birchen 
 bark at the head of the Merrimack, during the jour 
 ney of which he had spoken, which had never been 
 printed, but which did more deserve that honor 
 than much of the rhymes with which the land now 
 aboundeth. Mr. Mather said he had the piece of 
 bark then in his possession, on which Mr. John 
 son did write ; and, on our desiring to see it, 
 he brought it to us, and, as we could not well 
 make out the writing thereon, he read it as fol- 
 loweth : 
 
Margaret Smiths Journal i$? 
 
 This lonesome lake, like to a sea, among the mountains lies, 
 And like a glass doth show their shapes, and eke the clouds 
 
 and skies. 
 God lays his chambers beams therein, that all his power may 
 
 know, 
 And holdeth in his fist the winds, that else would mar the 
 
 show. 
 
 The Lord hath blest this wilderness with meadows, streams, 
 
 and springs, 
 
 And like a garden planted it with green and growing things. 
 And filled the woods with wholesome meats, and eke with 
 
 fowls the air, 
 And sown the land with flowers and herbs, and fruits of 
 
 savor rare. 
 
 But here the nations know him not, and come and go the 
 
 days, 
 
 Without a morning prayer to him, or evening song of praise ; 
 The heathen fish upon the lake, or hunt the woods for meat, 
 And like the brutes do give no thanks for wherewithal to eat. 
 
 They dance in shame and nakedness, with horrid yells to hear, 
 And like to dogs they make a noise, or screeching owls anear. 
 Each tribe, like Micah, doth its priest or cunning Powah keep, 
 Yea, wizards who, like them of old, do mutter and do peep. 
 
 A cursed and an evil race, whom Satan doth mislead, 
 
 And rob them of Christ s hope, whereby he makes them poor 
 
 indeed ; 
 
 They hold the waters and the hills, and clouds, and stars to be 
 Their gods ; for, lacking faith, they do believe but what they 
 
 see. 
 
 Yet God on them his sun and rain doth evermore bestow, 
 And ripens all their harvest-fields and pleasant fruits also. 
 For them he makes the deer and moose, for them the fishes 
 
 swim, 
 And all the fowls in woods and air are goodly gifts from hfin. 
 
I $8 Margaret Smith s Journal 
 
 Yea, more ; for them, as for ourselves, hath Christ a ransom 
 
 paid, 
 
 And on himself, their sins and ours, a common burden laid. 
 By nature, vessels of God s wrath, t is he alone can give 
 To English or to Indians wild the grace whereby we live. 
 
 O, let us pray that in these wilds the Gospel may be preached, 
 And these poor Gentiles of the woods may by its truth be 
 
 reached ; 
 That ransomed ones the tidings glad may sound with joy 
 
 abroad, 
 And lonesome Aquedahcan hear the praises of the Lord ! 
 
 March i8th. 
 
 My cough still troubling me, an ancient woman, 
 coming in yesterday, did so set forth the worth and 
 virtue of a sirup of her making, that Aunt Raw- 
 son sent Effie over to the woman s house for a bot 
 tle of it. The woman sat with us a pretty while, 
 being a lively talking body, although now wellnigh 
 fourscore years of age. She could tell many things 
 of the old people of Boston, for, having been in 
 youth the wife of a man of some note and sub 
 stance, and being herself a notable housewife, and 
 of good natural parts, she was well looked upon 
 by the better sort of people. After she became a 
 widow, she was for a little time in the family of Gov 
 ernor Endicott, at Naumkeag, whom she describeth 
 as a just and goodly man, but exceeding exact in 
 the ordering of his household, and of fiery temper 
 withal. When displeasured, he would pull hard at 
 the long tuft of hair which he wore upon his chin ; 
 ( and on one occasion, while sitting in the court, he 
 \ plucked off his velvet cap, and cast it in the face of 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 159 
 
 one of the assistants, who did profess conscientious 
 scruples against the putting to death of the Quakers. 
 
 " I have heard say his hand was heavy upon 
 these people," I said. 
 
 "And well it might be," said the old woman, 
 "for more pestilent and provoking strollers and 
 ranters you shall never find than these same Quak 
 ers. They were such a sore trouble to the Gover 
 nor, that I do believe his days were shortened by 
 reason of them. For, neither the jail, nor whip 
 ping, nor cropping of ears, did suffice to rid him of 
 them. At last, when a law was made by the Gen 
 eral Court, banishing them on pain of death, the Gov 
 ernor, coming home from Boston, said that he now 
 hoped to have peace in the Colony, and that this 
 sharpness would keep the land free from these troub- 
 lers. I remember it well, how the next day he did 
 invite the ministers and chief men, and in what a 
 pleasant frame he was. In the morning I had 
 mended his best velvet breeches for him, and he 
 praised my work not a little, and gave me six shil 
 lings over and above my wages ; and, says he to 
 me : Goody Lake, says he, you are a worthy 
 woman, and do feel concerned for the good of 
 Zion, and the orderly carrying of matters in Church 
 and State, and hence I know you will be glad to 
 hear that, after much ado, and in spite of the striv 
 ings of evil-disposed people, the General Court 
 have agreed upon a law for driving the Quakers out 
 of the jurisdiction, on pain of death ; so that, if any 
 come after this, their blood be upon their own 
 
160 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 heads. It is what I have wrestled with the Lord 
 for this many a month, and I do count it a great 
 deliverance, and special favor ; yea, I may truly 
 say, with David ; " Thou hast given me my heart s 
 desire, and hast not with/widen the prayer of my lips. 
 Thy hand shall find out all thine enemies; thou shaft 
 make them as a fiery oven in the time of thine anger ; 
 the Lord shall swallow them up in his wrath, and 
 the fire shall deiwir them." You will find these 
 words, Goody Lake, says he, in the 2ist Psalm, 
 where what is said of the King will serve for such 
 as be in authority at this time. For you must 
 know, young woman, that the Governor was mighty 
 in Scripture, more especially in his prayers, when 
 you could think that he had it all at his tongue s 
 end. 
 
 " There was a famous dinner at the Governor s 
 that day, and many guests, and the Governor had 
 ordered from his cellar some wine, which was a gift 
 from a Portuguese captain, and of rare quality, as 
 I know of mine own tasting, when word was sent 
 to the Governor that a man wished to see him, 
 whom he bid wait awhfle. After dinner was over, 
 he went into the hall, and who should be there but 
 Wharton, the Quaker, who, without pulling off his 
 hat, o>r other salutation, cried out : John Endicott, 
 hearken to the word of the Lord, in whose fear 
 and dread I am come. Thou, and thy evil coun 
 sellors, the priests, have framed iniquity by law, but 
 it shall not avail you. Thus saith the Lord, Evil 
 shall slay the wicked, and they that hate ths righteous 
 
Margaret Smitlis Journal. 161 
 
 shall be desolate ! Now, when the Governor did 
 hear this, he fell, as must needs be, into a rage, 
 and, seeing me by the door, he bade me call the 
 servants from the kitchen, which I did, and they 
 running up, he bade them lay hands on the fellow, 
 and take him away ; and then, in a great passion, 
 he called for his horse, saying he would not rest 
 until he had seen forty stripes save one laid upon 
 that cursed Quaker, and that he should go to the 
 gallows yet for his sauciness. So they had him to 
 jail, and the next morning he was soundly whipped, 
 and ordered to depart the jurisdiction." 
 
 I, being curious to know more concerning the 
 Quakers, asked her if she did ever talk with any of 
 them who were dealt with by the authorities, and 
 what they said for themselves. 
 
 " O they never lacked words," said she, " but 
 cried out for liberty of conscience, and against per 
 secution, and prophesied all manner of evil upon 
 such as did put in force the law. Sometime about 
 the year 56, there did come two women of them 
 to Boston, and brought with them certain of their 
 blasphemous books, which the constables burnt in 
 the street, as I well remember by this token, that, 
 going near the fire, and seeing one of the books 
 not yet burnt, I stooped to pick it up, when one of 
 the constables gave me a smart rap with his staff, 
 and snatched it away. The women being sent to 
 the jail, the Deputy-Governor, Mr. Bellingham, and 
 ;the Council, thinking they might be witches, were 
 >r having them searched ; and Madame Belling- 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
1 62 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 ham naming me and another woman to her hus 
 band, he sent for us, and bade us go to the jail and 
 search them, to see if there was any witch-mark on 
 their bodies. So we went, and told them our er 
 rand, at which they marvelled not a little, and one 
 of them, a young, well-favored woman, did entreat 
 that they might not be put to such shame, for the 
 jailer stood all the time in the yard, looking in at 
 the door ; but we told them such was the order, and 
 so, without more ado, stripped them of their clothes, 
 but found nothing save a mole on the left breast of 
 the younger, into which Goodwife Page thrust her 
 needle, at which the woman did give a cry as of 
 pain, and the blood flowed ; whereas, if it had been 
 a witch s mark, she would not have felt the prick, 
 nor would it have caused blood. So, finding noth 
 ing that did look like witchcraft, we left them ; and 
 on being brought before the Court, Deputy-Gover 
 nor Bellingham asked us what we had to say con 
 cerning the women. Whereupon Goodwife Page, 
 being the oldest of us, told him that we did find no 
 appearance of witches upon their bodies, save the 
 mole on the younger woman s breast, (which was 
 but natural,) but that otherwise she was fair as 
 Absalom, who had no blemish from the soles of his 
 feet to the crown of his head. Thereupon the 
 Deputy-Governor dismissed us, saying that it might 
 be that the Devil did not want them for witches, 
 because they could better serve him as Quakers ; 
 whereat all the Court fell to laughing." 
 
 " And what did become of the women ? " I asked. 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 163 
 
 " They kept them in jail awhile," said Nurse 
 Lake, " and then sent them back to England. But 
 the others that followed fared harder, some get 
 ting whipped at the cart-tail, and others losing their 
 ears. The hangman s wife showed me once the 
 ears of three of them, which her husband cut off in 
 the jail that very morning." 
 
 " This is dreadful ! " said I, for I thought of my 
 dear brother and sweet Margaret Brewster, and 
 tears filled mine eyes. 
 
 " Nay ; but they were sturdy knaves and vaga 
 bonds," answered Nurse Lake, " although one of 
 them was the son of a great officer in the Barba- 
 does, and accounted a gentleman before he did run 
 out into his evil practices. But cropping of ears 
 did not stop these headstrong people, and they still 
 coming, some were put to death. There were 
 three of them to be hanged at one time. I do re 
 member it well, for it was a clear warm day about 
 the last of October, and it was a brave sight to be 
 hold. There was Marshall Michelson, and Cap 
 tain Oliver, with two hundred soldiers afoot, be 
 sides many on horse of our chief people, and 
 among them the minister, Mr. Wilson, looking like 
 a saint as he was, with a pleasant and joyful coun 
 tenance, and a great multitude of people, men, 
 women, and children, not only of Boston, but from 
 the towns round about I got early on to the ground, 
 and when they were going to the gallows I kept as 
 near to the condemned ones as I could. There 
 were two young, well-favored men, and a woman 
 
164 Margaret Smit/is journal. 
 
 with gray hairs. As they walked hand in hand, the 
 woman in the middle, the Marshall, who was riding 
 beside them, and who was a merry drolling man, 
 asked her if she was n t ashamed to walk hand in 
 hand between two young men ; whereupon, look 
 ing upon him solemnly, she said she was not 
 ashamed, for this was to her an hour of great joy, 
 and that no eye could see, no ear hear, no tongue 
 speak, and no heart understand, the sweet incomes 
 and refreshings of the Lord s spirit, which she did 
 then feel. This she spake aloud, so that all about 
 could hear, whereat Captain Oliver bid the drums 
 to beat and drown her voice. Now, when they did 
 come to the gallows ladder, on each side of which 
 the officers and chief people stood, the two men 
 kept on their hats, as is the ill manner of their sort, 
 which so provoked Mr. Wilson, the minister, that 
 he cried out to them : * What ! shall such Jacks as 
 you come before authority with your hats on ? To 
 which one of them said : Mind you, it is for not 
 putting off our hats that we are put to death. The 
 two men then went up the ladder, and tried to 
 speak ; but I could not catch a word, being outside 
 of the soldiers, and much fretted and worried by 
 the crowd. They were presently turned off, and 
 then the woman went up the ladder, and they tied 
 her coats down to her feet, and put the halter on 
 her neck, and, lacking a handkerchief to tie over 
 her face, the minister lent the hangman his. Just 
 then your Uncle Rawson comes a-riding up to the 
 gallows, waving his hand, and crying out, Stop ! 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 165 
 
 she is reprieved ! So they took her down, al 
 though she said she was ready to die as her breth 
 ren did, unless they would undo their bloody laws. 
 I heard Captain Oliver tell her it was for her sen s 
 sake that she was spared. So they took her to jail, 
 and after a time sent her back to her husband in 
 Rhode Island, which was a favor she did in no wise 
 deserve ; but good Governor Endicott, much as he 
 did abhor these people, sought not their lives, and 
 spared no pains to get them peaceably out the 
 country ; but they were a stubborn crew, and must 
 needs run their necks into the halter, as did this 
 same woman ; for, coming back again, under pre 
 tence of pleading for the repeal of the laws against 
 Quakers, she was not long after put to death. The 
 excellent Mr. Wilson made a brave ballad on the 
 hanging, which I have heard the boys in the street 
 sing many a time. 
 
 " A great number, both men and women, were 
 whipped and put in the stocks," continued the 
 woman, " and I once beheld two of them, one a 
 young, and the other an aged woman, in a cold day 
 in winter, tied to the tail of a cart, going through 
 Salem Street, stripped to their waists as naked as 
 they were born, and their backs all covered with 
 red whip-marks ; but there was a more pitiful case 
 of one Hored Gardner, a young married woman, 
 with a little child and her nurse, who, coming to 
 Weymouth, was laid hold of and sent to Boston, 
 where both were whipped, and, as I was often at 
 the jail to see the keeper s wife, it so chanced that 
 
1 66 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 I was there at the time. The woman, who was 
 young and delicate, when they were stripping her, 
 held her little child in her arms; and when the 
 jailer plucked it from her bosom, she looked round 
 anxiously, and, seeing me, said, Good woman, I 
 know thou It have pity on the babe, and asked me 
 to hold it, which I did. She was then whipped 
 with a threefold whip, with knots in the ends, which 
 did tear sadly into her flesh ; and, after it was over, 
 she kneeled down, with her back all bleeding, and 
 prayed for them she called her persecutors. I 
 must say I did greatly pity her, and I spoke to the 
 jailer s wife, and we washed the poor creature s 
 back, and put on it some famous ointment, so that 
 she soon got healed." 
 
 Aunt Rawson now coming in, the matter was 
 dropped ; but, on my speaking to her of it after 
 Nurse Lake had left, she said it was a sore trial 
 to many, even those in authority, and who were 
 charged with the putting in force of the laws against 
 these people. She furthermore said, that Uncle 
 Rawson and Mr. Broadstreet were much cried out 
 against by the Quakers and their abettors on both 
 sides of the water, but they did but their duty in 
 the matter, and for herself she had always mourned 
 over the coming of these people, and was glad 
 when the Court did set any of them free. When 
 the woman was hanged, my aunt spent the whole 
 day with Madam Broadstreet, who was so wrought 
 upon that she was fain to take to her bed, refusing 
 to be comforted, and counting it the heaviest day 
 of her life. 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 167 
 
 " Looking out of her chamber window," said 
 Aunt Rawson, " I saw the people who had been to 
 the hanging coming back from the training-field ; 
 and when Anne Broadstreet did hear the sound of 
 their feet in the road, she groaned, and said that it 
 did seem as if every foot fell upon her heart. Pres 
 ently Mr. Broadstreet came home, bringing with 
 him the minister, Mr. John Norton. They sat 
 down in the chamber, and for some little time 
 there was scarce a word spoken. At length Mad 
 am Broadstreet, turning to her husband, and laying 
 her hand on his arm, as was her loving manner, 
 asked him if it was indeed all over. The woman 
 is dead/ said he ; but I marvel, Anne, to see you 
 so troubled about her. Her blood is upon her own 
 head, for we did by no means seek her life. She 
 hath trodden under foot our laws, and misused our 
 great forbearance, so that we could do no otherwise 
 than we have done. So under the Devil s delusion 
 was she, that she wanted no minister or elder to 
 pray with her at the gallows, but seemed to think 
 herself sure of heaven, heeding in no wise the 
 warnings of Mr. Norton, and other godly people. 
 ( Did she rail at, or cry out against, any ? asked his 
 wife. Nay, not to my hearing/ he said, but she 
 carried herself as one who had done no harm, and 
 who verily believed that she had obeyed the Lord s 
 will. 
 
 " This is very dreadful/ said she, and I pray 
 that the death of that poor misled creature may 
 not rest heavy upon us. 
 
1 68 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 " Hereupon Mr. Norton lifted up his head, which 
 had been bowed down upon his hand ; and I shall 
 never forget how his pale and sharp features did 
 seem paler than their wont, and his solemn voice 
 seemed deeper and sadder. 
 
 " Madam ! he said, it may well befit your 
 gentleness and sweetness of heart to grieve over 
 the sufferings even of the froward and ungodly, 
 when they be cut off from the congregation of the 
 Lord, as his holy and just law enjoineth, for verily 
 I also could weep for the condemned one, as a 
 woman and a mother ; and, since her coming, I 
 have wrestled with the Lord, in prayer and fasting, 
 that I might be his instrument in snatching her as 
 a brand from the burning. But, as a watchman on 
 the walls of Zion, when I did see her casting poi 
 son into the wells of life, and enticing unstable souls 
 into the snares and pitfalls of Satan, what should 
 I do but sound an alarm against her? And the 
 magistrate, such as your worthy husband, who is 
 also appointed of God, and set for the defence of the 
 truth, and the safety of the Church and the State, 
 what can he do but faithfully to execute the law of 
 God, which is a terror to evil doers ? The natural 
 pity which we feel must give place unto the duty we 
 do severally owe to God and his Church, and the gov 
 ernment of his appointment. It is a small matter 
 to be judged of man s judgment, for, though cer 
 tain people have not scrupled to call me cruel and 
 hard of heart, yet the Lord knows I have wept in 
 secret places over these misguided men and women. 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal 169 
 
 " But might not life be spared ? asked Madam 
 Broadstreet. Death is a great thing. 
 
 " It is appointed unto all to die/ said Mr. Nor 
 ton, and after death cometh the judgment. The 
 death of these poor bodies is a bitter thing, but the <? 
 death of the soul is far more dreadful ; and it is t 
 better that these people should suffer, than that \ 
 hundreds of precious souls should be lost through 
 their evil communication. The care of the dear 
 souls of my flock lieth heavily upon me, as many 
 sleepless nights and days of fasting do bear wit 
 ness. I have not taken counsel of flesh and blood 
 in this grave matter, nor yielded unto the natural 
 weakness of my heart. And while some were for 
 sparing these workers of iniquity, even as Saul 
 spared Agag, I have been strengthened, as it were, 
 to hew them in pieces before the Lord in Gilgal. 
 O, madam, your honored husband can tell you what 
 travail of spirit, what sore trials, these disturbers 
 have cost us ; and as you do know in his case, so 
 believe also in mine, that what we have done hath 
 been urged, not by hardness and cruelty of heart, 
 but rather by our love and tenderness towards the 
 Lord s heritage in this land. Through care and sor- 
 sow I have grown old before my time ; few and 
 evil have been the days of my pilgrimage, and the 
 end seems not far of; and though I have many sins 
 and shortcomings to answer for, I do humbly trust 
 that the blood of the souls of the flock committed 
 to me will not then be found upon my garments. 
 
 " Ah, me ! I shall never forget these words of 
 
 VOL. i. 8 
 
I/O Margaret SmitHs Journal. 
 
 that godly man," continued my aunt, " for, as he 
 said, his end was not far off. He died very sud 
 denly, and the Quakers did not scruple to say that 
 it was God s judgment upon him for his severe 
 dealing with their people. They even go so far as 
 to say that the land about Boston is cursed because 
 of the hangings and whippings, inasmuch as wheat 
 will not now grow here, as it did formerly, and, in 
 deed, many, not of their way, do believe the same 
 thing." 
 
 April 24th. 
 
 A vessel from London has just come to port, 
 bringing Rebecca s dresses for the wedding, which 
 will take place about the middle of June, as I hear. 
 Uncle Rawson has brought me a long letter from 
 Aunt Grindall, with one also from Oliver, pleasant 
 and lively, like himself. No special news from 
 abroad that I hear of. My heart longs for Old 
 England more and more. 
 
 It is supposed that the freeholders have chosen 
 Mr. Broadstreet for their Governor. The vote, 
 uncle says, is exceeding small, very few people 
 troubling themselves about it. 
 
 May 2d. 
 
 Mr. John Easton, a man of some note in the 
 Providence Plantations, having occasion to visit 
 Boston yesterday, brought me a message from my 
 brother, to the effect that he was now married and 
 settled, and did greatly desire me to make the 
 
Margaret Smittis Journal. 171 
 
 journey to his house in the company of his friend, 
 John Easton, and his wife s sister. I feared to 
 break the matter to my uncle, but Rebecca hath 
 done so for me, and he hath, to my great joy, con 
 sented thereto ; for, indeed, he refuseth nothing to 
 her. My aunt fears for me, that I shall suffer from 
 the cold, as the weather is by no means settled, al 
 though the season is forward, as compared with the 
 last ; but I shall take good care as to clothing ; 
 and John Easton saith we shall be but two nights 
 on the way. 
 
 THE PLANTATIONS, May loth, 1679. 
 We left Boston on the 4th, at about sunrise, and 
 rode on at a brisk trot, until we came to the banks 
 of the river, along which we went near a mile before 
 we found a suitable ford, and even there the water 
 was so deep that we only did escape a wetting by 
 drawing our feet up to the saddle-trees. About noon, 
 we stopped at a farmer s house, in the hope of get 
 ting a dinner ; but the room was dirty as an Indian 
 wigwam, with two children in it, sick with the 
 measles, and the woman herself in a poor way, and 
 we were glad to leave as soon as possible, and get 
 into the fresh air again. Aunt had provided me 
 with some cakes, and Mr. Easton, who is an old 
 traveller, had with him a roasted fowl, and a good 
 loaf of Indian bread ; so, coming to a spring of ex 
 cellent water, we got off our horses, and, spreading 
 our napkins on the grass and dry leaves, had a 
 
172 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 comfortable dinner. John s sister is a widow, a 
 lively, merry woman, and proved rare company for 
 me. Afterwards we rode until the sun was nigh 
 setting, when we came to a little hut on the shore 
 of a broad lake at a place called Massapog. It 
 had been dwelt in by a w r hite family formerly, but 
 it was now empty, and much decayed in the roof, 
 and as we did ride up to it we saw a wild animal 
 of some sort leap out of one of its windows, and 
 run into the pines. Here Mr. Easton said we 
 must make shift to tarry through the night, as it 
 was many miles to the house of a white man. So, 
 getting off our horses, w r e went into the hut, which 
 had but one room, with loose boards for a floor ; 
 and as we sat there in the twilight, it looked dismal 
 enough ; but presently Mr. Easton coming in with 
 a great load of dried boughs, struck a light in the 
 stone fireplace, and we soon had a roaring fire. 
 His sister broke off some hemlock boughs near the 
 door, and made a broom of them, with which she 
 swept up the floor, so that when we sat down on 
 blocks by the hearth, eating our poor supper, w r e 
 thought ourselves quite comfortable and tidy. It 
 was a wonderful clear night, the moon rising, as we 
 judged, about eight of the clock, over the tops of 
 the hills on the easterly side of the lake, and shin 
 ing brightly on the water in a long line of light, as 
 if a silver bridge had been laid across it. Looking 
 out into the forest, we could see the beams of the 
 moon, falling here and there through the thick tops 
 of the pines and hemlocks, and showing their tall 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 173 
 
 trunks, like to so many pillars in a church or temple. 
 There was a westerly wind blowing, not steadily, 
 but in long gusts, which, sounding from a great dis 
 tance through the pine leaves, did make a solemn 
 and not unpleasing music, to which I listened at 
 the door until the cold drove me in for shelter. 
 Our horses having been fed with corn, which Mr. 
 Easton took with him, were tied at the back of the 
 building, under the cover of a thick growth of hem 
 locks, which served to break off the night wind. 
 The widow and I had a comfortable bed in the cor 
 ner of the room, which we made of small hemlock 
 sprigs, having our cloaks to cover us, and our sad 
 dle-bags for pillows. My companions were soon 
 asleep, but the exceeding strangeness of my situa 
 tion did keep me a long time awake. For, as I lay 
 there looking upward, I could see the stars shining 
 down a great hole in the roof, and the moonlight 
 streaming through the seams of the logs, and min 
 gling with the red glow of the coals on the hearth. 
 I could hear the horses stamping, just outside, and 
 the sound of the water on the lake shore, the cry 
 of wild animals in the depth of the woods, and, 
 over all, the long and very wonderful murmur of 
 the pines in the wind. At last, being sore weary, 
 I fell asleep, and waked not until I felt the warm 
 sun shining in my face, and heard the voice of Mr. 
 Easton bidding me rise, as the horses were ready. 
 
 After riding about two hours we came upoa an 
 Indian camp, in the midst of a thick wood of ma- 
 oles. Here were six spacious wigwams ; but the 
 
174 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 men were away, except two very old and infirm 
 ones. There were five or six women, and perhaps 
 twice as many children, who all came out to see 
 us. They brought us some dried meat, as hard 
 nigh upon as chips of wood, and which, although 
 hungry, I could feel no stomach for ; but I bought 
 of one of the squaws two great cakes of sugar, 
 made from the sap of the maples which abound 
 there, very pure and sweet, and which served 
 me instead of their unsavory meat and cakes of 
 pounded corn, of which Mr. Easton and his sis 
 ter did not scruple to partake. Leaving them, we 
 had a long and hard ride to a place called Winni- 
 cinnit, where, to my great joy, we found a comfort 
 able house and Christian people, with whom we 
 tarried. The next day we got to the Plantations ; 
 and about noon, from the top of a hill, Mr. Easton 
 pointed out the settlement where my brother dwelt, 
 a fair, pleasant valley, through which ran a small 
 river, with the houses of the planters on either side. 
 Shortly after, we came to a new frame house, with a 
 great oak tree left standing on each side of the 
 gate, and a broad meadow before it, stretching 
 down to the water. Here Mr. Easton stopped ; 
 and now, who should come hastening down to us 
 but my new sister, Margaret, in her plain but come 
 ly dress, kindly welcoming me ; and soon my brother 
 came up from the meadow, where he was busy with 
 his men. It was indeed a joyful meeting. 
 
 The next day, being the Sabbath, I went with 
 my brother and his wife to the meeting, which was 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 175 
 
 held in a large house of one of their Quaker neigh 
 bors. About a score of grave, decent people did 
 meet there, sitting still and quiet for a pretty while, 
 when one of their number, a venerable man, spake 
 a few words, mostly Scripture ; then a young wo 
 man, who, I did afterwards learn, had been hardly 
 treated by the Plymouth people, did offer a few 
 words of encouragement and exhortation from this 
 portion of the 34th Psalm : " The Angel of the 
 Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and 
 delivereth them" When the meeting was over, 
 some of the ancient women came and spake kindly 
 to me, inviting me to their houses. In the evening 
 certain of these people came to my brother s, and 
 were kind and loving towards me. There was, 
 nevertheless, a gravity and a certain staidness of 
 deportment which I could but ill conform unto, and 
 I was not sorry when they took leave. My Uncle 
 Rawson need not fear my joining with them; for, 
 although I do judge them to be a worthy and pious 
 people, I like not their manner of worship, and 
 their great gravity and soberness do little accord 
 with my natural temper and spirits. 
 
 May 1 6th. 
 
 This place is in what is called the Narraganset 
 country, and about twenty miles from Mr. Wil- 
 liams s town of Providence, a place of no small 
 note. Mr. Williams, who is now an aged man, 
 more than fourscore, was the founder of the Prov 
 ince, and is held in great esteem by the people, 
 
1/6 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 who be of all sects and persuasions, as the Govern 
 ment doth not molest any in worshipping accord 
 ing to conscience ; and hence you will see in the 
 same neighborhood Anabaptists, Quakers, New 
 Lights, Brownists, Antinomians, and Socinians, 
 nay, I am told there be Papists also. Mr. Williams 
 is a Baptist, and holdeth mainly with Calvin and 
 Beza, as respects the decrees, and hath been a bit 
 ter reviler of the Quakers, although he hath oft- 
 times sheltered them from the rigor of the Massa 
 chusetts Bay Magistrates, who he saith have no 
 warrant to deal in matters of conscience and re 
 ligion, as they have done. 
 
 Yesterday came the Goyernor of the Rhode 
 Island, Nicholas Easton, the father of John, with 
 his youngest daughter Mary, as fair and as lady 
 like a person as I have seen for many a day. Both 
 her father and herself do meet with the " Friends," 
 as they call themselves, at their great house on the 
 Island, and the Governor sometimes speaks there 
 in, having, as one of the elders here saith of him, 
 " a pretty gift in the ministry." Mary, who is 
 about the age of my brother s wife, would fain per 
 suade us to go back with them on the morrow to 
 the Island, but Leonard s business will not allow 
 it, and I would by no means lose his company 
 while I tarry in these parts, as I am so soon to de 
 part for home, where a great ocean will separate us, 
 it may be for many years. Margaret, who hath 
 been to the Island, saith that the Governor s house 
 is open to all new-comers, who are there enter- 
 
Margaret Smith s JotirnaL 177 
 
 tained with rare courtesy, he being a man of sub 
 stance, having a great plantation, with orchards and 
 gardens, and a stately house on an hill overlooking 
 the sea on either hand, where, six years ago, when 
 the famous George Fox was on the Island, he did 
 entertain and lodge no less than fourscore persons, 
 beside his own family and servants. 
 
 Governor Easton, who is a pleasant talker, told a / 
 story of a magistrate who had been a great perse 
 cutor of his people. On one occasion, after he 
 had cast a worthy Friend into jail, he dreamed a 
 dream in this wise : He thought he was in a fair, 
 delightsome place, where were sweet springs of 
 water and green meadows, and rare fruit-trees and 
 vines with ripe clusters thereon, and in the midst 
 thereof flowed a river whose waters were clearer 
 than crystal. Moreover, he did behold a great 
 multitude walking on the river s bank, or skting 
 lovingly in the shade of the trees which grew there 
 by. Now, while he stood marvelling at all this, he 
 beheld in his dream the man he had cast into pris- / 
 on sitting with his hat on, side by side with a min- , 
 ister then dead, whom the magistrate had held in 
 great esteem while living ; whereat, feeling his an 
 ger stirred within him, he went straight and bade 
 the man take off his hat in the presence of his bet 
 ters. Howbeit the twain did give no heed to his 
 words, but did continue to talk lovingly together as 
 before ; whereupon he waxed exceeding wroth, and 
 would have laid hands upon the man. But, hear 
 ing a voice calling upon him to forbear, he did look 
 
 VOL. i. 8* L 
 
178 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 about him, and behold one, with a shining coun 
 tenance, and clad in raiment so white that it did 
 dazzle his eyes to look upon it, stood before him. 
 And the shape said, " Dost thou well to be angry ? " 
 Then said the Magistrate, " Yonder is a Quaker 
 with his hat on talking to a godly minister." 
 " Nay," quoth the shape, " thou seest but after the 
 manner of the world and with the eyes of flesh. 
 Look yonder and tell me what thou seest." So 
 he looked again, and lo ! two men in shining rai 
 ment, like him who talked with him, sat under the 
 tree. " Tell me," said the shape, " if thou canst, 
 which of the twain is the Quaker and which is the 
 Priest?" And when he could not, but stood in 
 amazement confessing he did see neither of them, 
 the shape said, " Thou sayest well, for here be 
 neither Priest nor Quaker, Jew nor Gentile, but 
 all are one in the Lord." Then he awoke, and 
 pondered long upon his dream, and when it was 
 morning he went straightway to the jail, and or 
 dered the man to be set free, and hath ever since 
 carried himself lovingly towards the Quakers. 
 
 My brother s lines have indeed fallen unto him 
 in a pleasant place. His house is on a warm slope 
 of a hill, looking to the southeast, with a great 
 wood of oaks and walnuts behind it, and before it 
 many acres of open land, where formerly the In 
 dians did plant their corn, much of which is now 
 ploughed and seeded. From the top of the hill 
 one can see the waters of the great Bay ; at the 
 foot of it runs a small river noisily over the rocks, 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal 179 
 
 making a continual murmur. Going thither this 
 morning, I found a great rock hanging over the 
 water, on which I sat down, listening to the noise 
 of the stream, and the merriment of the birds in 
 the trees, and admiring the green banks, which 
 were besprinkled with white and yellow flowers. I 
 called to mind that sweet fancy of the lamented 
 Anne Broadstreet, the wife of the new Governor of 
 Massachusetts, in a little piece which she nameth 
 " Contemplations," being written on the banks of 
 a stream, like unto the one whereby I was then sit 
 ting, in the which the writer first describeth the 
 beauties of the wood, and the flowing water, with 
 the bright fishes therein, and then the songs of 
 birds in the boughs over her head, in this sweet 
 and pleasing verse, which I have often heard re 
 peated by Cousin Rebecca : 
 
 " While musing thus, with contemplation fed, 
 And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain, 
 A sweet-tongued songster perched above my head, 
 
 And chanted forth her most melodious strain ; 
 Which rapt me so with wonder and delight, 
 I judged my hearing better than my sight, 
 And wished me wings with her a while to take my flight. 
 
 " O merry bird ! said I, that fears no snares, 
 
 That neither toils nor hoards up in the barn, 
 Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares, 
 
 To gain" more good, or shun what might thee harm. 
 Thy, clothes ne er wear, thy meat is everywhere, 
 Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear, 
 Reminds not what is past, nor what s to come dost fear. 
 
180 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 " The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent, 
 Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, 
 
 So each one tunes his pretty instrument, 
 And, warbling out the old, begins the new. 
 
 And thus they pass their youth in summer season, 
 
 Then follow thee unto a better region, 
 
 Where winter s never felt by that sweet airy legion." 
 
 Now, while I did ponder these lines, hearing a step 
 in the leaves, I looked up, and behold there was 
 an old Indian close beside me ; and, being much 
 affrighted, I gave a loud cry, and ran towards the 
 house. The old man laughed at this, and calling 
 after me, said he would not harm me ; and Leon 
 ard, hearing my cries, now coming up, bade me 
 never fear the Indian, for he was a harmless crea 
 ture, who was well known to him. So he kindly 
 saluted the old man, asking me to shake hands 
 with him, which I did, when he struck across the 
 field to a little cleared spot on the side of the hill. 
 My brother bidding me note his actions, I saw him 
 stoop down on his knees, with his head to the 
 ground, for some space of time, and then, getting 
 up, he stretched out his hands towards the south 
 west, as if imploring some one whom I could not 
 see. This he repeated for nigh upon half an hour, 
 when he came back to the house, where he got some 
 beer and bread to eat, and a great loaf to carry 
 away. He said but little until he rose to depart, 
 when he told my brother that he had been to see 
 the graves of his father and his mother, and that he 
 was glad to find them as he did leave them the last 
 year ; for he knew that the spirits of the dead would 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal 181 
 
 be sore grieved, if the white man s hoe touched 
 their bones. 
 
 My brother promised him that the burial-place of 
 his people should not be disturbed, and that he 
 would find it as now, when he did again visit it. 
 
 " Me never come again," said the old Indian. 
 " No. Umpachee is very old. He has no squaw ; 
 he has no young men who call him father. Um 
 pachee is like that tree " ; and he pointed, as he 
 spoke, to a birch, which stood apart in the field, 
 from which the bark had fallen, and which did show 
 no leaf nor bud. 
 
 My brother hereupon spake to him of the great 
 Father of both white and red men, and of his love 
 towards them, and of the measure of light which he 
 had given unto all men, whereby they might know 
 good from evil, and by living in obedience to which 
 they might be happy in this life and in that to come ; 
 exhorting him to put his trust in God, who was able 
 to comfort and sustain him in his old age, and not 
 to follow after lying Powahs, who did deceive and 
 mislead him. 
 
 " My young brother s talk is good," said the old 
 man. "The Great Father sees that his skin is 
 white, and that mine is red. He sees my young 
 brother when he sits in his praying-house, and me 
 when me offer him corn and deer s flesh in the ; 
 woods, and he says good. Umpachee s people 
 have all gone to one place. If Umpachee go to a 
 praying-house, the Great Father will send him to 
 the white man s place, and his father and his moth- 
 
1 82 Margaret Smitlis Journal. 
 
 er and his sons will never see him in their hunting- 
 ground. No. Umpachee is an old beaver that sits 
 in his own house, and swims in his own pond. He 
 will stay where he is, until his Father calls him. 
 
 Saying this, the old savage went on his way. As 
 he passed out of the valley, and got to the top of 
 the hill on the other side, we, looking after him, 
 beheld him standing still a moment, as if bidding 
 farewell to the graves of his people. 
 
 May 24th. 
 
 My brother goes with me to-morrow on my way 
 to Boston. I am not a little loath to leave my dear 
 sister Margaret, who hath greatly won upon me by 
 her gentleness and loving deportment, and who 
 doth at all times, even when at work in ordering 
 her household affairs, and amidst the cares and per 
 plexities of her new life, show forth that sweetness 
 of temper and that simplicity wherewith I was 
 charmed when I first saw her. She hath naturally 
 an ingenious mind, and, since her acquaintance 
 with my brother, hath dipped into such of his stud 
 ies and readings as she had leisure and freedom to 
 engage in, so that her conversation is in no wise 
 beneath her station. Nor doth she, like some of 
 her people, especially the more simple and un 
 learned, affect a painful and melancholy look, and 
 a canting tone of discourse, but lacketh not for 
 cheerfulness, and a certain natural ease and grace 
 of demeanor ; and the warmth and goodness of her 
 heart doth at times break the usual quiet of her 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 183 
 
 countenance, like to sunshine and wind on a still 
 water, and she hath the sweetest smile I ever saw. 
 I have often thought, since I have been with her, 
 that if Uncle Rawson could see and hear her as I 
 do for a single day, he would confess that my broth 
 er might have done worse than to take a Quaker to 
 wife. 
 
 BOSTON, May 28th, 1679. 
 
 Through God s mercy, I got here safe and well, 
 saving great weariness, and grief at parting with 
 my brother and his wife. The first day we went as 
 far as a place they call Rehoboth, where we tarried 
 over night, finding but small comfort therein ; for the 
 house was so filled, that Leonard and a friend who 
 came with us, were fain to lie all night in the barn, 
 on the mow before their horses ; and, for mine own 
 part, I had to choose between lying in the large 
 room, where the man of the house and his wife and 
 two sons, grown men, did lodge, or to climb into 
 the dark loft, where was barely space for a bed, 
 which last I did make choice of, although the wo 
 man thought it strange, and marvelled not a little 
 at my unwillingness to sleep in the same room with 
 her husband and boys, as she called them. In the 
 evening, hearing loud voices in a house near by, we 
 inquired what it meant, and were told that some 
 people from Providence were holding a meeting 
 there, the owner of the house being accounted a 
 Quaker. Whereupon, I went thither with Leonard, 
 
184 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 and found nigh upon a score of people gathered, 
 and a man with loose hair and beard speaking to 
 them. My brother whispered to me that he was no 
 Friend, but a noted ranter, a noisy unsettled man. 
 He screamed exceeding loud, and stamped with 
 his feet, and foamed at the mouth, like one pos 
 sessed with an evil spirit, crying against all order 
 in State or Church, and declaring that the Lord 
 had a controversy with Priests and Magistrates, the 
 prophets who prophesy falsely, and the priests who 
 bear rule by their means, and the people who love 
 to have it so. He spake of the Quakers as a ten 
 der and hopeful people in their beginning, and while 
 the arm of the wicked was heavy upon them ; but 
 now he said that they, even as the rest, were set 
 tled down into a dead order, and heaping up world 
 ly goods, and speaking evil of the Lord s messen 
 gers. They were a part of Babylon, and would 
 perish with their idols ; they should drink of the 
 wine of God s wrath ; the day of their visitation 
 was at hand. After going on thus for a while, up 
 gets a tall, wild-looking woman, as pale as a ghost, 
 and trembling from head to foot, who, stretching 
 out her long arms towards the man who had spo 
 ken, bade the people take notice that this was the 
 angel spoken of in Revelation, flying through the 
 midst of heaven, and crying, Woe! woe! to the in 
 habitants of the earth ! with more of the like wicked 
 rant, whereat I was not a little discomposed, and, 
 beckoning my brother, left them to foam out their 
 shame to themselves. 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 185 
 
 The next morning, we got upon our horses at an 
 early hour, and after a hard, and long ride, reached 
 Mr. Torrey s, at Weymouth, about an hour after 
 dark. Here we found Cousin Torrey in bed with 
 her second child, a boy, whereat her husband is not 
 a little rejoiced. My brother here took his leave 
 of me, going back to the Plantations. My heart 
 is truly sad and heavy with the great grief of part 
 ing. 
 
 May 30th. 
 
 Went to the South meeting to-day, to hear the 
 sermon preached before the worshipful Governor, 
 Mr. Broadstreet, and his Majesty s Council, it be 
 ing the election day. It was a long sermon, from 
 Esther x. 3. Had much to say concerning the 
 duty of Magistrates to support the Gospel and its 
 ministers, and to put an end to schism and heresy. 
 Very pointed, also, against time-serving Magistrates. 
 
 June ist. 
 
 Mr. Michael Wigglesworth, the Maiden minis 
 ter, at uncle s house last night. Mr. Wigglesworth 
 told aunt that he had preached a sermon against 
 the wearing of long hair, and other like vanities, 
 which he hoped with God s blessing might do good. 
 It was from Isaiah iii. 16, and so on to the end of 
 the chapter. Now, while he was speaking of the 
 sermon, I whispered Rebecca that I would like to 
 ask him a question, which he overhearing, turned 
 to me, and bade me never heed, but speak out. So 
 I told him that I was but a child in years and 
 
1 86 Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 knowledge, and he a wise and learned man ; but if 
 he would not deem it forward in me, I would fain 
 know whether the Scripture did anywhere lay down 
 the particular fashion of wearing the hair. 
 
 Mr. Wigglesworth said that there were certain 
 general rules laid down, from which we might make 
 a right application to particular cases. The wear 
 ing of long hair by men is expressly forbidden in 
 i Corinthians xi. 14, 15 ; and there is a special word 
 for women, also, in i Tim. ii. 9. 
 
 Hereupon Aunt Rawson told me she thought I 
 was well answered ; but I, (foolish one that I was,) 
 being unwilling to give up the matter so, ventured 
 further to say that there were the Nazarites, spoken 
 of in Numbers vi. 5, upon whose heads, by the 
 appointment of God, no razor was to come. 
 
 " Nay," said Mr. Wigglesworth, " that was by a 
 special appointment only, and proveth the general 
 rule and practice." 
 
 Uncle Rawson said that long hair might, he 
 judged, be lawfully worn, where the bodily health 
 did require it, to guard the necks of weakly people 
 from the cold. 
 
 " Where there seems plainly a call of nature for 
 it," said Mr. Wigglesworth, " as a matter of bodily 
 comfort, and for the warmth of the head and neck, 
 it is nowise unlawful. But for healthy, sturdy 
 young people to make this excuse for their sinful 
 vanity, doth but add to their condemnation. If a 
 man go any whit beyond God s appointment and 
 the comfort of nature, I know not where he will 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 187 
 
 stop, until he grows to be the veriest ruffian in the 
 world. It is a wanton and shameful thing for a 
 man to liken himself to a woman, by suffering his 
 hair to grow, and curling and parting it in a seam, 
 as is the manner of too many. It betokeneth 
 pride and vanity, and causeth no small offence to 
 godly, sober people. 
 
 " The time hath been," continued Mr. Wiggles- 
 worth, " when God s people were ashamed of such 
 vanities, both in the home country, and in these 
 parts ; but since the Bishops and the Papists have 
 had their way, and such as feared God are put 
 down from authority, to give place to scorners and 
 wantons, there hath been a sad change." 
 
 He furthermore spake of the gay apparel of the 
 young women of Boston, and their lack of plain 
 ness and modesty in the manner of wearing and 
 ordering their hair and said he could in no wise 
 agree with some of his brethren in the ministry, 
 that this was a light matter, inasmuch as it did 
 most plainly appear from Scripture, that the pride 
 and haughtiness of the daughters of Zion did pro 
 voke the judgments of the Lord, not only upon 
 them, but upon the men also. Now, the special 
 sin of women is pride and haughtiness, and that 
 because they be generally more ignorant, being the 
 weaker vessel ; and this sin venteth itself in their 
 gesture, their hair and apparel. Now, God abhors 
 all pride, especially pride in base things ; and hence 
 the conduct of the daughters of Zion does greatly 
 provoke his wrath, first against themselves, second- 
 
1 88 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 ly their fathers and husbands, and thirdly against 
 the land they do inhabit. 
 
 Rebecca here roguishly pinched my arm, saying 
 apart, that after all, we weaker vessels did seem to 
 be of great consequence, and nobody could tell but 
 that our head-dresses would yet prove the ruin of 
 the country. 
 
 June 4th. 
 
 Robert Pike, coming into the harbor with his 
 sloop, from the Pemaquid country, looked in upon 
 us yesterday. Said that since coming to the town 
 he had seen a Newbury man, who told him that old 
 Mr. Wheelwright, of Salisbury, the famous Boston 
 minister in the time of Sir Harry Vane and Madam 
 Hutchinson, was now lying sick, and nigh unto his 
 end. Also, that Goodman Morse was so crippled, 
 by a fall in his barn, that he cannot get to Boston 
 to the trial of his wife, which is a sore affliction to 
 him. The trial of the witch is now going on, and 
 uncle saith it looks much against her, especially the 
 testimony of the Widow Goodwin about her child, 
 and of John Gladding about seeing one half of the 
 body of Goody Morse flying about in the sun, as if 
 she had been cut in twain, or as if the Devil did 
 hide the lower part of her. Robert Pike saith such 
 testimony ought not to hang a cat, the widow being 
 little more than a fool ; and as for the fellow Glad 
 ding, he was no doubt in his cups, for he had often 
 seen him in such a plight that he could not have 
 told Goody Morse from the Queen of Sheba. 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal, 189 
 
 June 8th. 
 
 The Morse woman having been found guilty by 
 the Court of Assistants, she was brought out to 
 the North Meeting, to hear the Thursday Lecture, 
 yesterday, before having her sentence. The house 
 was filled with people, they being curious to see 
 the witch. The Marshal and the constables 
 brought her in, and set her in front of the pulpit ; 
 the old creature, looking round her wildly, as if 
 wanting her wits, and then covering her face with 
 her dark wrinkled hands ; a dismal sight ! The 
 minister took his text in Romans xiii. 3, 4, espe 
 cially the last clause of the 4th verse, relating to 
 rulers : For he beareth not the sword in vain, &c. 
 He dwelt upon the power of the ruler as a Minis 
 ter of God, and as a revenger to execute wrath 
 upon him that doeth evil ; and showeth that the 
 punishment of witches, and such as covenant with 
 the Devil, is one of the duties expressly enjoined 
 upon rulers by the Word of God, inasmuch as a 
 witch was not to be suffered to live. 
 
 He then did solemnly address himself to the 
 condemned woman, quoting i Tim. v. 20 : " Them 
 that sin, rebuke before all, that others also may fear" 
 The woman was greatly moved, for no doubt the 
 sharp words of the preacher did prick her guilty 
 conscience, and the terrors of hell did take hold of 
 her, so that she was carried out, looking scarcely 
 alive. They took her when the lecture was over to 
 the Court, where the Governor did pronounce sen 
 tence of death upon her. But uncle tells me there 
 
igo Margaret Smit/is Journal. 
 
 be many who are stirring to get her respited for a 
 time at least, and he doth himself incline to favor 
 it, especially as Rebecca hath labored much with 
 him to that end, as also hath Major Pike and Major 
 Saltonstall with the Governor, who himself sent for 
 uncle last night, and they had a long talk together, 
 and looked over the testimony against the woman, 
 and neither did feel altogether satisfied with it. 
 Mr. Norton adviseth for the hanging ; but Mr. Wil- 
 lard, who has seen much of the woman, and hath 
 prayed with her in the jail, thinks she may be inno 
 cent in the matter of witchcraft, inasmuch as her 
 conversation was such as might become a godly 
 person in affliction, and the reading of the Scrip 
 ture did seem greatly to comfort her. 
 
 June gth. 
 
 Uncle Rawson being at the jail to-day, a messen 
 ger, who had been sent to the daughter of Goody 
 Morse, who is the wife of one Hate Evil Nutter, on 
 the Cocheco, to tell her that her mother did greatly 
 desire to see her once more before she was hanged, 
 coming in, told the condemned woman that her 
 daughter bade him say to her, that inasmuch as she 
 had sold herself to the Devil, she did owe her no 
 further love or service, and that she could not com 
 plain of this, for as she had made her bed, so she 
 must lie. Whereat the old creature set up a misera 
 ble cry, saying that to have her own flesh and blood 
 turn against her, was more bitter than death itself. 
 And she begged Mr. Willard to pray for her, that 
 
Margaret SmitJis Journal. 191 
 
 her trust in the Lord might not be shaken by this 
 new affliction. 
 
 June loth. 
 
 The condemned woman hath been reprieved by 
 the Governor and the Magistrates, until the sitting 
 of the Court in October. Many people, both men 
 and women, coming in from the towns about to see 
 the hanging, be sore disappointed, and do vehe 
 mently condemn the conduct of the Governor there 
 in. For mine own part, I do truly rejoice that mer 
 cy hath been been shown to the poor creature ; for 
 even if she is guilty, it affordeth her a season for re 
 pentance ; and if she be innocent, it saveth the land 
 from a great sin. The sorrowful look of the old 
 creature at the Lecture, hath troubled me ever 
 since, so forlorn and forsaken did she seem. Ma 
 jor Pike, (Robert s father,) coming in this morning, 
 says, next to the sparing of Goody Morse s life, it 
 did please him to see the bloodthirsty rabble so 
 cheated out of their diversion ; for example, there 
 was Goody Matson, who had ridden bare-backed, 
 for lack of a saddle, all the way from Newbury, on 
 Deacon Dole s hard-trotting horse, and was so 
 galled and lame of it, that she could scarce walk. 
 The Major said he met her at the head of King 
 Street yesterday, with half a score more of her sort, 
 scolding and railing about the reprieve of the witch, 
 and prophesying dreadful judgments upon all con 
 cerned in it. He said he bade her shut her mouth 
 and go home, where she belonged ; telling her that 
 
192 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 if he heard any more of her railing, the Magistrates 
 should have notice of it, and she would find that 
 laying by the heels in the stocks was worse than 
 riding Deacon Dole s horse. 
 
 June I4th. 
 
 Yesterday the wedding took place. It was an 
 exceeding brave one ; most of the old and hon 
 ored families being at it, so that the great house 
 wherein my uncle lives, was much crowded. Among 
 them were Governor Broadstreet, and many of the 
 honorable Magistrates, with Mr. Saltonstall and 
 his worthy lady ; Mr. Richardson, the Newbury 
 minister, joining the twain in marriage, in a very 
 solemn and feeling manner. Sir Thomas was 
 richly apparelled, as became one of his rank, and 
 Rebecca in her white silk, looked comely as an an 
 gel. She wore the lace collar I wrought fer her 
 last winter, for my sake, although I fear me she 
 had prettier ones of her own working. The day 
 was wet and dark, with an easterly wind blowing 
 in great gusts from the bay, exceeding cold for 
 the season. 
 
 Rebecca, or Lady Hale, as she is now called, had 
 invited Robert Pike to her wedding, but he sent 
 her an excuse for not coming, to the effect that ur 
 gent business did call him into the eastern country 
 as far as Monhegan and Pemaquid. His letter, 
 which was full of good wishes for her happiness 
 and prosperity, I noted saddened Rebecca a good 
 deal ; and she was, moreover, somewhat disturbed 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 193 
 
 by certain things that did happen yesterday ; the 
 great mirror in the hall being badly broken, and 
 the family arms hanging over the fire-place thrown 
 down, so that it was burned by the coals kindled 
 on the hearth, on account of the dampness ; which 
 were looked upon as ill signs by most people. 
 Grindall, a thoughtless youth, told his sister of the 
 burning of the arms, and that nothing was left save 
 the head of the raven in the crest, at which she 
 grew very pale, and said it was strange, indeed, 
 and, turning to me, asked me if I did put faith in 
 what was said of signs and prognostics. So, seeing 
 her troubled, I laughed at the matter, although I 
 secretly did look upon it as an ill omen, especially 
 as I could never greatly admire Sir Thomas. My 
 brother s wife, who seemed fully persuaded that he 
 is an unworthy person, sent by me a message to 
 Rebecca, to that effect ; but I had not courage to 
 speak of it, as matters had gone so far, and uncle 
 and aunt did seem so fully bent upon making a 
 great lady of their daughter. 
 
 The vessel in which we are to take our passage 
 is near upon ready for the sea. The bark is a 
 London one, called " The Three Brothers," and is 
 commanded by an old acquaintance of Uncle Raw- 
 son. I am happy with the thought of going home, 
 yet, as the time of departure draws nigh, I do con 
 fess some regrets at leaving this country, where I 
 have been so kindly cared for and entertained, and 
 where I have seen so many new and strange things. 
 The great solemn woods, as wild and natural as they 
 
 VOL. i. 9 M 
 
194 Margaret SmitJis Journal. 
 
 were thousands of years ago, the fierce suns of the 
 summer season, and the great snows of the winter, 
 and the wild beasts, and the heathen Indians, 
 these be things the memory whereof will ever abide 
 with me. To-day the weather is again clear and 
 warm, the sky wonderfully bright, the green leaves 
 flutter in the wind, and the birds are singing sweetly. 
 The waters of the bay, which be yet troubled by 
 the storm of last night, are breaking in white foam 
 on the rocks of the main land, and on the small 
 islands covered with trees and vines ; and many 
 boats and sloops going out with the west wind, to 
 their fishing, do show their white sails in the offing. 
 How I wish I had skill to paint the picture of all 
 this for my English friends ! My heart is pained, 
 as I look upon it, with the thought that after a few 
 days I shall never see it more. 
 
 June 1 8th. 
 
 To-morrow we embark for home. Wrote a long 
 letter to my dear brother and sister, and one to my 
 cousins at York. Mr. Richardson hath just left us, 
 having come all the way from Newbury to the wed 
 ding. The excellent Governor Broadstreet hath 
 this morning sent to Lady Hale a handsome copy 
 of his first wife s book, entitled " Several Poems by 
 a Gentlewoman of New England," with these words 
 on the blank page thereof, from Proverbs xxxi. 
 30, " A wotnan that feareth the Lord, she shall bt 
 praised" written in the Governor s own hand. All 
 the great folks hereabout have not failed to visit 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 195 
 
 my cousin since her marriage ; but I do think she 
 is better pleased with some visits she hath had 
 from poor widows and others who have been in 
 times past relieved and comforted by her charities 
 and kindness, the gratitude of these people affect 
 ing her unto tears. Truly it may be said of her, 
 as of Job : " When the ear heard her then it blessed 
 her, and when the eye saw her it gave witness to her : 
 because she delivered the poor that cried, and the 
 fatherless, and him. that had none to help him. The 
 blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon 
 her ; and she caused the widow s heart to sing for 
 joy? 
 
 [Here the diary ends somewhat abruptly. It 
 appears as if some of the last pages have been lost. 
 Appended to the manuscript I find a note, in an 
 other handwriting, signed " R. G.," dated at Mad- 
 ton Rectory, 1747. One Rawson Grindall, M. A., 
 was curate of Malton at this date, and the initials 
 are undoubtedly his. The sad sequel to the history 
 of the fair Rebecca Rawson is confirmed by papers 
 now on file in the State-House at Boston, in which 
 she is spoken of as " one of the most beautiful, 
 polite, and accomplished young ladies in Boston." 
 Editor.} 
 
 " These papers of my honored and pious grand 
 mother, Margaret Smith, who, soon after her return 
 from New England, married her cousin, Oliver 
 
196 Margaret Smiths Journal. 
 
 Grindall, Esq., of Hilton Grange, Crowell, in Ox 
 fordshire, (both of whom have within the last ten 
 years departed this life, greatly lamented by all 
 who knew them,) having come into my possession, 
 I have thought it not amiss to add to them a narra 
 tive of what happened to her friend and cousin, as 
 I have had the story often from her own lips. 
 
 " It appears that the brave gallant, calling him 
 self Sir Thomas Hale, for all his fair seeming and 
 handsome address, was but a knave and impostor, 
 deceiving with abominable villany Rebecca Raw- 
 son and most of her friends, (although my grand 
 mother was never satisfied with him, as is seen in 
 her journal.) When they got to London, being 
 anxious, on account of sea-sickness and great wea 
 riness, to leave the vessel as soon as possible, they 
 went ashore to the house of a kinsman to lodge, 
 leaving their trunks and clothing on board. Early 
 on the next morning, he that called himself Sir 
 Thomas left his wife, taking with him the keys of 
 her trunks, telling her he would send them up 
 from the vessel in season for her to dress for din 
 ner. The trunks came as he said, but, after waiting 
 impatiently for the keys until near the dinner-hour, 
 and her husband not returning, she had them broken 
 open, and, to her grief and astonishment, found 
 nothing therein but shavings and other combustible 
 matter. Her kinsman forthwith ordered his car 
 riage, and went with her to the inn where they first 
 stopped on landing from the vessel, where she 
 inquired for Sir Thomas Hale. The landlord told 
 
Margaret Smit/is Journal. 197 
 
 her there was such a gentleman, but he had not 
 seen him for some days. But he was at your 
 house last night/ said the astonished young wo 
 man. He is my husband, and I was with him. 
 The landlord then said that one Thomas Rumsey 
 was at his house, with a young lady, the night be 
 fore, but that she was not his lawful wife, for he 
 had one already in Kent. At this astounding 
 news, the unhappy woman swooned outright, and, 
 being taken back to her kinsman s, she lay griev 
 ously ill for many days, during which time, by let 
 ters from Kent, it was ascertained that this Rum 
 sey was a graceless young spendthrift, who had left 
 his wife and his two children, three years before, 
 and gone to parts unknown. 
 
 -"My grandmother, who affectionately watched 
 over her, and comforted her in her great affliction, 
 has often told me that, on coming to herself, her 
 poor cousin said it was a righteous judgment upon 
 her, for her pride and vanity, which had led her to 
 discard worthy men for one of great show and pre 
 tensions, who had no solid merit to boast of. She 
 had sinned against God, and brought disgrace 
 upon her family, in choosing him. She begged 
 that his name might never be mentioned again 
 in her hearing, and that she might only be known 
 as a poor relative of her English kinsfolk, and find 
 a home among them until she could seek out some 
 employment for her maintenance, as she could not 
 think of going back to Boston, to become the 
 laughing-stock of the thoughtless, and the reproach 
 of her father s family. 
 
igS Margaret Smith s Journal. 
 
 " After the marriage of my grandmother, Re 
 becca was induced to live with her for some years. 
 My great aunt, Martha Grindall, an ancient spin 
 ster, now living, remembers her well, at that time, 
 describing her as a young woman, of a sweet and 
 gentle disposition, and much beloved by all the 
 members of the family. Her father, hearing of 
 her misfortunes, wrote to her, kindly inviting her 
 to return to New England, and live with him, 
 and she at last resolved to do so. My great- 
 uncle, Robert, having an office under the govern 
 ment at Port Royal, in the island of Jamaica, 
 she went out with him, intending to sail from 
 thence to Boston. From that place she wrote to 
 my grandmother a letter, which I have also in 
 my possession, informing her of her safe arrival, 
 and of her having seen an old friend, Captain 
 Robert Pike, whose business concerns had called 
 him to the island, who had been very kind and 
 considerate in his attention to her, offering to take 
 her home in his vessel, which was to sail in a few 
 days. She mentions, in a postscript to her letter, 
 that she found Captain Pike to be much improved 
 in his appearance and manners, a true natural 
 gentleman ; and she does not forget to notice the 
 fact that he was still single. She had, she said, felt 
 unwilling to accept his offer of a passage home, hold 
 ing herself unworthy of such civilities at his hands ; 
 but he had so pressed the matter that she had, not 
 without some misgivings, consented to it. 
 
 " But it was not according to the inscrutable wis- 
 
Margaret Smith s Journal. 199 
 
 dom of Providence that she should ever be restored 
 to her father s house. Among the victims of the 
 great earthquake which destroyed Port Royal a few 
 days after the date of her letter, was this unfortu 
 nate lady. It was a heavy blow to my grandmother, 
 who entertained for her cousin the tenderest affec 
 tion, and, indeed, she seems to have been every 
 way worthy of it, lovely in person, amiable in 
 deportment, and of a generous and noble nature. 
 She was, especially after her great trouble, of a 
 somewhat pensive and serious habit of mind, con 
 trasting with the playfulness and innocent light- 
 heartedness of her early life, as depicted in the 
 diary of my grandmother, yet she was ever ready 
 to forget herself, in ministering to the happiness 
 and pleasure of others. She was not, as I learn, 
 a member of the church, having some scruples 
 in respect to the rituals, as was natural from 
 her education in New England, among Puritanic 
 schismatics ; but she lived a devout life, and her 
 quiet and unostentatious piety exemplified the truth 
 of the language of one of the greatest of our di 
 vines, the Bishop of Down and Connor, Prayer is / 
 the peace of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, -, 
 the issue of a quiet mind, the daughter of charity, 
 and the sister of meekness. Optimus animus est 
 pukherimus Dei cultus, 
 
 "R. G." 
 
OLD PORTRAITS 
 
 AND 
 
 MODERN SKETCHES 
 
TO 
 
 DR. G. BAILEY, 
 
 OF THE NATIONAL ERA, WASHINGTON, D. C. 
 
 THESE Sketches, many of which originally appeared in 
 the columns of the paper under his editorial supervision, 
 are, in their present form, offered as a token of the esteem 
 and confidence which years of political and literary com 
 munion have justified and confirmed, on the part of his 
 friend and associate, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 " Wouldst see 
 A man i the clouds, and hear him speak to thee ? 
 
 WHO has not read PILGRIM S PROGRESS? 
 Who has not, in childhood, followed the 
 wandering Christian on his way to the Celestial 
 City ? Who has not laid at night his young head 
 on the pillow, to paint on the walls of darkness 
 pictures of the Wicket Gate and the Archers, the 
 Hill of Difficulty, the Lions and Giants, Doubting 
 Castle and Vanity Fair, the sunny Delectable 
 Mountains and the Shepherds, the Black River 
 and the wonderful glory beyond it; and at last 
 fallen asleep, to dream over the strange story, to 
 hear the sweet welcomings of the sisters at the 
 House Beautiful, and the song of birds from the 
 window of that "upper chamber which opened 
 towards the sunrising ? " And who, looking back 
 to the green spots in his childish experiences, does 
 not bless the good Tinker of Elstow ? 
 
 And who, that has reperused the story of the 
 Pilgrim at a maturer age, and felt the plummet of 
 its truth sounding in the deep places of the soul; 
 has not reason to bless the author for some timely 
 warning or grateful encouragement ? Where is the 
 
206 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 scholar, the poet, the man of taste and feeling, 
 who does not, with Cowper, 
 
 "Even in transitory life s late day, 
 Revere the man whose PILGRIM marks the road, 
 And guides the PROGRESS of the soul to God ! " 
 
 We have just been reading, with no slight degree 
 of interest, that simple but wonderful piece of 
 autobiography, entitled "Grace abounding to the 
 Chief of Sinners," from the pen of the author 
 of Pilgrim s Progress. It is the record of a jour 
 ney more terrible than that of the ideal Pilgrim ; 
 " truth stranger than fiction " ; the painful upward 
 struggling of a spirit from the blackness of despair 
 and blasphemy, into the high, pure air of Hope 
 and Faith. More earnest words were never writ 
 ten. It is the entire unveiling of a human heart ; 
 the tearing off of the fig-leaf covering of its sin. 
 The voice which speaks to us from these old pages 
 seems not so much that of a denizen of the world 
 in which we live, as of a soul at the last solemn 
 confessional. Shorn of all ornament, simple and 
 direct as the contrition and prayer of childhood, 
 when for the first time the Spectre of Sin stands 
 by its bedside, the style is that of a man dead to 
 self-gratification, careless of the world s opinion, 
 and only desirous to convey to others, in all truth 
 fulness and sincerity, the lesson of his inward 
 trials, temptations, sins, weaknesses, and dangers; 
 and to give glory to Him who had mercifully led 
 him through all, and enabled him, like his own 
 Pilgrim, to leave behind the Valley of the Shadow 
 
John Bunyan. 207 
 
 of Death, the snares of the Enchanted Ground, 
 and the terrors of Doubting Castle, and to reach 
 the land of Beulah, where the air was sweet and 
 pleasant, and the birds sang and the flowers sprang 
 up around him, and the Shining Ones walked in 
 the brightness of the not distant Heaven. In the 
 introductory pages he says : " I could have dipped 
 into a style higher than this in which I have dis 
 coursed, and could have adorned all things more 
 than here I have seemed to do ; but I dared not. 
 God did not play in tempting me ; neither did I 
 play when I sunk, as it were, into a bottomless 
 pit, when the pangs of hell took hold on me ; 
 wherefore, I may not play in relating of them, but 
 be plain and simple, and lay down the thing as it 
 was." 
 
 This book, as well as " Pilgrim s Progress," was 
 written in Bedford prison, and was designed espe 
 cially for the comfort and edification of his " chil 
 dren, whom God had counted him worthy to beget 
 in faith by his ministry." In his introduction he 
 tells them, that, although taken from them, and 
 tied up, " sticking, as it were, between the teeth of 
 the lions of the wilderness," he once again, as be 
 fore, from the top of Shemer and Hermon, so now, 
 from the lion s den and the mountain of leopards, 
 would look after them with fatherly care and de 
 sires for their everlasting welfare. " If," said he, 
 " you have sinned against light ; if you are tempted 
 to blaspheme ; if you are drowned in despair ; if 
 you think God fights against you; or if Heaven 
 
208 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 is hidden from your eyes, remember it was so with 
 your father. But out of all the Lord delivered me." 
 He gives no dates ; he affords scarcely a clew 
 to his localities ; of the man, as he worked, and ate, 
 and drank, and lodged, of his neighbors and con 
 temporaries, of all he saw and heard of the world 
 about him, we have only an occasional glimpse, 
 here and there, in his narrative. It is the story of 
 his inward life only that he relates. What had time 
 and place to do with one who trembled always 
 with the awful consciousness of an immortal na 
 ture, and about whom fell alternately the shadows 
 of hell and the splendors of heaven ? We gather, 
 indeed, from his record, that he was not an idle 
 on-looker in the time of England s great struggle 
 for freedom, but a soldier of the Parliament, in 
 his young years, among the praying sworders and 
 psalm-singing pikemen, the Greathearts and Hold 
 fasts whom he has immortalized in his allegory ; 
 but the only allusion which he makes to this por 
 tion of his experience is by way of illustration of 
 the goodness of God in preserving him on occasions 
 of peril. 
 
 He was born at Elstow, in Bedfordshire, in 
 1628; and, to use his own words, his "father s 
 ( house was of that rank which is the meanest and 
 \ most despised of all the families of the land." His 
 ( father was a tinker, and the son followed the same 
 f calling, which necessarily brought him into asso 
 ciation with the lowest and most depraved classes 
 of English society. The estimation in which the 
 
John Bitnyan. 209 
 
 tinker and his occupation were held, in the sev 
 enteenth century, may be learned from the quaint 
 and humorous description of Sir Thomas Overbury. 
 " The tinker," saith he, " is a movable, for he hath 
 no abiding in one place ; he seems to be devout, 
 for his life is a continual pilgrimage, and some 
 times, in humility, goes barefoot, therein making 
 necessity a virtue ; he is a gallant, for he carries 
 all his wealth upon his back ; or a philosopher, 
 for he bears all his substance with him. He is 
 always furnished with a song, to which his ham 
 mer, keeping tune, proves that he was the first 
 founder of the kettle-drum ; where the best ale is, 
 there stands his music most upon crotchets. The 
 companion of his travel is some foul, sun-burnt 
 quean, that, since the terrible statute, has recanted 
 gypsyism, and is turned pedlaress. So marches he 
 all over England, with his bag and baggage ; his 
 conversation is irreprovable, for he is always mend 
 ing. He observes truly the statutes, and therefore 
 had rather steal than beg. He is so strong an 
 enemy of idleness, that in mending one hole he 
 would rather make three than want work ; and 
 when he hath done, he throws the wallet of his 
 faults behind him. His tongue is very voluble, 
 which, with canting, proves him a linguist. He is 
 entertained in every place, yet enters no farther 
 than the door, to avoid suspicion. To conclude, 
 if he escape Tyburn and Banbury, he dies a 
 beggar." 
 
 Truly, but a poor beginning for a pious life was 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
2io Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 the youth of John Bunyan. As might have been 
 expected, he was a wild, reckless, swearing boy, 
 as his father doubtless was before him. " It was 
 my delight," says he, " to be taken captive by the 
 Devil. I had few equals, both for cursing and 
 swearing, lying and blaspheming." Yet, in his 
 ignorance and darkness, his powerful imagination 
 early lent terror to the reproaches of conscience. 
 He was scared, even in childhood, with dreams of 
 hell and apparitions of devils. Troubled with 
 fears of eternal fire, and the malignant demons 
 who fed it in the regions of despair, he says that 
 he often wished either that there was no hell, or 
 that he had been born a devil himself, that he 
 might be a tormenter rather than one of the tor 
 mented. 
 
 At an early age he appears to have married. 
 His wife was as poor as himself, for he tells us 
 that they had not so much as a dish or spoon be 
 tween them ; but she brought with her two books 
 on religious subjects, the reading of which seems 
 to have had no slight degree of influence on his 
 mind. He went to church regularly, adored the 
 priest and all things pertaining to his office, being, 
 as he says, " overrun with superstition." On one 
 occasion, a sermon was preached against the breach 
 of the Sabbath by sports or labor, which struck 
 him at the moment as especially designed for him 
 self; but by the time he had finished his dinner, 
 he was prepared to " shake it out of his mind, and 
 return to his sports and gaming." 
 
John Bunyan. 2H 
 
 " But the same day," he continues, " as I was in 
 the midst of a game of cat, and having struck it 
 one blow from the hole, just as I was about to 
 strike it a second time, a voice did suddenly dart 
 from Heaven into my soul, which said, Wilt thou 
 leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thy sins 
 and go to hell ? At this, I was put to an ex 
 ceeding maze ; wherefore, leaving my cat upon the 
 ground, I looked up to Heaven, and it was, as if 
 I had, with the eyes of rriy understanding, seen the 
 Lord Jesus look down upon me, as being very 
 hotly displeased with me, and as if he did severely 
 threaten me with some grievous punishment for 
 those and other ungodly practices. 
 
 "I had no sooner thus conceived in my mind, 
 but suddenly this conclusion fastened on my spirit, 
 (for the former hint did set my sins again before 
 my face,) that I had been a great and grievous 
 sinner, and that it was now too late for me to look 
 after Heaven ; for Christ would not forgive me 
 nor pardon rriy transgressions. Then, while I was 
 thinking of it, and fearing lest it shouM be so, I 
 felt my heart sink in despair, concluding it was too 
 late ; and therefore I resolved in my mind to go 
 on in sin ; for thought I, if the case be thus, my 
 state is surely miserable ; miserable if I leave my 
 sins, and but miserable if I follow them ; I can but 
 be damned ; and if I must be so, I had as good be 
 damned for many sins as be damned for few." 
 
 The reader of Pilgrim s Progress cannot fail 
 here to call to mind the wicked suggestions of the 
 
212 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Giant to Christian, in the dungeon of Doubting 
 Castle. 
 
 " I returned," he says, " desperately to my sport 
 again ; and I well remember, that presently this 
 kind of despair did so possess my soul, that I was 
 persuaded I could never attain to other comfort 
 than what I should get in sin ; for Heaven was 
 gone already, so that on that I must not think ; 
 wherefore, I found within me great desire to take 
 my fill of sin, that I might taste the sweetness of 
 it ; and I made as much haste as I could to fill my 
 belly with its delicates, lest I should die before I 
 had my desires ; for that I feared greatly. In 
 these things, I protest before God, I lie not, 
 neither do I frame this sort of speech; these 
 were really, strongly, and with all my heart, my 
 desires ; the good Lord, whose mercy is unsearch 
 able, forgive my transgressions." 
 
 One day, while standing in the street, cursing 
 and blaspheming, he met with a reproof which 
 startled him. The woman of the house in front 
 of which the wicked young tinker was standing, 
 herself, as he remarks, "a very loose, ungodly 
 wretch," protested that his horrible profanity made 
 her tremble ; that he was the ungodliest fellow for 
 swearing she had ever heard, and able to spoil all 
 the youth of the town who came in his company. 
 Struck by this w r holly unexpected rebuke, he at 
 once abandoned the practice of swearing ; although 
 previously he tells us that " he had never known 
 how to speak, unless he put an oath before and 
 another behind." 
 
John Bunyan. 213 
 
 The good name which he gained by this change 
 was now a temptation to him. "My neighbors," 
 he says, "were amazed at my great conversion 
 from prodigious profaneness to something like a 
 moral life and sober man. Now, therefore, they 
 began to praise, to commend, and to speak well 
 of me, both to my face and behind my back. 
 Now I was, as they said, become godly; now I 
 was become a right honest man. But O ! when I 
 understood those were their words and opinions 
 of me, it pleased me mighty well ; for though as 
 yet I was nothing but a poor painted hypocrite, 
 yet I loved to be talked of as one that was truly 
 godly. I was proud of my godliness, and, indeed, 
 I did all I did either to be seen of or well spoken 
 of by men ; and thus I continued for about a 
 twelvemonth or more." 
 
 The tyranny of his imagination at this period is 
 seen in the following relation of his abandonment 
 of one of his favorite sports. 
 
 "Now, you must know, that before this I had 
 taken much delight in ringing, but my conscience 
 beginning to be tender, I thought such practice 
 was but vain, and therefore forced myself to leave 
 it ; yet my mind hankered ; wherefore, I would go 
 to the steeple-house and look on, though I durst 
 not ring ; but I thought this did not become re 
 ligion neither ; yet I forced myself, and would 
 look on still. But quickly after, I began to think, 
 1 How if one of the bells should fall ? Then I 
 chose to stand under a main beam, that lay over- 
 
214 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 thwart the steeple, from side to side, thinking here I 
 might stand sure ; but then I thought again, should 
 the bell fall with a swing, it might first hit the wall, 
 and then, rebounding upon me, might kill me for 
 all this beam. This made me stand in the steeple 
 door ; and now, thought I, I am safe enough ; for 
 if a bell should then fall, I can slip out behind 
 these thick walls, and so be preserved notwith 
 standing. 
 
 " So after this I would yet go to see them ring, 
 but would not go any farther than the steeple-door. 
 But then it came in my head, How if the steeple- 
 itself should fall ? And this thought (it may, for 
 aught I know, when I stood and looked on) did 
 continually so shake my mind, that I durst not 
 stand at the steeple-door any longer, but was forced 
 to flee, for fear the steeple should fall upon my 
 head." 
 
 About this time, while wandering through Bed 
 ford in pursuit of employment, he chanced to see 
 three or four poor old women sitting at a door, in 
 the evening sun, and, drawing near them, heard 
 them converse upon the things of God ; of His 
 work in their hearts ; of their natural depravity ; 
 of the temptations of the Adversary ; and of the 
 joy of believing, and of the peace of reconciliation. 
 The words of the aged women found a response in 
 the soul of the listener. " He felt his heart shake," 
 to use his own words ; he saw that he lacked the 
 true tokens of a Christian. He now forsook the 
 company of the profane and licentious, and sought 
 
John Bunyan. 215 
 
 that of a poor man who had the reputation of piety, 
 but, to his grief, he found him " a devilish ranter, 
 given up to all manner of uncleanness ; he would 
 laugh at all exhortations to sobriety, and deny that 
 there was a God, an angel, or a spirit." 
 
 " Neither," he continues, " was this man only a 
 temptation to me, but, my calling lying in the coun 
 try, I happened to come into several people s com 
 pany, who, though strict in religion formerly, yet 
 were also drawn away by these ranters. These 
 would also talk with me of their ways, and con 
 demn me as illegal and dark ; pretending that 
 they only had attained to perfection, that could do 
 what they would, and not sin. ! these tempta 
 tions were suitable to my flesh, I being but a 
 young man, and my nature in its prime ; but God, 
 who had, as I hope, designed me for better things, 
 kept me in the fear of his name, and did not suffer 
 me to accept such cursed principles." 
 
 At this time he was sadly troubled to ascertain 
 whether or not he had that faith which the Scrip 
 tures spake of. Travelling one day from Elstow to 
 Bedford, after a recent rain, which had left pools 
 of water in the path, he felt a strong desire to set 
 tle the question, by commanding the pools to be 
 come dry, and the dry places to become pools. 
 Going under the hedge, to pray for ability to work 
 the miracle, he was struck with the thought, that 
 if he failed he should know, indeed, that he was 
 a castaway, and give himself up to despair. He 
 dared not attempt the experiment, and went on his 
 

 216 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 way, to use his own forcible language, " tossed up 
 and down between the Devil and his own igno 
 rance." 
 
 Soon after, he had one of those visions which 
 foreshadowed the wonderful dream of his Pilgrim s 
 Progress. He saw some holy people of Bedford 
 on the sunny side of an high mountain, refreshing 
 themselves in the pleasant air and sunlight, while 
 he was shivering in cold and darkness, amidst 
 snows and never-melting ices, like the victims of 
 the Scandinavian hell. A wall compassed the 
 mountain, separating him from the blessed, with 
 one small gap or doorway, through which, with 
 great pain and effort, he was at last enabled to 
 work his way into the sunshine, and sit down with 
 the saints, in the light and warmth thereof. 
 
 But now a new trouble assailed him. Like Mil 
 ton s metaphysical spirits, who sat apart, 
 
 " And reasoned of foreknowledge, will, and fate," 
 
 he grappled with one of those great questions which 
 have always perplexed and baffled human inquiry, 
 and upon which much has been written to little 
 purpose. He was tortured with anxiety to know 
 whether, according to the Westminster formula, he 
 was elected to salvation or damnation. His old 
 adversary vexed his soul with evil suggestions, and 
 even quoted Scripture to enforce them. " It may 
 be you are not elected," said the Tempter ; and the 
 poor tinker thought the supposition altogether too 
 probable. "Why, then," said Satan, "you had as 
 
John Bunyan. 217 
 
 good leave off, and strive no farther ; for if, indeed, 
 you should not be elected and chosen of God, 
 there is no hope of your being saved ; for it is 
 neither in him that willeth nor in him that runneth, 
 but in God who showeth mercy." At length when, 
 as he says, he was about giving up the ghost of all 
 his hopes, this passage fell with weight upon his 
 spirit : " Look at the generations of old, and see ; -, 
 did ever any trust in God, and were confounded ? " 
 Comforted by these words, he opened his Bible 
 to note them, but the most diligent search and 
 inquiry of his neighbors failed to discover them. 
 At length his eye fell upon them in the Apocryphal 
 book of Ecclesiasticus. This, he says, somewhat 
 doubted him at first, as the book was not canon 
 ical ; but in the end he took courage and comfort 
 from the passage. " I bless God," he says, " for f 
 that word ; it was good for me. That word doth ; , 
 still oftentimes shine before my face." 
 
 A long and weary struggle was now before him. 
 " I cannot," he says, " express with what longings 
 and breathings of my soul I cried unto Christ to 
 call me. Gold ! could it have been gotten by gold, 
 what would I have given for it. Had I a whole 
 world, it had all gone ten thousand times over for 
 this, that my soul might have been in a converted 
 state. How lovely now was every one in my eyes, j 
 that I thought to be converted men and women. ( 
 They shone, they walked like a people who car- 
 ried the broad seal of Heaven with them." 
 
 With what force and intensity of language does 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
218 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 he portray in the following passage the reality and 
 earnestness of his agonizing experience : 
 
 " While I was thus afflicted with the fears of my 
 own damnation, there were two things would make 
 me wonder : the one was, when I saw old people 
 hunting after the things of this life, as if they should 
 live here always ; the other was, when I found pro 
 fessors much distressed and cast down, when they 
 met with outward losses ; as of husband, wife, or 
 child. Lord, thought I, what seeking after car 
 nal things by some, and what grief in others for 
 the loss of them ! If they so much labor after and 
 shed so many tears for the things of this present 
 life, how am I to be bemoaned, pitied, and prayed 
 for ! My soul is dying, my soul is damning. Were 
 ( my soul but in a good condition, and were I but 
 \ sure of it, ah ! how rich should I esteem myself, 
 though blessed but with bread and water ! I should 
 \ count these but small afflictions, and should bear 
 them as little burdens. A wounded spirit who 
 can bear ! " 
 
 He looked with envy, as he wandered through 
 country, upon the birds in the trees, the hares 
 in the preserves, and the fishes in the streams. 
 They were happy in their brief existence, and their 
 death was but a sleep. He felt himself alienated 
 from God, a discord in the harmonies of the uni 
 verse. The very rooks which fluttered around the 
 old church spire seemed more worthy of the Crea 
 tor s love and care than himself. A vision of the 
 infernal fire, like that glimpse of hell which was 
 
John Bunyan. 219 
 
 afforded to Christian by the Shepherds, was con 
 tinually before him, with its " rumbling noise, and 
 the cry of some tormented, and the scent of brim 
 stone." Whithersoever he went, the glare of it 
 scorched him, and its dreadful sound was in his 
 ears. His vivid but disturbed imagination tent 
 new terrors to the awful figures by which the sa 
 cred writers conveyed the idea of future retribution 
 to the Oriental mind. Bunyan s World of Woe, if it 
 lacked the colossal architecture and solemn vast- 
 ness of Milton s Pandemonium, was more clearly 
 defined ; its agonies were within the pale of human 
 comprehension ; its victims were men and women, 
 with the same keen sense of corporeal suffering 
 which they possessed in life ; and who, to use his 
 own terrible description, had "all the loathed va 
 riety of hell to grapple with ; fire unquenchable, a 
 lake of choking brimstone, eternal chains, darkness 
 more black than night, the everlasting gnawing of 
 the worm, the sight of devils, and the yells and 
 outcries of the damned." 
 
 His mind at this period was evidently shaken in 
 some degree from its balance. He was troubled 
 with strange, wicked thoughts, confused by doubts 
 and blasphemous suggestions, for which he could 
 only account by supposing himself possessed of 
 the Devil. He wanted to curse and swear, and 
 had to clap his hands on his mouth to prevent it. 
 In prayer, he felt, as he supposed, Satan behind i 
 him, pulling his clothes, and telling him to have 
 done, and break off; suggesting that he had better 
 
22O Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 pray to him, and calling up before his mind s eye 
 the figures of a bull, a tree, or some other object, 
 instead of the awful idea of God. 
 
 He notes here, as cause of thankfulness, that, 
 even in this dark and clouded state, he was en 
 abled to see the "vile and abominable things 
 
 O 
 
 fomented by the Quakers," to be errors. Gradu 
 ally, the shadow wherein he had so long 
 
 " Walked beneath the day s broad glare, 
 A darkened man," 
 
 passed from him, and for a season he was afforded 
 an " evidence of his salvation from Heaven, with 
 many golden seals thereon hanging in his sight." 
 But, ere long, other temptations assailed him. A 
 strange suggestion haunted him, to sell or part 
 with his Saviour. His own account of this hallu 
 cination is too painfully vivid to awaken any other 
 feeling than that of sympathy and sadness. 
 
 " I could neither eat my food, stoop for a pin, 
 chop a stick, or cast mine eye to look on this or 
 that, but still the temptation would come, Sell 
 Christ for this, or sell Christ for that; sell him, 
 sell him. 
 
 " Sometimes it would run in my thoughts, not so 
 little as a hundred times together, Sell him, sell 
 him ; against which, I may say, for whole hours 
 together, I have been forced to stand as continu- 
 ( ally leaning and forcing my spirit against it, lest 
 haply, before I were aware, some wicked thought 
 1 might arise in my heart, that might consent there 
 to; and sometimes the tempter would make me 
 
John Bunyan. 221 
 
 believe I had consented to it; but then I should 
 be as tortured upon a rack, for whole days to 
 gether. 
 
 "This temptation did put me to such scares, 
 lest I should at sometimes, I say, consent thereto, 
 and be overcome therewith, that, by the very force ^ 
 of my mind, my very body would be put into ac 
 tion or motion, by way of pushing or thrusting with 
 my hands or elbows ; still answering, as fast as the 
 destroyer said, Sell him, I will not, I will not, I 
 will not; no, not for thousands, thousands, thou 
 sands of worlds ; thus reckoning, lest I should set 
 too low a value on him, even until I scarce well 
 knew where I was, or how to be composed again. 
 
 "But to be brief: one morning, as I did lie in 
 my bed, I was, as at other times, most fiercely 
 assaulted with this temptation, to sell and part 
 with Christ ; the wicked suggestion still running 
 in my mind, Sell him, sell him, sell him, sell him, 
 sell him, as fast as a man could speak ; against 
 which, also, in my mind, as at other times, I an 
 swered, No, no, not for thousands, thousands, 
 thousands, at least twenty times together ; but at 
 last, after much striving, I felt this thought pass 
 through my heart, Let him go if he will ; and I 
 thought also, that I felt my heart freely consent 
 thereto. O the diligence of Satan ! O the des- 
 perateness of man s heart ! 
 
 " Now was the battle won, and down fell I, as 
 a bird that is shot from the top of a tree, into great 
 guilt, and fearful despair. Thus getting out of my 
 
222 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 bed, I went moping into the field ; but God knows 
 with as heavy a heart as mortal man, I think, could 
 bear ; where, for the space of two hours, I was like 
 a man bereft of life ; and, as now, past all recov 
 ery, and bound over to eternal punishment. 
 
 " And withal, that Scripture did seize upon my 
 soul : * Or profane person, as Esau, who, for one 
 morsel of meat, sold his birthright ; for ye know, 
 how that afterward, when he would have inherited 
 the blessing, he was rejected ; for he found no 
 place for repentance, though he sought it carefully 
 with tears. " 
 
 For two years and a half, as he informs us, that 
 awful Scripture sounded in his ears like the knell 
 of a lost soul. He believed that he had committed 
 the unpardonable sin. His mental anguish was 
 united with bodily illness and suffering. His ner 
 vous system became fearfully deranged ; his limbs 
 trembled ; and he supposed this visible tremu- 
 lousness and agitation to be the mark of Cain. 
 Troubled with pain and distressing sensations in 
 his chest, he began to fear that his breast-bone 
 would split open, and that he should peristi like 
 Judas Iscariot. He feared that the tiles of the 
 houses would fall upon him as he walked in the 
 streets. He was like his own Man in the Cage at 
 the House of the Interpreter, shut out from the 
 promises, and looking forward to certain judg 
 ment. " Methought," he says, " the very sun that 
 shineth in heaven did grudge to give me light." 
 And still the dreadful words, " He found no place 
 
John B uny an. 223 
 
 for repentance, though he sought it carefully with 
 tears," sounded in the depths of his soul. They 
 were, he says, like fetters of brass to his legs, and 
 their continual clanking followed him for months. 
 Regarding himself elected and predestined for dam 
 nation, he thought that all things worked for his 
 damage and eternal overthrow, while all things 
 wrought for the best, and to do good to the elect 
 and called of God unto salvation. God and all 
 His universe had, he thought, conspired against 
 him the green earth, the bright waters, the sky 
 itself, were written over with His irrevocable curse. 
 Well was it said by Bunyan s contemporary, the 
 excellent Cudworth, in his eloquent sermon before 
 the Long Parliament, that " We are nowhere com 
 manded to pry into the secrets of God, but the 
 wholesome advice given us is this : * To make our 
 calling and election sure. We have no warrant 
 from Scripture to peep into the hidden rolls of 
 eternity, to spell out our names among the stars." 
 " Must we say that God sometimes, to exercise His 
 uncontrollable dominion, delights rather in plung 
 ing wretched souls down into infernal night and 
 everlasting darkness ? What, then, shall we make 
 the God of the whole world ? Nothing but a cruel 
 and dreadful Erinnys, with curled fiery snakes 
 about His head, and firebrands in His hand ; thus 
 governing the world ! Surely, this wjill make us 
 either secretly think there is no God in the world, 
 if He 1 must needs be such, or else to wish heartily 
 there were none." It was thus at times with Dun- 
 
224 Portraits and SketcJies. 
 
 yan. He was tempted, in this season of despair, 
 to believe that there was no resurrection and no 
 judgment. 
 
 One day he tells us a sudden rushing sound, 
 as of wind or the wings of angels, came to him 
 through the window, wonderfully sweet and pleas 
 ant ; and it was as if a voice spoke to him from 
 heaven words of encouragement and hope, which, 
 to use his language, commanded, for the time, " a 
 silence in his heart to all those tumultuous thoughts 
 that did use, like masterless hell-hounds, to roar 
 and bellow and make a hideous noise within him." 
 About this time, also, some comforting passages of 
 Scripture were called to mind ; but he remarks, 
 that whenever he strove to apply them to his case, 
 Satan would thrust the curse of Esau in his face, 
 and wrest the good word from him. The blessed 
 promise, " Him that cometh to me, I will in no 
 wise cast out," was the chief instrumentality in re 
 storing his lost peace. He says of it : "If ever 
 Satan and I did strive for any word of God in all 
 my life, it was for this good word of Christ ; he at 
 one end, and I at the other ; O, what work we 
 made ! It was for this in John, I say, that we did 
 so tug and strive ; he pulled, and I pulled, but, 
 God be praised ! I overcame him ; I got sweetness 
 from it. O ! many a pull hath my heart had with 
 Satan for this blessed sixth chapter of John ! " 
 
 Who does not here call to mind the struggle be 
 tween Christian and Apollyon in the valley ! That 
 was no fancy sketch ; it was the narrative of the 
 
John Bunyan. 22$ 
 
 author s own grapple with the Spirit of Evil. Like 
 his ideal Christian, he "conquered through Him 
 that loved him." Love wrought the victory : the 
 Scripture of Forgiveness overcame that of Hatred. 
 
 He never afterwards relapsed into that state of 
 religious melancholy from which he so hardly es 
 caped. He speaks of his deliverance, as the wak 
 ing out of a troublesome dream. His painful ex 
 perience was not lost upon him ; for it gave him, 
 ever after, a tender sympathy for the weak, the sin 
 ful, the ignorant, and desponding. In some meas 
 ure, he had been "touched with the feeling of 
 their infirmities." He could feel for those in the 
 bonds of sin and despair, as bound with them. 
 Hence his power as a preacher ; hence the wonder 
 ful adaptation of his great allegory to all the variety 
 of spiritual conditions. Like Fearing, he had lain 
 a month in the Slough of Despond, and had 
 played, like him, the long melancholy bass of 
 spiritual heaviness. With Feeble-mind, he had 
 fallen into the hands of Slay-good, of the nature 
 of Man-eaters : and had limped along his difficult 
 way upon the crutches of Ready-to-halt. Who 
 better than himself could describe the condition 
 of Despondency, and his daughter Much-afraid, in 
 the dungeon of Doubting Castle? Had he not 
 also fallen among thieves, like Little-faith? 
 
 His account of his entering upon the solemn 
 duties of a preacher of the Gospel is at once curi 
 ous and instructive. He deals honestly with him 
 self, exposing all his various moods, weaknesses, 
 
 VOL. i. 10* o 
 
226 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 doubts, and temptations. " I preached," he says, 
 " what I felt ; for the terrors of the law and the 
 guilt of transgression lay heavy on my conscience. 
 I have been as one sent to them from the dead. I 
 went, myself in chains, to preach to them in 
 chains ; and carried that fire in my conscience 
 which I persuaded them to beware of." At times, 
 when he stood up to preach, blasphemies and evil 
 doubts rushed into his mind, and he felt a strong 
 desire to utter them aloud to his congregation ; 
 and at other seasons, when he was about to apply 
 to the sinner some searching and fearful text of 
 Scripture, he was tempted to withhold it, on the 
 ground that it condemned himself also ; but, with 
 standing the suggestion of the Tempter, to use his 
 own simile, he bowed himself like Samson to con 
 demn sin wherever he found it, though he brought 
 guilt and condemnation upon himself thereby, 
 choosing rather to die with the Philistines than to 
 deny the truth. 
 
 Foreseeing the consequences of exposing him 
 self to the operation of the penal laws by holding 
 conventicles and preaching, he was deeply afflicted 
 at the thought of the suffering and destitution to 
 which his wife and children might be exposed by 
 his death or imprisonment. Nothing can be more 
 touching than his simple and earnest words on this 
 point. They show how warm and deep were his 
 human affections, and what a tender and loving 
 heart he laid as a sacrifice on the altar of duty. 
 
 " I found myself a man compassed with infirmi- 
 
John B tiny an. 227 
 
 ties ; the parting with my wife and poor children 
 hath often been to me in this place, as the pulling 
 the flesh from the bones ; and also it brought to 
 my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants, 
 that my poor family was like to meet with, should 
 I be taken from them, especially my poor blind f 
 child, who lay nearer my heart than all beside. } 
 O, the thoughts of the hardships I thought my s 
 poor blind one might go under, would break my I 
 heart to pieces. 
 
 " Poor child ! thought I, what sorrow art thou 
 like to have for thy portion in this world ! thou 
 must be beaten, must beg, suffer hunger, cold, 
 nakedness, and a thousand calamities, though I 
 cannot now endure the wind should blow upon 
 thee. But yet, thought I, I must venture you all 
 with God, though it goeth to the quick to leave 
 you : oh ! I saw I was as a man who was pulling 
 down his house upon the heads of his wife and 
 children ; yet I thought on those two milch kine 
 that were to carry the ark of God into another 
 country, and to leave their calves behind them. 
 
 "But that which helped me in this temptation 
 was divers considerations : the first was, the con 
 sideration of those two Scriptures, Leave thy 
 fatherless children, I will preserve them alive ; and 
 let thy widows trust in me : and again, The 
 Lord said, verily it shall go well with thy remnant ; 
 verily I will cause the enemy to entreat them well 
 in the time of evil. " 
 
 He was arrested in 1660, charged with "devil- 
 
228 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 ishly and perniciously abstaining from church," and 
 of being " a common upholder of conventicles." 
 At the Quarter Sessions, where his trial seems to 
 have been conducted somewhat like that of Faith 
 ful at Vanity Fair, he was sentenced to perpetual 
 banishment. This sentence, however, was never 
 executed, but he was remanded to Bedford jail, 
 where he lay a prisoner for twelve years. 
 
 Here, shut out from the world, with no other 
 books than the Bible and Fox s Martyrs, he 
 penned that great work \vhich has attained a 
 wider and more stable popularity than any other 
 book in the English tongue. It is alike the favor 
 ite of the nursery and the study. Many experi 
 enced Christians hold it only second to the Bible ; 
 the infidel himself would not willingly let it die. 
 Men of all sects read it with delight, as in the 
 main a truthful representation of the Christian 
 pilgrimage, without indeed assenting to all the doc 
 trines which the author puts in the mouth of his 
 fighting sermonizer, Great-heart, or which may be 
 deduced from some other portions of his allegory. 
 A recollection of his fearful sufferings, from mis 
 apprehension of a single text in the Scriptures, 
 relative to the question of election, we may sup 
 pose gave a milder tone to the theology of his Pil 
 grim than was altogether consistent with the Cal 
 vinism of the seventeenth century. "Religion," 
 says Macaulay, " has scarcely ever worn a form so 
 calm and soothing as in Bunyan s allegory." In 
 composing it, he seems never to have altogether 
 
John Bunyan. 229 
 
 lost sight of the fact, that, in his life-and-death 
 struggle with Satan for the blessed promise re 
 corded by the Apostle of Love, the adversary was 
 generally found on the Genevan side of the argu 
 ment. 
 
 Little did the short-sighted persecutors of Bun 
 yan dream, when they closed upon him the door 
 of Bedford jail, that God would overrule their poor 
 spite and envy, to His own glory and the world 
 wide renown of their victim. In the solitude of 
 his prison, the ideal forms of beauty and sublimity, 
 which had long flitted before him vaguely, like the 
 vision of the Temanite, took shape and coloring ; 
 and he was endowed with power to reduce them 
 to order, and arrange them in harmonious group 
 ings. His powerful imagination, no longer self- 
 tormenting, but under the direction of reason and 
 grace, expanded his narrow cell into a vast theatre, 
 lighted up for the display of its wonders. To this 
 creative faculty of his mind might have been aptly 
 applied the language which George Wither, a con 
 temporary prisoner, addressed to his Muse : 
 
 . " The dull loneness, the black shade 
 \ Which these hanging vaults have made, 
 r The rude portals that give light 
 
 More to terror than delight ; 
 
 This my chamber of neglect, 
 
 Walled about with disrespect, 
 
 From all these, and this dull air, 
 
 A fit object for despair, 
 
 She hath taught me by her might, 
 
 To draw comfort and delight." 
 
230 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 That stony cell of his was to him like the rock 
 of Padan-aram to the wandering Patriarch. He 
 saw angels ascending and descending. The House 
 Beautiful rose up before him, and its holy sister 
 hood welcomed him. He looked, with his Pilgrim, 
 from the Chamber of Peace. The Valley of Hu 
 miliation lay stretched out beneath his eye, and he 
 heard " the curious, melodious note of the country 
 birds, who sing all the day long in the spring time, 
 when the flowers appear, and the sun shines warm, 
 and make the woods and groves and solitary places 
 glad." Side by side with the good Christiana and 
 the loving Mercy, he walked through the green 
 and lowly valley, "fruitful as any the crow flies 
 over," through " meadows beautiful with lilies " ; 
 the song of the poor but fresh-faced shepherd-boy, 
 who lived a merry life, and wore the herb hcarfs- 
 ease in his bosom, sounded through his cell : 
 
 " He that is down need fear no fall ; 
 He that is low no pride." 
 
 The broad and pleasant "river of the Water of 
 Life" glided peacefully before him, fringed "on 
 either side with green trees, with all manner of 
 fruit," and leaves of healing, with " meadows beau 
 tified with lilies, and green all the year long" ; he 
 saw the Delectable Mountains, glorious with sun 
 shine, overhung with gardens and orchards and 
 vineyards ; and beyond all, the Land of Beulah, 
 with its eternal sunshine, its song of birds, its 
 music of fountains, its purple clustered vines, and 
 
John Bunyan. 231 
 
 groves through which walked the Shining Ones, 
 silver-winged and beautiful. 
 
 What were bars and bolts and prison-walls to r~ 
 him, whose eyes were anointed to see, and whose 
 ears opened to hear, the glory and the rejoicing of 
 the City of God, when the pilgrims were conducted 
 to its golden gates, from the black and bitter river, 
 with the sounding trumpeters, the transfigured 
 harpers with their crowns of gold, the sweet voices 
 of angels, the welcoming peal of bells in the holy 
 city, and the songs of the redeemed ones ? In y 
 reading the concluding pages of the first part of 
 Pilgrim s Progress, we feel as if the mysterious 
 glory of the Beatific Vision was unveiled before 
 us. We are dazzled with the excess of light. We 
 are entranced with the mighty melody \ over 
 whelmed by the great anthem of rejoicing spirits. 
 It can only be adequately described in the lan 
 guage of Milton in respect to the Apocalypse, as 
 "a seven-fold chorus of hallelujahs and harping 
 symphonies." 
 
 Few who read Bunyan now-a-days think of him 
 as one of the brave old English confessors, whose 
 steady and firm endurance of persecution baffled, 
 and in the end overcame the tyranny of the Estab 
 lished Church in the reign of Charles II. What 
 Milton and Penn and Locke wrote in defence of 
 Liberty, Bunyan lived out and acted. He made 
 no concessions to worldly rank. Dissolute lords 
 and proud bishops he counted less than the 
 humblest and poorest of his disciples at Bedford. 
 
232 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 When first arrested and thrown into prison, he 
 supposed he should be called to suffer death for 
 his faithful testimony to the truth ; and his great 
 fear was, that he should not meet his fate with the 
 requisite firmness, and so dishonor the cause of 
 his Master. And when dark clouds came over 
 him, and he sought in vain for a sufficient evi 
 dence that in the event of his death it would be 
 well with him, he girded up his soul with the re 
 flection, that, as he suffered for the word and way 
 of God, he was engaged not to shrink one hair s 
 breadth from it. " I will leap," he says, " off the 
 ladder blindfold into eternity, sink or swim, come 
 heaven, come hell. Lord Jesus, if thou wilt catch 
 me, do ; if not, I will venture in thy name ! " 
 
 The English revolution of the seventeenth cen 
 tury, while it humbled the false and oppressive 
 aristocracy of rank and title, was prodigal in the 
 development of the real nobility of the mind and 
 heart. Its history is bright with the footprints of 
 men whose very names still stir the hearts of free 
 men, the world over, like a trumpet peal. Say 
 what we may of its fanaticism, laugh as we may 
 at its extravagant enjoyment of newly acquired 
 religious and civil liberty, who shall now venture 
 to deny that it was the golden age of England ? 
 Who that regards freedom above slavery, will now 
 sympathize with the outcry and lamentation of 
 those interested in the continuance of the old 
 order of things, against the prevalence of sects 
 and schism, but who, at the same time, as Milton 
 
John B uny an. 233 
 
 shrewdly intimates, dreaded more the rending of 
 their pontifical sleeves than the rending of the 
 Church ? Who shall now sneer at Puritanism, with 
 the " Defence of Unlicensed Printing " before him? 
 Who scoff at Quakerism over the Journal of George 
 Fox? Who shall join with debauched lordlings 
 and fat-witted prelates in ridicule of Anabaptist 
 levellers and dippers, after rising from the perusal 
 of Pilgrim s Progress ? " There were giants in 
 those days." And foremost amidst that band of 
 liberty-loving and God-fearing men, 
 
 " The slandered Calvinists of Charles s time, 
 Who fought, and won it, Freedom s holy fight," 
 
 stands the subject of our sketch, the Tinker of 
 Elstow. Of his high merit as an author there is 
 no longer any question. The Edinburgh Review 
 expressed the common sentiment of the literary 
 world, when it declared that the two great crea 
 tive minds of the seventeenth century were those 
 which produced PARADISE LOST and the PILGRIM S 
 PROGRESS. 
 
THOMAS ELLWOOD. 
 
 / "COMMEND us to autobiographies! Give us 
 \^ the veritable notchings of Robinson Crusoe 
 on his stick, the indubitable records of a life long 
 since swallowed up in the blackness of darkness, 
 traced by a hand the very dust of which has be 
 come undistinguishable. The foolishest egotist 
 ( who ever chronicled his daily experiences, his 
 i hopes and fears, poor plans and vain Teachings 
 / 1> after happiness, speaking to us out of the Past, 
 I and thereby giving us to understand that it was 
 quite as real as our Present, is in no mean sort our 
 benefactor, and commands our attention, in spite 
 of his folly. We are thankful for the very vanity 
 which prompted him to bottle up his poor records, 
 and cast them into the great sea of Time, for future 
 voyagers to pick up. We note, with the deepest 
 interest, that in him too was enacted that miracle 
 of a conscious existence, the reproduction of which 
 in ourselves awes and perplexes us. He, too, had 
 a mother ; he hated and loved ; the light from old- 
 quenched hearths shone over him ; he walked in 
 the sunshine over the dust of those who had gone 
 before him, just as we are now walking over his. 
 These records of him remain, the footmarks of a 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 235 
 
 long-extinct life, not of mere animal organism, but 
 of a being like ourselves, enabling us, by studying 
 their hieroglyphic significance, to decipher and see 
 clearly into the mystery of existence centuries ago. 
 The dead generations live again in these old self- 
 biographies. Incidentally, unintentionally, yet in 
 the simplest and most natural manner, they make 
 us familiar with all the phenomena of life in the 
 by-gone ages. We are brought in contact with 
 actual flesh-and-blood men and women, not the 
 ghostly outline figures which pass for such, in 
 what is called History. The horn lantern of the 
 biographer, by the aid of which, with painful mi 
 nuteness, he chronicled, from day to day, his own 
 outgoings and incomings, making visible to us his 
 pitiful wants, labors, trials, and tribulations, of the 
 stomach and of the conscience, sheds, at times, 
 a strong clear light upon contemporaneous activi 
 ties ; what seemed before half fabulous, rises up in 
 distinct and full proportions ; we look at statesmen, 
 philosophers, and poets, with the eyes of those 
 who lived perchance their next door neighbors, 
 and sold them beer, and mutton, and household 
 stuffs, had access to their kitchens, and took note 
 of the fashion of their wigs and the color of their 
 breeches. Without some such light, all history 
 would be just about as unintelligible and unreal as 
 a dimly remembered dream. 
 
 The journals of the early Friends or Quakers are 
 in this respect invaluable. Little, it is true, can be 
 said, as a general thing, of their literary merits. 
 
236 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Their authors were plain, earnest men and women, 
 chiefly intent upon the substance of things, and 
 having withal a strong testimony to bear against 
 carnal wit and outside show and ornament. Yet, 
 even the scholar may well admire the power of 
 certain portions of George Fox s Journal, where a 
 strong spirit clothes its utterance in simple, down 
 right Saxon words ; the quiet and beautiful en 
 thusiasm of Pennington ; the torrent energy of 
 Edward Burrough ; the serene wisdom of Penn ; 
 the logical acuteness of Barclay ; the honest truth 
 fulness of Sewell ; the wit and humor of John 
 Roberts, (for even Quakerism had its apostolic 
 jokers and drab-coated Robert Halls ;) and last, 
 not least, the simple beauty of Woolman s Jour 
 nal, the modest record of a life of good works and 
 love. 
 
 Let us look at the " Life of Thomas Ellwood." 
 The book before us is a hardly-used Philadelphia 
 reprint, bearing date of 1775. The original was 
 published some sixty years before. It is not a 
 book to be found in fashionable libraries, or noticed 
 in fashionable reviews, but is none the less deserv 
 ing of attention. 
 
 Ellwood was born in 1639, m tne little town of 
 Crowell, in Oxfordshire. Old Walter, his father, 
 was of "gentlemanly lineage, and held a com 
 mission of the peace under Charles I. One of 
 his most intimate friends was Isaac Pennington, a 
 gentleman of estate and good reputation, whose 
 wife, the widow of Sir John Springette, was a 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 237 
 
 lady of superior endowments. Her only daugh 
 ter, Gulielma, was the playmate and companion of 
 Thomas. On making this family a visit, in 1658, 
 in company with his father, he was surprised to 
 find that they had united with the Quakers, a sect 
 then little known, and everywhere spoken against. 
 Passing through the vista of nearly two centuries, 
 let us cross the threshold, and look with the eyes 
 of young Ellwood upon this Quaker family. It 
 will doubtless give us a good idea of the earnest 
 and solemn spirit of that age of religious awaken 
 ing. 
 
 " So great a change from a free, debonair, and 
 courtly sort of behavior, which we had formerly 
 found there, into so strict a gravity as they now 
 received us with, did not a little amuse us, and 
 disappointed our expectations of such a pleasant 
 visit as we had promised ourselves. 
 
 " For my part, I sought, and at length found, 
 means to cast myself into the company of the 
 daughter, whom I found gathering flowers in the 
 garden, attended by her maid, also a Quaker. 
 But when I addressed her after my accustomed 
 manner, with intention to engage her in discourse, 
 on the foot of our former acquaintance, though she 
 treated me with a courteous mien, yet, as young as 
 she was, the gravity of her looks and behavior 
 struck such an awe upon me, that I found myself 
 not so much master of myself as to pursue any 
 further converse with her. 
 
 "We staid dinner, which was very handsome, 
 
238 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 and lacked nothing to recommend it to me but the 
 want of mirth and pleasant discourse, which we 
 could neither have with them, nor, by reason of 
 them, with one another ; the weightiness which 
 was upon their spirits and countenances keeping 
 down the lightness that would have been up in 
 ours." 
 
 Not long after, they made a second visit to their 
 sober friends, spending several days, during which 
 they attended a meeting, in a neighboring farm 
 house, where we are introduced by Elhvood to 
 two remarkable personages, Edward Burrough, the 
 friend and fearless reprover of Cromwell, and by 
 far the most eloquent preacher of his sect ; and 
 James Nayler, whose melancholy after-history of 
 fanaticism, cruel sufferings, and beautiful repent 
 ance, is so well known to the readers of English his 
 tory under the Protectorate. Under the preaching 
 of these men, and the influence of the Pennington 
 family, young Ellwood was brought into fellow 
 ship with the Quakers. Of the old Justice s sor 
 row and indignation at this sudden blasting of his 
 hopes and wishes in respect to his son, and of the 
 trials and difficulties of the latter in his new voca 
 tion, it is now scarcely worth while to speak. Let 
 us step forward a few years, to 1662, considering 
 meantime how matters, political and spiritual, are 
 changed in that brief period. Cromwell, the Mac 
 cabeus of Puritanism, is no longer among men ; 
 Charles the Second sits in his place ; profane and 
 licentious cavaliers have thrust aside the sleek- 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 239 
 
 haired, parnful-faced Independents, who used to 
 groan approval to the Scriptural illustrations of 
 Harrison and Fleetwood ; men easy of virtue, 
 without sincerity, either in religion or politics, 
 occupying the places made honorable by the Mil- 
 tons, Whitlocks, and Vanes of the Commonwealth. 
 Having this change in view, the light which the 
 farthing candle of Ellwood sheds upon one of 
 these illustrious names will not be unwelcome. 
 In his intercourse with Penn, and other learned 
 Quakers, he had reason to lament his own de 
 ficiencies in scholarship, and his friend Penning- 
 ton undertook to put him in a way of remedying 
 the defect. 
 
 "He had," says Ellwood, " an intimate ac 
 quaintance with Dr. Paget, a physician of note in 
 London, and he with John Milton, a gentleman of 
 great note for learning throughout the learned 
 world, for the accurate pieces he had written on 
 various subjects and occasions. 
 
 "This person, having filled a public station in 
 the former times, lived a private and retired life in 
 London, and, having lost his sight, kept always 
 a man to read for him, which usually was the son 
 of some gentleman of his acquaintance, whom, in 
 kindness, he took to improve in his learning. 
 
 " Thus, by the mediation of my friend Isaac 
 Pennington with Dr. Paget, and through him with 
 John Milton, was I admitted to come to him, not 
 as a servant to him, nor to be in the house with 
 him, but only to have the liberty of coming to his 
 
240 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 house at certain hours when I would, and read to 
 him what books he should appoint, which was all 
 the favor I desired. 
 
 " He received me courteously, as well for the 
 sake of Dr. Paget, who introduced me, as of Isaac 
 Pennington, who recommended me, to both of 
 whom he bore a good respect. And, having in 
 quired divers things of me, with respect to my 
 former progression in learning, he dismissed me, 
 to provide myself with such accommodations as 
 might be most suitable to my studies. 
 
 " I went, therefore, and took lodgings as near to 
 his house (which was then in Jewen Street) as I 
 conveniently could, and from thenceforward went 
 every day in the afternoon, except on the first day 
 of the week, and, sitting by him in his dining-room, 
 read to him such books in the Latin tongue as 
 he pleased to have me read. 
 
 " He perceiving with what earnest desire I had 
 pursued learning, gave me not only all the encour 
 agement, but all the help he could. For, having 
 a curious ear, he understood by my tone when I 
 understood what I read and when I did not, and 
 accordingly would stop me, examine me, and open 
 the most difficult passages to me." 
 
 Thanks, worthy Thomas, for this glimpse into 
 John Milton s dining-room ! 
 
 He had been with " Master Milton," as he calls 
 him, only a few weeks, when, being one " first day 
 morning," at the Bull and Mouth meeting, Alders- 
 gate, the train-bands of the city, " with great noise 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 241 
 
 and clamor," headed by Major Rosewell, fell upon 
 him and his friends. The immediate cause of this 
 onslaught upon quiet worshippers was the famous 
 plot of the Fifth Monarchy men, grim old fanatics, 
 who (like the Millerites of the present day) had 
 been waiting long for the personal reign of Christ 
 and the saints upon earth, and in their zeal to 
 hasten such a consummation, had sallied into Lon 
 don streets with drawn swords and loaded match 
 locks. The government took strong measures for -r 
 suppressing dissenters meetings or " conventi 
 cles " ; and the poor Quakers, although not at 
 all implicated in the disturbance, suffered more 
 severely than any others. Let us look at the 
 "freedom of conscience and worship" in England 
 under that irreverent Defender of the Faith, Charles 
 II. Ellwood says : " He that commanded the 
 party gave us first a general charge to come out of 
 the room. But we, who came thither at God s re 
 quiring to worship Him, (like that good man of 
 old, who said, we ought to obey God rather than 
 man,} stirred not, but kept our places. Where 
 upon, he sent some of his soldiers among us, with 
 command to drag or drive us out, which they did 
 roughly enough." Think of it : grave men and 
 women, and modest maidens, sitting there with 
 calm, impassive countenances, motionless as death, 
 the pikes of the soldiery closing about them in a 
 circle of bristling steel ! Brave and true ones ! 
 Not in vain did ye thus oppose God s silence to 
 the Devil s uproar ; Christian endurance and cairn / 
 
 VOL. I. II P 
 
242 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 persistence in the exercise of your rights as Eng 
 lishmen and men to the hot fury of impatient tyr 
 anny ! From your day down to this, the world has 
 been the better for your faithfulness. 
 
 Ellwood and some thirty of his friends were 
 marched off to prison in Old Bridewell, which, as 
 well as nearly all the other prisons, was already 
 crowded with Quaker prisoners. One of the rooms 
 of the prison was used as a torture chamber. " I 
 was almost affrighted," says Ellwood, "by the 
 dismalness of the place ; for, besides that the walls 
 were all laid over with black, from top to bot 
 tom, there stood in the middle a great whipping 
 post. 
 
 " The manner of whipping there is, to strip the 
 party to the skin, from the waist upward, and, hav 
 ing fastened him to the whipping-post, (so that he 
 can neither resist nor shun the strokes,) to lash his 
 naked body with long, slender twigs of holly, which 
 will bend almost like thongs around the body; and 
 these, having little knots upon them, tear the skin 
 and flesh, and give extreme pain." 
 
 To this terrible punishment aged men and deli 
 cately nurtured young females were often subjected, 
 during this season of hot persecution. 
 
 From the Bridewell, Ellwood was at length re 
 moved to Newgate, and thrust in, with other 
 " Friends," amidst the common felons. He speaks 
 of this prison, with its thieves, murderers, and prosti 
 tutes, its over-crowded apartments, and loathsome 
 cells, as " a hell upon earth." In a closet, adjoin- 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 243 
 
 ing the room where he was lodged, lay for several 
 days the quartered bodies of Phillips, Tongue, and 
 Gibbs, the leaders of the Fifth Monarchy rising, 
 frightful and loathsome, as they came from the 
 bloody hand of the executioners ! These ghastly 
 remains were at length obtained by the friends of 
 the dead, and buried. The heads were ordered to 
 be prepared for setting up in different parts of the 
 city. Read this grim passage of description : 
 
 " I saw the heads when they were brought to be 
 boiled. The hangman fetched them in a dirty 
 basket, out of some by-place, and, setting them 
 down among the felons, he and they made sport of 
 them. They took them by the hair, flouting, jeer 
 ing, and laughing at them ; and then giving them 
 some ill names, boxed them on their ears and 
 cheeks ; which done, the hangman put them into 
 his kettle, and parboiled them with bay-salt and 
 cummin-seed ; that to keep them from putrefaction, 
 and this to keep off the fowls from seizing upon 
 them. The whole sight, as well that of the bloody 
 quarters first, as this of the heads afterwards, was 
 both frightful and loathsome, and begat an abhor 
 rence in my nature." 
 
 At the next session of the municipal court at the 
 Old Bailey, Ellwood obtained his discharge. After 
 paying a visit to " my Master Milton," he made 
 his way to Chalfont, the home of his friends the 
 Penningtons, where he was soon after engaged as 
 a Latin teacher. Here he seems to have had his 
 trials and temptations. Gulielma Springette, the 
 
244 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 daughter of Pennington s wife, his old playmate, 
 had now grown to be "a fair woman of marriage 
 able age," and, as he informs us, " very desirable, 
 whether regard was had to her outward person, 
 which wanted nothing to make her completely 
 comely, or to the endowments of her mind, which 
 were every way extraordinary, or to her outward 
 fortune, which was fair." From all which, we are 
 not surprised to learn that " she was secretly and 
 openly sought for by many of almost every rank 
 and condition." " To whom," continues Thomas, 
 " in their respective turns, (till he at length came 
 for whom she was reserved,) she carried herself 
 with so much evenness of temper, such courteous 
 freedom, guarded by the strictest modesty, that as 
 it gave encouragement or ground of hope to none, 
 so neither did it administer any matter of offence or 
 just cause of complaint to any." 
 
 Beautiful and noble maiden ! How the imagina 
 tion fills up this outline limning by her friend, and, 
 if truth must be told, admirer ! Serene, courteous, 
 healthful ; a ray of tenderest and blandest light, 
 shining steadily in the sober gloom of that old 
 household ! Confirmed Quaker as she is, shrink 
 ing from none of the responsibilities and dangers 
 of her profession, and therefore liable at any time 
 to the penalties of prison and whipping-post, under 
 that plain garb and in spite of that " certain grav 
 ity of look and behavior," which, as we have seen, 
 on one occasion awed young Ellwood into silence, 
 youth, beauty, and refinement assert their preroga- 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 245 
 
 tives ; love knows no creed ; the gay, and titled, 
 and wealthy crowd around her, suing in vain for 
 her favor. 
 
 " Followed, like the tided moon, 
 She moves as calmly on," 
 
 " until he at length comes for whom she was re 
 served," and her name is united with that of one 
 worthy even of her, the world-renowned William 
 Penn. 
 
 Meantime, one cannot but feel a good degree of 
 sympathy with young Ellwood, her old schoolmate 
 and playmate, placed, as he was, in the same family 
 with her, enjoying her familiar conversation and 
 unreserved confidence ; and, as he says, the " ad 
 vantageous opportunities of riding and walking 
 abroad with her, by night as well as by day, with 
 out any other company than her maid ; for, so 
 great, indeed, was the confidence that her mother 
 had in me, that she thought her daughter safe, if I 
 was with her, even from the plots and designs of 
 others upon her." So near, and yet, alas! in truth, 
 so distant ! The serene and gentle light which 
 shone upon him, in the sweet solitudes of Chalfont, 
 was that of a star, itself unapproachable. As he 
 himself meekly intimates, she was reserved for an 
 other. He seems to have fully understood his own 
 position in respect to her ; although, to use his 
 own words, " others measuring him by the propen 
 sity of their own inclinations, concluded he would 
 steal her, run away with her and marry her." Lit 
 tle did these jealous surmisers know of the true and 
 
246 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 really heroic spirit of the young Latin master. His 
 own apology and defence of his conduct, under 
 circumstances of temptation which St. Anthony 
 himself could have scarcely better resisted, will 
 not be amiss. 
 
 " I was not ignorant of the various fears which 
 filled the jealous heads of some concerning me, 
 neither was I so stupid nor so divested of all hu 
 manity as not to be sensible of the real and innate 
 worth and virtue which adorned that excellent 
 dame, and attracted the eyes and hearts of so 
 many, with the greatest importunity, to seek and 
 solicit her ; nor was I so devoid of natural heat as 
 not to feel some sparklings of desire, as well as 
 others ; but the force of truth and sense of honor 
 suppressed whatever would have risen beyond the 
 bounds of fair and virtuous friendship. For I 
 easily foresaw, that, if I should have attempted 
 anything in a dishonorable way, by fraud or force, 
 upon her, I should have thereby brought a wound 
 upon mine own soul, a foul scandal upon my religi 
 ous profession, and an infamous stain upon mine 
 honor, which was far more dear unto me than my 
 life. Wherefore, having observed how some others 
 had befooled themselves, by misconstruing her 
 common kindness (expressed in an innocent, open, 
 free, and familiar conversation, springing from the 
 abundant affability, courtesy, and sweetness of her 
 natural temper) to be the effect of a singular re 
 gard and peculiar affection to them, I resolved to 
 shun the rock whereon they split ; and, remember 
 ing the saying of the poet 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 247 
 
 Felix quern faciunt aliena Pericula cantum, 
 
 I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage 
 towards her, thereby preserving a fair reputation 
 with my friends, and enjoying as much of her favor 
 and kindness, in a virtuous and firm friendship, as 
 was fit for her to show or for me to seek." 
 
 Well and worthily said, poor Thomas ! What 
 ever might be said of others, thou, at least, wast 
 no coxcomb. Thy distant and involuntary admira 
 tion of " the fair Guli " needs, however, no excuse. 
 Poor human nature, guard it as one may, with 
 strictest discipline and painfully cramping environ 
 ment, will sometimes act out itself; and, in thy 
 case, not even George Fox himself, knowing thy 
 beautiful young friend, (and doubtless admiring her 
 too, for he was one of the first to appreciate and 
 honor the worth and dignity of woman,) could have 
 found it in his heart to censure thee ! 
 
 At this period, as was indeed most natural, our 
 young teacher solaced himself with occasional ap 
 peals to what he calls "the Muses." There is 
 reason to believe, however, that the Pagan sister 
 hood whom he ventured to invoke seldom graced 
 his study with their personal attendance. In these 
 rhyming efforts, scattered up and down his Journal, 
 there are occasional sparkles of genuine wit, and 
 passages of keen sarcasm, tersely and fitly ex 
 pressed. Others breathe a warm, devotional feel 
 ing ; in the following brief prayer, for instance, the 
 wants of the humble Christian are condensed in a 
 manner worthy of Quarles or Herbert : 
 
248 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 *" " Oh ! that mine eye might closed be 
 
 To what concerns me not to see ; 
 
 That deafness might possess mine ear 
 
 To what concerns me not to hear ; 
 
 That Truth my tongue might always tie 
 
 From ever speaking foolishly ; 
 
 That no vain thought might ever rest 
 
 Or be conceived in my breast ; 
 
 That by each word and deed and thought, 
 
 Glory may to my God be brought ! 
 
 But what are wishes ? Lord, mine eye 
 
 On Thee is fixed, to Thee I cry : 
 
 Wash, Lord, and purify my heart, 
 
 And make it clean in eyery part ; 
 V And when t is clean, Lord, keep it too, 
 
 For that is more than I can do." 
 
 The thought in the following extracts from a 
 poem written on the death of his friend Penning- 
 ton s son, is trite, but not inaptly or inelegantly ex 
 pressed : 
 
 " What ground, alas, has any man 
 
 To set his heart on things below, 
 Which, when they seem most like to stand, 
 
 Fly like the arrow from the bow ! 
 Who s now atop ere long shall feel 
 The circling motion of the wheel ! 
 
 " The world cannot afford a thing 
 
 Which to a well-composed mind 
 Can any lasting pleasure bring, 
 
 But in itself its grave will find. 
 All things unto their centre tend 
 What had beginning must have end ! 
 
 " No disappointment can befall 
 
 Us, having Him who s ALL IN ALL ! 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 249 
 
 What can of pleasure him prevent 
 Who hath the Fountain of Content ? " 
 
 In the year 1663 a severe law was enacted 
 against the "sect called Quakers," prohibiting 
 their meetings, with the penalty of banishment for 
 the third offence ! The burden of the prosecution 
 which followed fell upon the Quakers of the me 
 tropolis, large numbers of whom were heavily 
 fined, imprisoned, and sentenced to be banished 
 from their native land. Yet, in time, our worthy 
 friend Ellwood came in for his own share of 
 trouble, in consequence of attending the funeral 
 of one of his friends. An evil-disposed justice of 
 the county obtained information of the Quaker 
 gathering ; and, while the body of the dead was 
 " borne on Friends shoulders through the street, in 
 order to be carried to the burying-ground, which 
 was at the town s end," says Ellwood, " he rushed 
 out upon us with the constables and a rabble of 
 rude fellows whom he had gathered together, and 
 having his drawn sword in his hand, struck one of 
 the foremost of the bearers with it, commanding 
 them to set down the coffin. But the Friend, who 
 was so stricken, being more concerned for the 
 safety of the dead body than for his own, lest it 
 should fall, and any indecency thereupon follow, 
 held the coffin fast ; which the justice observing, 
 and being enraged that his word was not forthwith 
 obeyed, set his hand to the coffin, and with a forci 
 ble thrust threw it off from the bearers shoulders, 
 so that it fell to the ground in the middle of the 
 n* 
 
250 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 street, and there we were forced to leave it ; for 
 the constables and rabble fell upon us, and drew 
 some and drove others into the inn. Of those 
 thus taken," continues Ellwood, " I was one. 
 They picked out ten of us, and sent us to Ayles- 
 bury jail. 
 
 " They caused the body to lie in the open street 
 and cartway, so that all travellers that passed, 
 whether horsemen, coaches, carts, or wagons, were 
 fain to break out of the way to go by it, until it was 
 almost night. And then, having caused a grave to 
 be made in the unconsccrated part of what is called 
 the Churchyard, they forcibly took the body from 
 the widow, and buried it there." 
 
 He remained a prisoner only about two months, 
 during which period he comforted himself by such 
 verse-making as follows, reminding us of similar 
 enigmas in Bunyan s Pilgrim s Progress : 
 
 " Lo ! a Riddle for the wise, 
 In the which a Mystery lies. 
 
 RIDDLE. 
 
 Some men are free whilst they in prison lie ; 
 Others who ne er saw prison, captives die. 
 
 CAUTION. 
 
 He that can receive it may, 
 He that cannot, let him stay, 
 Not be hasty, but suspend 
 Judgment till he sees the end. 
 
 SOLUTION. 
 
 He s only free indeed, who s free from sin, 
 And he is fastest bound, that s bound therein." 
 
 In the meantime, where is our "Master Milton?" 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 251 
 
 We left him deprived of his young companion and 
 reader, sitting lonely in his small dining-room, in 
 Jewen Street It is now the year 1665 ; is not the 
 pestilence in London ? A sinful and godless city, 
 with its bloated bishops, fawning around the Nell 
 Gwyns of a licentious and profane Defender of the 
 Faith ; its swaggering and drunken cavaliers j its 
 ribald jesters ; its obscene ballad-singers ; its 
 loathsome prisons, crowded with God-fearing men 
 and women is not the measure of its iniquity al 
 ready rilled up ? Three years only have passed 
 since the terrible prayer of Vane went upward from 
 the scaffold on Tower Hill : " When my blood is S 
 shed upon the block, let it, O God, have a voice ) 
 afterward ! " Audible to thy ear, O bosom friend 
 of the martyr ! has that blood cried from earth ; 
 and now, how fearfully is it answered ! Like the 
 ashes which the Seer of the Hebrews cast towards 
 Heaven, it has returned in boils and blains upon 
 the proud and oppressive city. John Milton, sit 
 ting blind in Jewen Street, has heard the toll of 
 the death-bells, and the night-long rumble of the 
 burial-carts, and the terrible summons, "Bring 
 out your dead /" The Angel of the Plague, in 
 yellow mantle, purple-spotted, walks the streets. 
 Why should he tarry in a doomed city, forsaken of 
 God ! Is not the command, even to him, " Arise ! 
 and flee for thy life." In some green nook of the 
 quiet country, he may finish the great work which 
 his hands have found to do. He bethinks him of 
 his old friends, the Penningtons, and his young 
 
252 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Quaker companion, the patient and gentle Ell- 
 wood. " Wherefore," says the latter, " some little 
 time before I went to Aylesbury jail, I was desired 
 by my quondam Master Milton to take an house 
 for him in the neighborhood where I dwelt, that he 
 might go out of the city for the safety of himself 
 and his family, the pestilence then growing hot in 
 London. I took a pretty box for him in Giles 
 Chalfont, a mile from me, of which I gave him no 
 tice, and intended to have waited on him and seen 
 him well settled, but was prevented by that impris 
 onment. But now being released and returned 
 home, I soon made a visit to him, to welcome him 
 into the country. After some common discourse 
 had passed between us, he called for a manuscript 
 of his, which, having brought, he delivered to me, 
 bidding me take it home with me and read it at 
 my leisure, and when I had so done, return it to 
 him with my judgment thereupon." 
 
 Now, what does the reader think young Ellwood 
 carried in his gray coat pocket across the dikes 
 and hedges and through the green lanes of Giles 
 Chalfont that autumn day? Let us look farther: 
 " When I came home, and had set myself to read 
 it, I found it was that excellent poem which he en 
 titled Paradise Lost. After I had, with the best 
 attention, read it through, I made him another 
 visit ; and, returning his book with due acknowl 
 edgment of the favor he had done me in communi 
 cating it to me, he asked me how I liked it, and 
 what I thought of it, which I modestly but freely 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 253 
 
 told him ; and, after some farther discourse about 
 it, I pleasantly said to him, Thou hast said much 
 here of Paradise Lost; what hast thou to say of 
 Paradise Found ? He made me no answer, but 
 sat some time in a muse, then brake off that dis 
 course, and fell upon another subject." 
 
 " I modestly but freely told him what I thought" 
 of Paradise Lost ! What he told him remains a 
 mystery. One would like to know more precisely 
 what the first critical reader of that song " of 
 Man s first disobedience" thought of it. Fancy 
 the young Quaker and blind Milton sitting some 
 pleasant afternoon of the autumn of that old year, 
 in " the pretty box " at Chalfont, the soft wind 
 through the open window lifting the thin hair of 
 the glorious old Poet! Backslidden England, 
 plague-smitten, and accursed with her faithless 
 Church and libertine King, knows little of poor 
 " Master Milton," and takes small note of his Puri 
 tanic verse-making. Alone, with his humble friend, 
 he sits there, conning over that poem which, 
 he fondly hoped, the world, which had grown all 
 dark and strange to the author, " would not wil 
 lingly let die." The suggestion in respect to Para 
 dise Found, to which, as we have seen, " he made 
 no answer, but sat some time in a muse," seems 
 not to have been lost ; for, " after the sickness 
 was over," continues Ellwood, " and the city well 
 cleansed, and become safely habitable again, he 
 returned thither ; and when afterwards I waited on 
 him there, which I seldom failed of doing when- 
 
254 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 ever my occasions drew me to London, he showed \ 
 me his second poem, called PARADISE GAINED ; t 
 and, in a pleasant tone, said to me, This is owing- 
 to you, for you put it into my head by the question 
 you put to me at Chalfont, which before I had 
 not thought of. " 
 
 Golden days were these for the young Latin 
 reader, even if it be true, as we suspect, that he 
 was himself very far from appreciating the glorious^- 
 privilege which he enjoyed, of the familiar friend 
 ship and confidence of Milton. But they could not 
 last. His amiable host, Isaac Pennington, a blame 
 less and quiet country gentleman, was dragged 
 from his house by a military force, and lodged 
 in Aylesbury jail ; his wife and family forcibly 
 ejected from their pleasant home, which was seized 
 upon by the government as security for the fines- 
 imposed upon its owner. The plague was in the 
 village of Aylesbury, and in the very prison itself ; 
 but the noble-hearted Mary Pennington followed 
 her husband, sharing with him the dark peril: 
 Poor Ellwood, while attending a monthly meeting 
 at Hedgerly, with six others, (among them one 
 Morgan Watkins, a poor old Welshman, who, pain 
 fully endeavoring to utter his testimony in his own 
 dialect, was suspected by the Dogberry of a justice 
 of being a Jesuit trolling over his Latin,) was 
 arrested, and committed to Wiccomb House of 
 Correction. 
 
 This was a time of severe trial for the sect with 
 which Ellwood had connected himself. In the < 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 255 
 
 very midst of the pestilence, when thousands per 
 ished weekly in London, fifty-four Quakers were 
 marched through the almost deserted streets, and 
 placed on board a ship, for the purpose of being 
 conveyed, according to their sentence of banish 
 ment, to the West Indies. The ship lay for a long 
 time, with many others similarly situated, a helpless 
 prey to the pestilence. Through that terrible au 
 tumn, the prisoners sat waiting for the summons 
 of the ghastly Destroyer ; and, from their floating 
 dungeon, 
 
 " Heard the groan 
 
 Of agonizing ships from shore to shore ; 
 
 Heard nightly plunged beneath the sullen wave 
 
 The frequent corse." 
 
 When the vessel at length set sail, of the fifty-four 
 who went on board, twenty-seven only were living. 
 A Dutch privateer captured her, when two days 
 out, and carried the prisoners to North Holland, 
 where they were set at liberty. The condition of 
 the jails in the city, where were large numbers of , 
 Quakers, was dreadful in the extreme. Ill venti 
 lated, crowded, and loathsome with the accumu- f 
 lated filth of centuries, they invited the disease " 
 which daily decimated their cells. " Go on ! " says 
 Pennington, writing to the King and Bishops from 
 his plague-infected cell in the Aylesbury prison : 
 " try it out with the Spirit of the Lord ! come forth 
 with your laws, and prisons, and spoiling of goods, 
 and banishment and death, if the Lord please, and 
 see if ye can carry it ! Whom the Lord loveth, 
 
256 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 He can save at His pleasure. Hath He begun to 
 break our bonds and deliver us, and shall we now 
 distrust Him ? Are we in a worse condition than 
 Israel was when the sea was before them, the 
 mountains on either side, and the Egyptians be 
 hind, pursuing them?" 
 
 Brave men and faithful ! It is not necessary 
 that the present generation, now quietly reaping 
 the fruit of your heroic endurance, should see eye 
 to eye with you in respect to all your testimonies 
 and beliefs, in order to recognize your claim to 
 gratitude and admiration. For, in an age of hypo 
 critical hollowness and mean self-seeking, when, 
 with noble exceptions, the very Puritans of Crom 
 well s Reign of the Saints were taking profane les 
 sons from their old enemies, and putting on an out 
 side show of conformity, for the sake of place or 
 pardon, ye maintained the austere dignity of virtue, 
 and, with King and Church and Parliament arrayed 
 against you, vindicated the Rights of Conscience, 
 at the cost of home, fortune, and life. English 
 liberty owes more to your unyielding firmness than 
 to the blows stricken for her at Worcester and 
 Naseby. 
 
 In 1667, we find the Latin teacher in attendance 
 at a great meeting of Friends, in London, convened 
 at the suggestion of George Fox, for the purpose of 
 settling a little difficulty which had arisen among 
 the Friends, even under the pressure of the sever 
 est persecution, relative to the very important mat- 
 \ ter of " wearing the hat." George Fox, in his love 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 257 
 
 of truth and sincerity, in word and action, had dis 
 countenanced the fashionable doffing of the hat, 
 and other flattering obeisances towards men hold 
 ing stations in Church or State, as savoring of man- 
 worship, giving to the creature the reverence only 
 due to the Creator, as undignified and wanting in 
 due self-respect, and tending to support unnatural 
 and oppressive distinctions among those equal in 
 the sight of God. But some of his disciples evi 
 dently made much more of this " hat testimony " 
 than their teacher. One John Perrott, who had 
 just returned from an unsuccessful attempt to con 
 vert the Pope, at Rome, (where that dignitary, after 
 listening to his exhortations, and finding him in 
 no condition to be benefited by the spiritual physi 
 cians of the Inquisition, had quietly turned him 
 over to the temporal ones of the Insane Hos 
 pital,) had broached the doctrine that, in public or 
 private worship, the hat was not to be taken off, 
 without an immediate revelation or call to do so ! 
 Ellwood himself seems to have been on the point 
 of yielding to this notion, which appears to have 
 been the occasion of a good deal of dissension and 
 scandal. Under these circumstances, to save truth 
 from reproach, and an important testimony to the 
 essential equality of mankind from running into 
 sheer fanaticism, Fox summoned his tried and 
 faithful friends together, from all parts of the 
 United Kingdom, and, as it appears, with the hap 
 piest result. Hat-revelations were discountenanced, 
 good order and harmony re-established, and John 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
258 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Perrott s beaver, and the crazy head under it, were 
 from thenceforth powerless for evil. Let those who 
 are disposed to laugh at this notable Ecumenical 
 Council of the Hat, consider that ecclesiastical his 
 tory has brought down to us the records of many 
 larger and more imposing convocations, wherein 
 grave bishops and learned fathers took each other 
 by the beard upon matters of far less practical im 
 portance. 
 
 In 1669, we find Ellwood engaged in escorting 
 his fair friend, Gulielma, to her uncle s residence in 
 Sussex. Passing through London, and taking the 
 Tunbridge road, they stopped at Seven Oak to 
 dine. The Duke of York was on the road, with 
 his guards and hangers-on, and the inn was filled 
 with a rude company. " Hastening," says Ell- 
 wood, " from a place where we found nothing but 
 rudeness, the roysterers who swarmed there, be 
 sides the damning oaths they belched out against 
 each other, looked very sourly upon us, as if they 
 grudged us the horses which we rode and the 
 clothes we wore." They had proceeded but a lit 
 tle distance, when they were overtaken by some 
 half dozen drunken rough-riding cavaliers, of the 
 Wildrake stamp, in full pursuit after the beautiful 
 Quakeress. One of them impudently attempted to 
 pull her upon his horse before him, but was held at 
 bay by Ellwood, who seems, on this occasion, to 
 have relied somewhat upon his " stick," in defend 
 ing his fair charge. Calling up Gulielma s servant, 
 he bade him ride on one side of his mistress, while 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 259 
 
 he guarded her on the other. " But he," says Ell- 
 wood, " not thinking it perhaps decent to ride so 
 near his mistress, left room enough for another to 
 ride between." In dashed the drunken retainer, 
 and Gulielma was once more in peril. It was 
 clearly no time for exhortations and expostulations, 
 " so," says Ellwood, " I chopped in upon him, by 
 a nimble turn, and kept him at bay. I told him 
 I had hitherto spared him, but wished him not 
 to provoke me further. This I spoke in such a 
 tone as bespoke an high resentment of the abuse 
 put upon us, and withal, pressed him so hard with 
 my horse, that I suffered him not to come up again 
 to Guli." By this time, it became evident to the 
 companions of the ruffianly assailant that the young 
 Quaker was in earnest, and they hastened to inter 
 fere. " For they," says Ellwood, " seeing the con 
 test rise so high, and probably fearing it would rise 
 higher, not knowing where it might stop, came in 
 to part us ; which they did, by taking him away." 
 
 Escaping from these sons of Belial, Ellwood and 
 his fair companion rode on through Tunbridge 
 Wells, " the street thronged with men, who looked 
 very earnestly at them, but offered them no affront," 
 and arrived, late at night, in a driving rain, at the 
 mansion-house of Herbert Springette. The fiery 
 old gentleman was so indignant at the insult of 
 fered to his niece, that he was with difficulty dis 
 suaded from demanding satisfaction at the hands 
 of the Duke of York. 
 
 This seems to have been his last ride with Guli- 
 
260 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 elma. She was soon after married to William 
 Perm, and took up her abode at Worminghurst, in 
 Sussex. How blessed and beautiful was that union 
 may be understood from the following paragraph 
 of a letter, written by her husband, on the eve of 
 his departure for America to lay the foundations of 
 a Christian colony. 
 
 " My dear Wife ! remember thou wast the love 
 of my youth, and much the joy of my life, the 
 most beloved, as well as the most worthy of all my 
 earthly comforts ; and the reason of that love was 
 more thy inward than thy outward excellences, 
 which yet were many. God knows, and thou 
 knowest it I can say it was a match of Provi 
 dence s making ; and God s image in us both was 
 the first thing and the most amiable and engag 
 ing ornament in our eyes." 
 
 About this time our friend Thomas, seeing that 
 his old playmate at Chalfont was destined for an 
 other, turned his attention towards a " young 
 Friend, named Mar}- Ellis." He had been for sev 
 eral years acquainted with her, but now he " found 
 his heart secretly drawn and inclining towards her." 
 "At length," he tells us, " as I was sitting all 
 alone, waiting upon the Lord for counsel and 
 guidance in this, in itself and to me, important 
 affair, I felt a word sweetly arise in me, as if I had 
 heard a Voice which said, Go, and prevail ! and 
 Faith springing in my heart at the word, I imme 
 diately rose and went, nothing doubting." On ar 
 riving at her residence, he states that he " solemn- 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 261 
 
 ly opened his mind to her, which was a great sur- 
 prisal to her, for she had taken in an apprehension, 
 as others had also done," that his eye had been 
 fixed elsewhere and nearer home. " I used not 
 many words to her," he continues, " but I felt a 
 Divine Power went along with the words, and fixed 
 the matter expressed by them so fast in her breast, 
 that, as she afterwards acknowledged to me, she 
 could not shut it out" 
 
 " I continued," he says, " my visits to my best- 
 beloved Friend until we married, which was on the 
 28th day of the eighth month, 1669. We took 
 each other hi a select meeting of the ancient and 
 grave Friends of that country. A very solemn 
 meeting it was, and hi a weighty frame of spirit we 
 were." His wife seems to have had some estate ; 
 and Ellwood, with that nice sense of justice which 
 marked all his actions, immediately made his will, 
 securing to her, hi case of his decease, all her own 
 goods and moneys, as well as all that he had him 
 self acquired before marriage. " Which," he tells, 
 " was indeed but little, yet, by all that little, more 
 than I had ever given her ground to expect with 
 me." His father, who was yet unreconciled to the 
 son s religious views, found fault with his marriage, 
 on the ground that it was unlawful and unsanctioned 
 by priest or liturgy ; and consequently, refused to 
 render him any pecuniar}* assistance. Yet, in spite 
 of this and other trials, he seems to have preserved 
 his serenity of spirit After an unpleasant inter 
 view with his father, on one occasion, he wrote, at 
 
262 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 his lodgings in an inn, in London, what he calls 
 "A Song of Praise." An extract from it will serve 
 to show the spirit of the good man in affliction : 
 
 " Unto the Glory of Thy Holy Name, 
 
 Eternal God ! whom I both love and fear, 
 
 I hereby do declare, I never came 
 
 Before Thy throne, and found Thee loath to hear, 
 But always ready with an open ear, 
 
 And, though sometimes Thou seem st Thy face to hide, 
 As one that had withdrawn his love from me, 
 
 T is that my Faith may to the full be tried, 
 And that I thereby may the better see 
 How weak I am when not upheld by Thee ! " 
 
 The next year, 1670, an act of Parliament, in 
 relation to " Conventicles," provided that any per 
 son who should be present at any meeting, under 
 color or pretence of any exercise of religion, in 
 other manner than according to the liturgy and 
 practice of the Church of England, "should be 
 liable to fines of from five to ten shillings ; and 
 any person preaching at or giving his house for the 
 meeting, to a fine of twenty pounds ; one third of 
 the fines being received by the informer or inform 
 ers." As a natural consequence of such a law, the 
 vilest scoundrels in the land set up the trade of in 
 formers and heresy-hunters. Wherever a dissent 
 ing meeting or burial took place, there was sure to 
 be a mercenary spy, ready to bring a complaint 
 against all in attendance. The Independents and 
 Baptists ceased, in a great measure, to hold public 
 meetings, yet even they did not escape prosecution. 
 Bunyan, for instance, in these days, was dreaming, 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 263 
 
 like another Jacob, of angels ascending and de 
 scending, in Bedford prison. But upon the poor 
 Quakers fell, as usual, the great force of the unjust 
 enactment. Some of these spies or informers, 
 men of sharp wit, close countenances, pliant tem 
 pers, and skill in dissimulation, took the guise of 
 Quakers, Independents, or Baptists, as occasion re 
 quired, thrusting themselves into the meetings of 
 the proscribed sects, ascertaining the number who 
 attended, their rank and condition, and then in 
 forming against them. Ellwood, in his journal for 
 1670, describes several of these emissaries of evil. 
 One of them came to a Friend s house, in Bucks, 
 professing to be a brother in the faith, but, overdo 
 ing his counterfeit Quakerism, was detected and 
 dismissed by his host. Betaking himself to the 
 inn, he appeared in his true character, drank and 
 swore roundly, and confessed over his cups that he 
 had been sent forth on his mission by the Rev. Dr. 
 Mew, Vice-Chancellor of Oxford. Finding little 
 success in counterfeiting Quakerism, he turned to 
 the Baptists, where, for a time, he met with better 
 success. Ellwood, at this time, rendered good 
 service to his friends, by exposing the true charac 
 ter of these wretches, and bringing them to justice 
 for theft, perjury, and other misdemeanors. 
 
 While this storm of persecution lasted, (a period 
 of two or three years,) the different dissenting sects 
 felt, in some measure, a common sympathy, and, 
 while guarding themselves against their common 
 foe, had little leisure for controversy with each 
 
264 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 other ; but, as was natural, the abatement of their 
 mutual suffering and danger was the signal for re 
 newing their suspended quarrels. The Baptists 
 fell upon the Quakers, with pamphlet and sermon ; 
 the latter replied in the same way. One of the 
 most conspicuous of the Baptist disputants was the 
 famous JEREMY IVES, with whom our friend Ell- 
 wood seems to have had a good deal of trouble. 
 " His name," says Ellwood, " was up for a top 
 ping Disputant. He was well read in the fallacies 
 of logic, and was ready in framing syllogisms. His 
 chief art lay in tickling the humor of rude, un 
 learned, and injudicious hearers." 
 
 The following piece of Ell wood s, entitled " An 
 Epitaph for Jeremy Ives," will serve to show that 
 wit and drollery were sometimes found even among 
 the proverbially sober Quakers of the seventeenth 
 century : 
 
 " Beneath this stone, depressed doth lie 
 The Mirror of Hypocrisy 
 Ives, whose mercenary tongue 
 Like a Weathercock was hung, 
 And did this or that way play, 
 As Advantage led the way. 
 If well hired, he would dispute, 
 Otherwise he would be mute. 
 But, he d bawl for half a day, 
 If he knew and liked his pay. 
 
 " For his person, let it pass ; 
 Only note his face was brass. 
 His heart was like a pumice-stone, 
 And for Conscience he had none. 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 265 
 
 Of Earth and Air he was composed, 
 With Water round about enclosed. 
 Earth in him had greatest share, 
 Questionless, his life lay there ; 
 Thence his cankered Envy sprung, 
 Poisoning both his heart and tongue. 
 
 " Air made him frothy, light, and vain, 
 And puffed him with a proud disdain. 
 Into the Water oft he went, 
 And through the Water many sent, 
 That was, ye know, his element ! 
 The greatest odds that did appear 
 Was this, for aught that I can hear, 
 That he in cold did others dip, 
 But did himself hot water sip. 
 
 " And his cause he d never doubt, 
 If well soak d o er night in Stout ; 
 But, meanwhile, he must not lack, 
 Brandy, and a draught of Sack. 
 One dispute would shrink a bottle 
 Of three pints, if not a pottle. 
 One would think he fetched from thence 
 All his dreamy eloquence. 
 
 " Let us now bring back the Sot 
 To his Aqua Vita pot, 
 And observe, with some content, 
 How he framed his argument. 
 That his whistle he might wet, 
 The bottle to his mouth he set, 
 And, being Master of that Art, 
 Thence he drew the Major part, 
 But left the Minor still behind ; 
 Good reason why, he wanted wind ; 
 If his breath would have held out, 
 He had Conclusion drawn, no doubt." 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
266 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 The residue of Ellwood s life seems to have 
 glided on in serenity and peace. He wrote, at 
 intervals, many pamphlets in defence of his So 
 ciety, and in favor of Liberty of Conscience. At 
 his hospitable residence, the leading spirits of the 
 sect were warmly welcomed. George Fox and 
 William Penn seem to have been frequent guests. 
 We find that, in 1683, he was arrested for seditious 
 publications, when on the eve of hastening to his 
 early friend, Gulielma, who, in the absence of her 
 husband, Governor Penn, had fallen dangerously 
 ill. On coming before the judge, "I told him," 
 says Ellwood, "that I had that morning received 
 an express out of Sussex, that William Penn s wife 
 (with whom I had an intimate acquaintance and 
 strict friendship, ab ipsis fere ineunabilis, at least, 
 a teneris imgiiiculis) lay now ill, not without great 
 danger, and that she had expressed her desire that 
 I would come to her as soon as I could." The 
 judge said, " He was very sorry for Madam Penn s 
 illness," of whose virtues he spoke very highly, but 
 not more than was her due. Then he told me, 
 " that, for her sake, he would do what he could to 
 further my visit to her." Escaping from the hands 
 of the law, he visited his friend, who was by this 
 time in a way of recovery, and, on his return, 
 learned that the prosecution had been abandoned. 
 
 At about this date his narrative ceases. We 
 learn, from other sources, that he continued to 
 write and print in defence of his religious views 
 up to the year of his death, which took place in 
 
Thomas Ellwood. 267 
 
 1713. One of his productions, a poetical version 
 of the Life of David, may be still met with, in the 
 old Quaker libraries. On the score of poetical 
 merit, it is about on a level with Michael Drayton s 
 verses on the same subject. As the history of one 
 of the firm confessors of the old struggle for relig 
 ious freedom, of a genial-hearted and pleaSant 
 scholar, the friend of Penn and Milton, and the 
 suggester of Paradise Regained, we trust our 
 hurried sketch has not been altogether without 
 interest ; and that, whatever may be the religious 
 views of our readers, they have not failed to recog 
 nize a good and true man in THOMAS ELLWOOD. 
 
JAMES NAYLER. 
 
 "You will here read the true story of that much injured, ridiculed man, 
 James Nayler ; what dreadful sufferings, with what patience he endured, 
 even to the boring of the tongue with hot irons, without a murmur ; and 
 with what strength of mind, when the delusion he had fallen into, which 
 they stigmatized as blasphemy, had given place to clearer thoughts, he 
 could renounce his error in a strain of the beautifullest humility." 
 Essays of Elia. 
 
 "\\ rOULD that Carlyle could now try his 
 V V hand at the English Revolution ! " was 
 our exclamation, on laying down the last volume 
 of his remarkable " History of the French Revolu 
 tion," with its brilliant and startling word-pictures 
 still flashing before us. To some extent this wish 
 has been realized in the " Letters and Speeches 
 of Oliver Cromwell." Yet we confess that the 
 perusal of these volumes has disappointed us. 
 Instead of giving himself free scope, as in his 
 French Revolution, and transferring to his canvas 
 all the wild and ludicrous, the terrible and beauti 
 ful phases of that moral phenomenon ; he has 
 here concentrated all his artistic skill upon a 
 single figure, whom he seems to have regarded 
 as the embodiment and hero of the great event. 
 All else on his canvas is subordinated to the grim 
 image of the colossal Puritan. Intent upon pre 
 senting him as the fitting object of that "Hero- 
 
James Nayler. 269 
 
 Worship," which, in its blind admiration and ad 
 oration of mere abstract Power, seems to us at 
 times nothing less than Devil- Worship, he dwarfs, 
 casts into the shadow, nay, in some instances, cari 
 catures and distorts the figures which surround him. 
 To excuse Cromwell in his usurpation, Henry Vane, 
 one of those exalted and noble characters, upon 
 whose features the lights held by historical friends 
 or foes detect no blemish, is dismissed with a 
 sneer, and an utterly unfounded imputation of 
 dishonesty. To reconcile, in some degree, the 
 discrepancy between the declarations of Cromwell, 
 in behalf of freedom of conscience, and that mean 
 and cruel persecution which the Quakers suffered 
 under the Protectorate, the generally harmless 
 fanaticism of a few individuals, bearing that name, 
 is gravely urged. Nay, the fact that some weak- 
 brained enthusiasts undertook to bring about the 
 Millennium, by associating together, cultivating 
 the earth, and "dibbling beans" for the New- 
 Jerusalem market, is regarded by our author as 
 the " germ of Quakerism " ; and furnishes an oc 
 casion for sneering at " my poor friend Dry-as- 
 dust, lamentably tearing his hair over the intoler 
 ance of that old time to Quakerism and such 
 like." 
 
 The readers of this (with all its faults) powerfully 
 written Biography, cannot fail to have been im 
 pressed with the intensely graphic description 
 (Part I., Vol. II., pp. 184, 185,) of the entry of the 
 poor fanatic, James Nayler, and his forlorn and 
 
270 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 draggled companions into Bristol. Sadly ludicrous 
 is it ; affecting us like the actual sight of tragic in 
 sanity enacting its involuntary comedy, and mak 
 ing us smile through our tears. 
 
 In another portion of the work, a brief account 
 is given of the trial and sentence of Nayler, also 
 in the serio-comic view ; and the poor man is 
 dismissed with the simple intimation, that after 
 his punishment, he " repented, and confessed him 
 self mad." It was no part of the author s business, 
 we are well aware, to waste time and words upon 
 the history of such a man as Nayler ; he was of no 
 importance to him, otherwise than as one of the 
 disturbing influences in the government of the 
 Lord Protector. But in our mind the story of 
 James Nayler has always been one of interest; 
 and in the belief that it will prove so to others, 
 who, like Charles Lamb, can appreciate the beau 
 tiful humility of a forgiven spirit, we have taken 
 some pains to collect and embody the facts of it 
 
 James Nayler was born in the parish of Ardes- 
 ley, in Yorkshire, 1616. His father was a sub 
 stantial farmer, of good repute and competent 
 estate ; and he, in consequence, received a good 
 education. At the age of twenty-two, he married 
 and removed to Wakefield parish, which has since 
 been made classic ground by the pen of Goldsmith. 
 Here, an honest, God-fearing farmer, he tilled his 
 soil, and alternated between cattle-markets and 
 Independent conventicles. In 1641, he obeyed 
 the summons of " my Lord Fairfax " and the Par- 
 
James Nayler. 271 
 
 liament, and joined a troop of horse composed of 
 sturdy Independents, doing such signal service 
 against "the man of Belial, Charles Stuart," that 
 he was promoted to the rank of quartermaster, in 
 which capacity he served under General Lambert, 
 in his Scottish campaign. Disabled at length by 
 sickness, he was honorably dismissed from the ser 
 vice, and returned to his family in 1649. 
 
 For three or four years, he continued to attend 
 the meetings of the Independents, as a zealous 
 and devout member. But it so fell out, that in the 
 winter of 1651, George Fox, who had just been 
 released from a cruel imprisonment in Derby jail, 
 felt a call to set his face towards Yorkshire. " So 
 travelling," says Fox, in his journal, " through the 
 countries, to several places, preaching Repentance 
 and the Word of Life, I came into the parts about 
 Wakefield, where James Nayler lived." The worn 
 and weary soldier, covered with the scars of out 
 ward battle, received, as he believed, in the cause 
 of God and his people, against Antichrist and 
 oppression, welcomed with thankfulness the vet 
 eran of another warfare ; who, in conflict with 
 "principalities and powers, and spiritual wicked 
 ness in high places," had made his name a familiar 
 one in every English hamlet. "He and Thomas 
 Goodyear," says Fox, " came to me, and were both 
 convinced, and received the truth." He soon after 
 joined the Society of Friends. In the spring of 
 the next year he was in his field following his 
 plough, and meditating, as he was wont, on the 
 
272 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 great questions of life and duty, when he seemed to 
 hear a voice bidding him go out from his kindred 
 and his father s house, with an assurance that the 
 Lord would be with him, while laboring in his ser 
 vice. Deeply impressed, he left his employment, 
 and, returning to his house, made immediate prepa 
 rations for a journey. But hesitation and doubt fol 
 lowed ; he became sick from anxiety of mind, and 
 his recovery, for a time, was exceedingly doubtful. 
 On his restoration to bodily health, he obeyed 
 what he regarded as a clear intimation of duty, 
 and went forth a preacher of the doctrines he had 
 embraced. The Independent minister of the so 
 ciety to which he had formerly belonged sent after 
 him the story, that he was the victim of sorcery ; 
 that George Fox carried with him a bottle, out of 
 which he made people drink ; and that the draught 
 had the power to change a Presbyterian or Inde 
 pendent into a Quaker at once ; that in short, the 
 Arch-Quaker, Fox, was a wizard, and could be seen 
 at the same moment of time riding on the same 
 black horse, in two places widely separated ! He 
 had scarcely commenced his exhortations, before 
 the mob, excited by such stories, assailed him. In 
 the early summer of the year we hear of him in 
 Appleby jail. On his release, he fell in company 
 with George Fox. At Walney Island, he was 
 furiously assaulted, and beaten with clubs and 
 stones ; the poor priest-led fishermen being fully 
 persuaded that they were dealing with a wizard. 
 The spirit of the man, under these circumstances, 
 
James Nayler. 273 
 
 may be seen in the following extract from a letter 
 to his friends, dated at " Killet, in Lancashire, the 
 3oth of 8th Month, 1652." 
 
 "Dear friends! Dwell in patience, and wait 
 upon the Lord, who will do his own work. Look 
 not at man who is in the work, nor at any man 
 opposing it ; but rest in the will of the Lord, that 
 so ye may be furnished with patience, both to do 
 and to suffer what ye shall be called unto, that 
 your end in all things may be His praise. Meet 
 often together ; take heed of what exalteth itself 
 above its brother; but keep low, and serve one 
 another in love." 
 
 Laboring thus, interrupted only by persecution, 
 stripes, and imprisonment, he finally came to Lon 
 don, and spoke with great power and eloquence in 
 the meetings of Friends in that city. Here, he for 
 the first time found himself surrounded by admir 
 ing and sympathizing friends. He saw, and re 
 joiced in the fruits of his ministry. Profane and 
 drunken cavaliers, intolerant Presbyters, and blind 
 Papists, owned the truths which he uttered, and 
 counted themselves his disciples. Women, too, 
 in their deep trustfulness, and admiring reverence, 
 sat at the feet of the eloquent stranger. Devout 
 believers in the doctrine of the inward light and 
 manifestation of God in the heart of man, these 
 latter, at length, thought they saw such unmistak 
 able evidences of the true life in James Nayler, 
 that they felt constrained to declare that Christ 
 was, in an especial manner, within him, and to 
 
 VOL I. 12* R 
 
274 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 call upon all to recognize in reverent adoration 
 this new incarnation of the divine and heavenly. 
 The wild enthusiasm of his disciples had its effect 
 on the teacher. Weak in body, worn with sick 
 ness, fasting, stripes, and prison-penance, and 
 naturally credulous and imaginative, is it strange 
 that in some measure he yielded to this miserable 
 delusion ? Let those who would harshly judge 
 him, or ascribe his fall to the peculiar doctrines of 
 his sect, think of Luther, engaged in personal com 
 bat with the Devil, or conversing with him on points 
 of theology in his bed-chamber, or of Bunyan at 
 actual fisticuffs with the adversary ; or of Fleet- 
 wood and Vane and Harrison millennium-mad, 
 and making preparations for an earthly reign of 
 King Jesus. It was an age of intense religious 
 excitement. Fanaticism had become epidemic. 
 Cromwell swayed his Parliaments by " revelations " 
 and Scripture phrases in the painted chamber; 
 stout generals and sea-captains exterminated the 
 Irish, and swept Dutch navies from the ocean, 
 with old Jewish war-cries, and hymns of Deborah 
 and Miriam ; country justices charged juries in 
 Hebraisms, and cited the laws of Palestine oftener 
 than those of England. Poor Nayler found him 
 self in the very midst of this seething and confused 
 moral Maelstrom. He struggled against it for a 
 time, but human nature was weak ; he became, to 
 use his own words, "bewildered and darkened," 
 and the floods went over him. 
 
 Leaving London with some of his more zealous 
 
James Nayler. 275 
 
 followers, not without solemn admonition and re 
 buke from Francis Howgill and Edward Burrough, 
 who at that period were regarded as the most 
 eminent and gifted of the Society s ministers, he 
 bent his steps towards Exeter. Here, in conse 
 quence of the extravagance of his language and 
 that of his disciples, he was arrested and thrown 
 into prison. Several infatuated women surrounded 
 the jail, declaring that " Christ was in prison," 
 and on being admitted to see him, knelt down 
 and kissed his feet, exclaiming, " Thy name shall 
 be no more called James Nayler, but Jesus ! " 
 Let us pity him and them. They, full of grateful 
 and extravagant affection for the man whose voice 
 had called them away from worldly vanities, to 
 what they regarded as eternal realities, whose hand 
 they imagined had for them swung back the pearl 
 gates of the celestial city, and flooded their atmos 
 phere with light from heaven : he, receiving their 
 homage, (not as offered to a poor, weak, sinful 
 Yorkshire trooper, but rather to the hidden man of 
 the heart, the " Christ within " him,) with that self- 
 deceiving humility which is but another name for 
 spiritual pride. Mournful, yet natural ; such as is 
 still in greater or less degree manifested between 
 the Catholic enthusiast and her confessor; such 
 as the careful observer may at times take note of 
 in our Protestant revivals and camp meetings. 
 
 How Nayler was released from Exeter jail does 
 not appear, but the next we hear of him, is at Bris 
 tol, in the fall of the year. His entrance into that 
 
276 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 city shows the progress which he and his followers 
 had made in the interval. Let us look at Carlyle s 
 description of it. " A procession of eight persons 
 one, a man on horseback riding single, the 
 others, men and women partly riding double, part 
 ly on foot, in the muddiest highway in the wettest 
 weather ; singing, all but the single rider, at whose 
 bridle walk and splash two women, * Hosannah ! 
 Holy, holy ! Lord God of Sabaoth, and other 
 things, in a buzzing tone/ which the impartial 
 hearer could not make out. The single rider is a 
 raw-boned male figure, with lank hair reaching 
 below his cheeks, hat drawn close over his brows, 
 nose rising slightly in the middle/ of abstruse 
 down look/ and large dangerous jaws strictly 
 closed : he sings not, sits there covered, and is 
 sung to by the others bare. Amid pouring deluges 
 and mud knee-deep, so that the rain ran in at 
 their necks and vented it at their hose and 
 breeches : a spectacle to the West of England 
 and posterity ! Singing as above ; answering no 
 question except in song. From Bedminster to 
 Ratcliffgate, along the streets to the High Cross of 
 Bristol : at the High Cross they are laid hold of 
 by the authorities : turn out to be James Nayler 
 and Company." 
 
 Truly, a more pitiful example of " hero-worship " 
 is not well to be conceived of. Instead of taking 
 the rational view of it, however, and mercifully 
 shutting up the actors in a mad-house, the authori 
 ties of that day, conceiving it to be a stupendous 
 
James Nayler. 277 
 
 blasphemy, and themselves God s avengers in the 
 matter, sent Nayler under strong guard up to Lon 
 don, to be examined before the Parliament. After 
 long and tedious examinations and cross-question 
 ings, and still more tedious debates, some portion 
 of which, not uninstructive to the reader, may still 
 be found in " Burton s Diary," the following horri 
 ble resolution was agreed upon : 
 
 "That James Nayler be set in the pillory, with 
 his head in the pillory in the Palace Yard, West 
 minster, during the space of two hours on Thurs 
 day next ; and be whipped by the hangman through 
 the streets from Westminster to the Old Exchange, 
 and there, likewise, be set in the pillory, with his 
 head in the pillory for the space of two hours, be 
 tween eleven and one, on Saturday next, in each 
 place wearing a paper containing a description of his 
 crimes ; and that at the Old Exchange his tongue 
 be bored through with a hot iron, and that he be 
 there stigmatized on the forehead with the letter 
 B ; and that he be afterwards sent to Bristol 
 to be conveyed into and through the said city 
 on horseback with his face backward, and there, 
 also, publicly whipped the next market-day after he 
 comes thither ; that from thence he be committed 
 to prison in Bridewell, London, and there re 
 strained from the society of all people, and there 
 to labor hard until he shall be released by Par 
 liament ; and during that time be debarred the 
 use of pen, ink, and paper ; and have no relief ex-* 
 cept what he earns by his daily labor." 
 
278 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Such, neither more nor less, was, in the opinion 
 of Parliament, required on their part to appease 
 the Divine vengeance. The sentence was pro 
 nounced on the i yth of the Twelfth Month ; the 
 entire time of the Parliament for the two months 
 previous having been occupied with the case. The 
 Presbyterians in that body were ready enough to 
 make the most of an offence committed by one 
 who had been an Independent ; the Independents, 
 to escape the stigma of extenuating the crimes of 
 one of their quondam brethren, vied with their 
 antagonists in shrieking over the atrocity of Nay- 
 ler s blasphemy, and in urging its severe punish 
 ment. Here and there among both classes were 
 men disposed to leniency ; and more than one 
 earnest plea was made for merciful dealing with a 
 man, whose reason was evidently unsettled, and 
 who was, therefore, a fitting object of compassion ; 
 whose crime, if it could indeed be called one, was 
 evidently the result of a clouded intellect, and not 
 of wilful intention of evil. On the other hand, 
 many were in favor of putting him to death as a 
 sort of peace-offering to the clergy, who, as a mat 
 ter of course, were greatly scandalized by Nayler s 
 blasphemy, and still more by the refusal of his 
 sect to pay tithes, or recognize their Divine com 
 mission. 
 
 Nayler was called into the Parliament-house 
 to receive his sentence. " I do not know mine 
 offence," he said mildly. " You shall know it," 
 said Sir Thomas Widrington, " by your sentence." 
 
James Nayler. 279 
 
 When the sentence was read, he attempted to 
 speak, but was silenced. " I pray God," said Nay 
 ler, " that he may not lay this to your charge." 
 
 The next day, the i8th of the Twelfth Month, (^ 
 he stood in the pillory two hours, in the chill 
 winter air, and was then stripped and scourged by 
 the hangman at the tail of a cart through the streets. 
 Three hundred and ten stripes were inflicted ; his 
 back and arms were horribly cut and mangled, and 
 his feet crushed and bruised by the feet of horses 
 treading on him in the crowd. He bore all with 
 uncomplaining patience ; but was so far exhausted 
 by his sufferings, that it was found necessary to 
 postpone the execution of the residue of the sen 
 tence for one week. The terrible severity of his 
 sentence, and his meek endurance of it, had in the 
 mean time powerfully affected many of the humane 
 and generous of all classes in the city ; and a pe 
 tition for the remission of the remaining part of 
 the penalty was numerously signed and presented 
 to Parliament. A debate ensued upon it, but its 
 prayer was rejected. Application was then made 
 to Cromwell, who addressed a letter to the Speaker 
 of the House, inquiring into the affair, protesting 
 an "abhorrence and detestation of giving or oc 
 casioning the least countenance to such opinions 
 and practices," as were imputed to Nayler ; " yet, 
 we being intrusted in the present government on 
 behalf of the people of these nations, and not 
 knowing how far such proceeding entered into 
 wholly without us may extend in the consequence 
 

 280 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 of it, do hereby desire the House may let us know 
 the grounds and reasons whereon they have pro 
 ceeded." From this, it is not unlikely that the 
 Protector might have been disposed to clemency, 
 and to look with a degree of charity upon the 
 weakness and errors of one of his old and tried 
 soldiers who had striven like a brave man, as he 
 was, for the rights and liberties of Englishmen ; 
 but the clergy here interposed, and vehemently, in 
 the name of God and His Church, demanded that 
 the executioner should finish his work. Five of 
 the most eminent of them, names well known in 
 the Protectorate, Caryl, Manton, Nye, Griffith, and 
 Reynolds, were deputed by Parliament to visit the 
 mangled prisoner. A reasonable request was 
 made, that some impartial person might be pres 
 ent, that justice might be done Nayler in the report 
 of his answers. This was refused. It was, how 
 ever, agreed that the conversation should be writ 
 ten down and a copy of it left with the jailer. He 
 was asked if he was sorry for his blasphemies. He 
 said he did not know to what blasphemies they 
 alluded ; that he did believe in Jesus Christ ; that 
 He had taken up His dwelling in his own heart, 
 and for the testimony of Him he now suffered. 
 " I believe," said one of the ministers, " in a Christ 
 who was never in any man s heart." " I know no 
 such Christ," rejoined the prisoner, " the Christ I 
 witness to fills Heaven and Earth, and dwells in 
 the hearts of all true believers." On being asked, 
 why he allowed the women to adore and worship 
 
James Nayler. 281 
 
 him, he said, he " denied bowing to the creature ; 
 but if they beheld the power of Christ, wherever it 
 was, and bowed to it, he could not resist it, or say 
 aught against it." 
 
 After some further parley, the reverend visitors 
 grew angry, threw the written record of the con 
 versation in the fire, and left the prison, to report 
 the prisoner incorrigible. 
 
 On the 27th of the month, he was again led out 
 of his cell and placed upon the pillory. Thousands 
 of citizens were gathered around, many of them 
 earnestly protesting against the extreme cruelty of 
 his punishment. Robert Rich, an influential and 
 honorable merchant, followed him up to the pillory, 
 with expressions of great sympathy, and held him 
 by the hand while the red-hot iron was pressed 
 through his tongue, and the brand was placed on 
 his forehead. He was next sent to Bristol, and 
 publicly whipped through the principal streets of 
 that city ; and again brought back to the Bride 
 well prison, where he remained about two years, 
 shut out from all intercourse with his fellow-beings. 
 At the expiration of this period, he was released 
 by order of Parliament. In the solitude of his 
 cell, the angel of patience had been with him. 
 Through the cloud which had so long rested over 
 him, the clear light of truth shone in upon his 
 spirit ; the weltering chaos of a disordered intellect, 
 settled into the calm peace of a reconciliation with 
 God and man. His first act on leaving prison was 
 to visit Bristol, the scene of his melancholy fall. 
 
282 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 There he publicly confessed his errors, in the elo 
 quent earnestness of a contrite spirit, humbled in 
 view of the past, yet full of thanksgiving and praise 
 for the great boon of forgiveness. A writer who 
 was present says, the " assembly was tendered, 
 and broken into tears ; there were few dry eyes, 
 and many were bowed in their minds." 
 
 In a paper, which he published soon after, he 
 acknowledges his lamentable delusion. "Con 
 demned forever," he says, "be all those false 
 worships with which any have idolized my person 
 in that Night of my Temptation, when the Power 
 of Darkness was above me ; all that did in any 
 way tend to dishonor the Lord, or draw the minds 
 of any from the measure of Christ Jesus in them 
 selves, to look at flesh, which is as grass, or to 
 ascribe that to the visible which belongs to Him." 
 " Darkness came over me through want of watch 
 fulness and obedience to the pure Eye of God. 
 I was taken captive from the true light ; I was 
 walking in the Night, as a wandering bird fit for a 
 prey. And if the Lord of all my mercies had not 
 rescued me, I had perished ; for I was as one ap 
 pointed to death and destruction, and there was 
 none to deliver me." " It is in my heart to confess 
 to God, and before men, my folly and offence in 
 that day; yet there were many things formed 
 against me in that day, to take away my life, and 
 bring scandal upon the truth, of which I was not 
 guilty at all." " The provocation of that Time of 
 Temptation was exceeding great against the Lord ; 
 
James Nayler. 283 
 
 yet He left me not ; for when Darkness was above, 
 and the Adversary so prevailed, that all things / 
 were turned and perverted against my right seeing, ! 
 hearing, or understanding ; only a secret hope and ( 
 faith I had in my God, whom I had served, that - f 
 he would bring me through it, and to the end of it, 
 and that I should again see the day of my redemp- . 
 tion from under it all ; this quieted my soul in its 
 greatest tribulation." He concludes his confession 
 with these words : " He who hath saved my soul 
 from death, who hath lifted my feet up out of the 
 pit, even to Him be glory forever \ and let every 
 troubled soul trust in Him, for his mercy endureth 
 forever ! " 
 
 Among his papers, written soon after his release, 
 is a remarkable prayer, or rather thanksgiving. 
 The limit I have prescribed to myself will only 
 allow me to copy an extract. 
 
 " It is in my heart to praise Thee, O my God ! 
 let me never forget Thee, what Thou hast been to 
 me in the night, by Thy presence in my hour of 
 trial, when I was beset in darkness, when I was 
 cast out as a wandering bird ; when I was as 
 saulted with strong temptations, then Thy pres 
 ence, in secret, did preserve me ; and in a low 
 state I felt Thee near me : when my way was 
 through the sea, when I passed under the moun 
 tains, there wast Thou present with me ; when the 
 weight of the hills was upon me, Thou upheldest 
 me. Thou didst fight, on my part, when I wres 
 tled with death ; when darkness would have shut 
 me up, Thy light shone about me j when my work 
 
284 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 was in the furnace, and I passed through the fire, 
 by Thee I was not consumed. When I beheld the 
 dreadful visions, and was among the fiery spirits, 
 Thy faith staid me, else through fear I had fallen. 
 I saw Thee, and believed, so that the enemy could 
 ^ not prevail." After speaking of his humiliation 
 and sufferings, which Divine Mercy had overruled 
 for his spiritual good, he thus concludes : " Thou 
 didst lift me out from the pit, and set me forth in 
 the sight of my enemies ; Thou proclaimedst liberty 
 to the captive ; Thou calledst my acquaintances 
 near me ; they to whom I had been a wonder, 
 looked upon me ; and in Thy love I obtained 
 favor with those who had deserted me. Then did 
 gladness swallow up sorrow, and I forsook my 
 troubles ; and I said, How good is it that man be 
 proved in the night, that he may know his folly, 
 that every mouth may become silent, until Thou 
 makest man known unto himself, and has slain the 
 boaster, and shown him the vanity which vexeth 
 Thy spirit." 
 
 All honor to the Quakers of that day, that, at 
 the risk of misrepresentation and calumny, they 
 received back to their communion their greatly 
 erring, but deeply repentant, brother. His life, 
 ever after, was one of self-denial and jealous watch 
 fulness over himself, blameless and beautiful in 
 its humility and lowly charity. 
 
 Thomas Ellwood, in his autobiography for the 
 year 1659, mentions Nayler, whom he met in com 
 pany with Edward Burrough at the house of Mil 
 ton s friend, Pennington. Ellwood s father held a 
 
James Nayler. 285 
 
 discourse with the two Quakers on their doctrine 
 of free and universal grace. " James Nailer," 
 says Ellwood, " handled the subject with so much 
 perspicuity and clear demonstration, that his rea 
 soning seemed to be irresistible. As for Edward 
 Burrough, he was a brisk young Man, of a ready 
 Tongue, and might have been for aught I then 
 knew, a Scholar, which made me less admire his 
 Way of Reasoning. But what dropt from James 
 Nailer had the greater Force upon me, because he 
 lookt like a simple Countryman, having the ap 
 pearance of an Husbandman or Shepherd." 
 
 In the latter part of the Eighth Month, 1660, he 
 left London on foot, to visit his wife and children 
 in Wakefield. As he journeyed on, the sense of a 
 solemn change about to take place, seemed with 
 him ; the shadow of the eternal world fell over 
 him. As he passed through Huntingdon, a friend 
 who saw him describes him as " in an awful and 
 weighty frame of mind, as if he had been redeemed 
 from earth, and a stranger on it, seeking a better 
 home and inheritance." A few miles beyond the 
 town, he was found, in the dusk of the evening, 
 very ill, and was taken to the house of a friend, 
 who lived not far distant. He died shortly after, ex 
 pressing his gratitude for the kindness of his attend 
 ants, and invoking blessings upon them. About 
 two hours before his death, he spoke to the friend 
 at his bedside these remarkable words, solemn as 
 eternity, and beautiful as the love which fills it : 
 
 " There is a spirit which I feel which delights to \ 
 
286 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 do no evil, nor to avenge any wrong ; but delights 
 to endure all things, in hope to enjoy its own in 
 the end ; its hope is to outlive all wrath and con 
 tention, and to weary out all exultation and cruelty, 
 or whatever is of a nature contrary to itself. It 
 sees to the end of all temptations ; as it bears no 
 evil in itself, so it conceives none in thought to any 
 other : if it be betrayed, it bears it, for its ground 
 and spring is the mercy and forgiveness of God. 
 Its crown is meekness ; its life is everlasting love 
 unfeigned ; it takes its kingdom with entreaty, and 
 not with contention, and keeps it by lowliness of 
 mind. In God alone it can rejoice, though none 
 else regard it, or can own its life. It is conceived 
 in sorrow, and brought forth with none to pity it ; 
 nor doth it murmur at grief and oppression. It 
 never rejoiceth but through sufferings, for with the 
 world s joy it is murdered. I found it alone, being 
 forsaken. I have fellowship therein with them 
 who lived in dens and desolate places of the earth, 
 who through death obtained resurrection and eter- 
 ^nal Holy Life." 
 
 So died James Nayler. He was buried in 
 " Thomas ParnelPs burying-ground, at King s Rip- 
 pon," in a green nook of rural England. Wrong 
 and violence, and temptation and sorrow, and evil- 
 speaking, could reach him no more. And in tak 
 ing leave of him, let us say, with old Joseph Wyeth, 
 where he touches upon this case in his Anguis Fla- 
 gellatus : " Let none insult, but take heed lest they 
 also, in the hour of their temptation, do fall away." 
 
ANDREW MARVELL. 
 
 " They who with a good conscience and an upright heart do their civil 
 duties in the sight of God, and in their several places, to resist tyranny and 
 the violence of superstition banded both against them, will never seek to be 
 forgiven that which may justly be attributed to their immortal praise." 
 A nswer to Eikon Basilike. 
 
 AMONG the great names which adorned the 
 Protectorate, that period of intense mental 
 activity, when political and religious rights and 
 duties were thoroughly discussed by strong and 
 earnest statesmen and theologians, that of An 
 drew Marvell, the friend of Milton, and Latin Sec 
 retary of Cromwell, deserves honorable mention. 
 The magnificent prose of Milton, long neglected, 
 is now perhaps as frequently read as his great 
 epic ; but the writings of his friend and fellow 
 secretary, devoted like his own to the cause of 
 freedom and the rights of the people, are scarcely 
 known to the present generation. It is true that 
 MarvelPs political pamphlets were less elaborate 
 and profound than those of the author of the glori 
 ous Defence of Unlicensed Printing. He was 
 light, playful, witty, and sarcastic ; he lacked the 
 stern dignity, the terrible invective, the bitter scorn, 
 the crushing, annihilating retort, the grand and 
 solemn eloquence, and the devout appeals, which 
 
288 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 render immortal the controversial works of Milton. 
 But he, too, has left his footprints on his age ; he, 
 too, has written for posterity that which they " will 
 not willingly let die." As one of the inflexible 
 defenders of English liberty, sowers of the seed, 
 the fruits of which we are now reaping, he has a 
 higher claim on the kind regards of this generation 
 than his merits as a poet, by no means inconsid 
 erable, would warrant. 
 
 Andrew Marvell was born in Kingston-upon- 
 Hull, in 1620. At the age of eighteen he entered 
 Trinity College, whence he was enticed by the 
 Jesuits, then actively seeking proselytes. After 
 remaining with them a short time, his father found 
 him, and brought him back to his studies. On 
 leaving college, he travelled on the Continent At 
 Rome he wrote his first satire, a humorous critique 
 upon Richard Flecknoe, an English Jesuit and 
 verse writer, whose lines on Silence Charles Lamb 
 quotes in one of his Essays. It is supposed that 
 he made his first acquaintance with Milton in Italy. 
 
 At Paris he made the Abbot de Manihan the 
 subject of another satire. The Abbot pretended to 
 skill in the arts of magic, and used to prognosti 
 cate the fortunes of people from the character of 
 their handwriting. At what period he returned 
 from his travels we are not aware. It is stated, 
 by some of his biographers, that he was sent as 
 secretary of a Turkish mission. In 1653, he was 
 appointed the tutor of Cromwell s nephew; and, 
 four years after, doubtless through the instrumen- 
 
Andrew Marvel I. 289 
 
 tality of his friend Milton, he received the honora 
 ble appointment of Latin Secretary of the Com 
 monwealth. In 1658, he was selected by his 
 townsmen of Hull to represent them in Parlia 
 ment. In this service he continued until 1663, 
 when, notwithstanding his sturdy republican princi 
 ples, he was appointed secretary to the Russian 
 embassy. On his return, in 1665, he was again 
 elected to Parliament, and continued in the public 
 service until the prorogation of the Parliament of 
 
 1675- 
 
 The boldness, the uncompromising integrity and 
 irreproachable consistency of Marvell, as a states 
 man, have secured for him the honorable appella 
 tion of " the British Aristides." Unlike too many y 
 of his old associates under the Protectorate, he did 
 not change with the times. He was a republican ^ 
 in Cromwell s day, and neither threats of assassi 
 nation, nor flatteries, nor proffered bribes, could 
 make him anything else in that of Charles II. He 
 advocated the rights of the People, at a time when 
 patriotism was regarded as ridiculous folly ; when 
 a general corruption, spreading downwards from a 
 lewd and abominable Court, had made legislation 
 a mere scramble for place and emolument. Eng 
 lish history presents no period so disgraceful as 
 the Restoration. To use the words of Macaulay, 
 it was "a day of servitude without loyalty, and 
 sensuality without love, of dwarfish talents and 
 gigantic vices, the paradise of cold hearts and nar 
 row minds, the golden age of the coward, the bigot, 
 
 VOL. i. 13 s 
 
290 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 and the slave. The principles of liberty were the 
 scoff of every grinning courtier, and the Anathema 
 Maranatha of every fawning dean." It is the pe 
 culiar merit of Milton and Marvell, that in such an 
 age they held fast their integrity, standing up in 
 glorious contrast with clerical apostates and traitors 
 to the cause of England s liberty. 
 
 In the discharge of his duties as a statesman 
 Marvell was as punctual and conscientious as our 
 own venerable Apostle of Freedom, John Quincy 
 Adams. He corresponded every post with his 
 constituents, keeping them fully apprised of all 
 that transpired at Court or in Parliament. He 
 spoke but seldom, but his great personal influence 
 was exerted privately upon the members of the 
 Commons as well as upon the Peers. His wit, ac 
 complished manners, and literary eminence made 
 him a favorite at the Court itself. The voluptu 
 ous and careless monarch laughed over the biting 
 satire of the republican poet, and heartily enjoyed 
 his lively conversation. It is said that numerous 
 advances were made to him by the courtiers of 
 Charles II., but he was found to be incorruptible. 
 The personal compliments of the King, the en 
 comiums of Rochester, the smiles and flatteries of 
 the frail but fair and high-born ladies of the Court ; 
 nay, even the golden offers of the King s treasurer, 
 who, climbing with difficulty to his obscure retreat 
 on an upper floor of a court in the Strand, laid a 
 tempting bribe of ^"1,000 before him, on the very 
 day when he had been compelled to borrow a 
 
Andrew Marucll. 291 
 
 guinea ; were all lost upon the inflexible patriot. 
 He stood up manfully, in an age of persecution, for , 
 religious liberty ; opposed the oppressive excise, ^ 
 and demanded frequent Parliaments and a fair 
 representation of the People. 
 
 In 1672, Marvell engaged in a controversy with 
 the famous High-Churchman, Dr. Parker, who had \ 
 taken the lead in urging the persecution of non- ^ 
 conformists. In one of the works of this arrogant 
 divine, he says that " it is absolutely necessary to 
 the peace and government of the world, that the 
 supreme magistrate should be vested with power 
 to govern and conduct the consciences of subjects 
 in affairs of religion. Princes may, with less haz- , 
 ard, give liberty to men s vices and debaucheries ! 
 than to their consciences." And, speaking of the 
 various sects of non-conformists, he counsels princes ; 
 and legislators, that " tenderness and indulgence to 
 SOch men is to nourish vipers in their own bowels, ( 
 and the most sottish neglect of our quiet and se 
 curity." Marvell replied to him in a severely 
 satirical pamphlet, which provoked a reply from 
 the Doctor. Marvell rejoined, with a rare combi 
 nation of wit and argument. The effect of his 
 sarcasm on the Doctor and his supporters may be 
 inferred from an anonymous note sent him, in 
 which the writer threatens by the eternal God to 
 cut his throat, if he uttered any more libels upon 
 Dr. Parker. Bishop Burnet remarks, that "Mar 
 vell writ in a burlesque strain, but with so peculiar 
 and so entertaining a conduct, that from the King 
 
292 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 down to the tradesman his books were read with 
 great pleasure, and not only humbled Parker, but 
 his whole party, for Marvell had all the wits on his 
 side." The Bishop further remarks, that Marvell s 
 satire " gave occasion to the only piece of modesty 
 with which Dr. Parker was ever charged, viz. of 
 withdrawing from town, and not importuning the 
 press for some years, since even a face of brass 
 must grow red when it is burnt as his has been." 
 Dean Swift, in commenting upon the usual fate of 
 controversial pamphlets, which seldom live beyond 
 their generation, says : " There is indeed an ex 
 ception, when a great genius undertakes to expose 
 a foolish piece ; so we still read Marvell s answer 
 to Parker with pleasure, though the book it an 
 swers be sunk long ago." 
 
 Perhaps, in the entire compass of our language, 
 there is not to be found a finer piece of satiri 
 cal writing than Marvell s famous parody of the 
 speeches of Charles II., in which the private vices 
 and public inconsistencies of the King, and his 
 gross violations of his pledges on coming to the 
 throne, are exposed with the keenest wit and the 
 most laugh-provoking irony. Charles himself, al 
 though doubtless annoyed by it, could not refrain 
 from joining in the mirth which it excited at his 
 expense. 
 
 The friendship between Marvell and Milton re 
 mained firm and unbroken to the last. The former 
 exerted himself to save his illustrious friend from 
 persecution, and omitted no opportunity to defend 
 
Andrew Marvell 293 
 
 him as a politician and to eulogize him as a poet. 
 In 1654 he presented to Cromwell Milton s noble 
 tract in Defence of the People of England, and, in 
 writing to the author, says of the work, " When I 
 consider how equally it teems and rises with so 
 many figures, it seems to me a Trajan s column, in 
 whose winding ascent we see embossed the several 
 monuments of your learned victories." He was 
 one of the first to appreciate Paradise Lost, and to 
 commend it in some admirable lines. One couplet 
 is exceedingly beautiful, in its reference to the 
 author s blindness : 
 
 " Just Heaven, thee like Tiresias to requite, 
 Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight." 
 
 His poems, written in the " snatched leisure " of 
 an active political life, bear marks of haste, and are 
 very unequal. In the midst of passages of pastoral 
 description worthy of Milton himself, feeble lines 
 and hackneyed phrases occur. His " Nymph la 
 menting the Death of her Fawn" is a finished 
 and elaborate piece, full of grace and tenderness. 
 " Thoughts in a Garden " will be remembered by 
 the quotations of that exquisite critic, Charles 
 Lamb. How pleasant is this picture ! 
 
 " What wondrous life is this I lead ! 
 Ripe apples drop about my head ; 
 The luscious clusters of the vine 
 Upon my mouth do crush their wine : 
 The nectarine and curious peach 
 Into my hands themselves do reach : 
 Stumbling on melons as I pass, 
 Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 
 
294 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 " Here at this fountain s sliding foot, 
 Or at the fruit-tree s mossy root, 
 Casting the body s vest aside, 
 My soul into the boughs does glide. 
 Theie like a bird it sits and sings, 
 And whets and claps its silver wings ; 
 And, till prepared for longer flight, 
 Waves in its plumes the various light. 
 
 " How well the skilful gard ner drew 
 Of flowers and herbs this dial true ! 
 Where, from above, the milder sun 
 Does through a fragrant zodiac run ; 
 And, as it works, the industrious bee 
 Computes his time as well as we. 
 How could such sweet and wholesome hours 
 Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers ! " 
 
 One of his longer poems, " Appleton House," 
 contains passages of admirable description, and 
 many not unpleasing conceits. Witness the fol 
 lowing : 
 
 *< Thus I, an easy philosopher, 
 Among the birds and trees confer, 
 And little now to make me wants, 
 Or of the fowl or of the plants. 
 Give me but wings, as they, and I 
 Straight floating on the air shall fly ; 
 Or turn me but, and you shall see 
 I am but an inverted tree. 
 Already I begin to call 
 In their most learned original ; 
 And, where I language want, my signs 
 The bird upon the bough divines. 
 No leaf does tremble in the wind, 
 Which I returning cannot find. 
 Out of these scattered Sybil s leaves, 
 Strange prophecies my fancy weaves : 
 
Andrew Marvell. 295 
 
 What Rome, Greece, Palestine, e er said, 
 
 I in this light Mosaic read. 
 
 Under this antic cope I move, 
 
 Like some great prelate of the grove ; 
 
 Then, languishing at ease, I toss 
 
 On pallets thick with velvet moss ; 
 
 While the wind, cooling through the boughs, 
 
 Flatters with air my panting brows. 
 
 Thanks for my rest, ye mossy banks ! 
 
 And unto you, cool zephyrs, thanks ! 
 
 Who, as my hair, my thoughts too shed, 
 
 And winnow from the chaff my head. 
 
 How safe, methinks, and strong behind 
 
 These trees have I encamped my mind! " 
 
 Here is a picture of a piscatorial idler and his 
 trout stream, worthy of the pencil of Izaak Wal 
 ton : 
 
 " See in what wanton harmless folds 
 It everywhere the meadow holds : 
 Where all things gaze themselves, and doubt 
 If they be in it or without ; 
 And for this shade, which therein shines 
 Narcissus-like, the sun too pines. 
 Oh ! what a pleasure t is to hedge 
 My temples here in heavy sedge ; 
 Abandoning my lazy side, 
 Stretched as a bank unto the tide ; 
 Or, to suspend my sliding foot 
 On the osier s undermining root, 
 And in its branches tough to hang, 
 While at my lines the fishes twang." 
 
 A little poem of Marvell s, which he calls " Eyes 
 and Tears," has the following passages : 
 
 " How wisely Nature did agree 
 With the same eyes to weep and see ! 
 
296 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 That having viewed the object vain, 
 They might be ready to complain. 
 And, since the self-deluding sight 
 In a false angle takes each height, 
 These tears, which better measure all, 
 Like watery lines and plummets fall." 
 
 " Happy are they whom grief doth bless, 
 That weep the more, and see the less ; 
 And, to preserve their sight more true, 
 Bathe still their eyes in their own dew ; 
 So Magdalen, in tears more wise, 
 Dissolved those captivating eyes, 
 Whose liquid chains could, flowing, meet 
 To fetter her Redeemer s feet. 
 The sparkling glance, that shoots desire, 
 Drenched in those tears, does lose its fire ; 
 Yea, oft the Thunderer pity takes, 
 And there His hissing lightning slakes. 
 The incense is to Heaven dear, 
 Not as a perfume, but a tear ; 
 f And stars shine lovely in the night, 
 But as they seem the tears of light. 
 Ope, then, mine eyes, your double sluice, 
 And practise so your noblest use ; 
 For others, too, can see or sleep, 
 But only human eyes can 
 
 The "Bermuda Emigrants" has some happy 
 lines, as the following : 
 
 " He hangs in shade the orange bright, 
 Like golden lamps in a green night." 
 
 Or this, which doubtless suggested a couplet in 
 Moore s Canadian Boat Song : 
 
 " And all the way, to guide the chime, 
 With falling oars they kept the time." 
 
Andrew Marvell. 297 
 
 His facetious and burlesque poetry was much 
 admired in his day ; but a great portion of it re 
 ferred to persons and events no longer of general 
 interest. The satire on Holland is an exception. 
 There is nothing in its way superior to it in our 
 language. Many of his best pieces were originally 
 written in Latin, and afterwards translated by him 
 self. There is a splendid Ode to Cromwell a 
 worthy companion of Milton s glorious sonnet 
 which is not generally known, and which we trans 
 fer entire to our pages. Its simple dignity, and the 
 melodious flow of its versification, commend them 
 selves more to our feelings than its eulogy of war. 
 It is energetic and impassioned, and probably 
 affords a better idea of the author, as an actor in 
 the stirring drama of his time, than the " soft Lyd- 
 ian airs " of the poems that we have quoted : 
 
 AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL S 
 RETURN FROM IRELAND. 
 
 The forward youth that would appear, 
 Must now forsake his Muses dear ; 
 
 Nor in the shadows sing 
 
 His numbers languishing. 
 
 T is time to leave the books in dust, 
 And oil the unused armor s rust ; 
 
 Removing from the wall 
 
 The corslet of the hall. 
 
 So restless Cromwell could not cease 
 In the inglorious arts of peace, 
 
 But through adventurous war 
 
 Urged his active star. 
 13* 
 
298 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 And, like the three-forked lightning, first 
 Breaking the clouds wherein it nurst, 
 
 Did thorough his own side 
 
 His fiery way divide. 
 
 For t is all one to courage high, 
 The emulous, or enemy ; 
 
 And with such to enclose 
 
 Is more than to oppose. 
 
 Then burning through the air he went, 
 And palaces and temples rent ; 
 And Caesar s head at last 
 Did through his laurels blast. 
 
 Tis madness to resist or blame 
 The face of angry Heaven s flame ; 
 
 And, if we would speak true, 
 
 Much to the man is due, 
 
 Who, from his private gardens, where 
 He lived reserved and austere, 
 
 (As if his highest plot 
 
 To plant the bergamot,) 
 
 Could by industrious valor climb 
 To ruin the great work of time, 
 
 And cast the kingdoms old 
 
 Into another mould ! 
 
 Though justice against fate complain. 
 And plead the ancient rights in vain, 
 
 But those do hold or break, 
 
 As men are strong or weak. 
 
 I Nature, that hateth emptiness, 
 v Allows of penetration less, 
 
 And therefore must make room 
 
 Where greater spirits com*. 
 
Andrew Marvell. 299 
 
 What field of all the civil war, 
 Where his were not the deepest scar ? 
 
 And Hampton shows what part 
 
 He had of wiser art ; 
 
 Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 
 He wove a net of such a scope, 
 
 That Charles himself might chase 
 
 To Carisbrook s narrow case ; 
 
 That hence the royal actor borne. 
 The tragic scaffold might adorn. 
 
 While round the armed bands 
 
 Did clap their bloody hands. 
 
 HE nothing common did or mean 
 Upon that memorable scene, 
 
 But with his keener eye 
 
 The axe^s edge did try : 
 
 Nor called the gods, with -vulgar spite, 
 To vindicate his helpless right / 
 
 But bowed his comely head, 
 
 Down, as upon a bed. 
 
 This was that memorable hour, 
 Which first assured the forced power ; 
 
 So when they did design 
 
 The Capitol s first line, 
 
 A bleeding head, where they begun, 
 Did fright the architects to run ; 
 
 And yet in that the state 
 
 Foresaw its happy fate. 
 
 And now the Irish are ashamed 
 
 To see themselves in one year tamed ; 
 
 So much one man can do, 
 
 That does best act and know. 
 
3OO Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 They can affirm his praises best, 
 And have, though overcome, confest 
 
 How good he is, how just, 
 
 And fit for highest trust 
 
 Nor yet grown stiffer by command, 
 But still in the Republic s hand, 
 
 How fit he is to sway 
 
 That can so well obey. 
 
 He to the Commons feet presents 
 A kingdom for his first year s rents, 
 
 And, what he may, forbears 
 
 His fame to make it theirs. 
 
 And has his sword and spoils ungirt, 
 To lay them at the public s skirt ; 
 
 So when the falcon high 
 
 Falls heavy from the sky, 
 
 She, having killed, no more does search, 
 But on the next green bough to perch, 
 
 Where, when he first does lure, 
 
 The falconer has her sure. 
 
 What may not, then, our isle presume, 
 While Victory his crest does plume ? 
 \Vhat may not others fear, 
 If thus he crowns each year ? 
 
 As Caesar, he, erelong, to Gaul ; 
 To Italy as Hannibal, 
 
 And to all states not free 
 
 Shall climacteric be. 
 
 The Pict no shelter now shall find 
 Within his parti-contoured mind ; 
 But from his valor sad 
 Shrink underneath the plaid, 
 
Andrew Marvel I. 301 
 
 Happy if in the tufted brake 
 The English hunter him mistake, 
 
 Nor lay his hands a near 
 
 The Caledonian deer. 
 
 But thou, the war s and fortune s son, 
 March indefatigably on ; 
 
 And, for the last effect, 
 
 Still keep the sword erect. 
 
 Besides the force, it has to fright 
 The spirits of the shady night : 
 
 The same arts that did gain 
 
 A power, must it maintain. 
 
 Marvell was never married. The modern critic, 
 who affirms that bachelors have done the most to 
 exalt women into a divinity, might have quoted his 
 extravagant panegyric of Maria Fairfax as an apt 
 illustration : 
 
 " T is she that to these gardens gave 
 The wondrous beauty which they have, 
 She straitness on the woods bestows, 
 To her the meadow sweetness owes, 
 Nothing could make the river be 
 So crystal pure but only she, 
 She, yet more pure, sweet, strait, and fair, 
 Than gardens, woods, meads, rivers are ! 
 Therefore, what first she on them spent 
 They gratefully again present 
 The meadow carpets where to tread, 
 The garden flowers to crown her head, 
 And for a glass the limpid brook 
 Where she may all her beauties look ; 
 But, since she would not have them seen, 
 The wood about her draws a screen ; 
 
302 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 For she, to higher beauty raised, 
 Disdains to be for lesser praised ; 
 She counts her beauty to converse 
 In all the languages as hers, 
 Nor yet in those herself employs, 
 But for the wisdom, not the noise, 
 Nor yet that wisdom could affect, 
 But as t is Heaven s dialect" 
 
 It has been the fashion of a class of shallow 
 Church and State defenders, to ridicule the great 
 men of the Commonwealth, the sturdy republicans 
 of England, as sour-featured, hard-hearted ascetics, 
 enemies of the fine arts and polite literature. The 
 works of Milton and Marvell, the prose-poem of 
 Harrington, and the admirable discourses of Alger 
 non Sydney, are a sufficient answer to this accusa 
 tion. To none has it less application than to the 
 subject of our sketch. He was a genial, warm 
 hearted man, an elegant scholar, a finished gentle 
 man, at home, and the life of every circle which 
 he entered, whether that of the gay court of 
 Charles II., amidst such men as Rochester and 
 L Estrange, or that of the republican philosophers 
 who assembled at Miles s Coffee House, where he 
 discussed plans of a free representative govern 
 ment with the author of " Oceana," and Cyriack 
 Skinner, that friend of Milton, whom the bard has 
 immortalized in the sonnet which so pathetically, 
 yet heroically, alludes to his own blindness. Men 
 of all parties enjoyed his wit and graceful conver 
 sation. His personal appearance was altogether 
 in his favor. A clear, dark, Spanish complexion, 
 
Andrew Marvel I. 303 
 
 long hair of jetty blackness falling in graceful 
 wreaths to his shoulders, dark eyes, full of expres 
 sion and fire, a finely chiselled chin, and a mouth 
 whose soft voluptuousness scarcely gave token of 
 the steady purpose and firm will of the inflexible 
 statesman ; these, added to the prestige of his 
 genius, and the respect which a lofty, self-sacri 
 ficing patriotism extorts even from those who would 
 fain corrupt and bribe it, gave him a ready passport 
 to the fashionable society of the metropolis. He 
 was one of the few who mingled in that society, 
 and escaped its contamination, and who, 
 
 " Amidst the wavering days of sin, 
 Kept himself icy chaste and pure." 
 
 The tone and temper of his mind may be most 
 fitly expressed in his own paraphrase of Horace : 
 
 " Climb at Court for me that will, 
 Tottering Favor s pinnacle ; 
 All I seek is to lie still ! 
 Settled in some secret nest, 
 f In calm leisure let me rest ; 
 > And, far off the public stage, 
 I Pass away my silent age. 
 
 Thus, when, without noise, unknown, 
 
 I have lived out all my span, 
 I shall die without a groan, 
 
 An old, honest countryman. 
 Who, exposed to other s eyes, 
 Into his own heart ne er pries, 
 Death s to him a strange surprise." 
 
 He died suddenly in 1678, while in attendance at 
 a popular meeting of his old constituents at Hull. 
 
304 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 His health had previously been remarkably good ; 
 and it was supposed by many that he was poisoned 
 by some of his political or clerical enemies. His 
 monument, erected by his grateful constituency, 
 bears the following inscription : 
 
 " Near this place lyeth the body of Andrew 
 Marvell, Esq., a man so endowed by Nature, so 
 improved by Education, Study, and Travel, so 
 consummated by Experience, that, joining the pe 
 culiar graces of Wit and Learning, with a singular 
 penetration and strength of judgment ; and exer 
 cising all these in the whole course of his life, with 
 an unutterable steadiness in the ways of Virtue, he 
 became the ornament and example of his age, be 
 loved by good men, feared by bad, admired by all, 
 though imitated by few ; and scarce paralleled by 
 any. But a Tombstone can neither contain his 
 character, nor is Marble necessary to transmit it to 
 posterity ; it is engraved in the minds of this gen 
 eration, and will be always legible in his inimitable 
 writings, nevertheless. He having served twenty 
 years successively in Parliament, and that with 
 such Wisdom, Dexterity, and Courage, as becomes 
 a true Patriot, the town of Kingston-upon-Hull, 
 from whence he was deputed to that Assembly, 
 lamenting in his death the public loss, have erected 
 this Monument of their Grief and their Gratitude, 
 1688." 
 
 Thus lived and died Andrew Marvell. His 
 memory is the inheritance of Americans as well as 
 Englishmen. His example commends itself in an 
 
Andrew Marvell. 305 
 
 especial manner to the legislators of our Republic. 
 Integrity and fidelity to principle are as greatly 
 needed at this time in our halls of Congress as in 
 the Parliaments of the Restoration ; men are re 
 quired who can feel, with Milton, that " it is high 
 honor done them from God, and a special mark of 
 His favor, to have been selected to stand upright 
 and steadfast in His cause, dignified with the de 
 fence of Truth and public liberty." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
JOHN ROBERTS. 
 
 THOMAS CARLYLE, in his history of the 
 stout and sagacious Monk of St. Edmunds, 
 has given us a fine picture of the actual life of Eng 
 lishmen in the middle centuries. The dim cell- 
 lamp of the somewhat apocryphal Jocelin of Brake- 
 lond becomes in his hands a huge Drummond- 
 light, shining over the dark ages like the naphtha- 
 fed cressets over Pandemonium, proving, as he 
 says in his own quaint way, that " England in the 
 year 1200 was no dreamland, but a green, solid 
 place, which grew corn and several other things ; 
 the sun shone on it ; the vicissitudes of seasons and 
 human fortunes were there ; cloth was woven, 
 ditches dug, fallow fields ploughed, and houses 
 built." And if, as the writer just quoted insists, 
 it is a matter of no small importance to make it 
 credible to the present generation, that the Past is 
 not a confused dream of thrones and battle-fields, 
 creeds and constitutions, but a reality, substantial 
 as hearth and home, harvest-field and smith-shop, 
 merry-making and death, could make it, we shall 
 not wholly waste our time and that of our readers, 
 in inviting them to look with us at the rural life of 
 England two centuries ago, through the eyes of 
 
John Roberts. 307 
 
 John Roberts, and his worthy son, Daniel, yeo 
 men, of Siddington, near Cirencester. 
 
 The " Memoirs of John Roberts, alias Haywood, 
 by his son, Daniel Roberts," (the second edition, 
 printed verbatim from the original one, with its 
 picturesque array of italics and capital letters,) is 
 to be found only in a few of our old Quaker libra 
 ries. It opens with some account of the family. 
 The father of the elder Roberts " lived reputably, 
 on a little estate of his own," and it is mentioned 
 as noteworthy that he married a sister of a gentle 
 man in the Commission of the Peace. Coming of 
 age about the beginning of the civil wars, John and 
 one of his young neighbors enlisted in the service 
 of Parliament. Hearing that Cirencester had been 
 taken by the King s forces, they obtained leave of 
 absence to visit their friends, for whose safety they 
 naturally felt solicitous. The following account of 
 the reception they met with from the drunken 
 and ferocious troopers of Charles I., the "bravos 
 of Alsatia and the pages of Whitehall," throws a 
 ghastly light upon the horrors of civil war : 
 
 "As they were passing by Cirencester, they 
 were discovered, and pursued by two soldiers of 
 the King s party, then in possession of the town. 
 Seeing themselves pursued, they quitted their 
 horses, and took to their heels; but, by reason 
 of their accoutrements, could make little speed. 
 They came up with my father first ; and, though 
 he begged for quarter, none they would give him, 
 but laid on him with their swords, cutting and 
 
308 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 slashing his hands and arms, which he held up to 
 save his head ; as the marks upon them did long 
 after testify. At length it pleased the Almighty to 
 put it into his mind to fall down on his face ; which 
 he did. Hereupon the soldiers, being on horse 
 back, cried to each other, Alight , and cut his throat! 
 but neither of them did ; yet continued to strike 
 and prick him about the jaws, till they thought 
 him dead. Then they left him, and pursued his 
 neighbor, whom they presently overtook and killed. 
 Soon after they had left my father, it was said in 
 his heart, Rise, and flee for thy life ! Which call he 
 obeyed ; and, starting upon his feet, his enemies 
 espied him in motion, and pursued him again. 
 He ran down a steep hill, and through a river 
 which ran at the bottom of it ; though with ex 
 ceeding difficulty, his boots filling with water, and 
 his wounds bleeding very much. They followed 
 him to the top of the hill ; but, seeing he had got 
 over, pursued him no farther." 
 
 The surgeon who attended him was a Royalist, 
 and bluntly told his bleeding patient, that if he 
 had met him in the street he would have killed 
 him himself, but now he was willing to cure him. 
 On his recovery, young Roberts again entered the 
 army, and continued in it until the overthrow of 
 the Monarchy. On his return, he married " Lydia 
 Tindall, of the denomination of Puritans." A 
 majestic figure rises before us, on reading the 
 statement that Sir Matthew Hale, afterwards Lord 
 Chief Justice of England, the irreproachable jurist 
 
John Roberts. 309 
 
 and judicial saint, was " his wife s kinsman, and 
 drew her marriage settlement." 
 
 No stronger testimony to the high-toned moral 
 ity and austere virtue of the Puritan yeomanry of 
 England can be adduced than the fact, that of the 
 fifty thousand soldiers who were discharged on the 
 accession of Charles II., and left to shift for them 
 selves, comparatively few, if any, became charge 
 able to their parishes, although at that very time 
 one out of six of the English population were 
 unable to support themselves. They carried into 
 their farm-fields and workshops the strict habits 
 of Cromwell s discipline ; and, in toiling to repair 
 their wasted fortunes, they manifested the same 
 heroic fortitude and self-denial which in war had 
 made them such formidable and efficient "Soldiers 
 of the Lord." With few exceptions, they remained 
 steadfast in their uncompromising non-conformity, 
 abhorring Prelacy and Popery, and entertaining no 
 very orthodox notions with respect to the divine 
 right of Kings. From them the Quakers drew 
 their most zealous champions j men who, in re 
 nouncing the " carnal weapons " of their old ser 
 vice, found employment for habitual combative- 
 ness in hot and wordy sectarian warfare. To 
 this day the vocabulary of Quakerism abounds 
 in the military phrases and figures which were in 
 use in the Commonwealth s time. Their old force 
 and significance are now in a great measure lost ; 
 but one can well imagine that, in the assemblies 
 of the primitive Quakers, such stirring battle-cries 
 
3IO Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 and warlike tropes, even when employed in en 
 forcing or illustrating the doctrines of peace, must 
 have made many a stout heart to beat quicker, 
 under its drab coloring, with recollections of 
 Naseby and Preston ; transporting many a lis 
 tener from the benches of his place of worship 
 to the ranks of Ireton and Lambert, and causing 
 him to hear, in the place of the solemn and nasal 
 tones of the preacher, the blast of Rupert s bugles, 
 and the answering shout of Cromwell s pikemen : 
 " Let God arise, and let his enemies be scat 
 tered ! " 
 
 Of this class was John Roberts. He threw off 
 his knapsack, and went back to his small homestead, 
 contented with the privilege of supporting himself 
 and family by daily toil, and grumbling in concert 
 with his old campaign brothers at the new order 
 of things in Church and State. To his apprehen 
 sion, the Golden Days of England ended with the 
 parade on Blackheath to receive the restored King. 
 He manifested no reverence for Bishops and Lords, 
 for he felt none. For the Presbyterians he had no 
 good will ; they had brought in the King, and they 
 denied the liberty of prophesying. John Milton 
 has expressed the feeling of the Independents and 
 Anabaptists towards this latter class, in that fa 
 mous line in which he defines Presbyter as " old 
 priest writ large." Roberts was by no means a 
 gloomy fanatic ; he had a great deal of shrewdness 
 and humor, loved a quiet joke ; and every gam 
 bling priest and swearing magistrate in the neigh- 
 
John Roberts. 311 
 
 borhood stood in fear of his sharp wit. It was 
 quite in course for such a man to fall in with the 
 Quakers, and he appears to have done so at the 
 first opportunity. 
 
 In the year 1665, "it pleased the Lord to send 
 two women Friends out of the North to Cirences- 
 ter," who, inquiring after such as feared God, were 
 directed to the house of John Roberts. He re 
 ceived them kindly, and, inviting in some of his 
 neighbors, sat down with them, whereupon "the 
 Friends spake a few words, which had a good 
 effect." After the meeting was over, he was in 
 duced to visit a " Friend " then confined in Ban- 
 bury jail, whom he found preaching through the 
 grates of his cell to the people in the street. On 
 seeing Roberts he called to mind the story of 
 Zaccheus, and declared that the word was now to 
 all who were seeking Christ by climbing the tree 
 of knowledge, " Come down, come down ; for that 
 which is to be known of God is manifested within 
 Returning home, he went soon after to the parish 
 meeting-house, and, entering with his hat on, the 
 priest noticed him, and, stopping short in his dis 
 course, declared that he could not go on while one 
 of the congregation wore his hat. He was there 
 upon led out of the house, and a rude fellow, steal 
 ing up behind, struck him on the back with a 
 heavy stone. " Take that for God s sake," said the 
 ruffian. " So I do," answered Roberts, without 
 looking back to see his assailant, who the next 
 day came and asked his forgiveness for the injury, 
 as he could not sleep in consequence of it. 
 
312 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 We next find him attending the Quarter Sessions, 
 where three " Friends " were arraigned for entering 
 Cirencester Church with their hats on. Venturing 
 to utter a word of remonstrance against the sum 
 mary proceedings of the Court, Justice Stephens 
 demanded his name, and, on being told, exclaimed, 
 in the very tone and temper of Jeffreys: "I ve 
 heard of you. I m glad I have you here. You 
 deserve a stone doublet. There s many an honester 
 man than you hanged." " It maybe so," said Rob 
 erts, " but what becomes of such as hang honest 
 men ? " The Justice snatched a ball of wax and 
 hurled it at the quiet questioner. " I 11 send you 
 to prison," said he ; " and if any insurrection or 
 tumult occurs, I 11 come and cut your throat with 
 my own sword." A warrant was made out, and he 
 was forthwith sent to the jail. In the evening, Jus 
 tice Sollis, his uncle, released him, on condition of 
 his promise to appear at the next Sessions. He 
 returned to his home, but in the night following he 
 was impressed with a belief that it was his duty to 
 visit Justice Stephens. Early in the morning, with 
 a heavy heart, without eating or drinking, he mount 
 ed his horse and rode towards the residence of his 
 enemy. When he came in sight of the house, he 
 felt strong misgivings that his uncle, Justice Sollis, 
 who had so kindly released him, and his neighbors 
 generally, would condemn him for voluntarily run 
 ning into danger, and drawing down trouble upon 
 himself and family. He alighted from his horse, 
 and sat on the ground in great doubt and sorrow, 
 
John Roberts. 313 
 
 when a voice seemed to speak within him, " Go, 
 and I will go with thee." The Justice met him at 
 the door. "I am come," said Roberts, "in the 
 fear and dread of Heaven, to warn thee to repent 
 of thy wickedness with speed, lest the Lord send 
 thee to the pit that is bottomless ! " This terrible 
 summons awed the Justice ; he made Roberts sit 
 down on his couch beside him, declaring that he 
 received the message from God, and asked forgive 
 ness for the wrong he had done him. 
 
 The parish vicar of Siddington at this time was 
 George Bull, afterwards Bishop of St. David s, 
 whom Macaulay speaks of as the only rural parish 
 priest who, during the latter part of the seventeenth 
 century, was noted as a theologian, or who pos 
 sessed a respectable library. Roberts refused to 
 pay the vicar his tithes, and the vicar sent him to 
 prison. It was the priest s "Short Method with 
 Dissenters." While the sturdy Non-conformist lay 
 in prison, he was visited by the great woman of 
 the neighborhood, Lady Dunch, of Down Amney. 
 " What do you lie in jail for ? " inquired the lady. 
 Roberts replied, that it was because he could not 
 put bread into the mouth of a hireling priest. The 
 lady suggested that he might let somebody else sat 
 isfy the demands of the priest ; and that she had 
 a mind to do this herself, as she wished to talk with 
 him on religious subjects. To this Roberts ob 
 jected ; there were poor people who needed her 
 charities, which would be wasted on such devourers 
 as the priests, who, like Pharaoh s lean kine, were 
 
 VOL. I. 14 
 
314 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 eating up the fat and the goodly, without looking a 
 whit the better. But the lady, who seems to have 
 been pleased and amused by the obstinate prisoner, 
 paid the tithe and the jail fees, and set him at lib 
 erty, making him fix a day when he would visit her. 
 At the time appointed he went to Down Amney, 
 and was overtaken on the way by the priest of 
 Cirencester, who had been sent for to meet the 
 Quaker. They found the lady ill in bed ; but she 
 had them brought to her chamber, being deter 
 mined not to lose the amusement of hearing a the 
 ological discussion, to wrrich she at once urged 
 them, declaring that it would divert her and do her 
 good. The parson began by accusing the Quakers 
 of holding Popish doctrines. The Quaker retorted, 
 by telling him that if he would prove the Quakers 
 like the Papists in one thing, by the help of God, 
 he would prove him like them in ten. After a brief 
 and sharp dispute, the priest, finding his adversa 
 ry s wit too keen for his comfort, hastily took his 
 leave. 
 
 The next we hear of Roberts he is in Gloucester 
 Castle, subjected to the brutal usage of a jailer, 
 who took a malicious satisfaction in thrusting de 
 cent and respectable Dissenters, imprisoned for 
 matters of conscience, among felons and thieves. 
 A poor vagabond tinker was hired to play at night 
 on his hautboy, and prevent their sleeping ; but 
 Roberts spoke to him in such a manner, that the 
 instrument fell from his hand ; and he told the 
 jailer that he would play no more, though he should 
 hang him up at the door for it. 
 
John Roberts. 315 
 
 How he was released from jail does not appear ; 
 but the narrative tells us, that some time after an 
 apparitor came to cite him to the Bishop s Court at 
 Gloucester. When he was brought before the 
 Court, Bishop Nicholson, a kind-hearted and easy- 
 natured prelate, asked him the number of his chil 
 dren, and how many of them had been bishoped ? 
 
 " None, that I know of," said Roberts. 
 
 "What reason," asked the Bishop, "do you give 
 for this?" 
 
 " A very good one," said the Quaker ; " most of 
 my children were born in Oliver s days, when Bish 
 ops were out of fashion." 
 
 The Bishop and the Court laughed at this sally, 
 and proceeded to question him touching his views 
 of baptism. Roberts admitted that John had a 
 Divine commission to baptize with water, but that 
 he never heard of anybody else that had. The 
 Bishop reminded him that Christ s disciples bap 
 tized. " What s that to me ? " responded Roberts. 
 " Paul says he was not sent to baptize, but to preach 
 the Gospel. And if he was not sent, who required 
 it at his hands ? Perhaps he had as little thanks 
 for his labor as thou hast for thine ; and I would 
 willingly know who sent thee to baptize ? " 
 
 The Bishop evaded this home question, and told 
 him he was there to answer for not coming to 
 church. Roberts denied the charge ; sometimes 
 he went to church and sometimes it came to him. 
 " I don t call that a church which you do, which is 
 made of wood and stone." 
 
316 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 " What do you call it ? " asked the Bishop. 
 
 " It might be properly called a mass-house," was 
 the reply ; "for it was built for that purpose." The 
 Bishop here told him he might go for the present ; 
 he would take another opportunity to convince him 
 of his errors. 
 
 The next person called was a Baptist minister, 
 who, seeing that Roberts refused to put off his hat, 
 kept on his also. The Bishop sternly reminded 
 him that he stood before the King s Court, and 
 the representative of the majesty of England ; and 
 that, while some regard might be had to the scru 
 ples of men who made a conscience of putting off 
 the hat, such contempt could not be tolerated on 
 the part of one who could put it off to every me 
 chanic he met. The Baptist pulled off his hat, and 
 apologized, on the ground of illness. 
 
 We find Roberts next following George Fox on 
 a visit to Bristol. On his return, reaching his house 
 late in the evening, he saw a man standing in the 
 moonlight at his door, and knew him to be a bailiff. 
 " Hast thou anything against me ? " asked Roberts. 
 " No," said the bailiff, " I ve wronged you enough, 
 God forgive me ! Those who lie in wait for you 
 are my Lord Bishop s bailiffs ; they are merciless 
 rogues. Ever, my master, while you live, please a 
 knave, for an honest man won t hurt you." 
 
 The next morning, having, as he thought, been 
 warned by a dream to do so, he went to the Bish 
 op s house at Cleave, near Gloucester. Confront 
 ing the Bishop in his own hall, he told him that he 
 
John Roberts. 317 
 
 had come to know why he was hunting after him 
 with his bailiffs, and why he was his adversary? 
 " The King is your adversary," said the Bishop ; 
 "you have broken the King s law." Roberts ven 
 tured to deny the justice of the law. " What ! " 
 cried the Bishop, " do such men as you find fault 
 with the laws ? " " Yes," replied the other, stoutly ; 
 " and I tell thee plainly to thy face, it is high time 
 wiser men were chosen, to make better laws." 
 
 The discourse turning upon the Book of Com 
 mon Prayer, Roberts asked the Bishop if the sin 
 of idolatry did not consist in worshipping the work 
 of men s hands. The Bishop admitted it, as in the 
 case of Nebuchadnezzar s image. 
 
 " Then," said Roberts, " whose hands made your 
 Prayer-Book ? It could not make itself." 
 
 "Do you compare our Prayer-Book to Nebu 
 chadnezzar s image ? " cried the Bishop. 
 
 " Yes," returned Roberts, " that was his image ; 
 this is thine. I no more dare bow to thy Common- 
 Prayer-Book than the Three Children to Nebuchad 
 nezzar s image." 
 
 "Yours is a strange upstart religion," said the 
 Bishop. 
 
 Roberts told him it was older than his by several 
 hundred years. At this claim of antiquity the Pre 
 late was greatly amused, and told Roberts that if 
 he would make out his case, he should speed the 
 better for it. 
 
 "Let me ask thee," said Roberts, "where thy 
 religion was in Oliver s days, when thy Common- 
 
318 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Prayer Book was as little regarded as an old alma 
 nac, and your priests, with a few honest exceptions, 
 turned with the tide, and if Oliver had put Mass in 
 their mouths, would have conformed to it for the 
 sake of their bellies." 
 
 " What would you have us do ? " asked the Bish 
 op. " Would you have had Oliver cut our throats ? " 
 
 "No," said Roberts ; "but what sort of religion 
 was that which you were afraid to venture your 
 throats for ? " 
 
 The Bishop interrupted him to say, that in Oli 
 ver s days he had never owned any other religion 
 than his own, although he did not dare to openly 
 maintain it as he then did. 
 
 " Well," continued Roberts, " if thou didst not 
 think thy religion worth venturing thy throat for 
 then, I desire thee to consider that it is not worth 
 the cutting of other men s throats now for not con 
 forming to it." 
 
 "You are right," responded the frank Bishop. 
 " I hope we shall have a care how we cut men s 
 throats." 
 
 The following colloquy throws some light on the 
 condition and character of the rural clergy at this 
 period, and goes far to confirm the statements of 
 Macaulay, which many have supposed exaggerated. 
 Baxter s early religious teachers were more excep 
 tionable than even the maudlin mummer whom 
 Roberts speaks of, one of them being " the excel- 
 lentest stage-player in all the country, and a good 
 gamester and goodfellow, who, having received Holy 
 
John Roberts. 319 
 
 Orders, forged the like for a neighbor s son, who 
 on the strength of that title officiated at the desk 
 and altar ; and after him came an attorney s clerk, 
 who had tippled himself into so great poverty that 
 he had no other way to live than to preach." 
 
 J. ROBERTS. I was bred up under a Common- 
 Prayer Priest ; and a poor drunken old Man he 
 was. Sometimes he was so drunk he could not say 
 his Prayers, and at best he could but say them ; 
 though I think he was by far a better Man than he 
 that is Priest there now. 
 
 BISHOP. Who is your Minister now ? 
 
 J. ROBERTS. My Minister is Christ Jesus, the 
 Minister of the everlasting Covenant ; but the pre 
 sent Priest of the Parish is George Bull. 
 
 BISHOP. Do you say that drunken old Man was 
 better than Mr. Bull? I tell you, I account Mr. 
 Bull as sound, able, and orthodox a Divine as any 
 we have among us. 
 
 J. ROBERTS. I am sorry for that ; for if he be 
 one of the best of you, I believe the Lord will 
 not suffer you long ; for he is a proud, ambitious, 
 ungodly Man : he hath often sued me at Law, and 
 brought his Servants to swear against me wrongfully. 
 His Servants themselves have confessed to my Ser 
 vants, that I might have their Ears ; for their Mas 
 ter made them drunk, and then told them they were 
 set down in the List as Witnesses against me, and 
 they must swear to it : And so they did, and brought 
 treble Damages. They likewise owned they took 
 Tithes from my Servants, threshed them out, and 
 
320 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 sold them for their Master. They have also several 
 Times took my Cattle out of my Grounds, drove 
 them to Fairs and Markets, and sold them, without 
 giving me any Account. 
 
 BISHOP. I do assure you I will inform Mr. Bull 
 of what you say. 
 
 J. ROBERTS. Very well. And if thou pleasest 
 to send for me to face him, I shall make much more 
 appear to his Face than I 11 say behind his Back. 
 
 After much more discourse, Roberts told the 
 Bishop that if it would do him any good to have 
 him in jail, he would voluntarily go and deliver him 
 self up to the keeper of Gloucester Castle. The 
 good-natured Prelate relented at this, and said he 
 should not be molested or injured, and further man 
 ifested his good will by ordering refreshments. One 
 of the Bishop s friends who was present was highly 
 offended by the freedom of Roberts with his Lord 
 ship, and undertook to rebuke him, but was so 
 readily answered, that he flew into a rage. "If 
 all the Quakers in England," said he, "are not 
 hanged in a month s time, I 11 be hanged for them." 
 " Prithee, friend," quoth Roberts, " remember and 
 be as good as thy word ! " 
 
 Good old Bishop Nicholson, it would seem, really 
 liked his incorrigible Quaker neighbor, and could 
 enjoy heartily his wit and humor, even when exer 
 cised at the expense of his own ecclesiastical dig 
 nity. He admired his blunt honesty and courage. 
 Surrounded by flatterers and self-seekers, he found 
 satisfaction in the company and conversation of 
 
John Roberts. 321 
 
 one who, setting aside all conventionalisms, saw 
 only in my Lord Bishop a poor fellow-probationer, 
 and addressed him on terms of conscious equality. 
 The indulgence which he extended to him naturally 
 enough provoked many of the inferior clergy, who 
 had been sorely annoyed by the sturdy Dissenter s 
 irreverent witticisms and unsparing ridicule. Vicar 
 Bull, of Siddington, and Priest Careless, of Ciren- 
 cester, in particular, urged the Bishop to deal sharp 
 ly with him. The former accused him of dealing 
 in the Black Art, and filled the Bishop s ear with 
 certain marvellous stories of his preternatural sa 
 gacity and discernment in discovering cattle which 
 were lost. The Bishop took occasion to inquire 
 into these stories ; and was told by Roberts, that, 
 except in a single instance, the discoveries were 
 the result of his acquaintance with the habits of 
 animals, and his knowledge of the localities where 
 they were lost. The circumstance alluded to, as 
 an exception, will be best related in his own words. 
 
 " I had a poor Neighbor, who had a Wife and 
 six Children, and whom the chief men about us 
 permitted to keep six or seven Cows upon the 
 Waste, which were the principal Support of the 
 Family, and preserved them from becoming charge 
 able to the Parish. One very stormy night the 
 Cattle were left in the Yard as usual, but could not 
 be found in the morning. The Man and his Sons 
 had sought them to no purpose ; and, after they 
 had been lost four days, his Wife came to me, and, 
 in a great deal of grief, cried, O Lord ! Master 
 
 VOL i. 14* u 
 
322 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Hayward, we are undone ! My Husband and I 
 must go a begging in our old age ! We have lost 
 all our Cows. My Husband and the Boys have 
 been round the country, and can hear nothing of 
 them. I 11 down on my bare knees, if you 11 stand 
 our Friend ! I desired she would not be in such 
 an agony, and told her she should not down on her 
 knees to me ; but I would gladly help them in what 
 I could. I know, said she, you are a good Man, 
 and God will hear your Prayers. I desire thee, 
 said I, to be still and quiet in thy mind ; perhaps 
 thy Husband or Sons may hear of them to-day ; if 
 not, let thy Husband get a horse, and come to me 
 to-morrow morning as soon as he will ; and I think, 
 if it please God, to go with him to seek them. The 
 Woman seemed transported with joy, crying, Then 
 we shall have our Cows again. Her Faith being 
 so strong, brought the greater Exercise on me, with 
 strong cries to the Lord, that he would be pleased 
 to make me instrumental in his Hand, for the help 
 of the poor Family. In the Morning early comes 
 the old Man. In the Name of God, says he, which 
 Way shall we go to seek them ? I, being deeply con 
 cerned in my Mind, did not answer him till he had 
 thrice repeated it; and then I answered, In the 
 Name of God, I would go to seek them ; and said 
 (before I was well aware) we will go to Malmsbury, 
 and at the Horse -Fair we shall find them. When I 
 had spoken the Words, I was much troubled lest 
 they should not prove true. It was very early, and 
 the first Man we saw, I asked him if he had seen 
 
John Roberts. 323 
 
 any stray Milch Cows thereabouts. What manner 
 of Cattle are they ? said he. And the old Man de 
 scribing their Mark and Number, he told us there 
 were some stood chewing their Cuds in the Horse- 
 Fair ; but thinking they belonged to some in the 
 Neighborhood, he did not take particular Notice of 
 them. When we came to the Place, the old Man 
 found them to be his ; but suffered his Transports 
 of Joy to rise so high, that I was ashamed of his 
 behavior; for he fell a hallooing, and threw up 
 his Montier Cap in the Air several times, till he 
 raised the Neighbors out of their Beds to see what 
 was the Matter. <O! said he, I had lost my 
 Cows four or five days ago, and thought I should 
 never see them again ; and this honest Neighbor of 
 mine told me this Morning, by his own Fire s Side, 
 nine Miles off, that here I should find them, and 
 here I have them ! Then up goes his Cap again. 
 I begged of the poor Man to be quiet, and take 
 his Cows home, and be thankful ; as indeed I was, 
 being reverently bowed in my Spirit before the 
 Lord, in that he was pleased to put the words of 
 Truth into my mouth. And the Man drove his 
 Cattle home, to the great Joy of his Family." 
 
 Not long after the interview with the Bishop at 
 his own palace, which has been related, that dig 
 nitary, with the Lord Chancellor, in their coaches, 
 and about twenty clergymen on horseback, made a 
 call at the humble dwelling of Roberts, on their 
 way to Tedbury, where the Bishop was to hold a 
 Visitation. " I could not go out of the country 
 
324 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 without seeing you," said the Prelate, as the farmer 
 came to his coach door and pressed him to alight. 
 
 " John," asked Priest Evans, the Bishop s kins 
 man, " is your house free to entertain such men as 
 we are ? " 
 
 " Yes, George," said Roberts ; " I entertain hon 
 est men, and sometimes others." 
 
 " My Lord," said Evans, turning to the Bishop, 
 " John s friends are the honest men, and we are the 
 others." 
 
 The Bishop told Roberts that they could not then 
 alight, but would gladly drink with him ; where 
 upon, the good wife brought out her best beer. " I 
 commend you, John," quoth the Bishop, as he 
 paused from his hearty draught ; " you keep a cup 
 of good beer in your house. I have not drank any 
 that has pleased me better since I left home." The 
 cup passed next to the Chancellor, and finally came 
 to Priest Bull, who thrust it aside, declaring that it 
 was full of hops and heresy. As to Hops, Rob 
 erts replied, he could not say, but as for Heresy, he 
 bade the priest take note, that the Lord Bishop had 
 drank of it, and had found no heresy in the cup. 
 
 The Bishop leaned over his coach door and whis 
 pered : " John, I advise you to take care you don t 
 offend against the higher Powers. I have heard 
 great complaints against you, that you are the Ring 
 leader of the Quakers in this Country ; and that, 
 if you are not suppressed, all will signify nothing. 
 Therefore, pray, John, take care, for the future, you 
 don t offend any more." 
 
John Roberts. 325 
 
 " I like thy Counsel very well," answered Rob 
 erts, "and intend to take it. But thou knowest 
 God is the higher Power; and you mortal Men, 
 however advanced in this World, are but the lower 
 Power ; and it is only because I endeavor to be 
 obedient to the will of the higher Powers, that the 
 lower Powers are angry with me. But I hope, with 
 the assistance of God, to take thy Counsel, and be 
 subject to the higher Powers, let the lower Powers 
 do with me as it may please God to suffer them." 
 
 The Bishop then said he would like to talk with 
 him further, and requested him to meet him at Ted- 
 bury the next day. At the time appointed, Roberts 
 went to the inn where the Bishop lodged, and was 
 invited to dine with him. After dinner was over, 
 the Prelate told him that he must go to church, 
 and leave off holding Conventicles at his house, of 
 which great complaint was made. This he flatly 
 refused to do ; and the Bishop, losing patience, 
 ordered the constable to be sent for. Roberts told 
 him, that if, after coming to his house under the 
 guise of friendship, he should betray him and send 
 him to prison, he, who had hitherto commended 
 him for his moderation, would put his name in print, 
 and cause it to stink before all sober people. It 
 was the priests, he told him, who set him on ; but, 
 instead of hearkening to them, he should commend 
 them to some honest vocation, and not suffer them 
 to rob their honest neighbors, and feed on the fruits 
 of other men s toil, like caterpillars. 
 
 "Whom do you call caterpillars?" cried Priest 
 Rich, of North Surrey. 
 
326 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 11 We farmers," said Roberts, " call those so who 
 live on other men s fields, and by the sweat of 
 other men s brows ; and if thou dost so, thou 
 mayst be one of them." 
 
 This reply so enraged the Bishop s attendants, 
 that they could only be appeased by an order for 
 the constable to take him to jail. In fact, there 
 was some ground for complaint of a lack of cour 
 tesy on the part of the blunt farmer ; and the 
 Christian virtue of forbearance, even in Bishops, 
 has its limits. 
 
 The constable, obeying the summons, came to 
 the inn, at the door of which the landlady met 
 him. " What do you here ! " cried the good wo 
 man, "when honest John is going to be sent to 
 prison? Here, come along with me." The con 
 stable, nothing loath, followed her into a private 
 room, where she concealed him. Word was sent 
 to the Bishop, that the constable was not to be 
 found ; and the Prelate, telling Roberts he could 
 send him to jail in the afternoon, dismissed him 
 until evening. At the hour appointed, the latter 
 waited upon the Bishop, and found with him only 
 one priest and a lay gentleman. The priest begged 
 the Bishop to be allowed to discourse with the 
 prisoner ; and, leave being granted, he began by 
 telling Roberts that the knowledge of the Scrip 
 tures had made him mad, and that it was a great 
 pity he had ever seen them. 
 
 " Thou art an unworthy man," said the Quaker, 
 * and I 11 not dispute with thee. If the knowl- 
 
John Roberts. 327 
 
 edge of the Scriptures has made me mad, the 
 knowledge of the sack-pot hath almost made thee 
 mad ; and if we two madmen should dispute about 
 religion, we should make mad work of it." 
 
 " An t please you, my Lord," said the scandal 
 ized priest, " he says I m drunk." 
 
 The Bishop asked Roberts to repeat his words ; 
 and, instead of reprimanding him, as the priest 
 expected, was so much amused that he held up his 
 hands and laughed ; whereupon the offended in 
 ferior took a hasty leave. The Bishop, who was 
 evidently glad to be rid of him, now turned to 
 Roberts, and complained that he had dealt hardly 
 with him, in telling him, before so many gentle 
 men, that he had sought to betray him by pro 
 fessions of friendship, in order to send him to 
 prison; and that, if he had not done as he 
 did, people would have reported him as an en- 
 courager of the Quakers. " But now, John," said 
 the good Prelate, " I 11 burn the warrant against 
 you before your face." " You know, Mr. Burnet," 
 he continued, addressing his attendant, "that a 
 Ring of Bells may be made of excellent metal, but 
 they may be out of tune ; so we may say of John : 
 he is a man of as good metal as I ever met with, 
 but quite out of tune." 
 
 "Thou mayst well say so," quoth Roberts, "for 
 I can t tune after thy pipe." 
 
 The inferior clergy were by no means so lenient 
 as the Bishop. They regarded Roberts as the 
 Ringleader of Dissent, an impracticable, obstinate, 
 
328 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 contumacious heretic, not only refusing to pay 
 them tithes himself, but encouraging others to the 
 same course. Hence, they thought it necessary to 
 visit upon him the full rigor of the law. His 
 crops were taken from his field, and his cattle from 
 his yard. He was often committed to the jail, 
 where, on one occasion, he was kept, with many 
 others, for a long time, through the malice of the 
 jailer, who refused to put the names of his prison 
 ers in the Calendar, that they might have a hear 
 ing. But the spirit of the old Commonwealth s 
 man remained steadfast. When Justice George, 
 at the Ram in Cirencester, told him he must con 
 form, and go to church, or suffer the penalty of the 
 law, he replied, that he had heard indeed that some 
 were formerly whipped out of the Temple, but he 
 had never heard of any being whipped in. The 
 Justice, pointing, through the open window of the 
 inn, at the church tower, asked him what that was. 
 "Thou mayst call it a daw-house," answered the 
 incorrigible Quaker. " Dost thou not see how the 
 jackdaws flock about it ? " 
 
 Sometimes it happened that the clergyman was 
 also a magistrate, and united in his own person 
 the authority of the State and the zeal of the 
 Church. Justice Parsons, of Gloucester, was a 
 functionary of this sort. He wielded the sword 
 of the Spirit on the Sabbath against Dissenters, 
 and on week days belabored them with the arm of 
 flesh and the constable s staff. At one time he 
 had between forty and fifty of them locked up in 
 
John Roberts. 329 
 
 Gloucester Castle, among them Roberts and his 
 sons, on the charge of attending Conventicles. 
 But the troublesome prisoners baffled his vigilance, 
 and turned their prison into a meeting-house, and 
 held their Conventicles in defiance of him. The 
 Reverend Justice pounced upon them on one oc 
 casion, with his attendants. An old, gray-haired 
 man, formerly a strolling fencing-master, was 
 preaching when he came in. The Justice laid 
 hold of him by his white locks, and strove to pull 
 him down, but the tall fencing-master stood firm 
 and spoke on ; he then tried to gag him, but failed 
 in that also. He demanded the names of the 
 prisoners, but no one answered him. A voice (we 
 fancy it was that of our old friend Roberts) called 
 out : " The Devil must be hard put to it to have 
 his drudgery done, when the Priests must leave 
 their pulpits to turn informers against poor prison 
 ers." The Justice obtained a list of the names of 
 the prisoners, made out on their commitment, and, 
 taking it for granted that all were still present, 
 issued warrants for the collection of fines by levies 
 upon their estates. Among the names was that of 
 a poor widow, who had been discharged, and was 
 living, at the time the clerical Magistrate swore she 
 was at the meeting, twenty miles distant from the 
 prison. 
 
 Soon after this event, our old friend fell sick. 
 He had been discharged from prison, but his sons 
 were still confined. The eldest had leave, how 
 ever, to attend him in his illness, and he bears his 
 
330 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 testimony that the Lord was pleased to favor his 
 father with His living presence in his last mo 
 ments. In keeping with the sturdy Non-conform 
 ist s life, he was interred at the foot of his own 
 orchard, in Siddington, a spot he had selected for 
 a burial-ground long before, where neither the foot 
 of a priest nor the shadow of a steeple-house could 
 rest upon his grave. 
 
 In closing our notice of this pleasant old narra 
 tive, we may remark that the light it sheds upon 
 the antagonistic religious parties of the time is 
 calculated to dissipate prejudices, and correct mis 
 apprehensions, common alike to Churchmen and 
 Dissenters. The genial humor, sound sense, and 
 sterling virtues of the Quaker farmer should teach 
 the one class that poor James Nayler, in his crazi- 
 ness and folly, was not a fair representative of his 
 sect ; while the kind nature, the hearty apprecia 
 tion of goodness, and the generosity and candor 
 of Bishop Nicholson should convince the other 
 class that a prelate is not necessarily, and by vir 
 tue of his mitre, a Laud or a Bonner. The Dis 
 senters of the seventeenth century may well be 
 forgiven for the asperity of their language ; men 
 whose ears had been cropped because they would 
 not recognize Charles I. as a blessed martyr, and 
 his scandalous son as the head of the Church, 
 could scarcely be expected to make discriminations, 
 or suggest palliating circumstances, favorable to 
 any class of their adversaries. To use the homely 
 but apt simile of McFingal, 
 
John Roberts. 331 
 
 " The will s confirmed by treatment horrid, 
 As hides grow harder when they re curried." 
 
 They were wronged, and they told the world of it. 
 Unlike Shakespeare s cardinal, they did not die 
 without a sign. They branded, by their fierce epi 
 thets, the foreheads of their persecutors more deep 
 ly than the sheriff s hot iron did their own. If they 
 lost their ears, they enjoyed the satisfaction of mak 
 ing those of their oppressors tingle. Knowing 
 their persecutors to be in the wrong, they did not 
 always inquire whether they themselves had been 
 entirely right, and had done no unrequired works 
 of supererogation by the way of "testimony" against 
 their neighbors mode of worship. And so from 
 pillory and whipping-post, from prison and scaffold, 
 they sent forth their wail and execration, their mis 
 erere and anathema, and the sound thereof has 
 reached down to our day. May it never wholly die 
 away until, the world over, the forcing of conscience 
 is regarded as a crime against humanity, and a usur 
 pation of God s prerogative. But abhorring, as we 
 must, persecution under whatever pretext it is em 
 ployed, we are not, therefore, to conclude that all 
 persecutors were bad and unfeeling men. Many 
 of their severities, upon which we now look back 
 with horror, were, beyond a question, the result of 
 an intense anxiety for the well-being of immortal 
 souls, endangered by the poison which, in their 
 view, heresy was casting into the waters of life. 
 Coleridge, in one of the moods of a mind which 
 traversed in imagination the vast circle of human 
 
332 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 experience, reaches this point in his " Table -Talk." 
 " It would require," says he, " stronger arguments 
 than any I have seen to convince me that men 
 in authority have not a right, involved in an imper 
 ative duty, to deter those under their control from 
 teaching or countenancing doctrines which they 
 believe to be damnable, and even to punish with 
 death those who violate such prohibition." It 
 would not be very difficult for us to imagine a ten 
 der-hearted Inquisitor of this stamp, stifling his 
 weak compassion for the shrieking wretch under 
 bodily torment, by his strong pity for souls in dan 
 ger of perdition from the sufferer s heresy. We all 
 know with what satisfaction the gentle-spirited Me- 
 lancthon heard of the burning of Servetus, and with 
 what zeal he defended it. The truth is, the notion 
 that an intellectual recognition of certain dogmas 
 is the essential condition of salvation lies at the 
 bottom of all intolerance in matters of religion. 
 Under this impression, men are too apt to forget 
 that the great end of Christianity is Love, and that 
 Charity is its crowning virtue ; they overlook the 
 beautiful significance of the parable of the heretic 
 Samaritan and the orthodox Pharisee ; and thus, 
 by suffering their speculative opinions of the next 
 world to make them uncharitable and cruel in this, 
 they are really the worse for them, even admitting 
 them to be true. 
 
SAMUEL HOPKINS. 
 
 "TpHREE quarters of a century ago, the name 
 JL of Samuel Hopkins was as familiar as a 
 household word throughout New England. It was 
 a spell wherewith to raise at once a storm of theo 
 logical controversy. The venerable minister who 
 bore it had his thousands of ardent young disciples, 
 as well as defenders and followers of mature age 
 and acknowledged talent ; a hundred pulpits prop 
 agated the dogmas which he had engrafted on the 
 stock of Calvinism. Nor did he lack numerous 
 and powerful antagonists. The sledge ecclesiastic, 
 with more or less effect, was unceasingly plied upon 
 the strong-linked chain of argument which he slow 
 ly and painfully elaborated in the seclusion of his 
 parish. The press groaned under large volumes of 
 theological, metaphysical, and psychological disqui 
 sition, the very thought of which is now " a weari 
 ness to the flesh " ; in rapid succession pamphlet 
 encountered pamphlet, horned, beaked, and sharp 
 of talon, grappling with each other in mid air, like 
 Milton s angels. That loud controversy, the sound 
 whereof went over Christendom, awakening respon 
 ses from beyond the Atlantic, has now died away ; 
 its watchwords no longer stir the blood of belligerent 
 
334 Portraits and SketcJics. 
 
 sermonizers ; its very terms and definitions have 
 wellnigh become obsolete and unintelligible. The 
 hands which wrote and the tongues which spoke in 
 that day are now all cold and silent ; even Em- 
 mons, the brave old intellectual athlete of Franklin, 
 now sleeps with his fathers, the last of the giants. 
 Their fame is still in all the churches ; effeminate 
 clerical dandyism still affects to do homage to their 
 memories ; the earnest young theologian, exploring 
 with awe the mountainous debris of their contro 
 versial lore, ponders over the colossal thoughts en 
 tombed therein, as he would over the gigantic fos 
 sils of an early creation, and endeavors in vain to 
 recall to the skeleton abstractions before him the 
 warm and vigorous life wherewith they were once 
 clothed ; but Hopkinsianism, as a distinct and living 
 school of philosophy, theology, and metaphysics, 
 no longer exists. It has no living oracles left ; 
 and its memory survives only in the doctrinal trea 
 tises of the elder and younger Edwards, Hopkins, 
 Bellamy, and Emmons. 
 
 It is no part of our present purpose to discuss 
 the merits of the system in question. Indeed, look 
 ing at the great controversy which divided New 
 England Calvinism in the eighteenth century, from 
 a point of view which secures our impartiality and 
 freedom from prejudice, we find it exceedingly dif 
 ficult to get a precise idea of what was actually at 
 issue. To our poor comprehension, much of the 
 dispute hinges upon names rather than things ; on 
 the manner of reaching conclusions quite as much 
 
Samuel Hopkins. 335 
 
 as upon the conclusions themselves. Its origin 
 may be traced to the great religious awakening of 
 the middle of the past century, when the dogmas 
 of the Calvinistic faith were subjected to the inqui 
 ry of acute and earnest minds, roused up from the 
 incurious ease and passive indifference of nominal 
 orthodoxy. Without intending it, it broke down 
 some of the barriers which separated Arminianism 
 and Calvinism ; its product, Hopkinsianism, while 
 it pushed the doctrine of the Genevan reformer on 
 the subject of the Divine decrees and agency to 
 that extreme point where it wellnigh loses itself in 
 Pantheism, held at the same time that guilt could 
 not be hereditary ; that man, being responsible for 
 his sinful acts, and not for his sinful nature, can only 
 be justified by a personal holiness, consisting not 
 so much in legal obedience as in that disinterested 
 benevolence which prefers the glory of God and 
 the welfare of universal being above the happiness 
 of self. It had the merit, whatever it may be, of 
 reducing the doctrines of the Reformation to an 
 ingenious and scholastic form of theology; of bring 
 ing them boldly to the test of reason and philoso 
 phy. Its leading advocates were not mere heartless 
 reasoners and closet speculators. They taught that 
 sin was selfishness, and holiness self-denying be 
 nevolence, and they endeavored to practise accord 
 ingly. Their lives recommended their doctrines. 
 They were bold and faithful in the discharge of 
 what they regarded as duty. In the midst of slave 
 holders, and in an age of comparative darkness on 
 
336 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 the subject of human rights, Hopkins and the 
 younger Edwards lifted up their voices for the slave. 
 And twelve years ago, when Abolitionism was every 
 where spoken against, and the whole land was con 
 vulsed with mobs to suppress it, the venerable Em- 
 mons, burdened with the weight of ninety years, 
 made a journey to New York, to attend a meeting 
 of the Anti-Slavery Society. Let those who con 
 demn the creed of these men see to it that they do 
 not fall behind them in practical righteousness and 
 faithfulness to the convictions of duty. 
 
 Samuel Hopkins, who gave his name to the re 
 ligious system in question, was born in Waterbury, 
 Connecticut, in 1721. In his fifteenth year he was 
 placed under the care of a neighboring clergyman, 
 preparatory for college, which he entered about a 
 year after. In 1740, the celebrated Whitefield vis 
 ited New Haven, and awakened there, as elsewhere, 
 serious inquiry on religious subjects. He was fol 
 lowed the succeeding spring by Gilbert Tennent, 
 the New Jersey revivalist, a stirring and powerful 
 preacher. A great change took place in the col 
 lege. All the phenomena which President Ed 
 wards has described in his account of the North 
 ampton awakening were reproduced among the 
 students. The excellent David Brainard, then a 
 member of the college, visited Hopkins in his apart 
 ment, and, by a few plain and earnest words, con 
 vinced him that he was a stranger to vital Chris 
 tianity. In his autobiographical sketch, he describes 
 in simple and affecting language the dark and deso 
 
Samuel Hopkins. 337 
 
 late state of his mind at this period, and the par 
 ticular exercise which finally afforded him some de 
 gree of relief, and which he afterwards appears to 
 have regarded as his conversion from spiritual death 
 to life. When he first heard Tennent, regarding 
 him as the greatest as well as the best of men, he 
 made up his mind to study theology with him ; but 
 just before the commencement at which he was to 
 take his degree, the elder Edwards preached at 
 New Haven. Struck by the power of the great 
 theologian, he at once resolved to make him his 
 spiritual father. In the winter following, he left 
 his father s house on horseback, on a journey of 
 eighty miles, to Northampton. Arriving at the 
 house of President Edwards, he was disappointed 
 by hearing that he was absent on a preaching tour. 
 But he was kindly received by the gifted and ac 
 complished lady of the mansion, and encouraged 
 to remain during the winter. Still doubtful in re 
 spect to his own spiritual state, he was, he says, 
 "very gloomy, and retired most of the time in his 
 chamber." The kind heart of his amiable hostess 
 was touched by his evident affliction. After some 
 days she came to his chamber, and, with the gen 
 tleness and delicacy of a true woman, inquired into 
 the cause of his unhappiness. The young student 
 disclosed to her, without reserve, the state of his 
 feelings and the extent of his fears. " She told 
 me," says the Doctor, "that she had had peculiar 
 exercises respecting me since I had been in the 
 family ; that she trusted I should receive light and 
 VOL. i. 15 v 
 
338 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 comfort, and doubted not that God intended yet to 
 do great things by me." 
 
 After pursuing his studies for some months with 
 the Puritan philosopher, young Hopkins com 
 menced preaching, and, in 1743, was ordained at 
 Sheffield, (now Great Barrington,) in the western 
 part of Massachusetts. There were at the time 
 only about thirty families in the town. He says it 
 was a matter of great regret to him to be obliged 
 to settle so far from his spiritual guide and tutor ; 
 but seven years after he was relieved and gratified 
 by the removal of Edwards to Stockbridge, as the 
 Indian missionary at that station, seven miles only 
 from his own residence ; and for several years the 
 great metaphysician and his favorite pupil enjoyed 
 the privilege of familiar intercourse with each other. 
 The removal of the former in 1758 to Princeton, 
 New Jersey, and his death, which soon followed, 
 are mentioned in the diary of Hopkins as sore trials 
 and afflictive dispensations. 
 
 Obtaining a dismissal from his society in Great 
 Barrington in 1769, he was installed at Newport 
 the next year, as minister of the first Congrega 
 tional church in that place. Newport, at this pe 
 riod, was, in size, wealth, and commercial impor 
 tance, the second town in New England. It was 
 the great slave mart of the North. Vessels loaded 
 with stolen men and women and children, con 
 signed to its merchant princes, lay at its wharves ; 
 immortal beings were sold daily in its market, like 
 cattle at a fair. The soul of Hopkins was moved 
 
Samuel Hopkins. 339 
 
 by the appalling spectacle. A strong conviction 
 of the great wrong of slavery, and of its utter in 
 compatibility with the Christian profession, seized 
 upon his mind. While at Great Barrington, he had 
 himself owned a slave, whom he had sold on leav 
 ing the place, without compunction or suspicion in 
 regard to the rightfulness of the transaction. He 
 now saw the origin of the system in its true light ; 
 he heard the seamen engaged in the African trade 
 tell of the horrible scenes of fire and blood which 
 they had witnessed, and in which they had been 
 actors ; he saw the half-suffocated wretches brought 
 up from their noisome and narrow prison, their 
 squalid countenances and skeleton forms bearing 
 fearful evidence of the suffering attendant upon the 
 transportation from their native homes. The de 
 moralizing effects of slaveholding everywhere forced 
 themselves upon his attention, for the evil had 
 struck its roots deeply in the community, and there 
 were few families into which it had not penetrated. 
 The right to deal in slaves, and use them as arti 
 cles of property, was questioned by no one ; men 
 of all professions, clergymen and church-members, 
 consulted only their interest and convenience as to 
 their purchase or sale. The magnitude of the evil 
 at first appalled him ; he felt it to be his duty to 
 condemn it, but for a time even his strong spirit 
 faltered and turned pale in contemplation of the 
 consequences to be apprehended from an attack 
 upon it. Slavery and slave trading were at that time 
 the principal source of wealth to the island; his 
 
34-O Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 own church and congregation were personally in 
 terested in the traffic ; all were implicated in its 
 guilt. He stood alone, as it were, in its condem 
 nation ; with here and there an exception, all Chris 
 tendom maintained the rightfulness of slavery. No 
 movement had yet been made in England against 
 the slave-trade ; the decision of Granville Sharp s 
 Somerset case had not yet taken place. The Qua 
 kers even had not at that time redeemed them 
 selves from the opprobrium. Under these circum 
 stances, after a thorough examination of the sub 
 ject, he resolved, in the strength of the Lord, to 
 take his stand openly and decidedly on the side of 
 humanity. He prepared a sermon for the purpose, 
 and for the first time from a pulpit of New Eng 
 land was heard an emphatic testimony against the 
 sin of slavery. In contrast with the unselfish and 
 disinterested benevolence which formed in his mind 
 the essential element of Christian holiness, he held 
 up the act of reducing human beings to the condi 
 tion of brutes, to minister to the convenience, the 
 luxury, and lusts of the owner. He had expected 
 bitter complaint and opposition from his hearers, 
 but was agreeably surprised to find that in most 
 cases his sermon only excited astonishment in their 
 minds that they themselves had never before looked 
 at the subject in the light in which he presented it. 
 Steadily and faithfully pursuing the matter, he had 
 the satisfaction to carry with him his church, and 
 obtain from it, in the midst of a slaveholding and 
 slavetrading community, a resolution every way 
 
Samuel Hopkins. 341 
 
 worthy of note in this day of cowardly compromise 
 with the evil on the part of our leading ecclesias 
 tical bodies : 
 
 " Resolved, That the slave-trade and the slavery 
 of the Africans, as it has existed among us, is a 
 gross violation of the righteousness and benevo 
 lence which are so much inculcated in the Gospel, 
 and therefore we will not tolerate it in this church" 
 
 There are few instances on record of moral 
 heroism superior to that of Samuel Hopkins, in 
 thus rebuking slavery in the time and place of its 
 power. Honor to the true man ever, who takes 
 his life in his hands, and, at all hazards, speaks 
 the word which is given him to utter, whether men 
 will hear or forbear, whether the end thereof is to 
 be praise or censure, gratitude or hatred. It well 
 may be doubted whether on that Sabbath day the 
 angels of God, in their wide survey of His universe, 
 looked upon a nobler spectacle than that of the 
 minister of Newport, rising up before his slave- 
 holding congregation, and demanding, in the name 
 of the Highest, the " deliverance of the captive, 
 and the opening of prison doors to them that were 
 bound." 
 
 Dr. Hopkins did not confine his attention solely 
 to slaveholding in his own church and congrega 
 tion. He entered into correspondence with the 
 early Abolitionists of Europe as well as his own 
 country. He labored with his brethren in the 
 ministry to bring them to his own view of the 
 
342 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 great wrong of holding men as slaves. In a visit 
 to his early friend, Dr. Bellamy, at Bethlehem, who 
 was the owner of a slave, he pressed the subject 
 kindly but earnestly upon his attention. Dr. Bel 
 lamy urged the usual arguments in favor of slavery. 
 Dr. Hopkins refuted them in the most successful 
 manner, and called upon his friend to do an act of 
 simple justice, in giving immediate freedom to his 
 slave. Dr. Bellamy, thus hardly pressed, said that 
 the slave was a most judicious and faithful fellow ; 
 that, in the management of his farm, he could trust 
 everything to his discretion ; that he treated him 
 well, and he was so happy in his service, that he 
 would refuse his freedom if it were offered him. 
 
 " Will you," said Hopkins, " consent to his lib 
 eration, if he really desires it ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly," said Dr. Bellamy. 
 
 " Then let us try him," said his guest. 
 
 The slave was at work in an adjoining field, and 
 at the call of his master came promptly to receive 
 his commands. 
 
 " Have you a good master ? " inquired Hopkins. 
 
 " O yes ; massa, he berry good." 
 
 " But are you happy in your present condition ? " 
 queried the Doctor. 
 
 " O yes, massa ; berry happy." 
 
 Dr. Bellamy here could scarcely suppress his 
 exultation at what he supposed was a complete 
 triumph over his anti-slavery brother. But the 
 pertinacious guest continued his queries. 
 
 " Would you not be more happy if you were 
 free ? " 
 
Samuel Hopkins. 343 
 
 "O yes, massa," exclaimed the negro, his dark 
 face glowing with new life ; " berry much more 
 happy ! " 
 
 To the honor of Dr. Bellamy, he did not hesitate. 
 
 " You have your wish," he said to his servant. 
 "From this moment you are free." 
 
 Dr. Hopkins was a poor man, but one of his first 
 acts, after becoming convinced of the wrongfulness 
 of slavery, was to appropriate the very sum which, 
 in the days of his ignorance, he had obtained as 
 the price of his slave to the benevolent purpose 
 of educating some pious colored men in the town 
 of Newport, who were desirous of returning to 
 their native country as missionaries. In one in 
 stance he borrowed, on his own responsibility, the 
 sum requisite to secure the freedom of a slave in 
 whom he became interested. One of his theo 
 logical pupils was Newport Gardner, who, twenty 
 years after the death of his kind patron, left Boston 
 as a missionary to Africa. He was a native Afri 
 can, and was held by Captain Gardner, of New 
 port, who allowed him to labor for his own benefit, 
 whenever by extra diligence he could gain a little 
 time for that purpose. The poor fellow was in the 
 habit of laying up his small earnings on these oc 
 casions, in the faint hope of one day obtaining 
 thereby the freedom of himself and his family. 
 But time passed on, and the hoard of purchase- 
 money still looked sadly small. He concluded to 
 try the efficacy of praying. Having gained a day 
 for himself, by severe labor, and communicating 
 
344 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 his plan only to Dr. Hopkins and two or three 
 other Christian friends, he shut himself up in his 
 humble dwelling, and spent the time in prayer for 
 freedom. Towards the close of the day, his mas 
 ter sent for him. He was told that this was his 
 gained time, and that he was engaged for himself. 
 " No matter," returned the master, " I must see 
 him." Poor Newport reluctantly abandoned his 
 supplications, and came at his master s bidding, 
 when, to his astonishment, instead of a reprimand, 
 he received a paper, signed by his master, declar 
 ing him and his family from thenceforth free. He 
 justly attributed this signal blessing to the all-wise 
 Disposer, who turns the hearts of men as the 
 rivers of water are turned ; but it cannot be 
 doubted that the labors and arguments of Dr. 
 Hopkins with his master were the human instru 
 mentality in effecting it 
 
 In the year 1773, in connection with Dr. Ezra 
 Stiles, he issued an appeal to the Christian com 
 munity in behalf of a society which he had been 
 instrumental in forming, for the purpose of educat 
 ing missionaries for Africa. In the desolate and 
 benighted condition of that unhappy continent he 
 had become painfully interested, by conversing with 
 the slaves brought into Newport. Another appeal 
 was made on the subject in 1776. 
 
 The war of the Revolution interrupted, for a 
 time, the philanthropic plans of Dr. Hopkins. 
 The beautiful island on which he lived was at an 
 early period exposed to the exactions and devasta- 
 
Samuel Hopkins. 345 
 
 tions of the enemy. All who could do so left it 
 for the mainland. Its wharves were no longer 
 thronged with merchandise ; its principal dwell 
 ings stood empty ; the very meeting-houses were 
 in a great measure abandoned. Dr. Hopkins, 
 who had taken the precaution, at the commence 
 ment of hostilities, to remove his family to Great 
 Barrington, remained himself until the year 1776, 
 when the British took possession of the island. 
 During the period of its occupation, he was em 
 ployed in preaching to destitute congregations. 
 He spent the summer of 1777 at Newburyport, 
 where his memory is still cherished by the few of 
 his hearers who survive. In the spring of 1780, 
 he returned to Newport. Everything had under 
 gone a melancholy change. The garden of New 
 England lay desolate. His once prosperous and 
 wealthy church and congregation were now poor, 
 dispirited, and, worst of all, demoralized. His 
 meeting-house had been used as a barrack for 
 soldiers ; pulpit and pews had been destroyed ; 
 the very bell had been stolen. Refusing, with his 
 characteristic denial of self, a call to settle in a 
 more advantageous position, he sat himself down 
 once more in the midst of his reduced and im 
 poverished parishioners, and, with no regular sal 
 ary, dependent entirely on such free-will offerings 
 as from time to time were made him, he remained 
 with them until his death. 
 
 In 1776, Dr. Hopkins published his celebrated 
 " Dialogue concerning the Slavery of the Africans ; 
 15* 
 
346 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 showing it to be the Duty and Interest of the 
 American States to Emancipate all their Slaves." 
 This he dedicated to the Continental Congress, 
 the Signers of the Declaration of Independence. 
 It was republished in 1785, by the New York 
 Abolition Society, and was widely circulated. A 
 few years after, on coming unexpectedly into pos 
 session of a few hundred dollars, he devoted im 
 mediately one hundred of it to the society for 
 ameliorating the condition of the Africans. 
 
 He continued to preach until he had reached 
 his eighty-third year. His last sermon was de 
 livered on the 1 6th of the tenth month, 1803, and 
 his death took place in the twelfth month follow 
 ing. He died calmly, in the steady faith of one 
 who had long trusted all things in the hand of 
 God. " The language of my heart is," said he, 
 " let God be glorified by all things, and the best 
 interest of His kingdom promoted, whatever be 
 comes of me or my interest." To a young friend, 
 who visited him three days before his death, he 
 said, " I am feeble and cannot say much. I have 
 said all I can say. With my last words, I tell you, 
 religion is the one thing needful." " And now," 
 he continued, affectionately pressing the hand of 
 his friend, " I am going to die, and I am glad of 
 it." Many years before, an agreement had been 
 made between Dr. Hopkins and his old and tried 
 friend, Dr. Hart, of Connecticut, that when either 
 was called home, the survivor should preach the 
 funeral sermon of the deceased. The venerable 
 
Samuel Hopkins. 347 
 
 Dr. Hart accordingly came, true to his promise, 
 preaching at the funeral from the words of Elisha, 
 " My father, my father ; the chariots of Israel, and 
 the horsemen thereof." In the burial-ground ad 
 joining his meeting-house lies all that was mortal 
 of Samuel Hopkins. 
 
 One of Dr. Hopkins s habitual hearers, and who 
 has borne grateful testimony to the beauty and ho 
 liness of his life and conversation, was WILLIAM 
 ELLERY CHANNING. Widely as he afterwards di 
 verged from the creed of his early teacher, it con 
 tained at least one doctrine to the influence of 
 which the philanthropic devotion of his own life to 
 the welfare of man bears witness. He says, him 
 self, that there always seemed to him something 
 very noble in the doctrine of disinterested benevo 
 lence, the casting of self aside, and doing good, 
 irrespective of personal consequences, in this world 
 or another, upon which Dr. Hopkins so strongly 
 insisted, as the all-essential condition of holiness. 
 
 How widely apart, as mere theologians, stood 4 
 Hopkins and Channing ! Yet how harmonious * 
 their lives and practice ! Both could forget the 
 poor interests of self, in view of eternal right and < 
 universal humanity. Both could appreciate the \ 
 saving truth, that love to God and His creation is 
 the fulfilling of the Divine law. The idea of un 
 selfish benevolence, which they held in common, 
 clothed with sweetness and beauty the stern and 
 repulsive features of the theology of Hopkins, and 
 infused a sublime spirit of self-sacrifice and a glow- 
 
348 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 ing humanity into the indecisive and less robust 
 faith of Channing. What is the lesson of this, but 
 that Christianity consists rather in the affections 
 than in the intellect : that it is a life, rather than a 
 creed ; and that they who diverge the widest from 
 each other in speculation upon its doctrines, may, 
 after all, be found working side by side on the com 
 mon ground of its practice. 
 
 We have chosen to speak of Dr. Hopkins as a 
 philanthropist rather than as a theologian. Let 
 those who prefer to contemplate the narrow secta 
 rian rather than the universal man dwell upon his 
 controversial works, and extol the ingenuity and 
 logical acumen with which he defended his own 
 dogmas, and assailed those of others. We honor 
 him, not as the founder of a new sect, but as the 
 friend of all mankind, the generous defender of 
 the poor and oppressed. Great as unquestionably 
 were his powers of argument, his learning, and skill 
 in the use of the weapons of theologic warfare, 
 these by no means constitute his highest title to 
 respect and reverence. As the product of an hon 
 est and earnest mind, his doctrinal dissertations 
 have at least the merit of sincerity. They were 
 put forth in behalf of what he regarded as truth ; 
 and the success which they met with, while it 
 called into exercise his profoundest gratitude, only 
 served to deepen the humility and self-abasement 
 of their author. As the utterance of what a good 
 man believed and felt, as a part of the history of a 
 life remarkable for its consecration to apprehended 
 
Samuel Hopkins. 349 
 
 duty, these writings cannot be without interest even 
 to those who dissent from their arguments and deny 
 their assumptions ; but in the time now, we trust, 
 near at hand, when distracted and divided Christen 
 dom shall unite in a new Evangelical union, in 
 which orthodoxy in life and practice shall be esti 
 mated above orthodoxy in theory, he will be hon 
 ored as a good man, rather than as a successful 
 creed-maker ; as a friend of the oppressed, and the 
 fearless rebuker of popular sin, rather than as the 
 champion of a protracted sectarian war. Even now 
 his writings, so popular in their day, are little 
 known. The time may come when no pilgrim of 
 sectarianism shall visit his grave. But his memory 
 shall live in the hearts of the good and generous ; 
 the emancipated slave shall kneel over his ashes, 
 and bless God for the gift to humanity of a life so 
 devoted to its welfare. To him may be applied the 
 language of one who, on the spot where he labored 
 and laid down to rest, while rejecting the doctrinal 
 views of the theologian, still cherishes the philan 
 thropic spirit of the man : 
 
 " He is not lost, he hath not passed away : 
 
 Clouds, earths, may pass, but stars shine calmly on ; 
 And he who doth the will of God, for aye 
 Abideth, when the earth and heaven are gone. 
 
 " Alas that such a heart is in the grave ! 
 
 Thanks for the life that now shall never end ! 
 Weep, and rejoice, thou terror-hunted slave, 
 That hast both lost and found so great a friend 1 " 
 
RICHARD BAXTER. 
 
 THE picture drawn by a late English historian 
 of the infamous Jeffreys in his judicial robes, 
 sitting in judgment upon the venerable Richard 
 Baxter, brought before him to answer to an indict 
 ment, setting forth that the said " Richardus Bax 
 ter, persona seditiosa et factiosa pravee mentis, im- 
 piae, inquietae, turbulent disposition et conversa 
 tion ; falso illicte, injuste nequit factiose seditiose, 
 et irreligiose, fecit, composuit, scripsit quendam fal- 
 sum, seditiosum, libellosum, factiosum et irreligio- 
 sum librum," is so remarkable, that the attention 
 of the most careless reader is at once arrested. 
 Who was that old man, wasted with disease, and 
 ghastly with the pallor of imprisonment, upon whom 
 the foul-mouthed buffoon in ermine exhausted his 
 vocabulary of abuse and ridicule? Who was Ri 
 chardus Baxter? 
 
 The author of works so elaborate and profound 
 as to frighten by their very titles and ponderous 
 folios the modern ecclesiastical student from their 
 perusal, his hold upon the present generation is 
 limited to a few practical treatises, which, from their 
 very nature, can never become obsolete. The " Call 
 to the Unconverted," and the " Saints Everlasting 
 
Richard Baxter. 351 
 
 Rest," belong to no time or sect. They speak the 
 universal language of the wants and desires of the 
 human soul. They take hold of the awful verities 
 of life and death, righteousness and judgment to 
 come. Through them the suffering and hunted 
 minister of Kidderminster has spoken in warning, 
 entreaty, and rebuke, or in tones of tenderest love 
 and pity, to the hearts of the generations which 
 have succeeded him. His controversial works, his 
 confessions of faith, his learned disputations, and 
 his profound doctrinal treatises, are no longer read. 
 Their author himself, towards the close of his life, 
 anticipated, in respect to these favorite productions, 
 the children of his early zeal, labor, and suffering, 
 the judgment of posterity. " I perceive," he says, ^ 
 "that most of the doctrinal controversies among 
 Protestants are far more about equivocal words 
 than matter. Experience since the year 1643 to 
 this year 1675 hath loudly called me to repent of 
 my own prejudices, sidings, and censurings of 
 causes and persons not understood, and of all the 
 miscarriages of my ministry and life which have 
 been thereby caused ; and to make it my chief work 
 to call men that are within my hearing to more 
 peaceable thoughts, affections, and practices." 
 
 Richard Baxter was born at the village of Eton 
 Constantine, in 1615. He received from officiating 
 curates of the little church such literary instruc 
 tion as could be given by men who had left the farm 
 er s flail, the tailor s thimble, and the service of 
 strolling stage-players, to perform church drudgery 
 
352 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 under the parish incumbent, who was old and well- 
 nigh blind. At the age of sixteen, he was sent to 
 a school at Wroxeter, where he spent three years, 
 to little purpose, so far as a scientific education was 
 concerned. His teacher left him to himself mainly, 
 and following the bent of his mind, even at that 
 early period, he abandoned the exact sciences for 
 the perusal of such controversial and metaphysical 
 writings of the schoolmen as his master s library 
 afforded. The smattering of Latin which he ac 
 quired only served in after years to deform his 
 treatises with barbarous, ill-adapted, and erroneous 
 citations. "As to myself," said he, in his letter 
 written in old age to Anthony Wood, who had in 
 quired whether he was an Oxonian graduate, "my 
 faults are no disgrace to a university, for I was of 
 none ; I have but little but what I had out of books, 
 and inconsiderable help of country divines. Weak 
 ness and pain helped me to study how to die ; that 
 set me a studying how to live ; and that on study 
 ing the doctrine from which I must fetch my mo 
 tives and comforts \ beginning with necessities, I 
 proceeded by degrees, and am now going to see 
 that for which I have lived and studied." 
 
 Of the first essays of the young theologian as a 
 preacher of the Established Church, his early suf 
 ferings from that complication of diseases with 
 which his whole life was tormented, of the still 
 keener afflictions of a mind whose entire outlook 
 upon life and nature was discolored and darkened 
 by its disordered bodily medium, and of the strug- 
 
RicJiard Baxter. 353 
 
 gles between his Puritan temperament and his rev 
 erence for Episcopal formulas, much might be prof 
 itably said, did the limits we have assigned our 
 selves admit. Nor can we do more than briefly 
 allude to the religious doubts and difficulties which 
 darkened and troubled his mind at an early period. 
 He tells us at length in his " Life," how he strug 
 gled with these spiritual infirmities and temptations. 
 The future life, the immortality of the soul, and 
 the truth of the Scriptures, were by turns ques 
 tioned. " I never," says he in a letter to Dr. More, 
 inserted in the Sadducisimus Triumphatus, " had so 
 much ado to overcome a temptation as that to the 
 opinion of Averroes, that, as extinguished candles 
 go all out in an illuminated air, so separated souls 
 go all into one common anima mundi, and lose 
 their individuation." With these and similar "temp 
 tations" Baxter struggled long, earnestly, and in 
 the end triumphantly. His faith, when once es 
 tablished, remained unshaken to the last ; and al 
 though always solemn, reverential, and deeply 
 serious, he was never the subject of religious mel 
 ancholy, or of that mournful depression of soul 
 which arises from despair of an interest in the 
 mercy and paternal love of our common Father. 
 
 The Great Revolution found him settled as a 
 minister in Kidderminster, under the sanction of 
 a drunken vicar, who, yielding to the clamor of his 
 more sober parishioners, and his fear of their 
 appeal to the Long Parliament, then busy in its 
 task of abating church nuisances, had agreed to 
 
 VOL. i. w 
 
354 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 give him sixty pounds per year, in the place of 
 a poor tippling curate, notorious as a common 
 railer and pothouse encumbrance. 
 
 As might have been expected, the sharp con 
 trast which the earnest, devotional spirit and pain 
 ful strictness of Baxter presented to the irreverent 
 license and careless good humor of his predecessor 
 by no means commended him to the favor of a 
 large class of his parishioners. Sabbath merry 
 makers missed the rubicund face and maudlin 
 jollity of their old vicar; the ignorant and vicious 
 disliked the new preacher s rigid morality ; the 
 better informed revolted at his harsh doctrines, 
 austere life, and grave manner. Intense earnest 
 ness characterized all his efforts. Contrasting 
 human nature with the Infinite Purity and Holi 
 ness, he was oppressed with the sense of the loath 
 someness and deformity of sin, and afflicted by the 
 misery of his fellow-creatures separated from the 
 Divine harmony. He tells us that at this period 
 he preached the terrors of the Law, and the ne 
 cessity of Repentance, rather than the joys and 
 consolations of the Gospel, upon which he so loved 
 to dwell in his last years. He seems to have felt 
 a necessity laid upon him to startle men from false 
 hope and security, and to call for holiness of life 
 and conformity to the Divine will as the only 
 ground of safety. Powerful and impressive as 
 are the appeals and expostulations contained in 
 his written works, they probably convey but a 
 faint idea of the force and earnestness of those 
 
Richard Baxter. 355 
 
 which he poured forth from his pulpit. As he 
 advanced in years, these appeals were less fre 
 quently addressed to the fears of his auditors, for 
 he had learned to value a calm and consistent life 
 of practical goodness beyond any passionate ex 
 hibition of terrors, fervors, and transports. Having 
 witnessed, in an age of remarkable enthusiasm 
 and spiritual awakening, the ill effects of passional 
 excitements and religious melancholy, he endeav 
 ored to present cheerful views of Christian life and 
 duty, and made it a special object to repress mor 
 bid imaginations and heal diseased consciences. 
 Thus it came to pass, that no man of his day was 
 more often applied to for counsel and relief by 
 persons laboring under mental depression than 
 himself. He has left behind him a very curious 
 and not uninstructive discourse, which he entitled 
 "The Cure of Melancholy, by Faith and Physick," 
 in which he shows a great degree of skill in his mor 
 bid mental anatomy. He had studied medicine to 
 some extent for the benefit of the poor of his parish, 
 and knew something of the intimate relations and 
 sympathy of the body and mind ; he therefore did not 
 hesitate to ascribe many of the spiritual complaints 
 of his applicants to disordered bodily functions ; 
 nor to prescribe pills and powders in the place of * 
 Scripture texts. More than thirty years after the 
 commencement of his labors at Kidderminster he 
 thus writes : " I was troubled this year with multi 
 tudes of melancholy persons from several places 
 of the land ; some of high quality, some of low, 
 
356 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 some exquisitely learned, and some unlearned. 
 I know not how it came to pass, but if men 
 fell melancholy I must hear from them or see 
 them ; more than any physician I knew." He 
 cautions against ascribing melancholy phantasms 
 and passions to the Holy Spirit, warns the young 
 against licentious imaginations and excitements, 
 and ends by advising all to take heed how they 
 make of religion a matter of "fears, tears, and 
 / scruples." " True religion," he remarks, " doth 
 f principally consist in obedience, love, and joy." 
 
 At this early period of his ministry, however, he 
 had all of Whitefield s intensity and fervor, added 
 to reasoning powers greatly transcending those of 
 the revivalist of the next century. Young in years, 
 he was even then old in bodily infirmity and men 
 tal experience. Believing himself the victim of a 
 mortal disease, he lived and preached in the con 
 stant prospect of death. His memento mori was in 
 his bed-chamber, and sat by him at his frugal meal. 
 The glory of the world was stained to his vision. 
 He was blind to the beauty of all its "pleasant 
 pictures." No monk of Mount Athos, or silent 
 Chartreuse, no anchorite of Indian superstition, 
 ever more completely mortified the flesh, or turned 
 his back more decidedly upon the " good things " 
 of this life. A solemn and funeral atmosphere 
 surrounded him. He walked in the shadows of 
 the cypress, and literally "dwelt among the tombs." 
 Tortured by incessant pain, he wrestled against its 
 attendant languor and debility, as a sinful wasting 
 
Richard Baxter. 357 
 
 of inestimable time ; goaded himself to constant 
 toil and devotional exercise, and, to use his own 
 words, "stirred up his sluggish soul to speak to 
 sinners with compassion, as a dying man to dying 
 men." 
 
 Such entire consecration could not long be 
 without its effect, even upon the "vicious rab 
 ble," as Baxter calls them. His extraordinary 
 earnestness, self-forgetting concern for the spirit 
 ual welfare of others ; his rigid life of denial and 
 sacrifice, if they failed of bringing men to his feet 
 as penitents, could not but awaken a feeling of 
 reverence and awe. In Kidderminster, as in most 
 other parishes of the kingdom, there were at this 
 period pious, sober, prayerful people, diligent read 
 ers of the Scriptures, who were derided by their 
 neighbors as Puritans, precisians, and hypocrites. 
 These were naturally drawn towards the new 
 preacher, and he as naturally recognized them as 
 "honest seekers of the word and way of God." 
 Intercourse with such men, and the perusal of the 
 writings of certain eminent Non-conformists, had 
 the effect to abate, in some degree, his strong 
 attachment to the Episcopal formula and polity. 
 He began to doubt the rightfulness of making the 
 sign of the cross in baptism, and to hesitate about 
 administering the sacrament to profane swearers 
 and tipplers. 
 
 But while Baxter, in the seclusion of his parish, 
 was painfully weighing the arguments for and 
 against the wearing of surplices, the use of mar- 
 
358 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 riage rings, and the prescribed gestures and genu 
 flections of his order, tithing with more or less 
 scruple of conscience the mint and anise and 
 cummin of pulpit ceremonials, the weightier mat 
 ters of the law, freedom, justice, and truth, were 
 claiming the attention of Pym and Hampden, 
 Brook and Vane, in the Parliament House. The 
 controversy between King and Commons had 
 reached the point where it could only be decided 
 by the dread arbitrament of battle. The some 
 what equivocal position of the Kidderminster 
 preacher exposed him to the suspicion of the ad 
 herents of the King and Bishops. The rabble, at 
 that period sympathizing with the party of license in 
 morals and strictness in ceremonials, insulted and 
 mocked him, and finally drove him from his parish. 
 On the memorable 23d of tenth month, 1642, 
 he was invited to occupy a friend s pulpit at Alces- 
 ter. While preaching, a low, dull, jarring roll, as of 
 continuous thunder, sounded in his ears. It was 
 the cannon-fire of Edgehill, the prelude to the stern 
 battle-piece of revolution. On the morrow, Baxter 
 hurried to the scene of action. " I was desirous," 
 he says, "to see the field. I found the Earl of 
 Essex keeping the ground, and the King s army 
 facing them on a hill about a mile off. There 
 were about a thousand dead bodies in the field 
 between them." Turning from this ghastly survey, 
 the preacher mingled with the Parliamentary army, 
 when, finding the surgeons busy with the wounded, 
 he very naturally sought occasion for the exercise 
 
Richard Baxter. 359 
 
 of his own vocation as a spiritual practitioner. He 
 attached himself to the army. So far as we can 
 gather from his own memoirs, and the testimony 
 of his contemporaries, he was not influenced to 
 this step by any of the political motives which 
 actuated the Parliamentary leaders. He was no 
 revolutionist. He was as blind and unquestion 
 ing in his reverence for the King s person and 
 divine right, and as hearty in his hatred of relig 
 ious toleration and civil equality, as any of his 
 clerical brethren who officiated in a similar capa 
 city in the ranks of Goring and Prince Rupert. 
 He seems only to have looked upon the soldiers 
 as a new set of parishioners, whom Providence 
 had thrown in his way. The circumstances of 
 his situation left him little choice in the matter. 
 " I had," he says, " neither money nor friends. I 
 knew not who would receive me in a place of 
 safety, nor had I anything to satisfy them for diet 
 and entertainment." He accepted an offer to live 
 in the Governor s house at Coventry, and preach 
 to the soldiers of the garrison. Here his skill in 
 polemics was called into requisition, in an encounter 
 with two New England Antinomians, and a certain 
 Anabaptist tailor who was making more rents in 
 the garrison s orthodoxy than he mended in their 
 doublets and breeches. Coventry seems at this 
 time to have been the rendezvous of a large body 
 of clergymen, who, as Baxter says, were " for King 
 and Parliament," men who, in their desire for a 
 more spiritual worship, most unwillingly found 
 
360 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 themselves classed with the sectaries whom they 
 regarded as troublers and heretics, not to be tol 
 erated ; who thought the King had fallen into the 
 hands of the Papists, and that Essex and Crom 
 well were fighting to restore him ; and who fol 
 lowed the Parliamentary forces to see to it that 
 they were kept sound in faith, and free from the 
 heresy of which the Court News-Book accused 
 them. Of doing anything to overturn the order of 
 Church and State, or of promoting any radical 
 change in the social and political condition of the 
 people, they had no intention whatever. They 
 looked at the events of the time, and upon their 
 duties in respect to them, not as politicians or 
 reformers, but simply as ecclesiastics and spiritual 
 teachers, responsible to God for the religious be 
 liefs and practices of the people, rather than for 
 their temporal welfare and happiness. They were 
 not the men who struck down the solemn and im 
 posing Prelacy of England, and vindicated the 
 divine right of men to freedom by tossing the head 
 of an anointed tyrant from the scaffold at White 
 hall. It was the so-called schismatics, ranters, 
 and levellers, the disputatious corporals and Ana 
 baptist musketeers, the dread and abhorrence alike 
 of Prelate and Presbyter, who, under the lead of 
 Cromwell, 
 
 " Ruined the great work of time, 
 And cast the kingdoms old 
 Into another mould." 
 
 The Commonwealth was the work of the laity, the 
 
Richard Baxter. 361 
 
 sturdy yeomanry and God-fearing commoners of 
 England. 
 
 The news of the fight of Naseby reaching Cov 
 entry, Baxter, who had friends in the Parliamentary 
 forces, wishing, as he says, to be assured of their 
 safety, passed over to the stricken field, and spent 
 a night with them. He was afflicted and confound 
 ed by the information which they gave him, that 
 the victorious army was full of hot-headed schem 
 ers and levellers, who were against King and 
 Church, prelacy and ritual, and who were for a free 
 Commonwealth and freedom of religious belief and 
 worship. He was appalled to find that the here 
 sies of the Antinomians, Arminians, and Anabap 
 tists had made sadder breaches in the ranks of 
 Cromwell than the pikes of Jacob Astley, or the 
 daggers of the roysterers who followed the mad 
 charge of Rupert. Hastening back to Coventry, 
 he called together his clerical brethren, and told 
 them " the sad news of the corruption of the army." 
 After much painful consideration of the matter, it 
 was deemed best for Baxter to enter Cromwell s 
 army, nominally as its chaplain, but really as the 
 special representative of orthodoxy in politics and 
 religion, against the democratic weavers and proph 
 esying tailors who troubled it. He joined Whal- 
 ley s regiment, and followed it through many a hot 
 skirmish and siege. Personal fear was by no means 
 one of Baxter s characteristics, and he bore him 
 self through all with the coolness of an old cam 
 paigner. Intent upon his single object, he sat un- 
 
 VOL. i. 1 6 
 
362 Portraits .ind Sketches. 
 
 moved under the hail of cannon-shot from the 
 walls of Bristol, confronted the well-plied culverins 
 of Sherburne, charged side by side with Harrison 
 upon Goring s musketeers at Langford, and heard 
 the exulting thanksgiving of that grim enthusiast, 
 when, " with a loud voice he broke forth in praises 
 of God, as one in rapture " ; and marched, Bible 
 in hand, with Cromwell himself, to the storming of 
 Basing-House, so desperately defended by the Mar 
 quis of Winchester. In truth, these storms of out 
 ward conflict were to him of small moment. He 
 was engaged in a sterner battle with spiritual prin 
 cipalities and powers, struggling with Satan him 
 self in the guise of political levellers and Antino- 
 mian sowers of heresy. No antagonist was too 
 high and none too low for him. Distrusting Crom 
 well, he sought to engage him in a discussion of 
 certain points of abstract theology, wherein his 
 soundness seemed questionable ; but the wary chief 
 baffled off the young disputant by tedious, unan 
 swerable discourses about free grace, which Baxter 
 admits were not unsavory to others, although the 
 speaker himself had little understanding of the 
 matter. At other times, he repelled his sad-visaged 
 chaplain with unwelcome jests, and rough, soldierly 
 merriment ; for he had " a vivacity, hilarity, and 
 alacrity, as another man hath when he hath taken 
 a cup too much." Baxter says of him, complain- 
 ingly, "he would not dispute with me at all." But, 
 in the midst of such an army, he could not lack 
 abundant opportunity for the exercise of his pecu- 
 
Richard Baxter. 363 
 
 liar powers of argumentation. At Amersham, he 
 had a sort of pitched battle with the contumacious 
 soldiers. "When the public talking day came," 
 says he, " I took the reading-pew, and Pitchford s 
 cornet and troopers took the gallery. There did 
 the leader of the Chesham men begin, and after 
 wards Pitchford s soldiers set in ; and I alone dis 
 puted with them from morning until almost night ; 
 for I knew their trick, that if I had gone out first, 
 they would have prated what boasting words they 
 listed, and made the people believe that they had 
 baffled me, or got the best ; therefore I stayed it out 
 till they first rose and went away." As usual in 
 such cases, both parties claimed the victory. Bax 
 ter got thanks only from the King s adherents ; 
 " Pitchford s troopers and the leader of the Ches 
 ham men" retired from their hard day s work, to 
 enjoy the countenance and favor of Cromwell, as 
 men after his own heart, faithful to the Houses and 
 the Word, against Kingcraft and Prelacy. 
 
 Laughed at and held at arm s length by Crom 
 well, shunned by Harrison and Berry and other 
 chief officers, opposed on all points by shrewd, 
 earnest men, as ready for polemic controversy as 
 for battle with the King s malignants, and who set 
 off against his theological and metaphysical distinc 
 tions their own personal experiences and spiritual 
 exercises, he had little to encourage him in his ar 
 duous labors. Alone in such a multitude, flushed 
 with victory and glowing with religious enthusiasm, 
 he earnestly begged his brother ministers to come 
 
364 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 to his aid. " If the army," said he, " had only min 
 isters enough, who could have done such little as I 
 did, all their plot might have been broken, and 
 King, Parliament, and Religion might have been 
 preserved." But no one volunteered to assist him, 
 and the " plot " of revolution went on. 
 
 After Worcester fight he returned to Coventry, to 
 make his report to the ministers assembled there. 
 He told them of his labors and trials, of the growth 
 of heresy and levelling principles in the army, and 
 of the evident design of its leaders to pull down 
 Church, King, and Ministers. He assured them 
 that the day was at hand when all who were true to 
 the King, Parliament, and Religion should come 
 forth to oppose these leaders, and draw away their 
 soldiers from them. For himself, he was willing to 
 go back to the army, and labor there until the crisis 
 of which he spoke had arrived. " Whereupon," 
 says he, " they all voted me to go yet longer." 
 
 Fortunately for the cause of civil and religious 
 freedom, the great body of the ministers, who dis 
 approved of the ultraism of the victorious army, 
 and sympathized with the defeated King, lacked 
 the courage and devotedness of Baxter. Had they 
 promptly seconded his efforts, although the resto 
 ration of the King might have been impossible at 
 that late period, the horrors of civil war must have 
 been greatly protracted. As it was, they preferred 
 to remain at home, and let Baxter have the benefit 
 of their prayers and good wishes. He returned to 
 the army with the settled purpose of causing its 
 
Richard Baxter. 365 
 
 defection from Cromwell ; but, by one of those dis 
 pensations which the latter used to call " births of 
 Providence," he was stricken down with severe 
 sickness. Baxter s own comments upon this pas 
 sage in his life are not without interest He says, 
 God prevented his purposes in his last and chiefest 
 opposition to the army ; that he intended to take 
 off or seduce from their officers the regiment with 
 which he was connected, and then to have tried his 
 persuasion upon the others. He says he afterwards 
 found that his sickness was a mercy to himself, 
 " for they were so strong and active, and I had been 
 likely to have had small success in the attempt, and 
 to have lost my life among them in their fury." He 
 was right in this last conjecture ; Oliver Cromwell 
 would have had no scruples in making an example 
 of a plotting priest ; and " Pitchford s soldiers " 
 might have been called upon to silence, with their 
 muskets, the tough disputant who was proof against 
 their tongues. 
 
 After a long and dubious illness, Baxter was so 
 far restored as to be able to go back to his old 
 parish at Kidderminster. Here, under the Protec 
 torate of Cromwell, he remained in the full enjoy 
 ment of that religious liberty which he still stoutly 
 condemned in its application to others. 
 
 He afterwards candidly admits, that, under the 
 "Usurper," as he styles Cromwell, "he had such 
 liberty and advantage to preach the Gospel with 
 success, as he could not have under a King, to 
 whom he had sworn and performed true subjection 
 
366 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 and obedience." Yet this did not prevent him from 
 preaching and printing, " seasonably and mod 
 erately," against the Protector. " I declared," said 
 he, " Cromwell and his adherents to be guilty of 
 treason and rebellion, aggravated by perfidiousness 
 and hypocrisy. But yet I did not think it my duty 
 to rave against him in the pulpit, or to do this so 
 unseasonably and imprudently as might irritate him 
 to mischief. And the rather, because, as he kept 
 up his approbation of a godly life in general, and 
 of all that was good, except that which the interest 
 of his sinful cause engaged him to be against. So 
 I perceived that it was his design to do good in the 
 main, and to promote the Gospel and the interests 
 of godliness more than any had done before him." 
 
 Cromwell, if he heard of his diatribes against 
 him, appears to have cared little for them. Lords 
 Warwick and Broghill, on one occasion, brought 
 him to preach before the Lord Protector. He 
 seized the occasion to preach against the sectaries, 
 to condemn all who countenanced them, and to ad 
 vocate the unity of the church. Soon after, he was 
 sent for by Cromwell, who made "a long and 
 tedious speech " in the presence of three of his 
 chief men, (one of whom, General Lambert, fell 
 asleep the while,) asserting that God had owned 
 his government in a signal manner. Baxter boldly 
 replied to him, that he and his friends regarded 
 the ancient monarchy as a blessing, and not an 
 evil, and begged to know how that blessing was 
 forfeited to England, and to whom that forfeiture 
 
Richard Baxter. 367 
 
 was made. Cromwell, with some heat, made an 
 swer, that it was no forfeiture, but that God had 
 made the change. They afterwards held a long 
 conference with respect to freedom of conscience, 
 Cromwell defending his liberal policy, and Baxter 
 opposing it. No one can read Baxter s own ac 
 count of these interviews, without being deeply 
 impressed with the generous and magnanimous 
 spirit of the Lord Protector in tolerating the ut 
 most freedom of speech on the part of one who 
 openly denounced him as a traitor and usurper. 
 Real greatness of mind could alone have risen 
 above personal resentment under such circum 
 stances of peculiar aggravation. 
 
 In the death of the Protector, the treachery of 
 Monk, and the restoration of the King, Baxter and 
 his Presbyterian friends believed that they saw the 
 hand of a merciful Providence preparing the way 
 for the best good of England and the Church. 
 Always royalists, they had acted with the party 
 opposed to the King from necessity rather than 
 choice. Considering all that followed, one can 
 scarcely avoid smiling over the extravagant jubila 
 tions of the Presbyterian divines, on the return of 
 the royal debauchee to Whitehall. They hurried 
 up to London with congratulations of formidable 
 length, and papers of solemn advice and counsel, 
 to all which the careless monarch listened, with 
 what patience he was master of. Baxter was one 
 of the first to present himself at Court, and it is 
 creditable to his heart rather than his judgment 
 
368 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 and discrimination, that he seized the occasion to 
 offer a long address to the King, expressive of his 
 expectation that his Majesty would discountenance 
 all sin and promote godliness, support the true 
 exercise of Church discipline, and cherish and hold 
 up the hands of the faithful ministers of the 
 Church. To all which Charles II. "made as 
 gracious an answer as we could expect," says 
 Baxter, " insomuch that old Mr. Ash burst out into 
 tears of joy." Who doubts that the profligate 
 King avenged himself as soon as the backs of his 
 unwelcome visitors were fairly turned, by coarse 
 jests and ribaldry, directed against a class of men 
 whom he despised and hated, but towards whom 
 reasons of policy dictated a show of civility and 
 kindness ? 
 
 There is reason to believe that Charles II., had 
 he been able to effect his purpose, would have 
 gone beyond Cromwell himself in the matter of 
 religious toleration; in other words, he would 
 have taken, in the outset of his reign, the very 
 steps which cost his successor his crown, and pro 
 cured the toleration of Catholics by a declaration 
 of universal freedom in religion. But he was not 
 in a situation to brave the opposition alike of Pre 
 lacy and Presbyterianism, and foiled in a scheme 
 to which he was prompted by that vague, super 
 stitious predilection for the Roman Catholic re 
 ligion, which at times struggled with his habitual 
 scepticism, his next object was to rid himself of the 
 importunities of sectaries, and the trouble of re- 
 
Richard Baxter. 369 
 
 ligious controversies, by re-establishing the liturgy, 
 and bribing or enforcing conformity to it on the 
 part of the Presbyterians. The history of the 
 successful execution of this purpose is familiar to 
 all the readers of the plausible pages of Clarendon 
 on the one side, or the complaining treatises of 
 Neal and Calamy on the other. Charles and his 
 advisers triumphed, not so much through their own 
 art, dissimulation, and bad faith, as through the 
 blind bigotry, divided counsels, and self-seeking 
 of the Non-conformists. Seduction on one hand, 
 and threats on the other, the bribe of bishoprics, 
 hatred of Independents and Quakers, and the 
 terror of penal laws, broke the strength of Pres- 
 byterianism. 
 
 Baxter s whole conduct, on this occasion, bears 
 testimony to his honesty and sincerity, while it 
 shows him to have been too intolerant to secure 
 his own religious freedom at the price of toleration 
 for Catholics, Quakers, and Anabaptists ; and too 
 blind in his loyalty to perceive that pure and un- 
 defiled Christianity had nothing to hope for from 
 a scandalous and depraved King, surrounded by 
 scoffing, licentious courtiers, and a haughty, re 
 vengeful Prelacy. To secure his influence, the 
 Court offered him the Bishopric of Hereford. Su 
 perior to personal considerations, he declined the 
 honor; but somewhat inconsistently, in his zeal 
 for the interests of his party, he urged the eleva 
 tion of at least three of his Presbyterian friends to 
 the Episcopal bench, to enforce that very liturgy 
 
 VOL. i. 16* x 
 
370 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 which they condemned. He was the chief speaker 
 for the Presbyterians at the famous Savoy Confer 
 ence, summoned to advise and consult upon the 
 Book of Common Prayer. His antagonist was 
 Dr. Gunning, ready, fluent, and impassioned. 
 " They spent," as Gilbert Burnet says, " several 
 days in logical arguing, to the diversion of the 
 town, who looked upon them as a couple of 
 fencers, engaged in a discussion which could not 
 be brought to an end." In themselves considered, 
 many of the points at issue seem altogether too 
 trivial for the zeal with which Baxter contested 
 them, the form of a surplice, the wording of a 
 prayer, kneeling at sacrament, the sign of the 
 cross, etc. With him, however, they were of mo 
 mentous interest and importance, as things un 
 lawful in the worship of God. He struggled des 
 perately, but unavailingly. Presbyterianism, in its 
 eagerness for peace and union, and a due share of 
 State support, had already made fatal concessions, 
 and it was too late to stand upon non-essentials. 
 Baxter retired from the conference baffled and 
 defeated, amidst murmurs and jests. " If you 
 had only been as fat as Dr. Manton," said Claren 
 don to him, "you would have done well." 
 
 The Act of Conformity, in which Charles II. 
 and his counsellors gave the lie to the liberal 
 declarations of Breda and Whitehall, drove Baxter 
 from his sorrowing parishioners of Kidderminster, 
 and added the evils of poverty and persecution to 
 the painful bodily infirmities under which he was 
 
Richard Baxter. 371 
 
 already bowed down. Yet his cup was not one of 
 unalloyed bitterness, and loving lips were prepared 
 to drink it with him. 
 
 Among Baxter s old parishioners of Kiddermin 
 ster was a widowed lady of gentle birth, named 
 Charlton, who, with her daughter Margaret, occu 
 pied a house in his neighborhood. The daughter 
 was a brilliant girl, of " strangely vivid wit," and 
 "in early youth," he tells us, "pride, and ro 
 mances, and company suitable thereunto, did take 
 her up." But erelong, Baxter, who acted in the 
 double capacity of spiritual and temporal physi 
 cian, was sent for to visit her, on an occasion of 
 sickness. He ministered to her bodily and mental 
 sufferings, and thus secured her gratitude and 
 confidence. On her recovery, under the influence 
 of his warnings and admonitions, the gay young 
 girl became thoughtful and serious, abandoned 
 her light books and companions, and devoted 
 herself to the duties of a Christian profession. 
 Baxter was her counsellor and confidant. She 
 disclosed to him all her doubts, trials, and tempta 
 tions, and he, in return, wrote her long letters of 
 sympathy, consolation, and encouragement. He 
 began to feel such an unwonted interest in the 
 moral and spiritual growth of his young disciple, 
 that, in his daily walks among his parishioners, 
 he found himself inevitably drawn towards her 
 mother s dwelling. In her presence, the habitual 
 austerity of his manner was softened ; his cold, 
 close heart warmed and expanded. He began 
 
372 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 to repay her confidence with his own, disclosing 
 to her all his plans of benevolence, soliciting her 
 services, and waiting, with deference, for her judg 
 ment upon them. A change came over his habits 
 of thought and his literary tastes ; the harsh, rude 
 disputant, the tough, dry logician, found himself 
 addressing to his young friend epistles in verse on 
 doctrinal points and matters of casuistry ; West 
 minster Catechism in rhyme ; the Solemn League 
 and Covenant set to music. A miracle alone 
 could have made Baxter a poet ; the cold, clear 
 light of reason " paled the ineffectual fires " of his 
 imagination ; all things presented themselves to 
 his vision " with hard outlines, colorless, and with 
 no surrounding atmosphere." That he did, never 
 theless, write verses, so creditable as to justify a 
 judicious modern critic in their citation and ap 
 proval, can perhaps be accounted for only as one 
 of the phenomena of that subtle and transforming 
 influence to which even his stern nature was un 
 consciously yielding. Baxter was in love. 
 
 Never did the blind god try his archery on a 
 more unpromising subject. Baxter was nearly fifty 
 years of age, and looked still older. His life had 
 been one long fast and penance. Even in youth 
 he had never known a schoolboy s love for cousin 
 or playmate. He had resolutely closed up his 
 heart against emotions which he regarded as the 
 allurements of time and sense. He had made a 
 merit of celibacy, and written and published against 
 the entanglement of godly ministers in matrimonial 
 
Richard Baxter. 373 
 
 engagements and family cares. It is questionable 
 whether he now understood his own case, or attrib 
 uted to its right cause the peculiar interest which 
 he felt in Margaret Charlton. Left to himself, it is 
 more than probable that he might never have dis 
 covered the true nature of that interest, or conjec 
 tured that anything whatever of earthly passion or 
 sublunary emotion had mingled with his spiritual 
 Platonism. Commissioned and set apart to preach 
 repentance to dying men, penniless and homeless, 
 worn with bodily pain and mental toil, and tread 
 ing as he believed on the very margin of his grave, 
 what had he to do with love ? What power had he 
 to inspire that tender sentiment, the appropriate 
 offspring only of youth, and health, and beauty ? 
 
 " Could any Beatrice see 
 A lover in such anchorite ! " 
 
 But in the mean time, a reciprocal feeling was 
 gaining strength in the heart of Margaret. To her 
 grateful appreciation of the condescension of a 
 great and good man, grave, learned, and re 
 nowned, to her youth and weakness, and to her 
 enthusiastic admiration of his intellectual powers, 
 devoted to the highest and holiest objects, suc 
 ceeded naturally enough the tenderly suggestive 
 pity of her woman s heart, as she thought of his 
 lonely home, his unshared sorrows, his lack of 
 those sympathies and kindnesses which make 
 tolerable the hard journey of life. Did she not 
 owe to him, under God, the salvation of body and 
 mind? Was he not her truest and most faithful 
 
374 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 friend, entering with lively interest into all her 
 joys and sorrows ? Had she not seen the cloud 
 of his habitual sadness broken by gleams of sunny 
 warmth and cheerfulness, as they conversed to 
 gether? Could she do better than devote her 
 self to the pleasing task of making his life happier, 
 of comforting him in seasons of pain and weariness, 
 encouraging him in his vast labors, and throwing 
 over the cold and hard austerities of his nature 
 the warmth and light of domestic affection ? Pity, 
 reverence, gratitude, and womanly tenderness, her 
 fervid imagination and the sympathies of a deeply 
 religious nature, combined to influence her de 
 cision. Disparity of age and condition rendered 
 it improbable that Baxter would ever venture to 
 address her in any other capacity than that of a 
 friend and teacher; and it was left to herself to 
 give the first intimation of the possibility of a more 
 intimate relation. 
 
 It is easy to imagine with what mixed feelings 
 of joy, surprise, and perplexity Baxter must have 
 received the delicate avowal. There was much in 
 the circumstances of the case to justify doubt, 
 misgiving, and close searchings of heart. He 
 must have felt the painful contrast which that 
 fair girl in the bloom of her youth presented to the 
 worn man of middle years, whose very breath was 
 suffering, and over whom death seemed always im 
 pending. Keenly conscious of his infirmities of 
 temper, he must have feared for the happiness of a 
 loving, gentle being, daily exposed to their mani- 
 
Richard Baxter. 375 
 
 festations. From his well-known habit of consult 
 ing what he regarded as the Divine Will in every 
 important step of his life, there can be no doubt 
 that his decision was the result quite as much of a 
 prayerful and patient consideration of duty as of 
 the promptings of his heart. Richard Baxter was 
 no impassioned Abelard; his pupil in the school 
 of his severe and self-denying piety was no He- 
 loise ; but what their union lacked in romantic 
 interest was compensated by its purity and dis 
 interestedness, and its sanction by all that can 
 hallow human passion, and harmonize the love 
 of the created with the love and service of the 
 Creator. 
 
 Although summoned by a power which it would 
 have been folly to resist, the tough theologian did 
 not surrender at discretion. " From the first 
 thoughts yet many changes and stoppages inter 
 vened, and long delays," he tells us. The terms 
 upon which he finally capitulated are perfectly in 
 keeping with his character. " She consented," he 
 says, "to three conditions of our marriage, ist. 
 That I should have nothing that before our mar 
 riage was hers ; that I, who wanted no earthly 
 supplies, might not seem to marry her from selfish 
 ness. 2d. That she would so alter her affairs that 
 I might be entangled in no lawsuits. 3d. That she 
 should expect none of my time which my minis 
 terial work should require." 
 
 As was natural, the wits of the Court had their 
 jokes upon this singular marriage ; and many of 
 
376 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 his best friends regretted it, when they called to 
 mind what he had written in favor of ministerial 
 celibacy, at a time when, as he says, u he thought 
 to live and die a bachelor." But Baxter had no 
 reason to regret the inconsistency of his precept 
 and example. How much of the happiness of the 
 next twenty years of his life resulted from his 
 union with a kind and affectionate woman he has 
 himself testified, in his simple and touching " Bre- 
 viate of the Life of the late Mrs. Baxter." Her 
 affections were so ardent, that her husband con 
 fesses his fear that he was unable to make an 
 adequate return, and that she must have been 
 disappointed in him in consequence. He extols 
 her pleasant conversation, her active benevolence, 
 her disposition to aid him in all his labors, and her 
 noble forgetfulness of self, in ministering to his 
 comfort in sickness and imprisonment. " She was 
 the meetest helper I could have had in the world," 
 is his language. " If I spoke harshly or sharply, it 
 offended her. If I carried it (as I am apt) with too 
 much negligence of ceremony or humble compliment 
 to any, she would modestly tell me of it. If my 
 looks seemed not pleasant, she would have me 
 amend them (which my weak, pained state of 
 body indisposed me to do "). He admits she had 
 her failings, but, taken as a whole, the " Breviate " 
 is an exalted eulogy. 
 
 His history from this time is marked by few 
 incidents of a public character. During that most 
 disgraceful period in the annals of England, the 
 
Richard Baxter. 377 
 
 reign of the second Charles, his peculiar position 
 exposed him to the persecutions of Prelacy, and 
 the taunts and abuse of the Sectaries, standing as 
 he did between these extremes, and pleading for a 
 moderate Episcopacy. He was between the upper 
 millstone of High Church and the nether one of 
 Dissent. To use his own simile, he was like one 
 who seeks to fill with his hand a cleft in a log, and 
 feels both sides close upon him with pain. All 
 parties and sects had, as they thought, grounds 
 of complaint against him. There was in him an 
 almost childish simplicity of purpose, a headlong 
 earnestness and eagerness, which did not allow 
 him to consider how far a present act or opinion 
 harmonized with what he had already done or 
 written. His greatest admirers admit his lack of 
 judgment, his inaptitude for the management of 
 practical matters. His utter incapacity to compre 
 hend rightly the public men and measures of his 
 day is abundantly apparent ; and the inconsist 
 encies of his conduct and his writings are too 
 marked to need comment He suffered persecu 
 tion for not conforming to some trifling matters of 
 church usage, while he advocated the doctrine of 
 passive obedience to the King or ruling power, 
 and the right of that power to enforce conformity. 
 He wrote against conformity while himself con 
 forming ; seceded from the Church, and yet held 
 stated communion with it ; begged for the curacy of 
 Kidderminster, and declined the bishopric of Here 
 ford. His writings were many of them directly 
 
378 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 calculated to make Dissenters from the Establish 
 ment, but he was invariably offended to find oth 
 ers practically influenced by them, and quarrelled 
 with his own converts to Dissent. The High- 
 Churchmen of Oxford burned his " Holy Common 
 wealth " as seditious and revolutionary ; while Har 
 rington and the republican club of Miles s coffee 
 house condemned it for its hostility to democracy, 
 and its servile doctrine of obedience to kings. 
 He made noble pleas for liberty of conscience, 
 and bitterly complained of his own suffering from 
 Church Courts, yet maintained the necessity of en 
 forcing conformity, and stoutly opposed the tol 
 erant doctrines of Penn and Milton. Never did a 
 great and good man so entangle himself with con 
 tradictions and inconsistencies. The witty and 
 wicked Sir Roger L Estrange compiled from the 
 irreconcilable portions of his Works a laughable 
 "Dialogue between Richard and Baxter." The 
 Antinomians found him guilty of Socinianism ; 
 and one noted controversialist undertook to show, 
 not without some degree of plausibility, that he 
 was by turns a Quaker and a Papist ! 
 
 Although able to suspend his judgment and 
 carefully weigh evidence, upon matters which he 
 regarded as proper subjects of debate and scrutiny, 
 he possessed the power to shut out and banish at 
 will all doubt and misgiving in respect to whatever 
 tended to prove, illustrate, or enforce his settled 
 opinions and cherished doctrines. His credulity 
 at times seems boundless. Hating the Quakers, 
 
Richard Baxter. 379 
 
 and prepared to believe all manner of evil of them, 
 he readily came to the conclusion that their lead 
 ers were disguised Papists. He maintained that 
 Lauderdale was a good and pious man, in spite of 
 atrocities in Scotland which entitle him to a place 
 with Claverhouse ; and indorsed the character of 
 the infamous Dangerfield, the inventor of the 
 Meal-tub Plot, as a worthy convert from popish 
 errors. To prove the existence of devils and 
 spirits, he collected the most absurd stories and 
 old-wives fables, of soldiers scared from their 
 posts at night by headless bears, of a young witch 
 pulling the hooks out of Mr. Emlen s breeches and 
 swallowing them, of Mr. Beacham s locomotive 
 tobacco-pipe, and the Rev. Mr. Munn s jumping 
 Bible, and of a drunken man punished for his in 
 temperance by being lifted off his legs by an in 
 visible hand ! Cotton Mather s marvellous account 
 of his witch experiments in New England delighted 
 him. He had it republished, declaring that "he 
 must be an obstinate Sadducee who doubted it." 
 
 The married life of Baxter, as might be inferred 
 from the state of the times, was an unsettled one. 
 He first took a house at Moorfields, then removed 
 to Acton, where he enjoyed the conversation of 
 his neighbor, Sir Matthew Hale ; from thence he 
 found refuge in Rickmansworth, and after that in 
 divers other places. " The women have most of 
 this trouble," he remarks, "but my wife easily 
 bore it all." When unable to preach, his rapid 
 pen was always busy. Huge folios of contro- 
 
380 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 versial and doctrinal lore followed each other in 
 quick succession. He assailed Popery and the 
 Establishment, Anabaptists, ultra Calvinists, Anti- 
 nomians, Fifth Monarchy men, and Quakers. His 
 hatred of the latter was only modified by his con 
 tempt. He railed rather than argued against the 
 " miserable creatures," as he styled them. They 
 in turn answered him in like manner. "The 
 Quakers," he says, " in their shops, when I go 
 along London streets, say, Alas ! poor man, thou 
 art yet in darkness. They have oft come to 
 the congregation, when I had liberty to preach 
 Christ s Gospel, and cried out against me as a 
 deceiver of the people. They have followed me 
 home, crying out in the streets, The day of the 
 Lord is coming, and thou shalt perish as a de 
 ceiver. They have stood in the market-place, and 
 under my window, year after year, crying to the 
 people, * Take heed of your priests, they deceive 
 your souls ; and if any one wore a lace or neat 
 clothing, they cried out to me, * These are the 
 fruits of your ministry. " 
 
 At Rickmansworth, he found himself a neighbor 
 of William Penn, whom he calls " the captain of 
 the Quakers." Ever ready for battle, Baxter en 
 countered him in a public discussion, with such 
 fierceness and bitterness as to force from that mild 
 and amiable civilian the remark, that he would 
 rather be Socrates at the final judgment than 
 Richard Baxter. Both lived to know each other 
 better, and to entertain sentiments of mutual 
 
Richard Baxter. 381 
 
 esteem. Baxter himself admits that the Quakers, 
 by their perseverance in holding their religious 
 meetings in defiance of penal laws, took upon 
 themselves the burden of persecution which would 
 otherwise have fallen upon himself and his friends ; 
 and makes special mention of the noble and suc 
 cessful plea of Penn before the Recorder s Court in 
 London, based on the fundamental liberties of 
 Englishmen and the rights of the Great Charter. 
 
 The intolerance of Baxter towards the Separat 
 ists was turned against him whenever he appealed 
 to the King and Parliament against the proscrip 
 tion of himself and his friends. " They gathered," 
 he complains, " out of mine and other men s books 
 all that we had said against liberty for Popery and 
 Quakers railing against ministers in open congre 
 gation, and applied it as against the toleration of 
 ourselves." It was in vain that he explained that 
 he was only in favor of a gentle coercion of dissent, 
 a moderate enforcement of conformity. His plan 
 for dealing with Sectaries reminds one of old Isaak 
 Walton s direction to his piscatorial readers, to 
 impale the frog on the hook as gently as if they 
 loved him. 
 
 While at Acton, he was complained of by Dr. 
 Ryves, the rector, one of the King s chaplains in 
 ordinary, for holding religious services in his family 
 with more than five strangers present. He was 
 cast into Clerkenwell jail, whither his faithful wife 
 followed him. On his discharge, he sought refuge 
 in the hamlet of Totteridge, where he wrote and 
 
382 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 published that Paraphrase on the New Testament 
 which was made the ground of his prosecution and 
 trial before Jeffreys. 
 
 On the 1 4th of the sixth month, 1681, he was 
 called to endure the greatest affliction of his life. 
 His wife died on that day, after a brief illness. 
 She who had been his faithful friend, companion, 
 and nurse for twenty years was called away from 
 him in the time of his greatest need of her minis 
 trations. He found consolation in dwelling on 
 her virtues and excellences in the " Breviate " of 
 her life ; " a paper monument," he says, " erected 
 by one who is following her even at the door in 
 some passion indeed of love and grief." In the 
 preface to his poetical pieces he alludes to her in 
 terms of touching simplicity and tenderness : " As 
 these pieces were mostly written in various pas 
 sions, so passion hath now thrust them out into the 
 world. God having taken away the dear compan 
 ion of the last nineteen years of my life, as her 
 sorrows and sufferings long ago gave being to 
 some of these poems, for reasons which the world 
 is not concerned to know ; so my grief for her 
 removal, and the revival of the sense of former 
 things, have prevailed upon me to be passionate in 
 the sight of all." 
 
 The circumstances of his trial before the judicial 
 monster, Jeffreys, are too well known to justify their 
 detail in this sketch. He was sentenced to pay a 
 fine of five hundred marks. Seventy years of age, 
 and reduced to poverty by former persecutions, he 
 
Richard Baxter. 383 
 
 was conveyed to the King s Bench prison. Here 
 for two years he lay a victim to intense bodily suf 
 fering. When, through the influence of his old 
 antagonist, Penn, he was restored to freedom, he 
 was already a dying man. But he came forth from 
 prison as he entered it, unsubdued in spirit. Urged 
 to sign a declaration of thanks to James II., his 
 soul put on the athletic habits of youth, and he 
 stoutly refused to commend an act of toleration 
 which had given freedom not to himself alone, but 
 to Papists and Sectaries. Shaking off the dust of 
 the Court from his feet, he retired to a dwelling in 
 Charter-House Square, near his friend Sylvester s, 
 and patiently awaited his deliverance. His death 
 was quiet and peaceful. " I have pain," he said to 
 his friend Mather; "there is no arguing against 
 sense ; but I have peace. I have peace." On 
 being asked how he did, he answered, in memora 
 ble words, "Almost well!" 
 
 He was buried in Christ Church, where the re 
 mains of his wife and her mother had been placed. 
 An immense concourse attended his funeral, of all 
 ranks and parties. Conformist and Non-conformist 
 forgot the bitterness of the controversialist, and re 
 membered only the virtues and the piety of the 
 man. Looking back on his life of self-denial and 
 faithfulness to apprehended duty, the men, who had 
 persecuted him while living, wept over his grave. 
 During the last few years of his life, the severity 
 of his controversial tone had been greatly softened ; 
 he lamented his former lack of charity, the circle 
 
384 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 of his sympathies widened, his social affections grew 
 stronger with age, and love for his fellow-men uni 
 versally, and irrespective of religious differences, 
 increased within him. In his " Narrative," written 
 in the long, cool shadows of the evening of life, 
 he acknowledges with extraordinary candor this 
 change in his views and feelings. He confesses 
 his imperfections as a writer and public teacher. 
 " I wish," he says, " all over-sharp passages were 
 expunged from my writings, and I ask forgiveness 
 of God and man." He tells us that mankind ap 
 pear more equal to him ; the good are not so good 
 as he once thought, nor the bad so evil ; and that 
 in all there is more for grace to make advantage 
 of, and more to testify for God and holiness, than 
 he once believed. " I less admire," he continues, 
 " gifts of utterance, and the bare profession of re 
 ligion, than I once did, and have now much more 
 charity for those who, by want of gifts, do make an 
 obscurer profession." 
 
 He laments the effects of his constitutional irrita 
 bility and impatience upon his social intercourse 
 and his domestic relations, and that his bodily in 
 firmities did not allow him a free expression of the 
 tenderness and love of his heart. Who does not 
 feel the pathos and inconsolable regret which dic 
 tated the following paragraph ? " When God for- 
 giveth me, I cannot forgive myself, especially for 
 my rash words and deeds by which I have seemed 
 injurious and less tender and kind than I should 
 have been to my near and dear relations, whose 
 
Richard Baxter. 385 
 
 love abundantly obliged me. When such are dead, 
 though we never differed in point of interest or any 
 other matter, every sour or cross or provoking word 
 which I gave them maketh me almost irreconcila 
 ble to myself, and tells me how repentance brought 
 some of old to pray to the dead whom they had 
 wronged to forgive them, in the hurry of their 
 passion." 
 
 His pride as a logician and skilful disputant 
 abated in the latter and better portion of his life; 
 he had more deference to the judgment of others, 
 and more distrust of his own. " You admire," said 
 he to a correspondent who had lauded his charac 
 ter, " one you do not know ; knowledge will cure 
 your error." In his " Narrative " he writes : " I am 
 much more sensible than heretofore of the breadth 
 and length and depth of the radical, universal, 
 odious sin of selfishness, and therefore have writ 
 ten so much against it ; and of the excellency and 
 necessity of self-denial and of a public mind, and of 
 loving our neighbors as ourselves." Against many 
 difficulties and discouragements, both within him 
 self and in his outward circumstances, he strove to 
 make his life and conversation an expression of that 
 Christian love, whose root, as he has said with 
 equal truth and beauty, 
 
 " is set 
 
 In humble self-denial, undertrod, 
 
 While flower and fruit are growing up to God." * 
 
 Of the great mass of his writings, more volumi- 
 * Poetical Fragments, by R. Baxter, p. 16. 
 
 VOL, \. 17 Y 
 
386 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 nous than those of any author of his time, it would 
 ill become us to speak with confidence. We are 
 familiar only with some of the best of his practical 
 works, and our estimate of the vast and appalling 
 series of his doctrinal, metaphysical, and controver 
 sial publications would be entitled to small weight, 
 as the result of very cursory examination. Many 
 of them relate to obsolete questions and issues, 
 monumental of controversies long dead, and of dis 
 putatious doctors otherwise forgotten. Yet, in re 
 spect to even these, we feel justified in assenting to 
 the opinion of one abundantly capable of appre 
 ciating the character of Baxter as a writer. " What 
 works of Mr. Baxter shall I read?" asked Boswell 
 of Dr. Johnson. " Read any of them," was the 
 answer, "for they are all good." He has left 
 upon all the impress of his genius. Many of them 
 contain sentiments which happily find favor with 
 few in our time ; philosophical and psychological 
 disquisitions, which look oddly enough in the light 
 of the intellectual progress of nearly two centuries ; 
 dissertations upon evil spirits, ghosts, and witches, 
 which provoke smiles at the good man s credulity ; 
 but everywhere we find unmistakable evidences of 
 his sincerity and earnest love of truth. He wrote 
 under a solemn impression of duty, allowing neither 
 pain nor weakness, nor the claims of friendship, nor 
 the social enjoyments of domestic affection, to in 
 terfere with his sleepless intensity of purpose. He 
 stipulated with his wife, before marriage, that she 
 should not expect him to relax, even for her society, 
 
Richard Baxter. 387 
 
 the severity of his labors. He could ill brook in 
 terruption, and disliked the importunity of visitors. 
 " We are afraid, Sir, we break in upon your time," 
 said some of his callers to him upon one occasion. 
 " To be sure you do," was his answer. His .seri 
 ousness seldom forsook him ; there is scarce a 
 gleam of gayety in all his one hundred and sixty- 
 eight volumes. He seems to have relished, how 
 ever, the wit of others, especially when directed 
 against what he looked upon as error. Marvell s 
 inimitable reply to the High-Church pretensions 
 of Parker fairly overcame his habitual gravity, and 
 he several times alludes to it with marked satisfac 
 tion ; but, for himself, he had no heart for pleas 
 antry. His writings, like his sermons, were the 
 earnest expostulations of a dying man with dying 
 men. He tells us of no other amusement or relax- i, 
 ation than the singing of psalms. " Harmony and 
 melody," said he, " are the pleasure and elevation 
 of my soul. It was not the least comfort that I had 
 in the converse of my late dear wife, that our first 
 act in the morning and last in bed at night was a 
 psalm of praise." 
 
 It has been fashionable to speak of Baxter as a 
 champion of civil and religious freedom. He has 
 little claim to such a reputation. He was the stanch 
 advocate of monarchy, and of the right and duty 
 of the State to enforce conformity to what he 
 regarded as the essentials of religious belief and 
 practice. No one regards the Prelates who went 
 to the Tower, under James II., on the ground of 
 
388 Portraits and Sketclies. 
 
 conscientious scruples against reading the King s 
 declaration of toleration to Dissenters, as martyrs 
 in the cause of universal religious freedom. Nor 
 can Baxter, although he wrote much against the 
 coercion and silencing of godly ministers, and suf 
 fered imprisonment himself for the sake of a good 
 conscience, be looked upon in the light of an intel 
 ligent and consistent confessor of liberty. He did 
 not deny the abstract right of ecclesiastical coercion, 
 but complained of its exercise upon himself and his 
 friends as unwarranted and unjust. 
 
 One of the warmest admirers and ablest com- 
 
 Vy_ 
 
 f mentators of Baxter designates the leading and pe 
 culiar trait of his character as unearthliness. In our 
 view, this was its radical defect. He had too little 
 of humanity, he felt too little of the attraction of 
 this world, and lived too exclusively in the spiritual 
 and the unearthly, for a full and healthful develop 
 ment of his nature as a man, or of the graces, chari 
 ties, and loves of the Christian. He undervalued 
 the common blessings and joys of life, and closed 
 his eyes and ears against the beauty and harmony 
 of outward nature. Humanity, in itself considered, 
 seemed of small moment to him ; " passing away " 
 was written alike on its wrongs and its rights, its 
 pleasures and its pains ; death would soon level all 
 distinctions ; and the sorrows or the joys, the pov 
 erty or the riches, the slaver) or the liberty of the 
 brief day of its probation seemed of too little con 
 sequence to engage his attention and sympathies. 
 Hence, while he was always ready to minister to 
 
Richard Baxter. 38.9 
 
 temporal suffering wherever it came to his notice, 
 he made no efforts to remove its political or social 
 causes. In this respect he differed widely from 
 some of his illustrious contemporaries. Penn, while 
 preaching up and down the land, and writing theo 
 logical folios and pamphlets, could yet urge the 
 political rights of Englishmen, mount the hustings 
 for Algernon Sydney, and plead for unlimited re 
 ligious liberty j and Vane, while dreaming of a com 
 ing Millennium and Reign of the Saints, and busily 
 occupied in defending his Antinomian doctrines, 
 could at the same time vindicate, with tongue and 
 pen, the cause of civil and religious freedom. But 
 Baxter overlooked the evils and oppressions which 
 were around him, and forgot the necessities and 
 duties of the world of time and sense in his earnest 
 aspirations towards the world of spirits. It is by 
 no means an uninstructive fact, that with the lapse 
 of years his zeal for proselytism, doctrinal dispu 
 tations, and the preaching of threats and terrors, 
 visibly declined, while love for his fellow-men and 
 catholic charity greatly increased, and he was blest 
 with a clearer perception of the truth that God is 
 best served through His suffering children, and that 
 love and reverence for visible humanity is an indis 
 pensable condition of the appropriate worship of 
 the Unseen God. 
 
 But, in taking leave of Richard Baxter, our last 
 words must not be those of censure. Admiration 
 and reverence become us rather. He was an honest 
 man. So far as we can judge, his motives were the 
 
390 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 highest and best which can influence human action. 
 He had faults and weaknesses, and committed grave 
 errors, but we are constrained to believe that the 
 prayer with which he closes his " Saints Rest," and 
 which we have chosen as the fitting termination of 
 our article, was the earnest aspiration of his life. 
 
 "O merciful Father of Spirits! suffer not the 
 soul of thy unworthy servant to be a stranger to 
 the joys which he describes to others, but keep me 
 while I remain on earth in daily breathing after 
 thee, and in a believing affectionate walking with 
 thee ! Let those who shall read these pages not 
 merely read the fruits of my studies, but the breath 
 ing of my active hope and love ; that if my heart 
 were open to their view, they might there read thy 
 love most deeply engraven upon it with a beam 
 from the face of the Son of God ; and not find van 
 ity or lust or pride within where the words of life 
 appear without, that so these lines may not witness 
 against me, but, proceeding from the heart of the 
 writer, be effectual through thy grace upon the heart 
 of the reader, and so be the savor of life to both." 
 
WILLIAM LEGGETT. 
 
 " O Freedom ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
 A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, 
 And wavy tresses, gushing from the cap 
 With which the Roman master crowned his slave, 
 When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, 
 Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand 
 Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, 
 Gloricjus in beauty though it be, is scarred 
 With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs 
 Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched 
 His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ; 
 They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven." 
 
 BRYANT. 
 
 WHEN the noblest woman in all France stood 
 on the scaffold, just before her execution, 
 she is said to have turned towards the statue of 
 Liberty, which, strangely enough, had been placed 
 near the guillotine, as its patron saint, with the 
 exclamation, " O Liberty ! what crimes have been 
 committed in thy name ! " It is with a feeling akin 
 to that which prompted this memorable exclamation 
 of Madame Roland that the sincere lover of human 
 freedom and progress is often compelled to regard 
 American Democracy. 
 
 For democracy, pure and impartial, the self- 
 government of the whole ; equal rights and privi 
 leges, irrespective of birth or complexion ; the 
 morality of the Gospel of Christ, applied to legis- 
 
392 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 lation ; Christianity reduced to practice, and show 
 ering the blessings of its impartial love and equal 
 protection upon all, like the rain and dews of heaven, 
 we have the sincerest love and reverence. So 
 far as our own government approaches this stand 
 ard and, with all its faults, we believe it does 
 so more nearly than any other it has our hearty 
 and steadfast allegiance. We complain of and pro 
 test against it only where, in its original framework 
 or actual administration, it departs from the demo 
 cratic principle. Holding, with Novalis, that the 
 Christian religion is the root of all democracy, and 
 the highest fact in the rights of man, we regard the 
 New Testament as the true political text-book ; and 
 believe that, just in proportion as mankind receive 
 its doctrines and precepts, not merely as matters 
 of faith, and relating to another state of being, but 
 as practical rules, designed for the regulation of the 
 present life, as well as the future, their institutions, 
 social arrangements, and forms of government will 
 approximate to the democratic model. We believe 
 in the ultimate complete accomplishment of the 
 mission of Him who came " to preach deliverance 
 to the captive, and the opening of prison doors to 
 them that are bound." We look forward to the 
 universal dominion of His benign humanity ; and, 
 turning from the strife and blood, the slavery, and 
 social and political wrongs of the Past and Present, 
 anticipate the realization in the distant Future of 
 that state, when the song of the angels at His ad 
 vent shall be no longer a prophecy, but the jubilant 
 
William Leggett. 393 
 
 expression of a glorious reality, " Glory to God 
 in the highest ! Peace on earth, and good will to 
 man ! " 
 
 For the party in this country which has assumed 
 the name of Democracy, as a party, we have had, 
 we confess, for some years past, very little respect. 
 It has advocated many salutary measures, tending 
 to equalize the advantages of trade, and remove 
 the evils of special legislation. But, if it has oc 
 casionally lopped some of the branches of the evil 
 tree of oppression, so far from striking at its root, 
 it has suffered itself to be made the instrument of 
 nourishing and protecting it. It has allowed itself 
 to be called, by its Southern flatterers, "THE 
 
 NATURAL ALLY OF SLAVERY." It has Spumed the 
 
 petitions of the people in behalf of freedom under 
 its feet, in Congress and State legislatures. Nomi 
 nally the advocate of universal suffrage, it has 
 wrested from the colored citizens of Pennsylvania 
 that right of citizenship which they had enjoyed 
 under a Constitution framed by Franklin and 
 Rush. Perhaps the most shameful exhibition of 
 its spirit was made in the late Rhode Island strug 
 gle, when the free suffrage Convention, solemnly 
 calling heaven and earth to witness its readiness 
 to encounter all the horrors of civil war, in defence 
 of the holy principle of equal and universal suf 
 frage, deliberately excluded colored Rhode-Island 
 ers from the privilege of voting. In the Consti 
 tutional Conventions of Michigan and Iowa, the 
 same party declared all men equal, and then pro- 
 17* 
 
394 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 vided an exception to this rule in the case of the 
 colored inhabitants. Its course on the question of 
 excluding slavery from Texas is a matter of history, 
 known and read of all. 
 
 After such exhibitions of its practice, its pro 
 fessions have lost their power. The cant of de 
 mocracy upon the lips of men who are living down 
 its principles is, to an earnest mind, wellnigh 
 insufferable. Pertinent were the queries of Eli- 
 phaz the Temanite, " Shall a man utter vain knowl 
 edge, and fill his belly with the east wind ? Shall 
 he reason with unprofitable talk, or with speeches 
 wherewith he can do no good ? " Enough of 
 wearisome talk we have had about "progress," 
 the rights of " the masses," the " dignity of labor," 
 and " extending the area of freedom " ! " Clear 
 f \L your mind of cant, sir," said Johnson to Boswell ; 
 and no better advice could be now given to a class 
 of our democratic politicians. Work out your 
 democracy ; translate your words into deeds ; away 
 with your sentimental generalizations, and come 
 down to the practical details of your duty as men 
 and Christians. What avail your abstract theories, 
 your hopeless virginity of democracy, sacred from 
 the violence of meanings? A democracy which 
 professes to hold, as by divine right, the doctrine 
 of human equality in its special keeping, and which 
 at the same time gives its direct countenance and 
 support to the vilest system of oppression on which 
 the sun of heaven looks, has no better title to the 
 name it disgraces than the apostate Son of the 
 
William Leggett. 395 
 
 Morning has to his old place in heaven. We are 
 using strong language, for we feel strongly on this 
 subject. Let those whose hypocrisy we condemn, 
 and whose sins against humanity we expose, re 
 member that they are the publishers of their own 
 shame, and that they have gloried in their apos 
 tasy. There is a cutting severity in the answer 
 which Sophocles puts in the mouth of Electra, in 
 justification of her indignant rebuke of her wicked 
 mother : 
 
 " T is you that say it, not I 
 You do the unholy deeds which find me words." 
 
 Yet in that party calling itself democratic we 
 rejoice to recognize true, generous, and thoroughly 
 sincere men, lovers of the word of democracy, 
 and doers of it also, honest and hearty in their 
 worship of Liberty, who are still hoping that the 
 antagonism which slavery presents to democracy 
 will be perceived by the people, in spite of the 
 sophistry and appeals to prejudice by which inter 
 ested partisans have hitherto succeeded in deceiv 
 ing them. We believe with such that the mass of 
 the democratic voters of the free States are in 
 reality friends of freedom, and hate slavery in all 
 its forms; and that, with a full understanding of 
 the matter, they could never consent to be sold to 
 Presidential aspirants, by political speculators, in 
 lots to suit purchasers, and warranted to be useful 
 in putting down free discussion, perpetuating op 
 pression, and strengthening the hands of modern 
 feudalism. They are beginning already to see 
 
396 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 that, under the process whereby men of easy virtue 
 obtain offices from the General Government, as 
 the reward of treachery to free principles, the 
 strength and vitality of the party are rapidly de 
 clining. To them, at least, democracy means 
 something more than collectorships, consulates, 
 and governmental contracts. For the sake of se 
 curing a monopoly of these to a few selfish and 
 heartless party managers, they are not prepared to 
 give up the distinctive principles of democracy, 
 and substitute in their place the doctrines of the 
 Satanic school of politics. They will not much 
 longer consent to stand before the world as the 
 Slavery party of the United States, especially when 
 policy and expediency, as well as principle, unite 
 in recommending a position more congenial to the 
 purposes of their organization, the principles of the 
 fathers of their political faith, the spirit of the age, 
 and the obligations of Christianity. 
 
 The death-blow of slavery in this country will be 
 given by the very power upon which it has hitherto 
 relied with so much confidence. Abused and in 
 sulted Democracy will, erelong, shake off the loath 
 some burden under which it is now staggering. In 
 the language of the late Theodore Sedgwick, of 
 Massachusetts, a consistent democrat of the old 
 school : " Slavery, in all its forms, is anti-demo 
 cratic, an old poison left in the veins, fostering 
 the worst principles of aristocracy, pride, and 
 aversion to labor ; the natural enemy of the poo& 
 man, the laboring man, the oppressed man. The 
 
William Leggett. 397 
 
 question is, whether absolute dominion over any 
 creature in the image of man be a wholesome 
 power in a free country ; whether this is a school 
 in which to train the young republican mind j 
 whether slave blood and free blood can course 
 healthily together in the same body politic. What 
 ever may be present appearances, and by whatever 
 name party may choose to call things, this question 
 must finally be settled by the democracy of the 
 country." 
 
 This prediction was made eight years ago, at a 
 time when all the facts in the case seemed against 
 the probability of its truth, and when only here 
 and there the voice of an indignant freeman pro 
 tested against the exulting claims of the slave 
 power upon the democracy as its "natural ally." 
 The signs of the times now warrant the hope of its 
 fulfilment. Over the hills of the East, and over 
 the broad territory of the Empire State, a new 
 spirit is moving. Democracy, like Balaam upon 
 Zophim, has felt the Divine afflatus, and is bless 
 ing that which it was summoned to curse. 
 
 The present hopeful state of things is owing, in 
 no slight degree, to the self-sacrificing exertions 
 of a few faithful and clear-sighted men, foremost 
 among whom was the late WILLIAM LEGGETT; 
 than whom no one has labored more perseveringly, 
 or, in the end, more successfully, to bring the 
 practice of American democracy into conformity 
 with its professions. 
 
 William Leggett ! Let our right hand forget its 
 
398 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 cunning, when that name shall fail to awaken gen 
 erous emotions, and aspirations for a higher and 
 worthier manhood ! True man, and true demo 
 crat ; faithful always to liberty, following wherever 
 she led, whether the storm beat in his face or on 
 his back ; unhesitatingly counting her enemies his 
 own, whether in the guise of whig monopoly and 
 selfish expediency, or democratic servility north of 
 Mason and Dixon s line towards democratic slave- 
 holding south of it ; poor, yet incorruptible ; de 
 pendent upon party favor, as a party editor, yet 
 risking all in condemnation of that party, when in 
 the wrong ; a man of the people, yet never stooping 
 to flatter the people s prejudices ; he is the poli 
 tician, of all others, whom we would hold up to the 
 admiration and imitation of the young men of our 
 country. What Fletcher of Saltoun is to Scotland, 
 and the brave spirits of the old Commonwealth 
 time 
 
 " Hands that penned 
 
 And tongues that uttered wisdom, better none 
 The later Sydney, Marvell, Harrington, 
 Young Vane, and others, who called Milton friend " 
 
 are to England, should Leggett be to America. 
 His character was formed on these sturdy demo 
 cratic models. Had he lived in their day, he would 
 have scraped with old Andrew Marvell the bare 
 blade-bone of poverty, or even laid his head on the 
 block with Vane, rather than forego his independent 
 thought and speech. 
 
 Of the early life of William Leggett we have no 
 
William Leggett. 399 
 
 very definite knowledge. Born in moderate cir 
 cumstances, at first a woodsman in the Western 
 wilderness ; then a midshipman in the navy ; then 
 a denizen of New York, exposed to sore hardships 
 and perilous temptations, he worked his way by the 
 force of his genius to the honorable position of as 
 sociate editor of the Evening Post, the leading 
 democratic journal of our great commercial me 
 tropolis. Here he became early distinguished for 
 his ultraism in democracy. His whole soul revolted 
 against oppression. He was for liberty everywhere 
 and in all things ; in thought, in speech, in vote, in 
 religion, in government, and in trade ; he was for 
 throwing off all restraints upon the right of suffrage ; 
 regarding all men as brethren, he looked with dis 
 approbation upon attempts to exclude foreigners 
 from the rights of citizenship ; he was for entire 
 freedom of commerce ; he denounced a national 
 bank ; he took the lead in opposition to the mo 
 nopoly of incorporated banks ; he argued in favor 
 of direct taxation, and advocated a free post-office, 
 or a system by which letters should be transported, 
 as goods and passengers now are, by private enter 
 prise. In all this he was thoroughly in earnest. 
 That he often erred through passion and prejudice 
 cannot be doubted ; but in no instance was he 
 found turning aside from the path which he be 
 lieved to be the true one, from merely selfish con 
 siderations. He was honest alike to himself and 
 the public. Every question which was thrown up 
 before him by the waves of political or moral agita- 
 
400 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 tion he measured by his standard of right and 
 truth, and condemned or advocated it, in utter dis 
 regard of prevailing opinions, of its effect upon his 
 pecuniary interest, or of his standing with his party. 
 The vehemence of his passions sometimes betrayed 
 him into violence of language, and injustice to his 
 opponents ; but he had that rare and manly trait 
 which enables its possessor, whenever he becomes 
 convinced of error, to make a prompt acknowledg 
 ment of the conviction. 
 
 In the summer of 1834, a series of mobs, directed 
 against the Abolitionists, who had organized a na 
 tional society, with the city of New York as its cen 
 tral point, followed each other in rapid succession. 
 The houses of the leading men in the society were 
 sacked and pillaged ; meeting-houses broken into 
 and defaced ; and the unoffending colored inhabi 
 tants of the city treated with the grossest indignity, 
 and subjected, in some instances, to shameful per 
 sonal outrage. It was emphatically a " Reign of 
 Terror." The press of both political parties and 
 of the leading religious sects, by appeals to preju 
 dice and passion, and by studied misrepresentation 
 of the designs and measures of the Abolitionists, 
 fanned the flame of excitement, until the fur} of de 
 mons possessed the misguided populace. To ad 
 vocate emancipation, or defend those who did so, 
 in New York, at that period, was like preaching 
 democracy in Constantinople or religious toleration 
 in Paris on the eve of St. Bartholomew. Law was 
 prostrated in the dust ; to be suspected of aboli- 
 
William Leggett. 401 
 
 tionism was to incur a liability to an indefinite 
 degree of insult and indignity ; and the few and 
 hunted friends of the slave, who in those nights of 
 terror laid their heads upon the pillow, did so with 
 the prayer of the Psalmist on their lips, " Defend 
 me from them that rise up against me ; save me 
 from bloody men." 
 
 At this period the New York Evening Post spoke 
 out strongly in condemnation of the mob. William 
 Leggett was not then an abolitionist ; he had known 
 nothing of the proscribed class, save through the 
 cruel misrepresentations of their enemies ; but, true 
 to his democratic faith, he maintained the right to 
 discuss the question of slavery. The infection of 
 cowardly fear, which at that time sealed the lips of 
 multitudes who deplored the excesses of the mob 
 and sympathized with its victims, never reached 
 him. Boldly, indignantly, he demanded that the 
 mob should be put down at once by the civil au 
 thorities. He declared the Abolitionists, even if 
 guilty of all that had been charged upon them, fully 
 entitled to the privileges and immunities of Ameri 
 can citizens. He sternly reprimanded the board 
 of aldermen of the city, for rejecting with contempt 
 the memorial of the Abolitionists to that body, ex 
 planatory of their principles, and the measures by 
 which they had sought to disseminate them. Refer 
 ring to the determination, expressed by the memo 
 rialists in the rejected document, not to recant or 
 relinquish any principle which they had adopted, 
 but to live and die by their faith, he said : " In 
 VOL i. z 
 
4O2 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 this, however mistaken, however mad, we may 
 consider their opinions in relation to the blacks, 
 what honest, independent mind can blame them ? 
 Where is the man so poor of soul, so white-livered, 
 so base, that he would do less in relation to any 
 important doctrine in which he religiously believed ? 
 Where is the man who would have his tenets drub 
 bed into him by the clubs of ruffians, or hold his 
 conscience at the dictation of a mob ? " 
 
 In the summer of 1835, a m k f excited citizens 
 broke open the post-office at Charleston, South 
 Carolina, and burnt in the street such papers and 
 pamphlets as thuey judged to be " incendiary " ; in 
 other words, such as advocated the application of 
 the democratic principle to the condition of the 
 slaves of the South. These papers were addressed, 
 not to the slave, but to the master. They con 
 tained nothing which had not been said and written 
 by Southern men themselves, the Pinkneys, Jeffer- 
 sons, Henrys, and Martins, of Maryland and Vir 
 ginia. The example set at Charleston did not 
 lack imitators. Every petty postmaster south of 
 Mason and Dixon s line became ex-officio a censor 
 of the press. The Postmaster-General, writing to 
 his subordinate at Charleston, after stating that 
 the post-office department had " no legal right to 
 exclude newspapers from the mail, or prohibit their 
 carriage or delivery, on account of their character 
 or tendency, real or supposed," declared that he 
 would, nevertheless, give no aid, directly or in 
 directly, in circulating publications of an incen- 
 
William Leggett. 403 
 
 diary or inflammatory character ; and assured the 
 perjured functionary, who had violated his oath of 
 office, that, while he could not sanction, he would 
 not condemn his conduct. Against this virtual en 
 couragement of a flagrant infringement of a consti 
 tutional right, this licensing of thousands of petty 
 government officials to sit in their mail offices, to 
 use the figure of Milton, cross-legged, like so many 
 envious Junos, in judgment upon the daily offspring 
 of the press, taking counsel of passion, prejudice, 
 and popular excitement as to what was "incen 
 diary " or " inflammatory," the Evening Post spoke 
 in tones of manly protest. 
 
 While almost all the editors of his party through 
 out the country either openly approved of the con 
 duct of the Postmaster-General or silently acqui 
 esced in it, William Leggett, who, in the absence 
 of his colleague, was at that time sole editor of the 
 Post, and who had everything to lose, in a worldly 
 point of view, by assailing a leading functionary of 
 the government, who was a favorite of the Presi 
 dent, and a sharer of his popularity, did not hesi 
 tate as to the course which consistency and duty 
 required at his hands. He took his stand for un 
 popular truth, at a time when a different course on 
 his part could not have failed to secure him the 
 favor and patronage of his party. In the great 
 struggle with the Bank of the United States, his 
 services had not been unappreciated by the Presi 
 dent and his friends. Without directly approving 
 the course of the Administration on the question 
 
404 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 of the rights of the Abolitionists, by remaining 
 silent in respect to it, he might have avoided all 
 suspicion of mental and moral independence in 
 compatible \vith party allegiance. The imprac 
 ticable honesty of Leggett, never bending from 
 the erectness of truth for the sake of that " thrift 
 \vhich follows fawning," dictated a most severe 
 and scorching review of the letter of the Post 
 master-General. " More monstrous, more detest 
 able doctrines we have never heard promulgated," 
 he exclaimed in one of his leading editorials. 
 " With what face, after this, can the Postmaster- 
 General punish a postmaster for any exercise of 
 the fearfully dangerous po wer of stopping and 
 destroying any portion of the mails?" "The 
 Abolitionists do not deserve to be placed on the 
 same footing with a foreign enemy, nor their publi 
 cations as the secret despatches of a spy. They 
 are American citizens, in the exercise of their 
 undoubted right of citizenship ; and however erro 
 neous their views, however fanatic their conduct, 
 while they act within the limits of the law, what 
 official functionary, be he merely a subordinate or 
 the head of the post-office department, shall dare to 
 abridge them of their rights as citizens, and deny 
 them those facilities of intercourse which were 
 instituted for the equal accommodation of all ? If 
 the American people will submit to this, let us 
 expunge all written codes, and resolve society into 
 its original elements, where the might of the strong 
 is better than the right of the weak." 
 
William Leggett. 405 
 
 A few days after the publication of this manly 
 rebuke, he wrote an indignantly sarcastic article 
 upon the mobs which were at this time everywhere 
 summoned to "put down the Abolitionists." The 
 next day, the 4th of the ninth month, 1835, he 
 received a copy of the Address of the American 
 Anti-Slavery Society to the public, containing a 
 full and explicit avowal of all the principles and 
 designs of the association. He gave it a candid 
 perusal, weighed its arguments, compared its doc 
 trines with those at the foundation of his own 
 political faith, and rose up from its examination an 
 abolitionist. He saw that he himself, misled by 
 the popular clamor, had done injustice to benevo 
 lent and self-sacrificing men ; and he took the 
 earliest occasion, in an article of great power and 
 eloquence, to make the amplest atonement. He 
 declared his entire concurrence with the views of 
 the American Anti-Slavery Society, with the single 
 exception of a doubt which rested on his mind as 
 to the abolition of slavery in the District of Colum 
 bia. We quote from the concluding paragraph of 
 this article : 
 
 "We assert without hesitation, that, if we pos 
 sessed the right, we should not scruple to exercise 
 it for the speedy annihilation of servitude and chains. 
 The impression made in boyhood by the glorious 
 exclamation of Cato, 
 
 A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty 
 Is worth a whole eternity of bondage ! 
 
 has been worn deeper, not effaced, by time ; and 
 
406 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 we eagerly and ardently trust that the day will yet 
 arrive when the clank of the bondman s fetters will 
 form no part of the multitudinous sounds which our 
 country sends up to Heaven, mingling, as it were, 
 into a song of praise for our national prosperity. 
 We yearn with strong desire for the day when free 
 dom shall no longer wave 
 
 Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves. " 
 
 A few days after, in reply to the assaults made 
 upon him from all quarters, he calmly and firmly 
 reiterated his determination to maintain the right 
 of free discussion of the subject of slavery. 
 
 " The course we are pursuing," said he, " is one 
 which we entered upon after mature deliberation, 
 and we are not to be turned from it by a species 
 of opposition, the inefficacy of which we have seen 
 displayed in so many former instances. It is Philip 
 Van Artevelde who says : 
 
 All my life long, 
 
 I have beheld with most respect the man 
 Who knew himself, and knew the ways before him ; 
 And from among them chose considerately, 
 With a clear foresight, not a blindfold courage ; 
 And, having chosen, with a steadfast mind 
 Pursued his purpose. 
 
 " This is the sort of character we emulate. If 
 to believe slavery a deplorable evil and curse, in 
 whatever light it is viewed ; if to yearn for the day 
 which shall break the fetters of three millions of 
 human beings, and restore to them their birthright 
 of equal freedom ; if to be willing, in season and 
 
William Leggett. 407 
 
 out of season, to do all in our power to promote so 
 desirable a result, by all means not inconsistent with 
 higher duty ; if these sentiments constitute us Aboli 
 tionists, then are we such, and glory in the name." 
 "The senseless cry of Abolitionist shall never 
 deter us, nor the more senseless attempt of puny 
 prints to read us out of the democratic party. The 
 often-quoted and beautiful saying of the Latin his 
 torian, Homo sum : humani nihil a me alienum puto, 
 we apply to the poor slave as well as his master, 
 and shall endeavor to fulfil towards both the obli 
 gations of an equal humanity." 
 
 The generation which, since the period of which 
 we are speaking, have risen into active life can 
 have but a faint conception of the boldness of this 
 movement on the part of William Leggett. To be 
 an abolitionist then was to abandon all hope of 
 political preferment or party favor ; to be marked 
 and branded as a social outlaw, under good so 
 ciety s interdict of food and fire ; to hold property, 
 liberty, and life itself at the mercy of lawless mobs. 
 All this William Leggett clearly saw. He knew 
 how rugged and thorny was the path upon which, 
 impelled by his love of truth and the obligations 
 of humanity, he was entering. From hunted and 
 proscribed Abolitionists and oppressed and spirit- 
 broken colored men, the Pariahs of American de 
 mocracy, he could alone expect sympathy. The 
 Whig journals, with a few honorable exceptions, ex 
 ulted over what they regarded as the fall of a for 
 midable opponent; and after painting his abolition- 
 
408 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 ism in the most hideous colors, held him up to 
 their Southern allies as a specimen of the radical 
 disorganizers and democratic levellers of the North. 
 His own part) , in consequence, made haste to pro 
 scribe him. Government advertising was promptly 
 withdrawn from his paper. The official journals 
 of Washington and Albany read him out of the 
 pale of democracy. Father Ritchie scolded and 
 threatened. The democratic committee issued its 
 bull against him from Tammany Hall. The reso 
 lutions of that committee were laid before him 
 when he was sinking under a severe illness. Ral 
 lying his energies, he dictated from his sick-bed 
 an answer marked by all his accustomed vigor and 
 boldness. Its tone was calm, manly, self-relying ; 
 the language of one who, having planted his feet 
 hard down on the rock of principle, stood there 
 like Luther at Worms, because he " could not 
 otherwise." Exhausted nature sunk under the 
 effort A weary sickness of nearly a year s dura 
 tion followed. In this sore affliction, deserted as 
 he was by most of his old political friends, we have 
 reason to know that he was cheered by the grati 
 tude of those in whose behalf he had wellnigh 
 made a martyr s sacrifice ; and that from the hum 
 ble hearths of his poor colored fellow-citizens fer 
 vent prayers went up for his restoration. 
 
 His work was not yet done. Purified by trial, 
 he was to stand forth once more in vindication of 
 the truths of freedom. As soon as his health was 
 sufficiently re-established, he commenced the pub- 
 
William Leggett. 409 
 
 lication of an independent political and literary 
 journal, under the expressive title of THE PLAIN- 
 DEALER. In his first number he stated, that, claim 
 ing the right of absolute freedom of discussion, he 
 should exercise it with no other limitations than 
 those of his own judgment. A poor man, he ad 
 mitted that he established the paper in the expec 
 tation of deriving from it a livelihood, but that even 
 for that object he could not trim its sails to suit 
 the varying breeze of popular prejudice. "If," 
 said he, " a paper which makes the Right, and not 
 the Expedient, its cardinal object, will not yield its 
 conductor a support, there are honest vocations 
 that will, and better the humblest of them than to 
 be seated at the head of an influential press, if its 
 influence is not exerted to promote the cause of 
 truth." He was true to his promise. The free 
 soul of a free, strong man spoke out in his paper. 
 How refreshing was it, after listening to the in 
 anities, the dull, witless vulgarity, the wearisome 
 commonplace of journalists, who had no higher 
 aim than to echo, with parrot-like exactness, cur 
 rent prejudices and falsehoods, to turn to the great 
 and generous thoughts, the chaste and vigorous 
 diction of the Plaindealer ! No man ever had a 
 clearer idea of the duties and responsibilities of a 
 conductor of the public press than William Leg- 
 gett, and few have ever combined so many of the 
 qualifications for their perfect discharge : a nice 
 sense of justice, a warm benevolence, inflexible 
 truth, honesty defying temptation, a mind stored 
 VOL. i. 1 8 
 
41 o Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 with learning, and having at command the treas 
 ures of the best thoughts of the best authors. As 
 was said of Fletcher of Saltoun, he was " a gentle 
 man steady in his principles ; of nice honor, abun 
 dance of learning ; bold as a lion ; a sure friend ; a 
 man who would lose his life to serve his country, 
 and would not do a base thing to save it." He 
 had his faults ; his positive convictions sometimes 
 took the shape of a proud and obstinate dogma 
 tism ; he who could so well appeal to the judg 
 ment and the reason of his readers too often only 
 roused their passions by invective and vehement 
 declamation. Moderate men were startled and 
 pained by the fierce energy of his language ; and 
 he not unfrequently made implacable enemies of 
 opponents whom he might have conciliated and 
 won over by mild expostulation and patient ex 
 planation. It must be urged in extenuation, that, 
 as the champion of unpopular truths, he was as 
 sailed unfairly on all sides, and indecently mis 
 represented and calumniated to a degree, as his 
 friend Sedgwick justly remarks, unprecedented 
 even in the annals of the American press ; and 
 that his errors in this respect were, in the main, 
 errors of retaliation. 
 
 In the Plaindealer, in common with the leading 
 moral and political subjects of the day, that of 
 Slavery was freely discussed in all its bearings. It 
 is difficult, in a single extract, to convey an ade 
 quate idea of the character of the editorial columns 
 of a paper, where terse and concentrated irony and 
 
William Leggett. 411 
 
 sarcasm alternate with eloquent appeal and diffuse 
 commentary and labored argument. We can only 
 offer at random the following passages from a long 
 review of a speech of John C. Calhoun, in which 
 that extraordinary man, whose giant intellect has 
 been shut out of its appropriate field of exercise 
 by the very slavery of which he is the champion, 
 undertook to maintain, in reply to a Virginia 
 senator, that chattel slavery was not an evil, but 
 " a great good." 
 
 "We have Mr. Calhoun s own warrant for at 
 tacking his position with all the fervor which a 
 high sense of duty can give, for we do hold, from 
 the bottom of our soul, that slavery is an evil, a 
 deep, detestable, damnable evil ; evil in all its 
 aspects to the blacks, and a greater evil to the 
 whites ; an evil moral, social, and political ; an 
 evil which shows itself in the languishing condition 
 of agriculture where it exists, in paralyzed com 
 merce, and in the prostration of the mechanic arts ; 
 an evil which stares you in the face from unculti 
 vated fields, and howls in your ears through tangled 
 swamps and morasses. Slavery is such an evil, 
 that it withers what it touches. Where it is once 
 securely established the land becomes desolate, 
 as the tree inevitably perishes which the sea-hawk 
 chooses for its nest ; while freedom, on the con 
 trary, flourishes like the tannen, on the loftiest 
 and least sheltered rocks, and clothes with its re 
 freshing verdure what, without it, would frown in 
 naked and incurable sterility. 
 
412 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 " If any one desires an illustration of the oppo 
 site influences of slavery and freedom, let him look 
 at the two sister States of Kentucky and Ohio. 
 Alike in soil and climate, and divided only by a 
 river, whose translucent waters reveal, through 
 nearly the whole breadth, the sandy bottom over 
 which they sparkle, how different are they in all 
 the respects over which man has control ! On the 
 one hand the air is vocal with the mingled tumult 
 of a vast and prosperous population. Every hill 
 side smiles with an abundant harvest, every valley 
 shelters a thriving village, the click of a busy mill 
 drowns the prattle of every rivulet, and all the 
 multitudinous sounds of business denote happy 
 activity in every branch of social occupation. 
 
 " This is the State which, but a few years ago, 
 slept in the unbroken solitude of nature. The 
 forest spread an interminable canopy of shade over 
 the dark soil on which the fat and useless vegeta 
 tion rotted at ease, and through the dusky vistas 
 of the wood only savage beasts and more savage 
 men prowled in quest of prey. The whole land 
 now blossoms like a garden. The tall and inter 
 lacing trees have unlocked their hold, and bowed 
 before the woodman s axe. The soil is disen 
 cumbered of the mossy trunks which had reposed 
 upon it for ages. The rivers flash in the sunlight, 
 and the fields smile with waving harvests. This is 
 Ohio, and this is what freedom has done for it. 
 
 " Now, let us turn to Kentucky, and note the 
 opposite influences of slavery. A narrow and 
 
William Leggett. 413 
 
 unfrequented path through the close and sultry 
 canebrake conducts us to a wretched hovel. It 
 stands in the midst of an unweeded field, whose 
 dilapidated enclosure scarcely protects it from the 
 lowing and hungry kine. Children half clad and 
 squalid, and destitute of the buoyancy natural to 
 their age, lounge in the sunshine, while their 
 parent saunters apart, to watch his languid slaves 
 drive the ill-appointed team afield. This is not a 
 fancy picture. It is a true copy of one of the fea 
 tures which make up the aspect of the State, and 
 of every State where the moral leprosy of slavery 
 covers the people with its noisome scales ; a dead 
 ening lethargy benumbs the limbs of the body 
 politic ; a stupor settles on the arts of life ; agricul 
 ture reluctantly drags the plough and harrow to 
 the field, only when scourged by necessity; the 
 axe drops from the woodman s nerveless hand the 
 moment his fire is scantily supplied with fuel ; and 
 the fen, undrained, sends up its noxious exhala 
 tions, to rack with cramps and agues the frame 
 already too much enervated by a moral epidemic 
 to creep beyond the sphere of the material 
 miasm." 
 
 The Plaindealer was uniformly conducted with 
 eminent ability ; but its editor was too far in ad 
 vance of his contemporaries to find general accept 
 ance, or even toleration. In addition to pecuniary 
 embarrassments, his health once more failed, and 
 in the autumn of 1837 he was compelled to sus 
 pend the publication of his paper. One of the 
 
414 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 last articles which he wrote for it shows the extent 
 to which he was sometimes carried by the intensity 
 and depth of his abhorrence of oppression, and the 
 fervency of his adoration of liberty. Speaking of 
 the liability of being called upon to aid the master 
 in the subjection of revolted slaves, and in repla 
 cing their cast-off fetters, he thus expresses himself : 
 " Would we comply with such a requisition ? No ! 
 Rather would we see our right arm lopped from 
 our body, and the mutilated trunk itself gored with 
 mortal wounds, than raise a ringer in opposition to 
 men struggling in the holy cause of freedom. The 
 obligations of citizenship are strong, but those of 
 justice, humanity, and religion, stronger. We 
 earnestly trust that the great contest of opinion, 
 which is now going on in this country, may termi 
 nate in the enfranchisement of the slaves, without 
 recourse to the strife of blood ; but should the 
 oppressed bondmen, impatient of the tardy pro 
 gress of truth, urged only in discussion, attempt to 
 burst their chains by a more violent and shorter 
 process, they should never encounter our arm nor 
 hear our voice in the ranks of their opponents. 
 We should stand a sad spectator of the conflict ; 
 and, whatever commiseration we might feel for the 
 discomfiture of the oppressors, we should pray that 
 the battle might end in giving freedom to the op 
 pressed." 
 
 With the Plaindealer, his connection with the 
 public, in a great measure, ceased. His steady 
 and intimate friend, personal as well as political, 
 
William Leggett. 415 
 
 Theodore Sedgwick, Jim., a gentleman who has, 
 on many occasions, proved himself worthy of his 
 liberty-loving ancestry, thus speaks of him in his 
 private life at this period : " Amid the reverses of 
 fortune, harassed by pecuniary embarrassments, 
 during the tortures of a disease which tore away 
 his life piecemeal, he ever maintained the same 
 manly and unaltered front, the same cheerfulness 
 of disposition, the same dignity of conduct. No 
 humiliating solicitation, no weak complaint, escaped 
 him." At the election in the fall of 1838, the 
 noble-spirited democrat was not wholly forgotten. 
 A strenuous effort, which was wellnigh successful, 
 was made to secure his nomination as a candidate 
 for Congress. It was at this juncture that he 
 wrote to a friend in the city, from his residence 
 at New Rochelle, one of the noblest letters ever 
 penned by a candidate for popular favor. The fol 
 lowing extracts will show how a true man can 
 meet the temptations of political life : 
 
 "What I am most afraid of is, that some of my 
 friends, in their too earnest zeal, will place me in 
 a false position on the subject of slavery. I am an 
 abolitionist. I hate slavery in all its forms, de 
 grees, and influences ; and I deem myself bound, 
 by the highest moral and political obligations, not 
 to let that sentiment of hate lie dormant and smoul 
 dering in my own breast, but to give it free vent, 
 and let it blaze forth, that it may kindle equal 
 ardor through the whole sphere of my influence. 
 I would not have this fact disguised or mystified 
 
41$ Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 for any office the people have it in their power to 
 give. Rather, a thousand times rather, would I 
 again meet the denunciations of Tammany Hall, 
 and be stigmatized with all the foul epithets with 
 which the anti-abolition vocabulary abounds, than 
 recall or deny one tittle of my creed. Abolition 
 is, in my sense, a necessary and a glorious part of 
 democracy ; and I hold the right and duty to dis 
 cuss the subject of slavery, and to expose its hide 
 ous evils in all their bearings, moral, social, and 
 political, as of infinitely higher importance than 
 to carry fifty sub-treasury bills. That I should 
 discharge this duty temperately; that I should 
 not let it come in collision with other duties ; that 
 I should not let my hatred of slavery transcend 
 the express obligations of the Constitution, or 
 violate its clear spirit, I hope and trust you think 
 sufficiently well of me to believe. But what I fear 
 is* (not from you, however,) that some of my advo 
 cates and champions will seek to recommend me 
 to popular support by representing me as not an 
 abolitionist, which is false. All that I have writ 
 ten gives the lie to it. All I shall write will give 
 the lie to it. 
 
 "And here, let me add, (apart from any con 
 sideration already adverted to,) that, as, a matter 
 of mere policy, I would not, if I could, have my 
 name disjoined from abolitionism. To be an abo 
 litionist now is to be an incendiary ; as, three years 
 ago, to be an anti-monopolist was to be a leveller 
 and a Jack Cade. See what three short years have 
 
William Leggett. 417 
 
 done in effecting the anti-monopoly reform; and 
 depend upon it, that the next three years, or, if 
 not three, say three times three, if you please, will 
 work a greater revolution on the slavery question. 
 The stream of public opinion now sets against us ; 
 but it is about to turn, and the regurgitation will 
 be tremendous. Proud in that day may well be 
 the man who can float in triumph on the first re 
 fluent wave, swept onward by the deluge which he 
 himself, in advance of his fellows, has largely 
 shared in occasioning. Such be my fate; and, 
 living or dead, it will, in some measure, be mine ! 
 I have written my name in ineffaceable letters on 
 the abolition record ; and whether the reward 
 ultimately come in the shape of honors to the 
 living man, or a tribute to the memory of a de 
 parted one, I would not forfeit my right to it for as 
 
 many offices as has in his gift, if each of them 
 
 was greater than his own." 
 
 After mentioning that he had understood that 
 some of his friends had endeavored to propitiate 
 popular prejudice by representing him as no abo 
 litionist, he says : 
 
 " Keep them, for God s sake, from committing 
 any such fooleries for the sake of getting me into 
 Congress. Let others twist themselves into what 
 shapes they please, to gratify the present taste of 
 the people ; as for me, I am not formed of such 
 pliant materials, and choose to retain, undisturbed, 
 the image of my God ! I do not wish to cheat the 
 people of their votes. I wotald not get their sup- 
 
 VOL. i. 18* A A 
 
41 8 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 port, any more than their money, under false pre 
 tences. I am what I am ; and, if that does not 
 suit them, I am content to stay at home." 
 
 God be praised for affording us, even in these 
 latter days, the sight of an honest man ! Amidst 
 the heartlessness, the double-dealing, the evasions, 
 the prevarications, the shameful treachery and 
 falsehood of political men of both parties, in re 
 spect to the question of slavery, how refreshing is 
 it to listen to words like these ! They renew our 
 failing faith in human nature. They reprove our 
 weak misgivings. We rise up from their perusal 
 stronger and healthier. With something of the 
 spirit which dictated them, we renew our vows to 
 freedom, and, with manlier energy, gird up our 
 souls for the stern struggle before us. 
 
 As might have been expected, and as he him 
 self predicted, the efforts of his friends to procure 
 his nomination failed ; but the same generous ap- 
 preciators of his rare worth were soon after more 
 successful in their exertions in his behalf. He 
 received from President Van Buren the appoint 
 ment of the mission to Guatemala ; an appoint 
 ment which, in addition to honorable employment 
 in the service of his country, promised him the 
 advantages of a sea voyage, and a change of cli 
 mate, for the restoration of his health. The course 
 of Martin Van Buren on the subject of slavery in 
 the District of Columbia forms, in the estimation of 
 many of his best friends, by no means the most cred 
 itable portion of his political history ; but it cer- 
 
William Leggett. 419 
 
 tainly argues well for his magnanimity and freedom 
 from merely personal resentment, that he gave this 
 appointment to the man who had animadverted 
 upon that course with the greatest freedom, and 
 whose rebuke of the veto pledge, severe in its truth 
 and justice, formed the only discord in the paean 
 of partisan flattery which greeted his inaugural. 
 But, however well intended, it came too late. In 
 the midst of the congratulations of his friends on 
 the brightening prospect before him, the still hope 
 ful and vigorous spirit of William Leggett was 
 summoned away by death. Universal regret was 
 awakened. Admiration of his intellectual power, 
 and that generous and full appreciation of his high 
 moral worth, which had been in too many instances 
 withheld from the living man by party policy and 
 prejudice, were now freely accorded to the dead. 
 The presses of both political parties vied with each 
 other in expressions of sorrow at the loss of a great 
 and true man. The Democracy, through all its 
 organs, hastened to canonize him as one of the 
 saints of its calendar. The general committee, in 
 New York, expunged their resolutions of censure. 
 The Democratic Review, at that period the most 
 respectable mouthpiece of the Democratic party, 
 made him the subject of exalted eulogy. His 
 early friend and co-editor, WILLIAM CULLEN BRY 
 ANT, laid upon his grave the following tribute, 
 alike beautiful and true : 
 
 " The earth may ring, from shore to shore, 
 With echoes of a glorious name, 
 
42O Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 But he whose loss our tears deplore 
 Has left behind him more than fame. 
 
 " For when the death-frost came to lie 
 
 On Leggett s warm and mighty heart, 
 And quenched his bold and friendly eye, 
 His spirit did not all depart 
 
 " The words of fire that from his pen 
 
 He flung upon the lucid page, 
 Still move, still shake the hearts of men, 
 Amid a cold and coward age. 
 
 I 
 
 " His love of Truth, too warm, too strong, 
 
 For Hope or Fear to chain or chill, 
 His hate of tyranny and wrong, 
 
 Burn in the breasts they kindled still." 
 
 So lived and died William Leggett. What a 
 rebuke of party perfidy, of political meanness, 
 of the common arts and stratagems of dema 
 gogues, comes up from his grave ! How the cheek 
 of mercenary selfishness crimsons at the thought 
 of his incorruptible integrity ! How heartless and 
 hollow pretenders, who offer lip service to freedom, 
 while they give their hands to whatever work their 
 slaveholding managers may assign them ; who sit 
 in chains round the crib of governmental patron 
 age, putting on the spaniel, and putting off the 
 man, and making their whole lives a miserable 
 lie, shrink back from a contrast with the proud 
 and austere dignity of his character ! What a com 
 ment on their own condition is the memory of a 
 man who could calmly endure the loss of party 
 favor, the reproaches of his friends, the malignant 
 
William Leggett. 421 
 
 assaults of his enemies, and the fretting evils of 
 poverty, in the hope of bequeathing, like the dying 
 testator of Ford, 
 
 " A fame by scandal untouched, ^ 
 To Memory and Time s old daughter, Truth. * i 
 
 The praises which such men are now constrained 
 to bestow upon him are their own condemnation. 
 Every stone which they pile upon his grave is 
 written over with the record of their hypocrisy. 
 
 We have written rather for the living than the 
 dead. As one of that proscribed and hunted band 
 of Abolitionists, whose rights were so bravely de 
 fended by William Leggett, we should, indeed, be 
 wanting in ordinary gratitude, not to do honor to 
 his memory; but we have been actuated at the 
 present time mainly by a hope that the character, 
 the lineaments of which we have so imperfectly 
 sketched, may awaken a generous emulation in the 
 hearts of the young democracy of our country. 
 Democracy such as William Leggett believed and 
 practised, democracy in its full and all-comprehen 
 sive significance, is destined to be the settled politi 
 cal faith of this republic. Because the despotism 
 of slavery has usurped its name, and offered the 
 strange incense of human tears and blood on its 
 profaned altars, shall we, therefore, abandon the 
 only political faith which coincides with the Gos 
 pel of Jesus, and meets the aspirations and wants 
 of humanity ? No. The duty of the present gen 
 eration in the United States is to reduce this faith 
 to practice ; to make the beautiful ideal a fact. 
 
422 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 " Ever) American," says Leggett, " who in any 
 way countenances slavery, is derelict to his duty, 
 as a Christian, a patriot, a man ; and every one 
 does countenance and authorize it who suffers any 
 opportunity of expressing his deep abhorrence of 
 its manifold abominations to pass unimproved." 
 The whole world has an interest in this matter. 
 The influence of our democratic despotism is ex 
 erted against the liberties of Europe. Political 
 reformers in the Old World, who have testified to 
 their love of freedom by serious sacrifices, hold but 
 one language on this point. They tell us that 
 American slavery furnishes kings and aristocracies 
 with their most potent arguments ; that it is a per 
 petual drag on the wheel of political progress. 
 
 We have before us, at this time, a letter from 
 Seidensticker, one of the leaders of the patriotic 
 movement in behalf of German liberty in 183 1. It 
 was written from the prison of Celle, where he had 
 been confined for eight years. The writer expresses 
 his indignant astonishment at the speeches of John 
 C. Calhoun, and others in Congress, on the slavery 
 question, and deplores the disastrous influence of 
 our great inconsistency upon the cause of freedom 
 throughout the world ; an influence which paralyzes 
 the hands of the patriotic reformer, while it strength 
 ens those of his oppressor, and deepens around the 
 living martyrs and confessors of European democ 
 racy the cold shadow of their prisons. 
 
 Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, the President of 
 the British Free Suffrage Union, and whose philan- 
 
William Leggett. 423 
 
 thropy and democracy have been vouched for by 
 the Democratic Review in this country, has the fol 
 lowing passage in an address to the citizens of the 
 United States : " Although an admirer of the insti 
 tutions of your country, and deeply lamenting the 
 evils of my own government, I find it difficult to 
 reply to those who are opposed to any extension 
 of the political rights of Englishmen, when they 
 point to America, and say, that where all have a 
 control over the legislation but those who are guilty 
 of a dark skin, slavery and the slave-trade remain, 
 not only unmitigated, but continue to extend ; and 
 that while there is an onward movement in favor 
 of its extinction, not only in England and France, 
 but in Cuba and Brazil, American legislators cling 
 to this enormous evil, without attempting to relax 
 or mitigate its horrors." 
 
 How long shall such appeals, from such sources, 
 be wasted upon us? Shall our baleful example 
 enslave the world ? Shall the tree of democracy, 
 which our fathers intended for " the healing of the 
 nations," be to them like the fabled Upas, blighting 
 all around it ? 
 
 The men of the North, the pioneers of the free 
 West, and the non-slaveholders of the South, must 
 answer these questions. It is for them to say, 
 whether the present wellnigh intolerable evil shall 
 continue to increase its boundaries, and strengthen 
 its hold upon the government, the political parties, 
 and the religious sects of our country. Interest 
 and honor, present possession and future hope, the 
 
424 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 memory of fathers, the prospects of children, grati 
 tude, affection, the still call of the dead, the cry of 
 oppressed nations looking hithenvard for the result 
 of all their hopes, the voice of God in the soul, in 
 revelation, and in his providence, all appeal to them 
 for a speedy and righteous decision. At this mo 
 ment, on the floor of Congress, Democracy and 
 Slavery have met in a death-grapple. The South 
 stands firm ; it allows no part} 7 division on the 
 slave question. One of its members has declared 
 that " the slave States have no traitors." Can the 
 same be said of the free ? Now, as in the time of 
 the fatal Missouri Compromise, there are, it is to 
 be feared, political pedlers among our representa 
 tives, whose souls are in the market, and whose 
 consciences are vendible commodities. Through 
 their means, the slave power may gain a temporary 
 triumph ; but may not the very baseness of the 
 treachery arouse the Northern heart ? By driving 
 the free States to the wall, may it not compel them 
 to turn and take an aggressive attitude, clasp hands 
 over the altar of their common freedom, and swear 
 eternal hostility to slavery ? 
 
 Be the issue of the present contest what it may, 
 those who are faithful to freedom should allow no 
 temporary reverse to shake their confidence in the 
 ultimate triumph of the right. The slave will be 
 free. Democracy in America will yet be a glorious 
 reality ; and when the topstone of that temple of 
 freedom which our fathers left unfinished shall be 
 brought forth with shoutings and cries of grace 
 
William Leggett. 425 
 
 unto it; when our now drooping Liberty lifts up 
 her head and prospers, happy will he be who can 
 say, with John Milton, "Among those who have 
 something more than wished her welfare, I too 
 have my charter and freehold of rejoicing to me 
 and my heirs." 
 
NATHANIEL PEABODY ROGERS. 
 
 " And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, 
 Has vanished from his kindly hearth." 
 
 SO, in one of the sweetest and most pathetic 
 of his poems touching the loss of his literary 
 friends, sang Wordsworth. We well remember with 
 what freshness and vividness these simple lines 
 came before us, on hearing, last autumn, of the 
 death of the warm-hearted and gifted friend whose 
 name heads this article ; for there was much in his 
 character and genius to remind us of the gentle 
 author of " Elia." He had the latter s genial humor 
 and quaintness ; his nice and delicate perception 
 of the beautiful and poetic ; his happy, easy dic 
 tion, not the result, as in the case of that of the 
 English essayist, of slow and careful elaboration, 
 but the natural, spontaneous language in which his 
 conceptions at once embodied themselves, appar 
 ently without any consciousness of effort. As Mark 
 Antony talked, he wrote, "right on," telling his 
 readers often what "they themselves did know," 
 yet imparting to the simplest commonplaces of life 
 interest and significance, and throwing a golden 
 haze of poetry over the rough and thorny pathways 
 of every-day duty. Like Lamb, he loved his friends 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 427 
 
 without stint or limit. The "old familiar faces" 
 haunted him. Lamb loved the streets and lanes 
 of London the places where he oftenest came in 
 contact with the warm, genial heart of humanity 
 better than the country. Rogers loved the wild 
 and lonely hills and valleys of New Hampshire 
 none the less that he was fully alive to the enjoy 
 ments of society, and could enter with the heartiest 
 sympathy into all the joys and sorrows of his friends 
 and neighbors. 
 
 In another point of view, he was not unlike Elia. 
 He had the same love of home, and home friends, 
 and familiar objects ; the same fondness for com 
 mon sights and sounds ; the same dread of change ; 
 the same shrinking from the unknown and the 
 dark. Like him, he clung with a child s love to 
 the living present, and recoiled from a contempla 
 tion of the great change which awaits us. Like 
 him, he was content with the goodly green earth, 
 and human countenances, and would fain set up 
 his tabernacle here. He had less of what might 
 be termed self-indulgence in this feeling than 
 Lamb. He had higher views ; he loved this world 
 not only for its own sake, but for the opportunities 
 it afforded of doing good. Like the Persian Seer, 
 he beheld the legions of Ormuzd and Ahriman, 
 of Light and Darkness, contending for mastery 
 over the earth, as the sunshine and shadow of a 
 gusty half-cloudy day struggled on the green slopes 
 of his native mountains ; and, mingled with the 
 bright host, he would fain have fought on until its 
 
428 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 banners waved in eternal sunshine over the last 
 hiding-place of darkness. He entered into the 
 work of reform with the enthusiasm and chivalry 
 of a knight of the crusades. He had faith in hu 
 man progress, in the ultimate triumph of the 
 good ; millennial lights beaconed up all along his 
 horizon. In the philanthropic movements of the 
 day ; in the efforts to remove the evils of slavery, 
 war, intemperance, and sanguinary laws ; in the 
 humane and generous spirit of much of our modern 
 poetry and literature ; in the growing demand of 
 the religious community, of all sects, for the preach 
 ing of the Gospel of Love and Humanity, he heard 
 the low and tremulous prelude of the great anthem 
 of Universal Harmony. " The world," said he, in 
 a notice of the music of the Hutchinson family, 
 " is out of tune now. But it will be tuned again, 
 and all will become harmony." In this faith he 
 lived and acted ; working, not always, as it seemed 
 to some of his friends, wisely, but bravely, truth 
 fully, earnestly, cheering on his fellow-laborers, 
 and imparting to the dullest and most earthward 
 looking of them something of his own zeal and 
 loftiness of purpose. 
 
 "Who was he?" does the reader ask? Natu 
 rally enough, too, for his name has never found 
 its way into fashionable reviews ; it has never 
 been associated with tale or essay or poem, to our 
 knowledge. Our friend Griswold, who, like an 
 other Noah, has launched some hundreds of Am 
 erican "poets" and prose writers on the tide of 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 429 
 
 immortality in his two huge arks of rhyme and 
 reason, has either overlooked his name, or deemed 
 it unworthy of preservation. Then, too, he was 
 known mainly as the editor of a proscribed and 
 everywhere-spoken-against anti-slavery paper. It 
 had few readers of literary taste and discrimina 
 tion ; plain, earnest men and women, intent only 
 upon the thought itself, and caring little for the 
 clothing of it, loved the Herald of Freedom for its 
 honestness and earnestness, and its bold rebukes 
 of the wrong, its all-surrendering homage to what 
 its editor believed to be right. But the literary 
 world of authors and critics saw and heard little 
 or nothing of him or his writings. " I once had a 
 bit of scholar-craft," he says of himself on one 
 occasion, " and had I attempted it in some pitiful 
 sectarian or party or literary sheet, I should have 
 stood a chance to get quoted into the periodicals. 
 Now, who dares quote from the Herald of Free 
 dom ? " He wrote for humanity, as his biographer 
 justly says, not for fame. " He wrote because he 
 had something to say, and true to nature ; for to 
 him nature was truth ; he spoke right on, with the 
 artlessness and simplicity of a child." 
 
 He was born in Plymouth, New Hampshire, in 
 the sixth month of 1794 ; a lineal descendant from 
 John Rogers, of martyr-memory. Educated at 
 Dartmouth College, he studied law with Hon. 
 Richard Fletcher, of Salisbury, New Hampshire, 
 now of Boston, and commenced the practice of it 
 in 1819, in his native village. He was diligent 
 
430 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 and successful in his profession, although seldom 
 known as a pleader. About the year 1833, he 
 became interested in the anti-slavery movement. 
 His was one of the few voices of encouragement 
 and sympathy which greeted the author of this 
 sketch on the publication of a pamphlet in favor 
 of immediate emancipation. He gave us a kind 
 word of approval, and invited us to his mountain 
 home, on the banks of the Pemigewasset, an in 
 vitation which, two years afterwards, we accepted. 
 In the early autumn, in company with George 
 Thompson, (the eloquent Reformer, who has since 
 been elected a member of the British Parliament 
 from the Tower Hamlets,) we drove up the beauti 
 ful valley of the White Mountain tributary of the 
 Merrimack, and, just as a glorious sunset was 
 steeping river, valley, and mountain in its hues 
 of heaven, were welcomed to the pleasant home 
 and family circle of our friend Rogers. We spent 
 two delightful evenings with him. His cordiality, 
 his warm-hearted sympathy in our object, his keen 
 wit, inimitable humor, and child-like and simple 
 mirthfulness, his full appreciation of the beautiful 
 in art and nature, impressed us with the con 
 viction that we were the guests of no ordinary 
 man ; that we were communing with unmistakable 
 genius ; such an one as might have added to the 
 wit and eloquence of Ben Jonson s famous club at 
 the Mermaid, or that which Lamb and Coleridge 
 and Southey frequented at the " Salutation and 
 Cat," of Smithfield. " The most brilliant man I 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 431 
 
 have met in America ! " said George Thompson, as 
 we left the hospitable door of our friend. 
 
 In 1838, he gave up his law practice, left his 
 fine outlook at Plymouth upon the mountains of 
 the North, Moosehillock and the Haystacks, and 
 took up his residence at Concord, for the purpose 
 of editing the " Herald of Freedom," an anti- 
 slavery paper which had been started some three 
 or four years before. John Pierpont, than whom 
 there could not be a more competent witness, in 
 his brief and beautiful sketch of the life and writ 
 ings of Rogers, does not overestimate the ability 
 with which the Herald was conducted, when he 
 says of its editor : " As a newspaper writer, we 
 think him unequalled by any living man ; and in 
 the general strength, clearness, and quickness of 
 his intellect, we think all who knew him well will 
 agree with us, that he was not excelled by any 
 editor in the country." He was not a profound rea- 
 soner : his imagination and brilliant fancy played 
 the wildest tricks with his logic ; yet, considering 
 the way by which he reached them, it is remark 
 able that his conclusions were so often correct. 
 The tendency of his mind was to extremes. A 
 zealous Calvinistic church-member, he became an 
 equally zealous opponent of churches and priests ; 
 a warm politician, he became an ultra non-resistant 
 and no-government man. In all this, his sincerity 
 was manifest. If, in the indulgence of his remark 
 able powers of sarcasm, in the free antics of a 
 humorous fancy, upon whose graceful neck he had 
 
43 2 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 flung loose the reins, he sometimes did injustice to 
 individuals, and touched, in irreverent sport, the 
 hem of sacred garments, it had the excuse, at least, 
 of a generous and honest motive. If he some 
 times exaggerated, those who best knew him can 
 testify that he " set down naught in malice." 
 
 We have before us a printed collection of his 
 writings ; hasty editorials, flung off without care 
 or revision ; the offspring of sudden impulse fre 
 quently ; always free, artless, unstudied ; the lan 
 guage transparent as air, exactly expressing the 
 thought. He loved the common, simple dialect 
 of the people, the " beautiful strong old Saxon, 
 the talk words." He had an especial dislike of 
 learned and " dictionary words." He used to 
 recommend Cobbett s Works to "every young 
 man and woman who has been hurt in his or her 
 talk and writing by going to school." 
 
 Our limits will not admit of such extracts from 
 the " Collection " of his writings as would convey 
 to our readers an adequate idea of his thought and 
 manner. His descriptions of natural scenery glow 
 with life. One can almost see the sunset light 
 flooding the Franconia Notch, and glorifying the 
 peaks of Moosehillock ; and hear the murmur 
 of the west -wind in the pines, and the light, liquid 
 voice of Pemigewasset sounding up from its rocky 
 channel, through its green hem of maples, while 
 reading them. We give a brief extract from an 
 editorial account of an autumnal trip to Vermont : 
 
 " We have recently journeyed through a portion 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 433 
 
 of this free State ; and it is not all imagination in 
 us, that sees, in its bold scenery, its uninfected in 
 land position, its mountainous, but fertile and 
 verdant surface, the secret of the noble predispo 
 sition of its people. They are located for free 
 dom. Liberty s home is on their Green Moun 
 tains. Their farmer republic nowhere touches the 
 ocean, the highway of the world s crimes, as well 
 as its nations. It has no seaport for the importa 
 tion of slavery, or the exportation of its own high 
 land republicanism. Should slavery ever prevail 
 over this nation, to its utter subjugation, the last 
 lingering footsteps of retiring liberty will be seen, 
 not, as Daniel Webster said, in the proud old 
 Commonwealth of Massachusetts, about Bunker 
 Hill and Faneuil Hall ; but she will be found 
 wailing, like Jephthah s daughter, among the hol 
 lows and along the sides of the Green Mountains. 
 " Vermont shows gloriously at this autumn sea 
 son. Frost has gently laid hands on her exuberant 
 vegetation, tinging her rock-maple woods without 
 abating the deep verdure of her herbage. Every 
 where along her peopled hollows and her bold hill- 
 slopes and summits, the earth is alive with green, 
 while her endless hard-wood forests are uniformed 
 with all the hues of early fall, richer than the regi 
 mentals of the kings that glittered in the train of 
 Napoleon on the confines of Poland, when he lin 
 gered there, on the last outposts of summer, before 
 plunging into the snow-drifts of the North ; more 
 gorgeous than the array of Saladin s life-guard in 
 
 VOL. I. 19 BB 
 
434 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 the wars of the Crusaders, or of * Solomon in all his 
 glory, decked in all colors and hues, but still the 
 hues of life. Vegetation touched, but not dead, or, 
 if killed, not bereft yet of * signs of life. Decay s 
 effacing fingers had not yet swept the hills 
 where beauty lingers. All looked fresh as grow 
 ing foliage. Vermont frosts don t seem to be kill 
 ing frosts. They only change aspects of beauty. 
 The mountain pastures, verdant to the peaks, and 
 over the peaks of the high, steep hills were covered 
 with the amplest feed, and clothed with countless 
 sheep ; the hay-fields heavy with second crop, in 
 some partly cut and abandoned, as if in very weari 
 ness and satiety, blooming with honeysuckle, con 
 trasting strangely with the colors on the woods ; the 
 fat cattle and the long-tailed colts and close-built 
 Morgans wallowing in it up to the eyes, or the cattle 
 down to rest, with full bellies, by ten in the morn 
 ing. Fine but narrow roads wound along among 
 the hills, free almost entirely of stone, and so 
 smooth as to be safe for the most rapid driving, 
 made of their rich, dark, powder-looking soil. 
 Beautiful villages or scattered settlements break 
 ing upon the delighted view, on the meandering 
 way, making the ride a continued scene of ex 
 citement and admiration. The air fresh, free, and 
 wholesome ; the road almost dead level for miles 
 and miles, among mountains that lay over the land 
 like the great swells of the sea, and looking in the 
 prospect as though there could be no passage." 
 
 To this autumnal limning, the following spring 
 picture may be a fitting accompaniment : 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 435 
 
 "At last Spring is here in full flush. Winter 
 held on tenaciously and mercilessly, but it has let 
 go. The great sun is high on his northern journey, 
 and the vegetation, and the bird-singing, and the 
 loud frog-chorus, the tree budding and blowing are 
 all upon us ; and the glorious grass superbest of 
 earth s garniture with its ever-satisfying green. 
 The king-birds have come, and the corn-planter, the 
 scolding bob-o-link. Plant your corn, plant your 
 corn/ says he, as he scurries athwart the ploughed 
 ground, hardly lifting his crank wings to a level with 
 his back, so self-important is he in his admonitions. 
 The earlier birds have gone to housekeeping, and 
 have disappeared from the spray. There has been 
 brief period for them, this spring, for scarcely has 
 the deep snow gone, but the dark-green grass has 
 come, and first we shall know, the ground will be 
 yellow with dandelions. 
 
 " I incline to thank Heaven this glorious morn 
 ing of May 1 6th for the pleasant home from which 
 we can greet the Spring. Hitherto we have had 
 to await it amid a thicket of village houses, low 
 down, close together, and awfully white. For a 
 prospect, we had the hinder part of an ugly meet 
 ing-house, which an enterprising neighbor relieved 
 us of by planting a dwelling-house, right before 
 our eyes, (on his own land, and he had a right to,) 
 which relieved us also of all prospect whatever. 
 And the revival spirit of habitation which has 
 come over Concord is clapping up a house be 
 tween every two in the already crowded town ; 
 
436 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 and the prospect is, it will be soon all buildings. 
 They are constructing, in quite good taste though, 
 small, trim, cottage-like. But I had rather be 
 where I can breathe air, and see beyond my own 
 features, than be smothered among the prettiest 
 houses ever built. We are on the slope of a hill ; 
 it is all sand, be sure, on all four sides of us, but 
 the air is free, (and the sand, too, at times,) and 
 our water, there is danger of hard drinking to live 
 by it. Air and water, the two necessaries of life, 
 and high, free play-ground for the small ones. 
 There is a sand precipice hard by, high enough 
 were it only rock and overlooked the ocean, to be 
 as sublime as any of the Nahant cliffs. As it is, 
 it is altogether a safer haunt for daring childhood, 
 which could hardly break its neck by a descent of 
 some hundreds of feet. 
 
 " A low flat lies between us and the town, with 
 its State-house, and body-guard of well-propor 
 tioned steeples standing round. It was marshy 
 and wet, but is almost all redeemed by the trans 
 lation into it of the high hills of sand. It must 
 have been a terrible place for frogs, judging from 
 what remains of it. Bits of water from the springs 
 hard by lay here and there about the low ground, 
 which are peopled as full of singers as ever the 
 gallery of the old North Meeting-house was, and 
 quite as melodious ones. Such performers I never 
 heard, in marsh or pool. They are not the great, 
 stagnant, bull-paddocks, fat and coarse-noted like 
 Parson , but clear-water frogs, green, lively, 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 437 
 
 and sweet-voiced. I passed their orchestra going 
 home the other evening, with a small lad, and they 
 were at it, all parts, ten thousand peeps, shrill, 
 ear-piercing, and incessant, coming up from every 
 quarter, accompanied by a second, from some larger 
 swimmer with his trombone, and broken in upon, 
 every now and then, but not discordantly, with the 
 loud quick hallo, that resembles the cry of the 
 tree-toad. "There are the Hutchinsons," cried 
 the lad. "The Rainers," responded I, glad to 
 remember enough of my ancient Latin, to know 
 that Rana, or some such sounding word, stood for 
 frog. But it was a " band of music," as the Miller 
 friends say. Like other singers (all but the Hutch 
 insons), these are apt to sing too much, all the 
 time they are awake, constituting really too much 
 of a good thing. I have wondered if the little 
 reptiles were singing in concert, or whether every 
 one peeped on his own hook, their neighborhood 
 only making it a chorus. I incline to the opinion 
 that they are performing together, that they know 
 the tune, and each carries his part, self-selected, in 
 free meeting, and therefore never discordant. The 
 hour rule of Congress might be useful, though far 
 less needed among the frogs than among the pro 
 fane croakers of the fens at Washington." 
 
 Here is a sketch of the mountain scenery of New 
 Hampshire, as seen from the Holderness Mountain, 
 or North Hill, during a visit which he made to his 
 native valley in the autumn of 1841. 
 
 " The earth sphered up all around us, in every 
 
43 8 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 quarter of the horizon, like the crater of a vast vol 
 cano, and the great hollow within the mountain 
 circle was as smoky as Vesuvius or Etna in their 
 recess of eruption. The little village of Plymouth 
 lay right at our feet, with its beautiful expanse of 
 intervale opening on the eye like a lake among the 
 woods and hills, and the Pemigewasset, bordered 
 along its crooked way with rows of maples, mean 
 dering from upland to upland through the meadows. 
 Our young footsteps had wandered over these locali 
 ties. Time had cast it all far back. That Pemige 
 wasset, with its meadows and border trees; that 
 little village whitening in the margin of its intervale ; 
 and that one house which we could distinguish, where 
 the mother, that watched over and endured our way 
 ward childhood, totters at fourscore ! 
 
 " To the south stretched a broken, swelling up 
 land country, but champaign from the top of North 
 Hill, patched all over with grain-fields and green 
 wood-lots, the roofs of the farm-houses shining in 
 the sun. Southwest, the Cardigan Mountain showed 
 its bald forehead among the smokes of a thousand 
 fires, kindled in the woods in the long drought. 
 Westward, Moosehillock heaved up its long back, 
 black as a whale ; and turning the eye on north 
 ward, glancing down the while on the Baker s River 
 valley, dotted over with human dwellings like shingle- 
 bunches for size, you behold the great Franconia 
 Range, its Notch and its Haystacks, the Elephant 
 Mountain on the left, and Lafayette (Great Hay 
 stack) on the right, shooting its peak in solemn 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 439 
 
 loneliness high up into the desert sky, and overtop 
 ping all the neighboring Alps but Mount Washing 
 ton itself. The prospect of these is most impressive 
 and satisfactory. We don t believe the earth pre 
 sents a finer mountain display. The Haystacks 
 stand there like the Pyramids on the wall of moun 
 tains. One of them eminently has this Egyptian 
 shape. It is as accurate a pyramid to the eye as 
 any in the old valley of the Nile, and a good deal 
 bigger than any of those hoary monuments of human 
 presumption, of the impious tyranny of monarchs 
 and priests, and of the appalling servility of the 
 erecting multitude. Arthur s Seat in Edinburgh 
 does not more finely resemble a sleeping lion than 
 the huge mountain on the left of the Notch does 
 an elephant, with his great, overgrown rump turned 
 uncivilly toward the gap where the people have to 
 pass. Following round the panorama, you come 
 to the Ossipees and the Sandwich Mountains, peaks 
 innumerable and nameless, and of every variety of 
 fantastic shape. Down their vast sides are dis 
 played the melancholy looking slides, contrasting 
 with the fathomless woods. 
 
 " But the lakes, you see lakes, as well as woods 
 and mountains, from the top of North Hill. New 
 found Lake in Hebron, only eight miles distant, you 
 can t see, it lies too deep among the hills. Ponds 
 show their small blue mirrors from various quarters 
 of the great picture. Worthen s Mill-Pond and the 
 Hardhack, where we used to fish for trout in truant, 
 barefooted days, Blair s Mill-Pond, White Oak Pond, 
 
44 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 and Long Pond, and the Little Squam, a beautiful 
 dark sheet of deep, blue water, about two miles long, 
 stretched amid the green hills and woods, with a 
 charming little beach at its eastern end, and with 
 out an island. And then the Great Squam, con 
 nected with it on the east by a short, narrow stream, 
 the very queen of ponds, with its fleet of islands, 
 surpassing in beauty all the foreign waters we have 
 seen, in Scotland or elsewhere, the islands cov 
 ered with evergreens, which impart their hue to the 
 mass of the lake, as it stretches seven miles on east 
 from its smaller sister, towards the peerless Win- 
 nipisockee. Great Squam is as beautiful as water 
 and island can be. But Winnipisockee, it is the 
 very * Smile of the Great Spirit. It looks as if it 
 had a thousand islands ; some of them large enough 
 for little towns, and others not bigger than a swan 
 or a wild duck, swimming on its surface of glass." 
 
 His wit and sarcasm were generally too good- 
 natured to provoke even their unfortunate objects, 
 playing all over his editorials like the thunderless 
 lightnings which quiver along the horizon of a night 
 of summer calmness ; but at times his indignation 
 launched them like bolts from heaven. Take the 
 following as a specimen. He is speaking of the 
 gag rule of Congress, and commending Southern 
 representatives for their skilful selection of a proper 
 person to do their work : 
 
 " They have a quick eye at the South to the char 
 acter, or, as they would say, the points of a slave. 
 They look into him shrewdly, as an old jockey does 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 441 
 
 into a horse. They will pick him out, at rifle-shot 
 distance, among a thousand freemen. They have 
 a nice eye to detect shades of vassalage. They saw 
 in the aristocratic popinjay strut of a counterfeit 
 Democrat an itching aspiration to play the slave 
 holder. They beheld it in the cut of his jib, and 
 his extreme Northern position made him the very 
 tool for their purpose. The little creature has struck 
 at the right of petition. A paltrier hand never struck 
 at a noble right. The Eagle Right of Petition ! so 
 loftily sacred in the eyes of the Constitution that 
 Congress can t begin to ( ABRIDGE it, in its pride 
 of place, is hawked at by this crested jay-bird. A 
 mousing owl would have seen better at midnoon 
 than to have done it. It is an idiot blue-jay, such 
 as you see fooling about among the shrub oaks and 
 dwarf pitch pines in the winter. What an ignomini 
 ous death to the lofty right, were it to die by such 
 a hand ; but it does not die. It is impalpable to 
 the malicious mockery of such vain blows. We 
 are glad it is done done by the South done 
 proudly, and in slaveholding style, by the hand of 
 a vassal. What a man does by another he does 
 by himself, says the maxim. But they will disown 
 the honor of it, and cast it on the despised l free 
 nigger" 1 North." 
 
 Or this description not very flattering to the 
 " Old Commonwealth " of the treatment of the 
 agent of Massachusetts in South Carolina : 
 
 " Slavery may perpetrate anything, and New 
 England can t see it. It can horsewhip the old 
 19* 
 
442 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and spit in her 
 governmental face, and she will not recognize it as 
 an offence. She sent her agent to Charleston on 
 a State embassy. Slavery caught him, and sent him 
 ignominiously home. The solemn great man came 
 back in a hurry. He returned in a most undigni 
 fied trot. He ran ; he scampered, the stately 
 official. The Old Bay State actually pulled foot, 
 cleared, dug, as they say, like any scamp with a hue 
 and cry after him. Her grave old Senator, who no 
 more thought of having to break his stately walk 
 than he had of being flogged at school for stealing 
 apples, came back from Carolina upon the full run, 
 out of breath and out of dignity. Well, what s the 
 result ? Why, nothing. She no more thinks of 
 showing resentment about it than she would if light 
 ning had struck him. He was sent back by the 
 visitation of God ; and if they had lynched him to 
 death, and stained the streets of Charleston with 
 his blood, a Boston jury, if they could have held 
 inquest over him, would have found that he died 
 by the visitation of God. And it would have been 
 crowner s quest law, Slavery s crowners. " 
 
 Here is a specimen of his graceful blending of 
 irony and humor. He is expostulating with his 
 neighbor of the New Hampshire Patriot, assuring 
 him that he cannot endure the ponderous weight 
 of his arguments, begging for a little respite, and, 
 as a means of obtaining it, urging the editor to 
 travel. He advises him to go South to the White 
 Sulphur Springs, and thinks that, despite of his 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 443 
 
 dark complexion, he would be safe there from 
 being sold for jail fees, as his pro-slavery merits 
 would more than counterbalance his colored liabili 
 ties, which, after all, were only prima facie evidence 
 against him. He suggests Texas, also, as a place 
 where " patriots " of a certain class " most do con 
 gregate," and continues as follows : 
 
 "There is Arkansas, too, all glorious in new 
 born liberty, fresh and unsullied, like Venus out 
 of the ocean, that newly discovered star in the 
 firmament banner of this Republic. Sister Arkan 
 sas, with her bowie-knife graceful at her side, like 
 the huntress Diana with her silver bow ; O it 
 would be refreshing and recruiting to an exhausted 
 patriot to go and replenish his soul at her foun 
 tains. The newly evacuated lands of the Chero 
 kee, too, a sweet place now for a lover of his 
 country to visit, to renew his self-complacency by 
 wandering among the quenched hearths of the 
 expatriated Indians ; a land all smoking with the 
 red man s departing curse ; a malediction that 
 went to the centre. Yes, and Florida, blossom 
 ing and leafy Florida, yet warm with the life-blood 
 of Osceola and his warriors, shed gloriously under 
 flag of truce. Why should a patriot of such a 
 fancy for nature immure himself in the cells of the 
 city, and forego such an inviting and so broad a 
 landscape? Ite viator. Go forth, traveller, and 
 leave this mouldy editing to less elastic fancies. 
 We would respectfully invite our Colonel to travel. 
 What signifies? Journey wander go forth 
 itinerate exercise perambulate roam." 
 
Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 He gives the following ludicrous definition of 
 Congress : 
 
 " But what is Congress ? It is the echo of the 
 country at home, the weathercock, that denotes 
 and answers the shifting wind, a thing of tail, 
 nearly all tail, moved by the tail and by the wind, 
 with small heading, and that corresponding im 
 plicitly in movement with the broad sail-like stern, 
 which widens out behind to catch the rum-fraught 
 breath of * the Brotherhood. As that turns, it turns ; 
 when that stops, it stops ; and in calmish weather 
 looks as steadfast -m&firm as though it was riveted 
 to the centre. The wind blows, and the little 
 popularity-hunting head dodges this way and that, 
 in endless fluctuation. Such is Congress, or a great 
 portion of it. It will point to the northwest heav 
 ens of Liberty, whenever the breezes bear down 
 irresistibly upon it, from the regions of political 
 fair weather. It will abolish slavery at the Capi 
 tol, when it has already been doomed to Abolition 
 and death everywhere else in the country. It 
 will be in at the death/ " 
 
 Replying to the charge, that the Abolitionists of 
 the North were " secret " in their movements and 
 designs, he says : 
 
 " In secret ! Why, our movements have been 
 as prominent and open as the house-tops from the 
 beginning. We have striven from the outset to 
 write the whole matter cloud-high in the heavens, 
 that the utmost South might read it. We have 
 cast an arc upon the horizon, like the semicircle 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 445 
 
 of the polar lights, and upon it have bent our 
 motto, IMMEDIATE EMANCIPATION, glorious as 
 the rainbow. We have engraven it there, on the 
 blue table of the cold vault, in letters tall enough 
 for the reading of the nations. And why has the 
 far South not read and believed before this ? Be 
 cause a steam has gone up a fog from New 
 England s pulpit and her degenerate press, and hid 
 den the beaming revelation from its vision. The 
 Northern hierarchy and aristocracy have cheated 
 the South." 
 
 He spoke at times with severity of slaveholders, 
 but far oftener of those who, without the excuse 
 of education and habit, and prompted only by a 
 selfish consideration of political or sectarian ad 
 vantage, apologized for the wrong, and discounte 
 nanced the anti-slavery movement. "We have 
 nothing to say," said he, " to the slave. He is no 
 party to his own enslavement he is none to his 
 disenthralment. We have nothing to say to the 
 South. The real holder of slaves is not there. 
 He is in the North, the free North. The South 
 alone has not the power to hold the slave. It is 
 the character of the nation that binds and holds 
 him. It is the Republic that does it, the effi 
 cient force of which is north of Mason and Dixon s 
 line. By virtue of the majority of Northern hearts 
 and voices, slavery lives in the South ! " 
 
 In 1840, he spent a few weeks in England, Ire 
 land, and Scotland. He has left behind a few 
 beautiful memorials of his tour. His " Ride over 
 
446 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 the Border," " Ride into Edinburgh," " Wincobank 
 Hall," " Ailsa Craig," gave his paper an interest 
 in the eyes of many who had no sympathy with his 
 political and religious views. 
 
 Scattered all over his editorials, like gems, are to 
 be found beautiful images, sweet touches of heart 
 felt pathos, thoughts which the reader pauses 
 over with surprise and delight. We subjoin a few 
 specimens, taken almost at random from the book 
 before us : 
 
 " A thunder-storm, what can match it for elo 
 quence and poetry ? That rush from heaven of 
 the big drops, in what multitude and succession, 
 and how they sound as they strike ! How they 
 play on the old home roof and the thick tree-tops ! 
 What music to go to sleep by, to the tired boy, as 
 he lies under the naked roof! And the great, low 
 bass thunder, as it rolls off over the hills, and set 
 tles down behind them to the very centre, and you 
 can feel the old earth jar under your feet ! " 
 
 " There was no oratory in the speech of the 
 Learned Blacksmith, in the ordinary sense of that 
 word, no grace of elocution, but mighty thoughts 
 radiating off from his heated mind, like sparks 
 from the glowing steel of his own anvil." 
 
 " The hard hands of Irish labor, with nothing in 
 them, they ring like slabs of marble together, 
 in response to the wild appeals of O Connell, and 
 the British stand conquered before them, with 
 shouldered arms. Ireland is on her feet, with 
 nothing in her hands, impregnable, unassailable, in 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 447 
 
 utter defencelessness, the first time that ever a 
 nation sprung to its feet unarmed. The veterans 
 of England behold them, and forbear to fire. 
 They see no mark. It will not do to fire upon 
 men ; it will do only to fire upon soldiers. They are 
 the proper mark of the murderous gun, but men 
 cannot be shot." 
 
 " It is coming to that [abolition of war] the world 
 over ! and when it does come to it, O what a long 
 breath of relief the tired world will draw, as it 
 stretches itself for the first time out upon earth s 
 greensward, and learns the meaning of repose and 
 peaceful sleep ! " 
 
 " He who vests his labor in the faithful ground 
 is dealing directly with God ; human fraud or 
 weakness do not intervene between him and his 
 requital. No mechanic has a set of customers so 
 trustworthy as God and the elements. No savings 
 bank is so sure as the old earth." 
 
 " Literature is the luxury of words. It origi 
 nates nothing, it does nothing. It talks hard 
 words about the labor of others, and is reckoned 
 more meritorious for it than genius and labor for 
 doing what learning can only descant upon. It 
 trades on the capital of unlettered minds. It 
 struts in stolen plumage, and it is mere plumage. 
 A learned man resembles an owl in more respects 
 than the matter of wisdom. Like that solemn 
 bird, he is about all feathers." 
 
 "Our Second Advent friends contemplate a 
 grand conflagration about the first of April next 
 
: 
 
 448 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 I should be willing there should be one, if it could 
 be confined to the productions of the press, with 
 which the earth is absolutely smothered. Hu 
 manity wants precious few books to read, but the 
 great living, breathing, immortal volume of Provi 
 dence. Life, real life, how to live, how to 
 treat one another, and how to trust God in mat 
 ters beyond our ken and occasion, these are the 
 lessons to learn, and you find little of them in 
 libraries." 
 
 " That accursed drum and fife ! How they have 
 maddened mankind ! And the deep bass boom of 
 the cannon, chiming in in the chorus of battle, 
 that trumpet and wild charging bugle, how they set 
 the military devil in a man, and make him into a 
 soldier ! Think of the human family falling upon 
 one another at the inspiration of music ! How must 
 God feel at it ! to see those harp-strings he meant 
 should be waked to a love bordering on divine, 
 strung and swept to mortal hate and butchery ! " 
 
 " Leave off being Jews," (he is addressing Major 
 Noah with regard to his appeal to his brethren to 
 return to Judea,) "and turn mankind. The rocks 
 and sands of Palestine have been worshipped long 
 enough. Connecticut River or the Merrimack are as 
 good rivers as any Jordan that ever run into a dead 
 or live sea, and as holy, for that matter. In Hu 
 manity, as in Christ Jesus, as Paul says, there is 
 neither Jew nor Greek. And there ought to be 
 none. Let Humanity be reverenced with the ten- 
 derest devotion ; suffering, discouraged, down-trod- 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 449 
 
 den, hard-handed, haggard-eyed, care-worn man 
 kind ! Let these be regarded a little. Would to 
 God I could alleviate all their sorrows, and leave 
 them a chance to laugh ! They are miserable now. 
 They might be as happy as the blackbird on the 
 spray, and as full of melody." 
 
 " I am sick as death at this miserable struggle 
 among mankind for a living. Poor devils ! were 
 they born to run such a gauntlet after the means 
 of life ? Look about you, and see your squirming 
 neighbors, writhing and twisting like so many angle 
 worms in a fisher s bait-box, or the wriggling ani- 
 malculae seen in the vinegar drop held to the sun. 
 How they look, how they feel, how base it makes 
 them all!" 
 
 " Every human being is entitled to the means of 
 life, as the trout is to his brook, or the lark to the 
 blue sky. Is it well to put a human young one 
 here to die of hunger, thirst, and nakedness, or else 
 be preserved as a pauper ? Is this fair earth but a 
 poor-house by creation and intent ? Was it made 
 for that ? and these other round things we see 
 dancing in the firmament to the music of the 
 spheres, are they all great shining poor-houses ? " 
 
 " The Divines always admit things after the Age 
 has adopted them. They are as careful of the 
 Age as the weathercock is of the wind. You might 
 as well catch an old experienced weathercock, on 
 some ancient Orthodox steeple, standing all day 
 with its tail east in a strong out wind, as the Divines 
 at odds with the Age." 
 
 VOL I. CC 
 
45 o Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 But we must cease quoting. The admirers of 
 Jean Paul Richter might find much of the charm 
 and variety of the " Flower, Fruit, and Thorn 
 Pieces" in this newspaper collection. They may 
 see, perhaps, as we do, some things which they 
 cannot approve of, the tendency of which, however 
 intended, is very questionable. But, with us, they 
 will pardon something to the spirit of Liberty, 
 much to that of Love and Humanity which breathes 
 through all. 
 
 Disgusted and heart -sick at the general indiffer 
 ence of Church and clergy to the temporal condition 
 of the people, at their apologies for and defences 
 of slavery, war, and capital punishment, Rogers 
 turned Protestant, in the full sense of the term. He 
 spoke of priests and " pulpit wizards " as freely as 
 John Milton did two centuries ago, although with 
 far less bitterness and rasping satire. He could 
 not endure to see Christianity and Humanity di 
 vorced. He longed to see the beautiful life of 
 Jesus his sweet humanities, his brotherly love, 
 his abounding sympathies made the example of 
 all men. Thoroughly democratic, in his view all 
 men were equal. Priests, stripped of their sacer 
 dotal tailoring, were in his view but men after all. 
 He pitied them, he said, for they were in a wrong 
 position, above life s comforts and sympathies, 
 "up in the unnatural cold, they had better come 
 down among men, and endure and enjoy with 
 them." "Mankind," said he, "want the healing 
 influences of Humanity. They must love one an- 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 45 1 
 
 other more. Disinterested Good will make the 
 world as it should be." 
 
 His last visit to his native valley was in the au 
 tumn of 1845. I n a familiar letter to a friend, he 
 thus describes his farewell view of the mountain 
 glories of his childhood s home : 
 
 " I went a jaunt, Thursday last, about twenty 
 miles north of this valley, into the mountain region, 
 where what I beheld, if I could tell it as I saw it, 
 would make your outlawed sheet sought after wher 
 ever our Anglo-Saxon tongue is spoken in the wide 
 world. I have been many a time among those 
 Alps, and never without a kindling of wildest en 
 thusiasm in my woodland blood. But I never saw 
 them till last Thursday. They never loomed dis 
 tinctly to my eye before, and the sun never shone on 
 them from heaven till then. They were so near me, 
 I could seem to hear the voice of their cataracts, as 
 I could count their great slides, streaming adown 
 their lone and desolate sides. Old slides, some of 
 them overgrown with young woods, like half-healed 
 scars on the breast of a giant The great rains had 
 clothed the valleys of the upper Pemigewasset in 
 the darkest and deepest green. The meadows were 
 richer and more glorious in their thick fall feed 
 than Queen Anne s Garden, as I saw it from the 
 windows of Windsor Castle. And the dark hem 
 lock and hackmatack woods were yet darker after the 
 wet season, as they lay, in a hundred wildernesses, 
 in the mighty recesses of the mountains. But the 
 Peaks, the eternal, the solitary, the beautiful, the 
 
452 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 glorious and dear mountain peaks, my own Moose- 
 hillock and my native Haystacks/ these were 
 the things on which eye and heart gazed and lin 
 gered, and I seemed to see them for the last time. 
 It was on my way back that I halted and turned to 
 look at them from a high point on the Thornton 
 road. It was about four in the afternoon. It 
 had rained among the hills about the Notch, 
 and cleared off. The sun, there sombred at that 
 early hour, as towards his setting, was pouring his 
 most glorious light upon the naked Peaks, and they 
 casting their mighty shadows far down among the 
 inaccessible woods that darken the hollows that 
 stretch between their bases. A cloud was creep 
 ing up to perch and rest awhile on the highest top 
 of Great Haystack. Vulgar folks have called it 
 Mount Lafayette, since the visit of that brave old 
 Frenchman in 1825 or 1826. If they had asked his 
 opinion, he would have told them the names of 
 mountains could n t be altered, and especially names 
 like that, so appropriate, so descriptive, and so pic 
 turesque. A little hard white cloud, that looked 
 like a hundred fleeces of wool rolled into one, was 
 climbing rapidly along up the northwestern ridge, 
 that ascended to the lonely top of Great Haystack. 
 All the others were bare. Four or five of them, 
 as distinct and shapely as so many pyramids, some 
 topped out with naked cliff, on which the sun lay in 
 melancholy glory ; others clothed thick all the way 
 up with the old New Hampshire hemlock, or the 
 daring hackmatack, Pierpont s Hackmatack. You 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 453 
 
 could see their shadows stretching many and many a 
 mile, over Grant and Location, away beyond the 
 invading foot of Incorporation, where the timber- 
 hunter has scarcely explored, and where the moose 
 browses now, I suppose, as undisturbed as he did 
 before the settlement of the State. I wish our 
 young friend and genius, Harrison Eastman, had 
 been with me, to see the sunlight as it glared on 
 the tops of those woods, and to see the purple of 
 the mountains. I looked at it myself almost with 
 the eye of a painter. If a painter looked with mine, 
 though, he never could look off upon his canvas 
 long enough to make a picture ; he would gaze for 
 ever at the original. 
 
 " But I had to leave it, and to say in my heart, 
 Farewell ! And as I travelled on down, and the sun 
 sunk lower and lower towards the summit of the 
 western ridge, the clouds came up and formed an 
 Alpine range in the evening heavens above it, 
 like other Haystacks and Moosehillocks, so 
 dark and dense that fancy could easily mistake 
 them for a higher Alps. There were the peaks, 
 and the great passes ; the Franconia Notches 
 among the cloudy cliffs, and the great White Moun 
 tain Gap. " 
 
 His health, never robust, had been gradually 
 failing for some time previous to his death. He 
 needed more repose and quiet than his duties as 
 an editor left him ; and to this end he purchased a 
 small and pleasant farm in his loved Pemigewasset 
 valley, in the hope that he might there recruit his 
 
454 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 wasted energies. In the sixth month of the year 
 of his death, in a letter to us, he spoke of his pros 
 pects in language which even then brought mois 
 ture to our eyes : 
 
 " I am striving to get me an asylum of a farm. 
 I have a wife and seven children, every one of 
 them with a whole spirit. I don t want to be sepa 
 rated from any of them, only with a view to come 
 together again. I have a beautiful little retreat in 
 prospect, forty odd miles north, where I imagine I 
 can get potatoes and repose, a sort of haven or 
 port. I am among the breakers, and mad for 
 land. If I get this home, it is a. mile or two 
 in among the hills from the pretty domicil once 
 visited by yourself and glorious Thompson I am 
 this moment indulging the fancy that I may see 
 you at it before we die. Why can t I have you 
 come and see me ? You see, dear W., I don t 
 want to send you anything short of a full epistle. 
 Let me end as I begun, with the proffer of my 
 hand in grasp of yours extended. My heart I do 
 not proffer, it was yours before, it shall be 
 yours while I am 
 
 N. P. ROGERS. 
 
 Alas ! the haven of a deeper repose than he had 
 dreamed of was close at hand. He lingered until 
 the middle of the tenth month, suffering much, yet 
 calm and sensible to the last. Just before his 
 death, he desired his children to sing at his bed 
 side that touching song of Lover s, " The Angel s 
 
Nathaniel Peabody Rogers. 455 
 
 Whisper." Turning his eyes towards the open 
 window, through which the leafy glory of the sea 
 son he most loved was visible, he listened to the 
 sweet melody. In the words of his friend Pier- 
 pont, 
 
 " The angel s whisper stole in song upon his closing ear ; 
 From his own daughter s lips it came, so musical and clear, 
 That scarcely knew the dying man what melody was there 
 The last of earth s or first of heaven s pervading all the air. " 
 
 He sleeps in the Concord burial-ground, under 
 the shadow of oaks j the very spot he would have 
 chosen, for he looked upon trees with something 
 akin to human affection. " They are," he said, 
 " the beautiful handiwork and architecture of God, 
 on which the eye never tires. Every one is a 
 feather in the earth s cap, a plume in her bonnet, 
 a tress on her forehead, a comfort, a refreshing, 
 and an ornament to her." Spring has hung over 
 him her buds, and opened beside him her violets. 
 Summer has laid her green oaken garland on his 
 grave, and now the frost-blooms of autumn drop 
 upon it. Shall man cast a nettle on that mound ? 
 He loved Humanity, shall it be less kind to him 
 than Nature? Shall the bigotry of Sect, and 
 Creed, and Profession, drive its condemnatory 
 stake into his grave? God forbid. The doubts 
 which he sometimes unguardedly expressed had 
 relation, we are constrained to believe, to the 
 glosses of commentators and creed-makers, and 
 the inconsistency of professors, rather than to 
 those facts and precepts of Christianity to which 
 
456 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 he gave the constant assent of his practice. He 
 sought not his own. His heart yearned with pity 
 and brotherly affection for all the poor and suffer 
 ing in the universe. Of him, the angel of Leigh 
 Hunt s beautiful allegory might have written, in 
 the golden book of remembrance, as he did of the 
 good Abou Ben Adhem, " He loved his fellow-men: 
 
ROBERT DINSMORE. 
 
 THE great charm of Scottish poetry consists 
 in its simplicity, and genuine, unaffected 
 sympathy with the common joys and sorrows of 
 daily life. It is a home-taught, household melody. 
 It calls to mind the pastoral bleat on the hillsides, 
 the kirk-bells of a summer Sabbath, the song of 
 the lark in the sunrise, the cry of the quail in the 
 corn-land, the low of cattle, and the blithe carol 
 of milkmaids "when the kye come hame" at 
 gloaming. Meetings at fair and market, blushing 
 betrothments, merry weddings, the joy of young 
 maternity, the lights and shades of domestic life, 
 its bereavements and partings, its chances and 
 changes, its holy death-beds, and funerals solemnly 
 beautiful in quiet kirkyards, these furnish the 
 hints of the immortal melodies of Burns, the sweet 
 ballads of the Ettrick Shepherd and Allan Cun 
 ningham, and the rustic drama of Ramsay. It is 
 the poetry of Home, of Nature, and the Affections. 
 All this is sadly wanting in our young literature. 
 We have no songs ; American domestic life has 
 never been hallowed and beautified by the sweet 
 and graceful and tender associations of poetry. 
 We have no Yankee pastorals. Our rivers and 
 
 VOL. I. 20 
 
458 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 streams turn mills and float rafts, and are other 
 wise as commendably useful as those of Scotland ; 
 but no quaint ballad, or simple song, reminds us 
 that men and women have loved, met, and parted 
 on their banks, or that beneath each roof within 
 their valleys the tragedy and comedy of life have 
 been enacted. Our poetry is cold and imitative ; 
 it seems more the product of over-strained intel 
 lects, than the spontaneous outgushing of hearts 
 warm with love, and strongly sympathizing with 
 human nature as it actually exists about us, with 
 the joys and griefs of the men and women whom 
 we meet daily. Unhappily, the opinion prevails 
 that a poet must be also a philosopher, and hence 
 it is, that much of our poetry is as indefinable in 
 its mysticism as an Indian Brahmin s commentary 
 on his sacred books, or German metaphysics sub 
 jected to homeopathic dilution. It assumes to be 
 prophetical, and its utterances are oracular. It 
 tells of strange, vague emotions and yearnings, 
 painfully suggestive of spiritual " groanings which 
 cannot be uttered." If it " babbles o green fields," 
 and the common sights and sounds of nature, it is 
 only for the purpose of finding some vague analogy 
 between them and its internal experiences and 
 longings. It leaves the warm and comfortable 
 fireside of actual knowledge and human compre 
 hension, and goes wailing and gibbering like a 
 ghost about the impassable doors of mystery : 
 
 " It fain would be resolved 
 How things are done, 
 
Robert Dinsmore. 459 
 
 And who the tailor is 
 That works for the man i the sun. " 
 
 How shall we account for this marked tendency in 
 the literature of a shrewd, practical people ? Is it 
 that real life in New England lacks those con 
 ditions of poetry and romance which age, rever 
 ence, and superstition have gathered about it in 
 the Old World ? Is it that 
 
 " Ours are not Tempe s nor Arcadia s vales," 
 
 but are more famous for growing Indian corn and 
 potatoes, and the manufacture of wooden ware 
 and pedler notions, than for romantic associations 
 and legendary interest ? That our huge, unshapely 
 shingle structures, blistering in the sun and glar 
 ing with windows, were evidently never reared by 
 the spell of pastoral harmonies, as the walls of < 
 Thebes rose at the sound of the lyre of Amphion ? j 
 That the habits of our people are too cool, cau 
 tious, undemonstrative to furnish the warp and 
 woof of song and pastoral, and that their dialect 
 and figures of speech, however richly significant 
 and expressive in the autobiography of Sam Slick, 
 or the satire of Hosea Biglow and Ethan Spike, 
 form a very awkward medium of sentiment and 
 pathos ? All this may be true. But the Yankee, 
 after all, is a man, and as such, his history, could 
 it be got at, must have more or less of poetic ma 
 terial in it ; moreover, whether conscious of it or 
 not, he also stands relieved against the background 
 of Nature s beauty or sublimity. There is a poeti- 
 

 460 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 cal side to the commonplace of his incomings and 
 outgoings ; study him well, and you may frame an 
 idyl of some sort from his apparently prosaic ex 
 istence. Our poets, we must needs think, are 
 deficient in that shiftiness, ready adaptation to 
 circumstances, and ability of making the most of 
 things, for which, as a people, we are proverbial. 
 Can they make nothing of our Thanksgiving, that 
 annual gathering of long-severed friends ? Do they 
 find nothing to their purpose in our apple-bees, 
 huskings, berry-pickings, summer pic-nics, and 
 winter sleigh-rides ? Is there nothing available 
 in our peculiarities of climate, scenery, customs, 
 and political institutions ? Does the Yankee leap 
 into life, shrewd, hard, and speculating, armed 
 like Pallas, for a struggle with fortune ? Are there 
 not boys and girls, school loves and friendship, 
 courtings and match-makings, hope and fear, and 
 all the varied play of human passions, the keen 
 struggles of gain, the mad grasping of ambition, 
 sin and remorse, tearful repentance and holy aspi 
 rations ? Who shall say that we have not all the 
 essentials of the poetry of human life and simple 
 nature, of the hearth and the farm-field ? Here, 
 then, is a mine unworked, a harvest ungathered. 
 Who shall sink the shaft and thrust in the sickle ? 
 
 And here let us say that the mere dilettante and 
 the amateur ruralist may as well keep their hands 
 off. The prize is not for them. He who would 
 successfully strive for it must be himself what he 
 sings, part and parcel of the rural life of New 
 
Robert Dinsmore. 461 
 
 England, one who has grown strong amidst its 
 healthful influences, familiar with all its details, and 
 capable of detecting whatever of beauty, humor, or 
 pathos pertain to it, one who has added to his 
 book-lore the large experience of an active partici 
 pation in the rugged toil, the hearty amusements, 
 the trials and the pleasures he describes. 
 
 We have been led to these reflections by an inci 
 dent which has called up before us the homespun 
 figure of an old friend of our boyhood, who had the 
 good sense to discover that the poetic element ex 
 isted in the simple home life of a country farmer, 
 although himself unable to give a very creditable 
 expression of it. He had the " vision " indeed, but 
 the "faculty divine " was wanting, or, if he possessed 
 it in any degree, as Thersites says of the wit of Ajax, 
 " it would not out, but lay coldly in him like fire in 
 the flint." 
 
 While engaged this morning in looking over a 
 large exchange list of newspapers, a few stanzas of 
 poetry in the Scottish dialect attracted our attention. 
 As we read them, like a wizard s rhyme they seemed 
 to have the power of bearing us back to the past. 
 They had long ago graced the columns of that soli 
 tary sheet which once a week diffused happiness 
 over our fireside circle, making us acquainted, in 
 our lonely nook, with the goings-on of the great 
 world. The verses, we are now constrained to ad 
 mit, are not remarkable in themselves, truth and 
 simple nature only; yet how our young hearts re 
 sponded to them ! Twenty years ago there were 
 
462 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 fewer verse-makers than at present ; and as our 
 whole stock of light literature consisted of Ell- 
 wood s Davideis, and the selections of Lindley 
 Murray s English Reader, it is not improbable 
 that we were in a condition to overestimate the 
 contributions to the poet s corner of our village 
 newspaper. Be that as it may, we welcome them 
 as we would the face of an old friend, for they some 
 how remind us of the scent of haymows, the breath 
 of cattle, the fresh greenery by the brookside, the 
 moist earth broken by the coulter and turned up to 
 the sun and winds of May. This particular piece, 
 which follows, is entitled " The Sparrow," and was 
 occasioned by the crushing of a bird s-nest by the 
 author while ploughing among his corn. It has 
 something of the simple tenderness of Burns. 
 
 " Poor innocent and hapless Sparrow ! 
 Why should my mould-board gie thee sorrow ! 
 This day thou 11 chirp and mourn the morrow 
 
 Wi anxious breast ; 
 The plough has turned the mould ring furrow 
 
 Deep o er thy nest ! 
 
 "Just i the middle o the hill 
 Thy nest was placed wi curious skill, 
 There I espied thy little bill 
 
 Beneath the shade. 
 In that sweet bower, secure frae ill, 
 
 Thine eggs were laid. 
 
 " Five corns o maize had there been drappit, 
 An through the stalks thy head was pappit, 
 The drawing nowt could na be stappit 
 I quickly foun ; 
 
Robert Dinsmore. 463 
 
 Syne frae thy cozie nest thou happit, 
 Wild fluttering roun . 
 
 The sklentin stane beguiled the sheer, 
 In vain I tried the plough to steer, 
 A wee bit stumpie i the rear 
 
 Cam tween my legs, 
 An to the jee-side gart me veer 
 
 An crush thine eggs. 
 
 ; Alas ! alas ! my bonnie birdie ! 
 Thy faithful mate flits round to guard thee. 
 Connubial love ! a pattern worthy 
 
 The pious priest ! 
 What savage heart could be sae hardy 
 
 As wound thy breast ? 
 
 Ah me ! it was nae fau t o mine ; 
 It gars me greet to see thee pine. 
 It may be serves His great design 
 
 Who governs all ; 
 Omniscience tents wi eyes divine 
 
 The Sparrow s fall ! 
 
 How much like thine are human dools, 
 Their sweet wee bairns laid i the mools ? 
 The Sovereign Power who nature rules 
 
 Hath said so be it ; 
 But poor blin mortals are sic fools 
 
 They canna see it 
 
 Nae doubt that He who first did mate us, 
 Has fixed our lot as sure as fate is, 
 An when He wounds He disna hate us, 
 
 But anely this, 
 He 11 gar the ills which here await us 
 
 Yield lastin bliss." 
 
464 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 In the early part of the eighteenth century a con 
 siderable number of Presbyterians of Scotch de 
 scent, from the north of Ireland, emigrated to the 
 New World. In the spring of 1 7 19, the inhabitants 
 of Haverhill, on the Merrimack, saw them passing 
 up the river in several canoes, one of which unfor 
 tunately upset in the rapids above the village. The 
 following fragment of a ballad celebrating this event 
 has been handed down to the present time, and 
 may serve to show the feelings even then of the 
 old English settlers towards the Irish emigrants: 
 
 "They began to scream and bawl, 
 
 As out they tumbled one and all, 
 And, if the Devil had spread his net, 
 He could have made a glorious haul ! " 
 
 The new-comers proceeded up the river, and, 
 landing opposite to the Uncanoonuc Hills, on 
 the present site of Manchester, proceeded inland 
 to Beaver Pond. Charmed with the appearance 
 of the country, they resolved here to terminate 
 their wanderings. Under a venerable oak on the 
 margin of the little lake, they knelt down with their 
 minister, Jamie McGregore, and laid, in prayer 
 and thanksgiving, the foundation of their settle 
 ment. In a few years they had cleared large 
 fields, built substantial stone and frame dwellings, 
 and a large and commodious meeting-house ; wealth 
 had accumulated around them, and they had every 
 where the reputation of a shrewd and thriving com 
 munity. They were the first in New England to 
 cultivate the potato, which their neighbors for a 
 
Robert Dinsmore. 465 
 
 long time regarded as a pernicious root, altogether^ 
 unfit for a Christian stomach. Every lover of that 
 invaluable esculent has reason to remember with 
 gratitude the settlers of Londonderry. 
 
 Their moral acclimation in Ireland had not been 
 without its effect upon their character. Side by 
 side with a Presbyterianism as austere as that of 
 John Knox had grown up something of the wild 
 Milesian humor, love of convivial excitement and 
 merry-making. Their long prayers and fierce zeal 
 in behalf of orthodox tenets only served, in the 
 eyes of their Puritan neighbors, to make more 
 glaring still the scandal of their marked social 
 irregularities. It became a common saying in the 
 region round about, that, " the Deny Presbyterians 
 would never give up a pint of doctrine or &pint of 
 rum." Their second minister was an old scarred 
 fighter, who had signalized himself in the stout 
 defence of Londonderry, when James II. and his 
 Papists were thundering at its gates. Agreeably 
 to his death-bed directions, his old fellow-soldiers, 
 in their leathern doublets and battered steel caps, 
 bore him to his grave, firing over him the same 
 rusty muskets which had swept down rank after 
 rank of the men of Amalek at the Derry siege. 
 
 Erelong the celebrated Derry fair was established 
 in imitation of those with which they had been fa 
 miliar in Ireland. Thither annually came all man 
 ner of horse-jockeys and pedlers, gentlemen and 
 beggars, fortune-tellers, wrestlers, dancers and fid 
 dlers, gay young farmers and buxom maidens. 
 
 VOL. I. 20* DD 
 
466 Portraits and SkctcJics. 
 
 Strong drink abounded. They who had good- 
 naturedly wrestled and joked together in the morn 
 ing not unfrequently closed the day with a fight, 
 until, like the revellers of Donnybrook, 
 
 " Their hearts were soft with whiskey, 
 And their heads were soft with blows. " 
 
 A wild, frolicking, drinking, fiddling, courting, 
 horse-racing, riotous merry-making, a sort of 
 Protestant carnival, relaxing the grimness of Puri 
 tanism for leagues around it. 
 
 In the midst of such a community, and partak 
 ing of all its influences, Robert Dinsmore, the 
 author of the poem I have quoted, was born, about 
 the middle of the last century. His paternal an 
 cestor, John, younger son of a Laird of Achen- 
 mead, who left the banks of the Tweed for the 
 green fertility of Northern Ireland, had emigrated 
 to New England some forty years before, and, 
 after a rough experience of Indian captivity in the 
 wild woods of Maine, had settled down among his 
 old neighbors in Londonderry. Until nine years 
 of age, Robert never saw a school. He was a 
 short time under the tuition of an old British sol 
 dier, who had strayed into the settlement after the 
 French war, " at which time," he says in a letter 
 to a friend, " I learned to repeat the shorter and 
 larger catechisms. These, with the Scripture 
 proofs annexed to them, confirmed me in the 
 orthodoxy of my forefathers, and I hope I shall 
 ever remain an evidence of the truth of what the 
 
Robert Dinsmore. 467 
 
 wise man said, Train up a child in the way he 
 should go, and when he is old he will not depart 
 from it " He afterwards took lessons with one 
 Master McKeen, who used to spend much of his 
 time in hunting squirrels with his pupils. He 
 learned to read and write ; and the old man 
 always insisted that he should have done well at 
 ciphering also, had he not fallen in love with 
 Molly Park. At the age of eighteen he enlisted 
 in the Revolutionary army, and was at the battle of 
 Saratoga. On his return he married his fair Molly, 
 settled down as a farmer in Windham, formerly a 
 part of Londonderry, and before he was thirty 
 years of age became an elder in the church, of the 
 creed and observances of which he was always a 
 zealous and resolute defender. From occasional 
 passages in his poems, it is evident that the in 
 structions which he derived from the pulpit were 
 not unlike those which Burns suggested as need 
 ful for the unlucky lad whom he was commending 
 to his friend Hamilton : 
 
 Ye 11 catechise him ilka quirk, 
 An shore him weel wi hell." 
 
 In a humorous poem, entitled "Spring s La 
 ment," he thus describes the consternation pro 
 duced in the meeting-house at sermon time by a 
 dog, who, in search of his mistress, rattled and 
 scraped at the " west porch door " : 
 
 The vera priest was scared himsel , 
 His sermon he could hardly spell, 
 
468 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Auld carlins fancied they could smell 
 
 The brimstone matches ; 
 They thought he was some imp o hell, 
 
 In quest o wretches. " 
 
 He lived to a good old age, a home-loving, un 
 pretending farmer, cultivating his acres with his 
 own horny hands and cheering the long rainy days 
 and winter evenings with homely rhyme. Most of 
 his pieces were written in the dialect of his ances 
 tors, which was well understood by his neighbors 
 and friends, the only audience upon which he 
 could venture to calculate. He loved all old 
 things, old language, old customs, old theology. 
 In a rhyming letter to his cousin Silas, he says : 
 
 "Though Death our ancestors has cleekit, 
 An under clods them closely steekit, 
 We 11 mark the place their chimneys reekit, 
 Their native tongue we yet wad speak it, 
 Wi accent glib." 
 
 He wrote sometimes to amuse his neighbors, 
 often to soothe their sorrow under domestic calam 
 ity, or to give expression to his own. With little 
 of that delicacy of taste which results from the 
 attrition of fastidious and refined society, and alto 
 gether too truthful and matter-of-fact to call in the 
 aid of imagination, he describes in the simplest 
 and most direct terms the circumstances in which 
 he found himself, and the impressions which these 
 circumstances had made on his own mind. He 
 calls things by their right names ; no euphuism, or 
 transcendentalism, the plainer 1 and commoner 
 
Robert Dinsmore. 469 
 
 the better. He tells us of his farm life, its joys 
 and sorrows, its mirth and care, with no embellish 
 ment, with no concealment of repulsive and un 
 graceful features. Never having seen a nightin 
 gale, he makes no attempt to describe the fowl ; 
 but he has seen the night-hawk, at sunset, cutting 
 the air above him, and he tells of it. Side by side 
 with his waving corn-fields and orchard-blooms, 
 we have the barn-yard and pigsty. Nothing which 
 was necessary to the comfort and happiness of his 
 home and avocation was to him " common or un 
 clean." Take, for instance, the following, from a 
 poem written at the close of autumn, after the 
 death of his wife : 
 
 "No more may I the Spring Brook trace, 
 No more with sorrow view the place 
 
 Where Mary s wash-tub stood ; 
 No more may wander there alone, 
 And lean upon the mossy stone, 
 
 Where once she piled her -wood. 
 Twas there she bleached her linen cloth, 
 
 By yonder bass-wood tree ; 
 From that sweet stream she made her broth, 
 
 Her pudding and her tea. 
 That stream, whse waters running, 
 
 O er mossy root and stone, 
 Made ringing and singing, 
 
 Her voice could match alone." 
 
 We envy not the man who can sneer at this sim 
 ple picture. It is honest as Nature herself. An old 
 and lonely man looks back upon the young years 
 of his wedded life. Can we not look with him? 
 
470 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 The sunlight of a summer morning is weaving itself 
 with the leafy shadows of the bass-tree, beneath 
 which a fair and ruddy-cheeked young woman, with 
 her full, rounded arms bared to the elbow, bends 
 not ungracefully to her task, pausing ever and anon 
 to play with the bright-eyed child beside her, and 
 mingling her songs with the pleasant murmurings 
 of gliding water ! Alas ! as the old man looks, he 
 hears that voice, which perpetually sounds to us all 
 from the past NO MORE ! 
 
 Let us look at him in his more genial mood. 
 Take the opening lines of his "Thanksgiving Day." 
 What a plain, hearty picture of substantial comfort ! 
 
 " When corn is in the garret stored, 
 And sauce in cellar well secured, 
 When good fat beef we can afford, 
 
 And things that re dainty, 
 With good sweet cider on our board, 
 
 And pudding plenty. 
 
 "When stock, well housed, may chew the cud, 
 And at my door a pile of wood, 
 A rousing fire to warm my blood, 
 
 Blest sight to see ! 
 It puts my rustic muse in mood 
 
 To sing for thee." 
 
 If he needs a simile, he takes the nearest at 
 hand. In a letter to his daughter he says : 
 
 "That mine is not a longer letter, 
 The cause is not the want of matter, 
 Of that there s plenty, worse or better ; 
 
 But like a mill 
 
 Whose stream beats back with surplus water ; 
 The wheel stands still." 
 
Robert Dinsmore. 471 
 
 Something of the humor of Burns gleams out 
 occasionally from the sober decorum of his verses. 
 In an epistle to his friend Betton, high sheriff of 
 the county, who had sent to him for a peck of seed- 
 corn, he says : 
 
 " Soon plantin time will come again, 
 Syne may the heavens gie us rain, 
 An shining heat to bless ilk plain 
 
 An fertile hill, 
 An gar the loads o yellow grain, 
 
 Our garrets fill. 
 
 " As long as I hae food and clothing, 
 An still am hale and fier and breathing, 
 Ye s get the corn and may be aething 
 
 Ye 11 do for me ; 
 (Though God forbid) hang me for naething 
 
 An lose your fee. " 
 
 And on receiving a copy of some verses written by a 
 lady, he talks in a sad way for a Presbyterian deacon. 
 
 " Were she some Aborigine squaw, 
 Wha sings so sweet by nature s law, 
 I d meet her in a hazle shaw, 
 
 Or some green loany, 
 And make her tawny phiz and a 
 
 My welcome crony." 
 
 The practical philosophy of the stout, jovial 
 rhymer was but little affected by the sour-featured 
 asceticism of the elder. He says : 
 
 " We 11 eat and drink, and cheerful take 
 Our portions for the Donor s sake, 
 For thus the Word of Wisdom spake 
 Man can t do better ; 
 
472 Portraits and Sketches. 
 
 Nor can we by our labors make 
 The Lord our debtor." 
 
 A quaintly characteristic correspondence in rhyme 
 between the Deacon and Parson McGregore, evi 
 dently " birds o ane feather," is still in existence. 
 The minister, in acknowledging the epistle of his 
 old friend, commences his reply as follows : 
 
 " Did e er a cuif tak up a quill, 
 Wha ne er did aught that he did well, 
 To gar the muses rant and reel, 
 
 An flaunt and swagger, 
 Nae doubt ye 11 say t is that daft chiel 
 Old Dite McGregore ! " 
 
 The reply is in the same strain, and may serve 
 to give the reader some idea of the old gentleman 
 as a religious controversialist : 
 
 " My reverend friend and kind McGregore, 
 Although thou ne er was ca d a bragger, 
 Thy muse I m sure nane e er was glegger 
 
 Thy Scottish lays 
 Might gar Socinians fa or stagger, 
 
 E en in their ways. 
 
 "When Unitarian champions dare thee, 
 Goliah like, and think to scare thee, 
 Dear Davie, fear not, they 11 ne er waur thee ; 
 
 But draw thy sling, 
 Weel loaded frae the Gospel quarry, 
 An gie t a fling." 
 
 The last time I saw him, he was chaffering in the 
 market-place of my native village, swapping pota 
 toes and onions and pumpkins for tea, coffee, mo- 
 
Robert Dinsmore. 473 
 
 lasses, and, if the truth be told, New England rum. 
 Threescore years and ten, to use his own words, 
 
 " Hung o er his back, 
 And bent him like a muckle pack," 
 
 yet he still stood stoutly and sturdily in his thick 
 shoes of cowhide, like one accustomed to tread in 
 dependently the soil of his own acres, his broad, 
 honest face seamed by care and darkened by ex 
 posure to " all the airts that blow," and his white 
 hair flowing in patriarchal glory beneath his felt 
 hat. A genial, jovial, large-hearted old man, sim 
 ple as a child, and betraying, neither in look nor 
 manner, that he was accustomed to 
 
 " Feed on thoughts which voluntary move \ 
 Harmonious numbers." j 
 
 Peace to him ! A score of modern dandies and 
 sentimentalists could ill supply the place of this one 
 honest man. In the ancient burial-ground of Wind- 
 ham, by the side of his " beloved Molly," and in 
 view of the old meeting-house, there is a mound of 
 earth, where, every spring, green grasses tremble 
 in the wind, and the warm sunshine calls out the 
 flowers. There, gathered like one of his own ripe 
 sheaves, the farmer poet sleeps with his fathers. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Cambridge : Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRAB 
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