THE PURITAN: 
 
 A SERIES OF ESSAYS, 
 
 CRITICAL, MORAL, AND MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 BY JOHN OLDBUG, ESQ. 
 
 , Gen. xxxvii. 19. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PUBLISHED BY PERKINS & MARVIN. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 HENRY PERKINS. 
 
 1836. 
 
TO 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in tke year 1836, 
 
 By PERKINS & MARVIN, 
 in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 
 
CONTENTS TO VOLUME II. 
 
 Number. Page. 
 
 XXXT. The Value of General Principles, 9 
 
 XXXII. The same subject A Touch on Abolitionism, .... 16 
 
 XXXIII. Hebrew Poetry, 24 
 
 XXXIV. The same subject continued, 34 
 
 XXXV. The Morality of Macbeth, 43 
 
 XXXVI. The Great Change, 58 
 
 XXXVII. Female Influence, 64 
 
 XXXVIII. The Good Wife, 71 
 
 XXXIX. Emulation in Schools, 79 
 
 XL. Same subject continued, 93 
 
 XLI. The River of Life, 106 
 
 XLII. The Love of Solitude no Test of Virtue Rousseau A 
 
 Sonnet, 114 
 
 XLTII. Caucuses The Necessity and Wisdom of them, ... 120 
 
 XLIV. Town Meeting Described The Learned Cobbler, ... 127 
 
 XLV. Squire Wilson, or the Village Politician His Epitaph, . 134 
 
 XL VI. Mysteries and Mystification, 140 
 
IV 
 
 XL VII. Republicanism Favorable to Love and Domestic Enjoy 
 mentThe Art of Courting, 147 
 
 XLVIII. A Love Story, 153 
 
 XLIX. An Oration for the Fourth of July The Popular Style 
 
 Imitated, 160 
 
 L. What is Truth ? 189 
 
 LI. The Law of Laws, 192 
 
 LII. A Sick Bed Poetry, 199 
 
 LI 1 1. Human Life Depression not Repentance, 205 
 
 LIV. The Bird s Nest in the Moon, 216 
 
 LV. A Man made Houseless by his House, 229 
 
 LVI. The Golden Image, 235 
 
 LVII. The Ship with too Much Sail and too Little Ballast, . . 241 
 
 LVIII. Morbid Poetry Home-sickness, 247 
 
 LIX. Character of American Periodical Writers Franklin 
 
 Dickinson Fiske Dennie Sampson, and others, . . 255 
 
 LX. A Farewell to the Reader, 263 
 
THE 
 
 TJNIVEESITY 
 
 THE PURITAN. 
 
 No. 31. 
 
 Find out moon-shine ; find out moon-shine. 
 
 Midsummer Night s Dream. 
 
 I HAVE illustrated the vagueness of general terms, 
 (out of which general principles must be formed,) 
 in instances brought from material objects ; because 
 such exemplifications are most clear and convincing. 
 But the remark is stronger when applied to intellect 
 uals. Of these, the most specific parts are more dark 
 than of tangible substances ; and of course general 
 terms must increase the obscurity. " Indeed," says 
 one of the greatest metaphysicians of our own country, 
 "there is a vast indistinctness, and unfixedness in 
 most, or at least very many of the terms used to ex 
 press things pertaining to moral and spiritual matters. 
 Whence arise innumerable mistakes, strong preju 
 dices, inextricable confusion, and endless contro 
 
 versy ! " 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
10 THE PURITAN. 
 
 Now in forming general terms in politics or morals, 
 the authors of them must have two objects in view 
 their inclusiveness, and their clearness. If a general 
 term be very wide, it of course must be very inclu 
 sive ; it must embrace all the cases, which the speaker 
 wishes to cover ; and the wider the general resem 
 blances, the less the approximation to perspicuity in 
 particular cases. I speak of a fish, for example ; and 
 I wish to include in that term, all the living creatures 
 which inhabit the waters. But it may mean a large 
 fish or a small one, a whale or a minnow, a shell fish 
 or a fish with a skin, a halibut or an eel. Now it 
 has been unfortunate, especially in immaterial things, 
 that writers have been more intent on the inclusive- 
 ness of their general terms, than on their clearness. 
 The question has not been so much, how much infor 
 mation will the term convey, as whether it covers the 
 whole ground ; and hence the accuracy of the philos 
 opher has only been the darkness of the man. The 
 fact is, that these two things hold an inverse ratio to 
 each other. This is the misfortune of all generic 
 philosophy. It only turns to us the darkest side of 
 things. As you make a term inclusive, you must of 
 course make it obscure. As a sun placed in a remote 
 quarter of the heavens, becomes to a spectator on this 
 earth, a twinkling star, shedding a feeble light, and 
 only useful as a guide-mark to a wanderer on the 
 wilderness or ocean, so a truth pushed to its highest 
 generality, becomes less clear, even should its true- 
 
THE PURITAN. 11 
 
 ness not be lost. Or, it is like a candle in a room, 
 which reflects much light when its rays are confined 
 and returned by the walls ; but remove the walls, and 
 its straggling lustre, in the wide expanse of darkness 
 around it, is in danger of being lost. 
 
 Let us illustrate this by an example. Suppose I 
 am asking what is the nature of virtue. It is evident 
 here that I wish to find some term, which will cover 
 all the cases in which virtue can be found. If I leave 
 out one instance, or class of instances, my definition 
 is not complete. I fix my mind on this fact, and pro 
 ceed with this fear before my eyes. In other words, 
 it is obvious that I am attending to the inclusiveness 
 of my definition. As if I were drawing out a piece 
 of wax, to see how far its tenacity could be carried ; 
 it is certain I should not care how fine the thread was, 
 provided it did not absolutely break. But I may 
 stretch my wax so that the thread may become almost 
 invisible ; and I may make my definition so inclusive 
 as to make its clearness almost lost. In either ease, 
 I may gain my object on one side. I may show how 
 ductile the wax is, and how inclusive my terms are ; 
 but then, I lose on the other side, and the collective 
 advantages, required in this world of experience and 
 practice, are perhaps comparatively unseen. The 
 definition of virtue, I affirm to be benevolence. This 
 is a very general word, coming from the Latin bene 
 and volo to wish well; to have a good will to any 
 person or object. In this definition, I am anxious to 
 
12 THE PURITAN. 
 
 include all the cases of virtue which can occur in im 
 agination or practice. But any word placed in that 
 position insensibly gets an enlarged character^ frit 
 borrows its chief force from its place ; it receives as 
 much light from the thing it seems to illuminate, as it 
 can possibly communicate to it. Two general prin 
 ciples, laid beside each other, are like two parallel 
 lines ; you may dispute endlessly, which is the primi 
 tive standard of comparison. The one has as much 
 right to that term as the other. 
 
 If instead of saying that the foundation of all virtue 
 is benevolence, I should say that it was cJiamasish a 
 word borrowed from the language of Nootka Sound 
 the hearer would immediately wish to know what this 
 word means. I could only answer him by saying it 
 means the soul and essence of all virtue ; and this 
 definition would be much more clear than benevo 
 lence ; for the word chamasish has none of those 
 more specific expressions which always cleave to a 
 term, when we lift it up from common use, to generic 
 regions ; and cleave to it in spite of our definitions. 
 But such a word shows at once, that our definition is 
 reciprocal ; and of course, lets in very little light on 
 the recrion of truth. 
 
 O 
 
 There are two reasons, which make the terms of 
 the widest generality proportionally obscure ; and the 
 maxims we form by them. In the first place, it is 
 hard to know whether they are true ; and secondly, 
 supposing their truth, it is harder to make the specific 
 
THE PURITAN. 13 
 
 deductions ; for both which reasons, I have always 
 had a less value for broad maxims in politics and re 
 ligion, than some seem to put on them. I say not 
 that they are useless ; but the light is so distant, as to 
 shed very little radiance of any practical utility on 
 my private and purblind path. 
 
 Yet it is precisely these principles, formed by the 
 coldest philosophers in their closets, that have had the 
 greatest agency in exciting the popular passions, and 
 setting the world on fire. Robespierre kept all 
 France in commotion, and the guillotine moving, by 
 certain abstract principles, taken from Helvetius and 
 Rousseau ; and I have seen religious books which 
 seem to make the very fate of the gospel depend on 
 the definition of virtue, i. e. that it is impartial benev 
 olence. New England is not the only country, in 
 which a lens of ice, taken from a polar sea of philoso 
 phy, has become a glass to collect the rays of the sun 
 to a focus, and pour them on the regions of the burn 
 ing line of popular excitement. Why is it so ? How 
 can so much passion come from such inadequate 
 means ? How can you make men fight for a meta 
 physical abstraction ? Nothing is more common ; 
 and the reason is because the mind admires the vast, 
 the immense, the indefinite ; and where the object is 
 obscure, the passions will be proportionably inflamed. 
 
 The truth is, the value of a general principle de 
 pends almost wholly on the deductions you make from 
 it. Spinoza taught that all things were but develop- 
 
14 THE PURITAN. 
 
 ments of God ; confounding the author with his work, 
 he made man, and all material things, but particles of 
 the Deity ; certain deductions were made of himself, 
 or followers from this system, which struck mankind 
 with horror. A pious divine of our own country, 
 given too much perhaps to abstract speculation, ap 
 proached very near to the same general principle. 
 He too, taught, that all we see, and are, are in a sense 
 but the developments of God. But his deductions 
 were pious, and his general principles were embraced 
 by a numerous class of devoted Christians. In the 
 days of the French Revolution, thrones were over 
 turned, churches robbed, the nobles chased from the 
 land, property confiscated, and the sanctuary of 
 private rights invaded by the rude hand of ruffian 
 violence, under the shelter of the general principles 
 of liberty and equality. I too, believe in liberty and 
 equality ; and adopt these words in what I conceive 
 their most rigorous sense. I believe it is departing 
 from the principles of equality, that our land is now 
 suffering all the evils that open upon us, and will open 
 us, until we learn to make wiser deductions from this 
 noble principle. For what is liberty? Not the lib 
 erty to do wrong. What is equality ? Not the 
 equality of property, but of rights. Now when we can 
 found our republic on strict equality, the only equality 
 which justice allows that is, when those men only 
 vote in the disposal of property, who have property at 
 stake ; our frame of government may stand, and not 
 
THE PURITAN. 15 
 
 before. Universal suffrage is one of the grossest 
 violations of political equality ; and unless it is re 
 strained, or modified, our liberty will be destroyed. 
 But we see, at any rate, that the truth of the principle 
 depends on the deductions we make from it. The 
 light of the sun will be colored by the glass through 
 which we permit it to enter our room. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 32. 
 
 He could raise scruples dark and nice, 
 And after solve em in a trice ; 
 As if divinity had catch d 
 The itch, on purpose to be scratch d ; 
 Or, like a mountebank, did wound 
 And stab herself with doubts profound, 
 Only to show with how small pain 
 The sores of faith are heal d again ; 
 Although by woful proof we find, 
 They always leave a scar behind. 
 
 Hiidibras, Canto I. 
 
 THUS we find the value of general principles have 
 been vastly overrated ; their inclusiveness diminishing 
 their perspicuity, and leaving room for a diversity of 
 deductions, according to the fancy or prejudices of 
 the holder. 
 
 If we should suppose a candle placed before a 
 female domestic, and ask what point of knowledge 
 was most valuable to her, as to any use which she 
 could apply it, we shall find, that v^at she needs to 
 
THE PURITAN. 17 
 
 know is, that the object is a candle ; that is, a sub 
 stance made of tallow, and a cotton wick, and that it 
 will burn and give light on the application of fire or 
 a match ; and if you go higher in the generic scale, 
 in proportion as you ascend, you communicate a kind 
 of knowledge she is less and less interested to acquire. 
 You may tell her that it is a compound of animal 
 and vegetable matter ; very well, the knowledge is 
 of some importance ; it may teach her the source 
 from which candles are derived, but hardly how to 
 light them : or, you may tell her that it is matter ; 
 very well, that teaches her to distinguish it from 
 spirit: or, you may say it is a created substance; 
 that will teach her not to be a Spinozaist. But every 
 step you take in the ascending scale, you depart from 
 those qualities which bear on practice, and constitute 
 real knowledge. Just so it is in intellectual generali 
 zation ; what we are most interested to know, is the 
 nearest class to which they belong. It is a matter of 
 gratitude, that the useful is most clear. 
 
 To illustrate the vagueness of the most general 
 principles on which philosophy attempts to build her 
 splendid but changing fabrics, it may be remarked, 
 that though volumes have been written on politics, 
 and the most comprehensive minds have encountered 
 the theme, yet they have never been able to build up 
 a consistent system as a legitimate deduction from 
 first principles. This is one of the chief sources of 
 the perplexity of the subject, and may be one reason 
 
18 THE PURITAN. 
 
 why men have been so long banded into parties. In 
 every age, there are certain interminable questions 
 which are always debated and never settled, and 
 which will continue to employ the ingenuity, and ex 
 cite the passions of mankind, until Infinite Perfection 
 takes the reins of government into his own hands, 
 and all debate is lost in the perfection of his sway. 
 Respecting the origin of government, there appears 
 to be two theories, the one or the other of which you 
 must adopt, as there is seen no possible third supposi 
 tion. You must either say, with Filmer and all high 
 tories, that kings reign by a divine right, and all 
 popular privileges are a concession from their good 
 ness; or you must conclude, with Hooker and Locke, 
 that all government is founded on consent ; it origi 
 nated from the people, and is a power held in trust ; 
 and if so, it may be abused, it may be forfeited, and 
 the people may resume their rights. This lays a 
 broad foundation for republicanism. Now whichever 
 of these theories you adopt, you may make a train of 
 deductions from them, by the strictest logic, which is 
 utterly inconsistent with the welfare of mankind. If 
 you say that kings reign by a divine right, accounta 
 ble indeed to God, but to no lower power, why then, 
 see ! you establish tyranny ; every invasion on the 
 prerogatives of the most absolute despot, unless he 
 consent, is an usurpation ; and the people are nailed 
 down to a servitude which no wisdom can soften, and 
 no time remove. The Dey of Algiers must reign 
 
THE PURITAN. 19 
 
 forever ; he must riot in blood, and the people must 
 submit. If, on the other hand, you say that the chief 
 magistrate holds his power in trust, and the people 
 may resume their delegated rights, it then becomes 
 a question, when; how; in whose judgment; has 
 the trust been forfeited, and who shall say when the 
 power shall be resumed ? If you answer with Dr. 
 Paley, that each man must judge for himself, (and 
 there appears on these principles no other answer 
 possible,) why, then, see ! what a string of conse 
 quences you open to mankind. Carry these princi 
 ples out, and I see not how any government can 
 stand. For as soon as its laws pinch on my interest, 
 I denounce their justice ; I say the trust is forfeited ; 
 I resume my original rights. The people are the 
 judges in the last appeal, and I ain one of the people. 
 On these principles, popular commotions are vindica- 
 ble ; Lynch law becomes the last resource of justice ; 
 and as soon as the sovereign mob choose to say that 
 magistrates are useless, and courts have abused their 
 trusts, how will you cross their path by your general 
 principles ? They only teach that the sovereign 
 people, free, enlightened, and competent to their high 
 station, are the sources of all power, and were sent 
 into the world to judge of their rulers, and not to 
 obey them. 
 
 Such is the difficulty of founding politics on gen 
 eral principles, so clear, that no bad deduction can 
 be made from them. You must take your choice 
 between these two theories ; and yet of these two 
 
20 THE PURITAN. 
 
 only schemes, the one leads to anarchy, and the other 
 to despotism ; the one is a river that stagnates and 
 fills the atmosphere with putrefaction ; the other is a 
 torrent which roars to destruction. 
 
 Of all the great men who have looked down on the 
 sphere of politics, from a throne of light, it appears 
 to me that Edmund Burke was one who had his mind 
 most stored with general principles. It is well known 
 that this great man was charged with inconsistency ; 
 though, I suspect, that his was the inconsistency 
 of the boatman, who leans to the one or the other 
 side of his skiff, as he sees it incline by the passen 
 gers, or dip in the waves. When he considered the 
 influence of the crown as too strong, he was on the 
 side of liberty ; and when he saw French principles 
 breaking in like a torrent, he changed his ground 
 only to meet the change of circumstances. This, I 
 consider as the truest consistency. But perhaps part 
 of that wise man s deviations in principles, is owing 
 to the fact, that in politics, no general principles can 
 be found which suit all occasions ; and that God has 
 decreed that we should feel our way through fragmen 
 tary knowledge ; and that to complete a system, is a 
 proof rather of the ambition, than of the wisdom of 
 him who attempts it. 
 
 If the subject were not so delicate, I might show 
 the same thing in theology. You must either admit 
 or deny the foreknowledge of God ; yet what a train 
 of deductions can be made from either of the postu 
 lates of this dilemma ! 
 
THE PURITAN. 21 
 
 There is one general principle that is now setting 
 our land on fire. All men are born free and equal, 
 have certain inalienable rights ; and therefore it is 
 wrong for man to hold property in man. Slavery is a 
 sin, and ought immediately to be abandoned. But 
 surely these principles, so clear in their abstraction, 
 so congenial to the purest sentiments of liberty and 
 religion, cannot be maintained, as justifying certain 
 obvious deductions, independent of all the conditions 
 of time and place. In Algiers, I may say, that all 
 men are born free and equal ; but if I proceed to 
 strip the Dey of his usurped power, and restore the 
 people to their original rights, without instruction, 
 without preparation, I shall only change a government 
 which accomplishes the objects of government imper 
 fectly, for anarchy ; and I shall fill the streets with 
 blood. So with respect to the other part of these 
 propositions. Slavery is a sin, and ought immediately 
 to be abandoned. I suppose any rational man would 
 say that the word ought, refers only to what is possible; 
 for, impossibitium nulla rst obl tgatio, there is no obli 
 gation which binds to impossibilities ; and in a vast 
 political movement, I take it, an impossibility is, that 
 the instant removal of which will be attended with 
 greater evils than the temporary continuance. At 
 any rate, let a man beware, because a principle is 
 clear in the abstract, that it is therefore equally clear 
 in its application to every possible, practical case. 
 The maintaining of which position has been the 
 
22 THE PURITAN. 
 
 source of half the political and moral delusions which 
 have distracted our earth. 
 
 The object of these remarks, is not to prove the 
 entire uselessness of general principles, even when 
 they are most general. They certainly show an 
 object on one side, or rather on one point, and will 
 always be followed out by all analytic minds. I only 
 wish to remind all lovers of them, that the most 
 general side is always the darkest ; that it teaches us 
 the least of the nature of an individual thing ; and 
 that the value or worthlessness of general principles, 
 always depend on the application a man makes of 
 them ; and he is never to be charged with an appli 
 cation which he disavows. O how much charity 
 would this single recollection spread through the 
 world ! It would be *il to the breakers of a troubled 
 sea. 
 
 We are living in a very excited age, and an excite 
 ment which comes, as usual, from some metaphysical 
 principles. We are treading the old track, and are 
 fighting because our maxims are too general to be 
 fully understood. The cloud is dark, and is therefore 
 surcharged with thunder. Would it not be well for 
 us to remember the words of one of the wisest politi 
 cians that ever brought the dictates of philosophy to 
 calm the passions of mankind. " I cannot," says 
 Edmund Burke, " stand forward and give praise or 
 blame to any thing which relates to human actions 
 and human concerns, on a simple view of the object, 
 as it stands stripped of every relation, in all the 
 
THE PURITAN. 23 
 
 nakedness and solitude of metaphysical abstraction. 
 Circumstances (which with some gentlemen pass for 
 nothing) give in reality to every political principle its 
 distinguishing color and discriminating effect. The 
 circumstances are what render every civil and politi 
 cal scheme beneficial or noxious to mankind. Ab 
 stractly speaking, government, as well as liberty, is 
 good ; yet could I, in common sense, ten years ago, 
 have felicitated France on her enjoyment of a govern 
 ment, (for she then had a government,) without in 
 quiring what the nature of that government was, or 
 how it was administered 1 Can I now congratulate 
 the same nation upon its freedom ? Is it because 
 liberty in the abstract is to be classed among the 
 blessings of mankind, that I am seriously to felicitate 
 a madman, who has escaped from the protecting re 
 straint and wholesome darkness of his cell, on his 
 restoration to the enjoyment of light and liberty ? 
 Am I to congratulate a highwayman and murderer, 
 who has broke prison, on the recovery of his natural 
 rights ? This would be to act over again the scene 
 of the criminals condemned to the galleys, and then 
 heroically deliver the metaphysic knight of the sor 
 rowful countenance."* 
 
 If we must bring down these general principles to 
 bear on our agitated land, let us, at least, endeavor to 
 be as calm as those philosophic minds from which 
 they are supposed to have originated. 
 
 * Reflections on French Revolution. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 33. 
 
 I love to breathe where Gilead sheds her balm; 
 I love to walk on Jordan s banks of palm ; 
 I love to wet my foot in Hermon s dews ; 
 I love the promptings of Isaiah s muse : 
 In Carmcl s holy grots I ll court repose, 
 And deck my mossy couch with Sharon s deathless rose. 
 
 Pierpontfs rfirs of Palestine. 
 
 HEBREW POETRY. 
 
 IN the earliest ages of the world, poetry was a very 
 serious employment. It was the first form in which 
 the contemplative powers of man manifested them 
 selves ; and to it may be traced, as a germ, our 
 history, our fiction, our philosophy, and our laws. 
 Even the solemn attributes of the Deity, and the 
 tremendous truths of religion, are supposed to have 
 been first delivered to mankind, by the inspiration 
 of the poet, through the melody of song. 
 
 The reason for this peculiarity in the history of 
 
THE PURITAN. 25 
 
 nations, must be sought for in the counsels by which 
 God instructs his creatures. Men are slow in their 
 movements ; they are immersed in a material body, 
 and distracted by its wants. In the earlier stages of 
 society, life is but a struggle for subsistence ; and it 
 must be some glaring object, some powerful motive, 
 which allures men over the bridge which separates 
 action from thought. Matter will attract any one s 
 attention, even a child s, when it is first shown. But 
 when we disrobe it of its form and color, and attempt, 
 without its impressions, to lead the unpractised mind 
 into the intellectual world, it must be done by new 
 arts, to excite interest. The speaker must have deep 
 feeling ; and clothe that feeling in measured lan 
 guage. This is the universal history of the literary 
 dawn ; when the object ceases to arrest the eye, it 
 must take a new embodiment, and charm the ear. 
 The people, who can no longer look, must make a 
 new use of their eyes they must be forced to weep. 
 But though mind is sluggish in its movements, and 
 it takes all the art of the poet to rouse it to its first 
 attention, it must not be supposed that, when the at 
 tention is once up, it acts with any feeble interest. 
 It takes much, to make a savage pass the bounds from 
 the world of matter to the world of intellectual 
 forms ; but when he is once there, the very indefi- 
 niteness of the objects, together with the newness of 
 the scene, absorbs his whole soul ; he feels an interest 
 which he never felt before ; he rises as to a new 
 
 VOL. II. 3 
 
26 THE PURITAN. 
 
 creation, and surrenders himself to the guidance of 
 the genius, under whose manuduction he was first led. 
 It has often been inquired, why poetry and orations 
 have lost so much of their interest ; and why the best 
 exertions of modern skill, never rise to that powerful 
 despotism over the will, which, in ancient times, no 
 man resisted or wished to resist. Surely the moderns 
 have some advantages. Arts have been improved ; 
 knowledge has been increased ; the passions have 
 been analyzed ; the fountains of the mind have been 
 explored. Why should not equal genius with more 
 materials, produce better success ? The reason, 
 however, is obvious. The power of a poet over his 
 admirers, or of an orator over his audience, is to be 
 estimated by a ratio between his genius arid their 
 sensibility. The percussion, and the object struck, 
 must both be considered. In older times, the lack of 
 knowledge, and the consequent want of refinement, 
 was eminently favorable to increase the sensibility of 
 the audience ; every impression was fresh and new ; 
 every passion was incited by novelty, and prolonged, 
 because the feelings of nature were unworn ; every 
 invention produced wonder ; the rapture of the au 
 dience increased the inspiration of the speaker ; there 
 was a reciprocal influence ; genius was warmed by 
 its own effects ; and the same powerful impulse 
 which first forced the mind into the paradise which 
 thought had made, gave sweetness to its flowers, and 
 magnitude and beauty to its shades. Ingenuity, and 
 
THE PURITAN. 27 
 
 invention, melody, and voice, and action, may still 
 exist ; but the sensibility which increased them is lost 
 forever. 
 
 These remarks might be suggested by speculation, 
 but they are abundantly supported by the history of 
 our race. Let us suppose the wandering story-teller 
 and singer, whom, for the want of a more personal 
 name, we call Homer, to be surrounded by a ring of 
 barbarians, who, having no war on their hands, and 
 their bellies full, require him to amuse them for an 
 idle hour. He knows his audience ; with all his 
 superiority, he but just emerges above them ; and 
 indeed his very superiority consists in knowing how 
 to act on such materials. He knows well that he 
 must stir their passions, and draw their tears, or they 
 will hear him with stupid indifference ; indeed, the 
 choice in such an audience, is between rapture and 
 sleep. He begins with a prelude on the lyre ; 
 
 Hrot o (oouiLUjv avtuMtTO xaibv afiSnv. 
 
 And thus fills their ears with unideal sounds. The 
 wisdom of God seems to have made music as a kind 
 of passage between sensuality and thinking. He 
 then plunges into narrative ; sings of wars ; addresses 
 the strongest propensities of the age ; brings out (or 
 rather, it breaks upon him) his moral instructions, 
 as an accompaniment of the story ; and thus forces 
 his hearers to feel and think in the only way in which 
 
28 THE PURITAN. 
 
 feeling and thinking in such an age can be excited. 
 There is no great art in all this ; or, at least, it is an 
 art forced upon him by the nature of his office, and 
 the circumstances in which he is thrown. He teaches, 
 to be sure, war, politics, navigation, the theology of 
 heaven, and the sciences of earth ; not because he 
 designed to combine these various things, but because 
 they naturally mingled in the only intellectual stream 
 that was then running. His language is simple, be 
 cause no other language could be understood ; his 
 figures are bold and striking, because he must strike 
 the minds he addresses ; his poetry is forcible, because 
 no other would excite interest ; and it has all the 
 freshness of nature, because the book of nature is 
 the only volume he has ever read. Thus the poet 
 becomes excellent ; and thus the earliest rhapsodies 
 of all nations, reflect not so much the genius of the 
 individual, as a picture of the age. 
 
 The Jews were a peculiar people ; and their poetry 
 is as peculiar. It was made the vehicle of teaching 
 them the most awful truths ; because, when God 
 speaks to men, he uses the language of men. Truth 
 itself may bear a majesty suitable to the mind from 
 which it originated ; but its garb must be as humble 
 as the minds to which it is addressed. 
 
 In speaking, however, of the poetry of the Hebrews, 
 we shall say nothing of that Supreme Mind, from 
 which it is believed to have originated ; we shall not 
 assume, as the ground of our remarks, the inspiration 
 
THE PURITAN. 29 
 
 of the Scriptures. We believe, with Lowth and 
 others, that, however infallible the oracles which the 
 Hebrew prophet delivered, and in whatever way we 
 explain the divine superintendence, which guided 
 their thoughts, each author was left to the play of his 
 own genius, and reflects the manners of his own na 
 tion and age. We leave to the divines, the sublime 
 themes of theology ; we shall consider Hebrew poetry 
 as an effort of Hebrew genius ; and we shall endeavor 
 to compare its relative merits with the poetry of the 
 west. 
 
 The waters of the Hellespont, except a few Greeks 
 on the shores of Asia Minor, have always divided a 
 people very different in their tastes and manners. 
 We allude not now to the enterprise, the liberty, the 
 hardihood of the Greeks, and the tyranny and effem 
 inacy of the Asiatic nations. These are the effects 
 of the relative states of empires ; and the first Cyrus, 
 who founded the Persian dynasty, was as great a 
 warrior as Alexander, who conquered the last of his 
 degenerate successors ; he, perhaps, commanded an 
 army of equal heroes. The permanent difference is, 
 in their literary tastes. On the eastern side of the 
 Hellespont, we find hereditary dogmas never disputed; 
 a fixed philosophy ; great authority, and great credu 
 lity ; morality taught in apologues, sentences, and 
 aphorisms ; and in poetry, the wildest flights of en 
 thusiasm, rapid transitions, bold personifications ; the 
 very language destitute of those particles, (the last 
 
30 THE PURITAN. 
 
 invention of acuteness,) which mark the slender 
 shades and turnings of a finer mind. On the western 
 side, we find all these things reversed. Whatever 
 may have been the cause, whether it was, as Diodorus 
 says, because their philosophers taught for reward, 
 i5 xard r^v egyokaftiuv xegdug aroxoi Co/Uf voi, or, such 
 was the bent of nature, they questioned every thing ; 
 supported their discourses by proofs, and not by au 
 thority ; gave us their systems in connected discourses, 
 and even in poetry taught us to reason, while they 
 compelled us to feel. The European nations have 
 inherited the taste of the Greeks; their language is 
 formed on the basis of the Greek tongue ; and had it 
 not been that the Bible, by being translated, has 
 preserved among us some elements of orientalism, 
 we should this day scarcely be capable of holding 
 intercourse with more than half our race. The most 
 literal translations would only throw darkness over 
 the most beautiful page. 
 
 The Hebrew nation have for ages been remarkable 
 for any thing rather than delicacy or refinement. 
 We cannot conceive of a race of bipeds, more coarse, 
 more callous, more boobyish, more trifling, than the 
 whole race of Jewish literati, into whose hands the 
 Scriptures have fallen. The Bible, with its native 
 commentators around it, is like one of its own island* 
 in the Babylonian desert ; you pass over the blazing 
 sand beneath the burning sun, before you reach the 
 grateful shades, and the bubbling spring. But be- 
 
THE PURITAN. 31 
 
 cause this peculiar nation have shrivelled in captivity, 
 we must not suppose that they were destitute of genius 
 when they flourished in their glory. We might as 
 well take a degenerate Roman as he was described 
 by the Goths, as a semblance of Cicero, as to judge 
 of an ancient Jew, by one of the Masorites. The 
 minds of most men sink to the level of the estimation 
 in which they are held. The despised man becomes 
 despicable; the slave assumes a servile mind. Judea 
 was once the seat of empire and glory. She had her 
 city, her king, and her temple. She had all that ex 
 pansive power which the mind feels when left to an 
 open career. Her sons mounted up on wings like 
 eagles ; they ran and were not weary, they walked 
 and were not faint. Then the architect labored, the 
 warrior triumphed, and the poet sung. If she rivalled 
 not some other nations in refinement, one excellence 
 no one can deny her bards ; and that is they are 
 always idiomatic ; they have qualities and beauties 
 pre-eminently their own. 
 
 No man can have read the prophets with attention, 
 without observing that one of their chief charms is 
 they are exquisitely oriental. They write with a 
 mode of thought, and a mode of connecting their 
 thoughts, and with allusions, wholly impossible but to 
 one placed on the spot. If a reader approaches the 
 Hebrew poets with a standard formed in modern 
 times, he will be greatly disappointed. Much has 
 been said of the beauties of the Bible ; nor are we 
 
32 THE PURITAN. 
 
 aware that its beauties have been overrated. But 
 loosely declaiming on the beauties of the Bible, some 
 fond critics have laid a snare for the reader s dissent. 
 The Bible is beautiful like most other primitive books, 
 in its own peculiar style of beauty. It has those very 
 beauties which a nascent age produces, and of which 
 its sacred subjects are susceptible. It cannot com 
 bine those artful images which are the invention of 
 later ages ; it cannot sympathize with the voluptuary 
 at his bowls, or the warrior on the field of battle ; it 
 cannot introduce the lover, pouring out vows to his 
 mistress ; nor surround the trifles of life with the my 
 thology of gods or fairies. It cannot address our imag 
 ination on the inflammable side of passion, or lead 
 us through descriptions which pamper the heart. All 
 these ends, the awful severity of its subjects refuses. 
 But its beauties are the fruits of its theme. They 
 are flowers of its own soil. - They are implements to 
 impress its own lessons. They are pictures of the 
 age, and the men, and the subject. Passing from 
 such a writer as Thomas More, for example, to the 
 Bible, there is an amazing contrast; and the reader 
 who has melted at the tawdry sentimentalism of the 
 Irish bard, (not without his beauties, we confess,) 
 would at first be shocked at the stern simplicity of 
 Ezekial or Isaiah. But has the Bible therefore no 
 beauties ? Must every subjeet be ornamented alike ? 
 Must a colossal statue have the coloring of a min 
 iature picture ? It was no more to be expected that 
 
THE PURITAN. 
 
 33 
 
 the Bible should have these modern manners, than 
 that the Jordan or the Euphrates, should reflect the 
 trees or the shrubbery on the banks of the Ohio or 
 the Tweed. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 34. 
 
 But those frequent songs throughout the law and propheta beyond all 
 these, not in their divine argument alone, but in the very critical art of 
 composition, may be easily made to appear, over all the kinds of lyric 
 poesy, to be incomparable. 
 
 Milton against Prelaty, Book //., Introduction. 
 
 ONE of the pleasures of poetry, is the skill and 
 facility with which the author overcomes certain dif 
 ficulties, which the rules of the art impose upon him. 
 It is not copying nature, or painting the passions 
 solely, which gives us delight; but it is the adroitness 
 with which these things are done, though the work 
 was hampered by certain laws. In certain kinds of 
 verse, this is the chief pleasure. It is peculiarly so 
 in the Spenserian stanza, and in the sonnet ; and in 
 those artful involutions and balanced periods, which 
 some writers use. For example, in these lines in 
 
THE PURITAN. 35 
 
 Pope s Windsor Forest, which he has copied from 
 Ond;_ ^- 
 
 Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, 
 
 When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky ; 
 
 Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves, 
 
 When through the clouds he drives the trembling doves. 
 
 In this case, we admire not only the smooth ver 
 sification, and the beautiful image, but the art with 
 which the poet has involved his eagles and doves in 
 the melodious illustration. The above is not, perhaps, 
 the highest beauty ; it lacks simplicity, and is per 
 fectly Ovidian. Nevertheless, in the simplest poetry 
 of Cowper and Milton, there is a secret reference to 
 the difficulties overcome ; and we never should ad 
 mire nature or passion in poetry, (for these may exist 
 in prose,) were there not a secret reference to the 
 skill of the poet. In easy poetry, we admire that the 
 bard can be so easy under so many restraints. 
 
 At first view, it might be supposed that there was 
 very little of this beauty among the Hebrew bards. 
 Nothing can be more simple than the structure of 
 their , sentences ; they have neither measure nor 
 rhyme. They have only to pour out their rhapsodies; 
 to communicate their feelings, and be admired. 
 They have only to indulge in the rantings of Mc- 
 Pherson, who has passed for Ossian ; 
 
 per audaces nova dithyrambos 
 Verba devolvit, numerisque fertur 
 Lege solutis. 
 
36 THE PURITAN. 
 
 They may have the praise of simplicity, but cannot 
 aspire to the victories of art ; and yet, I hope to show 
 that a conquest over difficulties is one of the chief 
 beauties of their admirable odes. 
 
 The Hebrew is one of the most material languages 
 ever spoken. There is hardly an abstract term in its 
 whole vocabulary. In its entire formation, it seems 
 to be made by a people who are as far from spiritual 
 ideas, as we can possibly conceive. It has no tenses, 
 (those which have been called past and future, are 
 certainly aorists ;) no scientific or scholastic terms ; 
 no particles to express the nicest transitions of 
 thought ; very few adjectives, very few intellectual 
 expressions of any kind. Almost all its words which 
 express mental operations are material in their origin. 
 Let us mention a few instances without the formality 
 of quoting the original. The word to judge, comes 
 from the causative of to cut. I seem to see a tribe 
 of primitive hunters, who, having run down and taken 
 a deer, appoint one of the wisest of their number, to 
 cause it to be cut up in equal portions; and thus 
 comes the idea of judging. The word to mourn, 
 comes from the withering of a plant. The first man 
 who hung down his head in sorrow, was likened to 
 a plant blasted by the sun, and failing for want of 
 water. These instances might be multiplied ; but 
 they are sufficient to show that the language was 
 formed in very early times ; it bears all the marks of 
 the poverty and simplicity of a primitive age. It is 
 
THE PURITAN. 37 
 
 well worthy of being studied as a beautiful specimen 
 of the infant efforts of men at expression and thought. 
 It completely transfers you to the ancient world, and 
 associates you with the intellectual habits of these 
 primitive beings. Its lexicon is a magazine of ma 
 terial forms, and you might look in vain for such 
 terms as decorum, grace, legislation, magnanimity, or 
 any other word that expresses the nicest shades of 
 thought. Le Clerc, in relating the dogmas of the 
 Pharisees, shows that they could not believe in the 
 fate of the Stoics, because there was no word in their 
 language, even in that late age, which could express 
 that notion. 
 
 Such was their speech a tongue which seemed to 
 be formed by beings immersed in the material world. 
 Yet when we pass to their themes, we find them the 
 most vast and intellectual that can possibly meet the 
 human mind. When they engage in their subjects, 
 they seem to leave sublunary nature behind them ; 
 and soar into the darkest regions of the closest 
 thought. They describe not battles and cities ; but 
 the conflicts of mind ; the agonies of conscience ; 
 the mysterious intercourse of man with his Maker. 
 They paint the sorrows of repentance ; the hopes of 
 faith, and the windings and snares through which the 
 errant soul returns to God. They are every where 
 like painters with the pencil put into their hands, and 
 compelled to draw only allegorical forms. They 
 
38 THE PURITAN. 
 
 must not go to the landscape, and copy its lilies and 
 lakes. They are not to dwell on the 
 
 Sweet interchange 
 
 Of hill and valley, rivers, woods and plains, 
 Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crowned, 
 Rocks, dens, and caves. 
 
 They are to transcribe only the moral landscape 
 they speak to the inner man. They sometimes pass 
 the flaming bounds of space and ti?nc, and deal with 
 the mysterious essence of the Deity ; and all this with 
 a language which seems at first view, entirely inad 
 equate to the object. It is impossible to conceive of 
 a greater contrast, than the materialism of the He- 
 br^v language, and the unembodied and exalted 
 nature of their favorite themes. 
 
 This, then, was their difficulty ; and they have 
 conquered it nobly. This contrast, was a far greater 
 obstacle to a Hebrew bard, than the hexameter verse 
 was to the heroic poets among the Greeks. The 
 critics have been in raptures at the invention of 
 Homer ; and all must allow that he has rolled through 
 every melodious note in his own beautiful language ; 
 and laid a contribution on all the stores of nature, to 
 enrich and adorn his theme. But every one must 
 see that he had previous facilities prepared at hand. 
 He collected his flowers in a garden ; while the He 
 brew poets collected them from a wilderness. What 
 a rich language did he inherit ! What charming 
 
THE PURITAN. 39 
 
 expressions ! Every word a picture ! He was in 
 debted to those prior geniuses, who had invented 
 these expressions ; and thus prepared the field in 
 which his mind was to play in its own unbounded 
 luxuriance. We must take something from the glory 
 of Homer, and divide it with those perished names, 
 which, like unseen roots, nourished the tree on which 
 this Bird of the Muses, sat and sung. He could hang 
 his apples of gold in a net-work of silvtr ; while the 
 Hebrew bards were obliged to provide not only the 
 song, but the lyre and its strings. By the learned 
 reader who appreciates their language, the strains 
 must be read with perfect astonishment. 
 
 Let us take an example. I have already remarked 
 that their language had very few abstract terms ; ^ot 
 even those which seem absolutely necessary to de 
 scribe the character of the Deity. What would a 
 modern theologian do, if he were compelled to dis 
 course on God, without using the \\ords omnipotence, 
 omniscience, and omnipresence ? These seem to be 
 absolutely necessary to communicate our simplest 
 conceptions of the great Jehovah. Yet not one of 
 these words can be translated into Hebrew. There 
 is not a term in that restricted language, which 
 answers to these essential ideas. The truth is, an 
 infant people never abstract ; and when they first 
 approach these mighty conceptions, they approach 
 them by circumlocution. Let us see how completely 
 
 
40 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the royal poet manages to communicate the omni 
 presence of God. 
 
 Whither shall I go from thy Spirit ? 
 Whither shall I flee from thy face ? 
 If I ascend into heaven, 
 
 There THOU 
 If I make my bed in the nether world, 
 
 Behold THOU. 
 
 I take the wings of the east, 
 Or I dwell in the remotest west, 
 There thy hand shall lead me ; 
 Thy right hand shall hold me up. 
 
 Ps. cxxxix. 710. 
 
 Thus in the most beautiful and graphic poetry, the 
 omnipresence of God is brought out to the dullest 
 conception. We must remember that the upper, the 
 nether, and the middle world, was the whole universe 
 to a Hebrew mind.* 
 
 It is true the sacred poets gather their contributions 
 from all the stores which nature has spread out before 
 them ; they make the exterior world an illustration of 
 the operations of the mind ; and thus they have all 
 the beauties of description, without missing that moral 
 dignity, which mere description never can attain. I 
 allow the powers of Thomson ; I admire that mighty 
 genius, which, like Antaeus, gathers strength when 
 ever it touches the earth ; and yet the reader of the 
 
 * See Exodus xx. 4. 
 
THE PURITAN. 41 
 
 Seasons feels something wanting. He feels as the 
 spectator at the theatre would, in seeing the shifting- 
 scenes (most beautifully painted) of one of Shaks- 
 peare s tragedies, and none of the moral sentiments 
 or actions with which these scenes should be filled. 
 Let a man take one of Thomson s best descriptions, 
 and compare it with one equally good in Milton, but 
 where the description is made subservient to a higher 
 result, and feel the difference. 
 
 As when from mountain tops the dusky clouds 
 Ascending, while the north-wind sleeps, o erspread 
 Heaven s cheerful face, the lowering element 
 Scowls o er the darkened landscape, snow or shower; 
 If chance the radiant sun with faiewell sweet 
 Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, 
 The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds 
 Attest their joy, that hill and valley ring. 
 
 Never was there a more beautiful or complete 
 scene brought to view. Had the author s object been 
 mere description, it could not have been more fin 
 ished ; and yet it is only an incidental gem, which he 
 picks up in his path, without going one step out of the 
 way to find it. He has a higher object than mere 
 poetry ; he wishes to illustrate the dawnings of tran 
 sient hope on fallen minds. We have the same dig 
 nity in the writings of the Hebrews. They make the 
 material world play around the pedestals of those 
 awful images with which their minds are filled. In 
 VOL. 11. 4 
 
42 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the thirty-fourth chapter of Ezekiel, if it had been 
 the sole object of the prophet to describe pastoral life, 
 it could scarcely have been more beautiful. In this 
 respect, his description might rival one of the best 
 pastorals of Theocritus. But at the same time the 
 deepest moral beauty is spread over the whole. God 
 is the shepherd ; and he is watching over his people. 
 In a word, the beauties of biblical poetry, like 
 all the severe beauties, must be acquired by study. 
 They are so simple, so unlike modern sentimentalism, 
 that, when first seen, they strike the eye with disap 
 pointment. But look again, and your attention will 
 be arrested a third time, and you will admire ; and 
 once let the model impress your taste, and you will 
 admire forever. It seems to me, for touching the 
 deeper tones of the heart, the Hebrew poetry has an 
 internal grandeur, compared with which, the songs of 
 mythology, are cold and unmeaning. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 35. 
 
 It is also obvious, that, though the description of a passion or affection 
 may give us pleasure, whether it be described by the agent or spectator, 
 yet, to those who would apply the inventions of the poet to the uses of 
 philosophic invc^tiaation, it is far from being of equal utility with the 
 passion exactly imitated. The talent of imitation, is very different from 
 description, and far superior. 
 
 Richardson on Skakspeare. 
 
 MORALITY OF MACBETH. 
 
 I AM one of those who have no faith in the morality 
 of the theatre. It is long since I have entered those 
 dissolute walls ; and I know not that I ever carried 
 from a dramatic performance a salutary impression. 
 A sarcastic friend tells me the fault was my own ; he 
 assures me, I wanted the finer feelings which these 
 oblique instructions were designed to reach ; and that 
 it is only on the chords of a nicer sensibility, that the 
 tones of the drama will act. He informs me that I 
 never had wit enough to guess the riddle ; and that 
 
44 THE PURITAN. 
 
 it was in the latent meaning of the well-wrought 
 scene, that the best instruction was found. It may 
 be so ; if there was any deep moral instruction in the 
 theatre, it was always latent to me ; and therefore I 
 have long since left the school from which no profit 
 was derived. Yet I once listened to the public ex 
 hibition of the drama, with the deepest interest and 
 delight. Though I never saw on our stage that per 
 fection of art which we read of in Garrick ; the art 
 which is lost in nature, and leads the spectator to 
 forget that it is acting which he sees ; yet, I used to 
 admire the fine tones of Cooper, the majesty of Fen 
 nel, and the simplicity of Mrs. Jones. Still I never 
 saw a tragedy^ (especially of Shakspeare s,) which I 
 thought, on the whole, improved in the acting.* 
 
 *This very tragedy, (Macbeth,) is a striking example, of 
 how completely the designs of the poet may fail in the public 
 exhibition. There can be no doubt that the author meant that 
 the appearance of the witches should be exceedingly solemn ; 
 he wished to thrill our blood, when these agents of the world 
 of darkness meet their victim, and allure him to perdition, by 
 their metaphysical aid. Yet 1 question, whether it is possible, 
 to introduce three great strapping men on the stage, in the 
 shape of women, with beards on their chins, and broomsticks 
 in their hands, and not make the whole theatre laugh. The 
 whole intended effect of such a scene, must be lost. Though 
 it is many years since I have seen a play, yet 1 distinctly 
 recollect that the cauldron-scene in the fourth act was, in its 
 effect on the audience, a perfect farce. Not all the agonies 
 which Cooper was accustomed to excite in himself, when the 
 armed head arose, could make the audience sympathize with 
 
THE PURITAN. 45 
 
 Certain passages were, to be sure, elevated to a rant ; 
 an unexpected emphasis was given to certain lines ; 
 but the general tenor of the play was enfeebled ; and 
 its pathos and its moral, (if it had a moral,) were less 
 striking on the public scene, than in the closet. 
 
 With little faith, then, in the charms of the theatre, 
 and still less in its utility as a school of morals, I 
 cannot help seeing that the dramatic form is the most 
 striking mode of exhibiting the human heart ; and 
 that such exhibitions may be moral, so long as ex 
 ample is a motive to action. I assent to the proposi 
 tion of the critics, that a good drama, is the highest 
 effort of human genius ; and, perhaps, no man can 
 give a faithful analysis of human nature, without ex 
 hibiting truths, from which a moral inference may be 
 drawn. The great masters of human nature, how 
 ever corrupt their own designs may be, must some 
 times be teatohers. Their keen discernment leads to 
 truth ; and virtue is built on truth. Rousseau him 
 self, with all his ravings, is often moral ; and moral 
 without meaning to be so. When we see something 
 new in the structure of the human mind, we see more 
 
 him. We saw nothing but a company of ridiculous old women, 
 talking mummery, while they were boiling a pot. When we 
 read this play, we can imagine the existence of witchcraft, 
 enough to feel its power ; but when we see it acted, the dream 
 is broken, and we cannot but laugh. Perhaps the effect be 
 comes more ludicrous, from the sublimity of the design. We 
 laugh at the farcical effect; and we laugh more at the contrast, 
 
46 THE PURITAN. 
 
 clearly the pivots on which the passions turn, and the 
 foundations on which actions are built. We advance 
 in self-knowledge. The corrupt writer, who explores 
 the mind, is like the assassin, who rips open the 
 body ; in both cases, it was malice which urged the 
 attempt ; but the moralist may enlarge his knowledge 
 from the one crime, and the anatomist from the other; 
 and both may turn their discoveries to a good ac 
 count. 
 
 Of all the dramatic writers, it seems to me that 
 Shakspeare is the most moral, though such a design, 
 when he sat down to write, was the farthest from his 
 thoughts. He is moral, because he gave himself up 
 to a kind of instinctive perception of what is true in 
 human nature ; and thus made his character just 
 what God has made man a moral being. His pic 
 tures are so true, his course of events is often (not 
 always) so natural, that we receive the same im 
 pression from his drama, as from the living world. 
 Now no one can doubt that the course of events is 
 moral. If the life of any man, the worst that ever 
 breathed, were written faithfully by some recording 
 angel, it would be a fine moral lesson. Thus Shak 
 speare is the most instructive of the dramatic writers, 
 because he painted the human heart just as God 
 made it. 
 
 I have remarked, that he wrote without any moral 
 design ; and as a proof of the truth of this remark, 
 I would adduce one of his most moral plays. Mac- 
 
THE PURITAN. 47 
 
 beth is one of the noblest productions of his genius. 
 To say nothing of its fine language, the charming 
 antique of the expression, the unity of the interest, 
 the change in the fortunes of the actors, and the 
 solemn grandeur of the events; we see there an 
 amiable man, beginning the career of prosperity ; 
 with many excellent qualities, but corrupted by am 
 bition, tempted to crime, dallying with the temp 
 tation, yielding, and going from step to step, until 
 he dies in a misery as deep as his guilt was great. 
 Never were the balancings of the mind between duty 
 and transgression, brought out more fully ; and never 
 were the agonies of remorse more strongly painted. 
 Every scene seems to say, Resist the beginnings of 
 evil ; and beware, beware of those peculiar tempta 
 tions, which are most powerful, because they are most 
 adapted to your character. Yet we have reason to 
 think that this fine play was written without any 
 moral purpose. Shakspeare went through it with as 
 much non-chalance as he wrote the filthy scenes in 
 Love s Labor Lost. There is a passage in Burnet s 
 History, which, I apprehend, explains the object of 
 this play. The king (James I.) was once hunting at 
 Theobalds in a very careless and unguarded manner. 
 Sir Dudley Carlton told him, that " Queen Elizabeth 
 was a woman of form, and was so well attended, that 
 all the plots of the Jesuits to assassinate her, failed ; 
 but a prince, who was always in woods and forests, 
 would be easily overtaken. The king sent for him 
 
48 THE PURITAN. 
 
 in private, to inquire more particularly into this ; and 
 he saw it made a great impression on him. But it 
 wrought otherwise than as he intended. For the 
 king, resolved to gratify his humor in hunting, and in 
 a careless and irregular way of life, did immediately 
 order all that prosecution (i. e. against the papists 
 for the gunpowder-plot) to be let fall." The truth 
 is, he lived in constant dread of assassination, and 
 any production, which showed the agonies of a mur 
 derer of a king, would be grateful to him. Besides, 
 he was a great advocate for witchcraft. Shakspeare 
 knew his trade ; and hence we owe, probably, the 
 solemn incantations, and the fine moral of this trag 
 edy to the same cause, the desire to flatter a coward 
 and a king. 
 
 We have, in the first place, presented before us, a 
 man of a very amiable and excellent character, skilled 
 in his profession, and warmly devoted to his country. 
 His valor is unquestioned, and his good conduct has 
 gained for him the confidence of his sovereign. 
 
 O worthiest cousin, 
 The sin of my ingratitude even now 
 Was heavy on me ; thou art so far before, 
 The swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
 To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved; 
 That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
 Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 
 More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
 
 This testimony in his own favor, he is represented as 
 
THE PURITAN. 49 
 
 receiving with great modesty ; and professing still 
 greater devotedness to his king. 
 
 Your highness part 
 
 Is to receive our duties ; and our duties 
 Are to your throne and state, children and servants ; 
 Which do but what they should, by doing every thing 
 Safe towards your love and honor. 
 
 Nor is it in public stations alone, that the social 
 virtues of this man are seen. His wife, who is his 
 bosom friend, and is represented as possessing re 
 markable discernment and energy of character, draws 
 his portrait, in lovely colors, which are stronger be 
 cause she seems to blame them. 
 
 Yet I do fear thy nature, 
 It is too full of the milk of human kindness 
 To catch the nearest way ; thou wouldst be great; 
 Art not without ambition ; but without 
 The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly, 
 That thou wouldst holily ; wouldst not play false 
 And yet wouldst wrongly win. 
 
 It is evident, if such a man becomes abandoned, it 
 must be through the influence of some strong tempta 
 tion, addressed to some evil principle dormant in his 
 heart, which may be the root alike of virtues or vices, 
 as the occasion may be. 
 
 Accordingly, Macbeth is tempted by the powers of 
 hell, and by his wife ; and both of them, with great 
 
50 THE PURITAN. 
 
 art, suit their suggestions to the weak side of his 
 character. The witches meet him on a blasted heath 
 with predictions, which set before him his future 
 honors without suggesting the means by which they 
 should be obtained. This temptation is managed 
 with great art, inasmuch as it involves one prediction 
 which is immediately to be fulfilled ; and that, too, 
 without any crime or agency on the part of Macbeth. 
 He becomes Thane of Cawdor without any guilt ; and 
 thus a possible door of hope is left open that he may 
 reach the crown without soiling his hands in blood. 
 But the case is doubtful ; the king has sons, is yet 
 alive, and a crown is a prize, which is seldom inno 
 cently obtained, except by the lawful heir. Macbeth 
 is thrown into deep musings ; and, though he does 
 not resolve to commit a crime, he makes no resolution 
 against it. The idea of murder crosses his mind ; he 
 is agitated ; and these are no good symptoms. 
 
 Why do 1 yield to that suggestion, 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, 
 Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
 Are less than horrible imaginings; 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
 Shakes so my single state of man. that function 
 Is smothered in surmise ; and nothing is 
 But what is not. 
 
 The last thought is most beautifully expressed ; 
 though the poet has pushed the energy of language 
 
THE PURITAN. 51 
 
 to its utmost limits. He means to say, T am so lost 
 in those ideal visions ; the future honors of a kingdom 
 have so absorbed my mind ; that my imaginations 
 have become realities, and my real state is nothing. 
 Such was the strong desire of this ambitious heart to 
 attain its end. 
 
 Now it may be laid down as a maxim, that, when 
 some great prize is before us to be obtained by doubt 
 ful means, and we shuffle out of sight the means and 
 think only of the end, we are in a most dangerous 
 state. The mind, whatever palliations it may offer to 
 itself, is beginning to incline the wrong way. We 
 are in the exact situation of our first parents, when 
 they gazed at the forbidden fruit and forgot the com 
 mand of God. 
 
 Thus far Shakspeare appears as a moralist. But 
 he now rises almost to the standing of a theologian ; 
 and his instructions assume the awful solemnity which 
 is found only in the Bible. One would hardly be 
 lieve it possible, that such principles of the closest re 
 ligion would be introduced on the stage with so little 
 appearance of departing from the histrionic path. 
 We have always been told by the teachers of religion, 
 that the law of God, a sacred regard to his authority, 
 is the only principle that can carry us through the 
 crossing interests, which meet us in the shock of life. 
 The virtue, which is based on interest, will vary as 
 that interest varies ; and the man, who loves the 
 praise of men more than the praise of God, will act 
 
52 THE PURITAN. 
 
 only as his fellow creatures applaud or condemn. He 
 will regard the outside of his character more than the 
 state of his heart ; and his seeming goodness is only 
 ambition in a moral dress. Such characters abound 
 in the world ; such virtues deceive innumerable hearts. 
 Human nature has often the sweetest flowers spread 
 over its depravity, and, what is wonderful, these very 
 posies are nourished by vice. Hence we find the 
 man changes with circumstances. He is the same 
 idolater, but he changes the image which is the object 
 of worship ; and it is useful, to tell the young and 
 thoughtless, that that virtue which has no hold on 
 futurity and no reference to God, is sure in time, to 
 fall from its foundation. Christianity is a new pas 
 sion ; and it enables us to overcome the temptations 
 of life, because we love something better. This is 
 perfectly philosophic ; the mind is like balances ; and, 
 if the temptations of life are powerful weights in one 
 scale, they can only be overcome by a more powerful 
 weight in the other, supreme love to God. 
 
 Shakspeare has introduced Macbeth, in a soliloquy, 
 in which the contending principles are at war in his 
 heart. Behold a most interesting spectacle ! Behold 
 a sinner pausing on the brink of his crimes ! It is an 
 awful moment. What will be the result ? Will the 
 better principle prevail ? Will his good Angel come 
 down to drive away the suggestions, and break the 
 passions, which impel him to crime ? No ; the battle 
 is decided before it is begun. He is careful to inform 
 
THE PURITA N. 53 
 
 us that he lays religious principle out of the question ; 
 and such a man must fall. He is like a besieged city 
 with batteries thundering at every gate, and provisions 
 and powder exhausted. That man is sure to yield to 
 temptation, who jumps the life to come. 
 
 If it were done when tis done, then twere well 
 It were done quickly ; if the assassination 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 
 With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
 But hereupon this bank and shoal of time 
 
 WE D JUMP THE LIFE TO COME. 
 
 Such was the theology of Shakspeare ; he had no 
 system, but it was forced upon him by his rapid and 
 intuitive knowledge of the human heart. Though 
 Macbeth is conscious that life is but a bank and shoal, 
 he is willing to give up every principle for its transient 
 and perishing rewards. Who now will say that a 
 man s religious faith does not have some control over 
 his actions ? Believe it, ye licentious, on the authority 
 of Shakspeare. Real faith is a mental view ; and our 
 mental views govern us. A man, who has eyes, is 
 influenced in his walk, by the prospect before him ; 
 and, in moral things, that prospect is future truth. 
 
 But it seems that one lucid interval returns ; Mac 
 beth resolves not to commit the crime, and this resolu 
 tion is grounded, not on religious principle, but on 
 some compunctious visitings of nature. Even the 
 good purposes that cross his mind rest upon no solid 
 
54 THE PURITAN. 
 
 base ; they are the mere calculations of the same 
 selfish spirit which urged him to murder the king. 
 There are opposing principles in our hearts, to the 
 greater crimes, which are not strictly virtuous. The 
 dialogue between Macbeth and his wife, after the 
 soliloquy, last alluded to, is the most striking in the 
 whole play. Let the reader ponder the words well ; 
 and remember that they are the best purposes which 
 arise in the murderer s rnind during the whole trans 
 action. He is talking of repenting and abstaining 
 from his guilty design, and mark on what his best 
 purposes are founded. 
 
 We will proceed no farther in this business; 
 He hath honored me of late ; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
 Which should be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon. 
 
 Here is not one word said about the intrinsic de 
 pravity of the deed, no reference to a higher power, 
 no regard to the law of God, or our obligation to obey 
 it ; the man shows himself as totally destitute of good 
 principles, when he is entertaining purposes of amend 
 ment, as when he is pacing to his crime. It is all a 
 calculation of selfishness ; it is a striking exhibition 
 of the great law of nature and doctrine of religion, 
 that no man is safe who builds his outward virtues on 
 false principles ; who never reached a higher motive 
 than the golden opinions, which he could buy of men. 
 
THE PURITAN. 55 
 
 We find the effect just what might be expected. A 
 little sophistry from his wife overcomes him ; and he 
 soon enters into her design, not only with no reluct 
 ance, but with eagerness. He hears her detail the 
 plan of treachery and murder ; and bursts into the 
 raptures of ambition. 
 
 Bring forth men children only ! 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males. 
 
 This is now the turning period of his character ; 
 he gives himself up to guilt ; he expects all his pleas 
 ure from it ; he passes the line from which there is no 
 return ; and whatever remorse he may feel, or how 
 ever keen his perception of his own state, there re 
 mains no more place for repentance, though he seek it 
 carefully icitli tears. 
 
 It is thought by some to be an extremely mystical 
 doctrine, that no man can be good without a great 
 change in the affections of his heart. But surely a 
 reference to the principles of our nature will lead us 
 to this conclusion ; and we have Shakspeare on our 
 side. Macbeth, in the outset, has every amiable prin 
 ciple of humanity ; nor was there one new principle 
 called into action when he proceeded to the last stages 
 of guilt. All his crimes were grafted on the common 
 propensities of the heart, But the poet has told us 
 the secret ; he was a mere man of the world ; he had 
 no regard to a future state, and no fear of God. He 
 
56 THE PURITAN. 
 
 was like thousands of specious characters, who are 
 living at random, and are ready to receive the 
 first temptation. No cord of law, no band of faith 
 bound him to his duty. He was a bark on the sea, 
 ready to be blown in any direction. He was a speci 
 men of human nature, and from his mournful story, 
 every man, who lives for this life only, may learn to 
 know himself. 
 
 These truths have often been taught from the au 
 thority of revelation ; but they have been disregarded. 
 They are here repeated, in the hope that some may 
 receive them on the authority of Shakspeare. 
 
 There is another theological truth, which Shaks 
 peare has brought out and sanctioned in this remark 
 able tragedy ; and that is, the distinction between 
 repentance and remorse. Macbeth is in the deepest 
 remorse ever after he committed the murder ; though 
 he is as far from repentance as the most desperate 
 persistency in sin can place him. He knows his 
 guilt ; he knows the vanity of all his honors ; he 
 knows that not one moment s repose lies between him 
 and the grave ; and the prospect beyond he shuts up 
 in darkness and unbelief. Yet he hugs the vain 
 shadows of his dignity ; and finds his hope in the ex 
 hausted rewards of ambition. He stands alone on 
 the mount ; and enjoys nothing but the playing of the 
 sunbeams on its barren ice. There is one speech of 
 his, where the regret of a hardened heart is brought 
 out in the most striking language that tragedy can 
 
THE PURITAN. 57 
 
 show. I allude to the speech, in which the usurper, 
 in the very bloom of his success, and on the throne 
 of his power, turns to the victim he has murdered, 
 contrasts his condition with his own, and envies him 
 the repose of the tomb. No poet ever surpassed this ; 
 for a moment, our detestation for the wretch is lost in 
 pity ; and we own the deep anguish there is in 
 mental punishment. 
 
 Duncan is in his grave. 
 After life s fitful fever, he sleeps well; 
 Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison, 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
 Can touch him further ! 
 
 I have long been convinced, that, when Christianity 
 assumes or presupposes a distinction in human nature, 
 a careful analysis of that nature will always show 
 such distinctions to be just. I am, therefore, happy 
 to find, in this important tragedy, that the Bible and 
 Shakspeare agree. That great master of human 
 nature, who had no theories to support, and hardly a 
 prejudice to blind him, has come, by the powerful im 
 pulses of his genius, to a conclusion on which some 
 of the most important truths of revelation are built. 
 There is something very convincing in the careless 
 discernment of an untutored mind. The man of 
 theory makes observation warp to his system ; but the 
 voice of nature is always the voice of truth. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 36. 
 
 How would you be, 
 
 *Tf He, which is the top of judgment, should 
 But judge you as you are 2 O, think on that ; 
 And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
 Like man new made. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 WE read, in one of the gospels, that our Saviour 
 began his conversation with one of the Jewish teachers, 
 by declaring one of the mystical doctrines of the new 
 religion, in the strongest language, namely, That a 
 man must be born again, to see the kingdom of God. 
 
 In all ages, men have been led by experience, to 
 appreciate the duties of morality. We go into the 
 city for the purpose of making the purchase of certain 
 articles, necessary or convenient for our use. We 
 are partially ignorant of the nature of the commodity, 
 or the state of the market ; and feel ourselves exposed 
 to be a prey to that cunning selfishness, which can 
 take an advantage of our simplicity. What a treasure 
 
THE PURITAN. 59 
 
 it is, in such cases, to meet with an honest man, with 
 whom we are confident that the bargain will be just ! 
 Or we are thrown by shipwreck on an unknown coast. 
 The night is dark, our goods are scattered; the in 
 habitants come down with their torches ; how com 
 fortable it is to know that we have not fallen into 
 such hands as have sometimes disgraced the shores 
 of Cornwall or New Jersey ! Honesty is beautiful ; 
 compassion is beautiful ; and why need we look 
 farther for true excellence, than external deeds ? 
 Jealous of human nature, why need we pry, for true 
 virtue, into its seminal principles in the heart of man? 
 There has been a tendency, ever since the world 
 existed, to depart from the central point of action, and 
 find all goodness in external things ; and it is curious 
 to see, that as men s conceptions become grosser, they 
 look for the existence of virtue in positions farther and 
 farther from its real root. As it is in money, or rather 
 the essence of property, it really exists in the things 
 we can use, as the necessaries and comforts of life ; 
 but we first transfer it into gold and silver, and then 
 into paper and bank bills, which are but the repre 
 sentation of a representation, until at last, a real miser 
 prizes the shadow more than the substance. So it is 
 with virtue ; it really exists in a virtuous disposition ; 
 but as that is unseen, men proceed to set it in objects 
 at a greater and greater distance from its source. First 
 it is a good act combined with a good motive ; then 
 it is a moral act apart from the motive ; then it passes 
 
60 THE PURITAN. 
 
 into some rite or ceremony, and at every step there is 
 a fearful recession from the heart ; until at last, reli 
 gion degenerates into superstition ; a dress is holiness ; 
 blowing an organ is praising God ; profession is piety ; 
 and kneeling is devotion. Perhaps the greatest de 
 parture from the true centre, is among the Tartars, 
 who nail their written prayers to a windmill, and 
 thus send them up to heaven in a gale ; or among the 
 Hindoos, whose sins are removed and bodies made 
 holy, by being sprinkled with the mud of the Ganges. 
 So widely can the sensualized mind deviate from its 
 first conceptions ! 
 
 We smile, or (if we are benevolent men) we weep 
 perhaps over these melancholy proofs of human de- 
 generac.y. But he must be very inattentive to the 
 courses of his own mind, who does not see in himself 
 the incipient vibrations to the same error. We are 
 always departing from the pure to the incorporated ; 
 from the inward to the outward ; from the intention 
 to the act ; and it is hard to chain the mind, in a 
 materializing world, to first principles. The value of 
 every action depends on the motive. From this maxim 
 no man can escape. If I abstain from any sin with 
 out the love of God, or regard to his authority, it is 
 certain, that I am neither a virtuous man nor a saint. 
 Yet this principle we are always losing sight of. In 
 others, external actions are all we see; and we too 
 often make them the sole criterion of judging our 
 selves. 
 
THE PURITAN. 61 
 
 When our Saviour was on earth, these tendencies 
 had gone to their last extreme. As some rivers hide 
 their fountains in remote countries, and are to be ex 
 plored only by the traveller whose curiosity and en 
 terprise surpass his coequals, so in that age the heart 
 was hid behind a host of externals. We find there 
 fore that it was his object to turn the eye inward, to 
 explore the intention ; to make his hearers ferret out 
 the motive; in a word, to make them, in a religious 
 sense, acquainted with themselves. For this purpose, 
 he declares, Blessed are the pure in heart. \Vhosoever 
 lookcth on a woman, to lust after her, hath already 
 committed adultery in his heart. Whosoever is angry 
 with his brother without a cause, is a murderer. 
 These are truths hard to be known when the case is 
 our own ; and finally, it was for this purpose, to throw 
 our thoughts on the inner man ; to make us enter the 
 central chambers of our own souls, for the source of 
 our sins, and the cure, that he pronounced the words 
 to Nicodemus, so mysterious to those, who have not 
 felt their power, and so consoling to those, who have. 
 
 The original fault of man is in his principles. He 
 is not the creature of circumstances ; for no circum 
 stances can have any influence over us but from some 
 conjunctive cause within. Joseph was chaste in cir 
 cumstances where frailer virtue wmild have fallen ; 
 and the whole thing that make the circumstances of 
 this world dangerous is, they stand around (circum 
 stantes) a yielding, sinful heart. The fault, then, is 
 
62 THE PURITAN. 
 
 found, in all our failures and aberrations, in the last 
 place where we are willing to ; ee it in our hearts. 
 They are radically wrong ; and need not only amend 
 ment but renovation. We have been born into this 
 world of guilt and suffering ; and we must be born 
 into the kingdom of purity and peace. 
 
 " True conversion," says Pascal, " consists in an 
 nihilating ourselves before the Being whom we have 
 so often offended, and who might justly destroy us at 
 any moment ; in acknowledging we have no power 
 without him, and that we merit nothing but disgrace. 
 It consists in knowing that there is an invincible op 
 position between us and God, and that without a 
 Mediator we can never be reconciled." This defini 
 tion comes from a member of the Romish church; 
 and shows that true piety, whether among Catholics 
 or Protestants, is precisely the same. 
 
 Addison, in his theological sentiments, was probably 
 too favorable to human nature. He would talk of 
 man s infantile innocence, and the purity of the heart 
 which is uncorrupted by age or intercourse with the 
 world ; yet he has inadvertently left a strong testimony 
 to the corruption of man. In his essay on the pleasures 
 of the imagination, he says, " there are very few 
 who know how to be idle and innocent ; or have a 
 relish of any pleasures that are not criminal : every 
 diversion they take, is at the expense of some one 
 virtue or another ; and their first step out of business, 
 is into vice or folly." What is this but saying that 
 
THE PURITAN. 63 
 
 the majority of men are so corrupt, that they sin 
 whenever they find opportunity ? Such beings need 
 renovation. 
 
 Of all the minds that have grappled with moral 
 difficulties, and shed light on the path which conducts 
 an inquisitive mind from doubt to conviction, I know 
 none greater than that of Bishop Butler.* No man 
 saw a difficulty so far ahead ; no man was more sa 
 gacious in anticipating an objection ; no man ever 
 came to his conclusions with more deliberation. Yet 
 this great man bears his testimony to the same point. 
 " Upright creatures may want to be improved ; de 
 praved creatures want to bejenewed." 
 
 Shakspeare, Pascal, Addison, Butler! these are 
 illustrious names ; they are mentioned, not to overbear 
 the reader s mind by great authorities, but to induce 
 him to look well within, before he rejects a doctrine 
 confirmed by their united testimony. 
 
 * The vast superiority of Butler, to all other writers in spir 
 ituals and morals, has not, I think, been sufficiently noticed. 
 As you read him for the fiftieth time, (and no man can begin 
 fully to comprehend him until then,) you always find as you 
 think deeper, he has been ahead, sounded all the depths and 
 shoals of possible objection, and formed a clearer and more 
 consistent conception of the distinctive nature of moral reason 
 ing, than any other man. He is the Newton of the moral 
 world. The only reason why he does not silence all infidels, 
 I must think in charity, is, because they do not comprehend 
 him. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 37. 
 
 Ho resolved in his heart not to commit disloyalty against his lady, Dul- 
 cenea del Tobaso, though queen Ginebra herself, with the lady duintaniona, 
 should present themselves before him. 
 
 Don Quixote. 
 
 No man rejoices more sincerely than I do at the 
 progress of the cause of temperance. Though I have 
 already confessed that I myself was once a seller of 
 what some have strongly called the liquid poison; yet 
 I have long since testified my repentance by a refor 
 mation. I never felt happy while it was my lot to 
 draw certain liquors by pints and gills from my red 
 casks; I never liked my customers; and I can assure 
 my charitable readers, that I have carried away from 
 that employment, as from all others, very little of the 
 wages of unrighteousness. Ardent spirit has now no 
 place among the articles of my family ; and is likely 
 never to return, my case being one of those in which 
 poverty watches over virtue. 
 
THE PURITAN. 65 
 
 In our town we have had many addresses on this 
 subject ; and human ingenuity has exhausted all its 
 arts to make an impression. One orator gave us a 
 dialogue between a drunkard and a snake sticking 
 his head out of a bottle , which snake I believe was 
 the devil though on that point the speaker was not 
 very clear. Another painted to us the miseries of a 
 neglected family; described a ruined house and farm. 
 Some have showed the physical effects of intemperance, 
 some the political, and some the moral ; and all have 
 given us a good spice of what is too often the chief 
 ingredient in popular eloquence exaggeration. I have 
 been hoping my fellow-townsmen would choose me 
 to address them on this subject ; but hitherto they 
 have neglected me ; and I am determined that the 
 burden which rests on my spirits, shall be removed ; 
 and the eloquence which might ha-ve inspired my 
 voice, shall trickle from my pen. 
 
 Spirit of Decency ! and Spirit of Truth ! descend 
 from the skies, and hover over my head with your 
 mixed pinions, whose colors are composed of black 
 and white, and every hue between them ! Let my 
 eloquence flow not in a pure crystal stream, for such 
 streams are scarcely found in nature, and I am sure 
 are seldom found in New England. But let the real 
 waters of Mother Brooks or Mill River, flow from my 
 mouth. I am the child of nature ; I am the servant 
 of truth; and to the children of nature, in the sim 
 plicity of truth, would I choose to speak. O ye 
 
66 THE PURITAN. 
 
 severer powers,, who watch the weeds as well as the 
 roses of our world, come, come from your homely 
 abodes, your colleges, your taverns, your barns and 
 your wigwams, to enlighten my perceptions and 
 prompt my tongue ! 
 
 Notwithstanding all the changes which have been 
 run through on this subject, there is one point of light 
 in which, though important, I have not yet seen it 
 fully placed. I allude to the influence which the 
 female sex may have on this cause. We have had a 
 great deal of pathetic description of domestic suffer 
 ing ; and, in all these scenes, the woman has been 
 introduced as the victim, and not in the smallest 
 degree as the coadjutor in the blame. We have had 
 pictured before our eyes, until our tears have flowed 
 like rivers, the brutal husband, coming home from 
 the tavern, to play the tyrant over his family ; knock 
 ing down his wife ; throwing his children into the fire ; 
 now whetting his knife to cut their throats, and thirst 
 ing for their blood almost as intensely as before he 
 thirsted for his drink ; raving, scolding, storming, and 
 filling the whole house with distress and alarm ; while 
 his poor innocent partner sits by, dissolved in tears ; 
 an angel of perfection, introduced by the skilful 
 painter for no other purpose than as a foil to set off 
 the depravity of her husband, who is represented as 
 nothing but the image of personified drunkenness. 
 All the brutality and wrong are on one side, and all 
 the innocence and suffering on the other. These 
 
THE PURITAN. 67 
 
 gentlemen seem to forget in their gallantry, that God 
 has made of one blood, all the nations which dwell on 
 the earth ; that the same appetites are found in both 
 sexes ; that a female tippler is not absolutely an ens 
 rationis ; that often the wife follows the husband in 
 the transgression, and has even been known to lead 
 the way. Sin in one respect is like the great Being 
 who abhors it it is no respecter of persons ; and will 
 sometimes take up its abode in those gentle bosoms 
 from which our imagination would wish it away. I 
 think, I have read in a book which has as little ro 
 mantic feeling in it, as any book I ever did read, of a 
 man and his wife, who were once placed in a garden, 
 in which there was one tree bearing hurtful fruit. It 
 bore some analogy to ardnif spirit ; it was intoxicat 
 ing and dangerous, liable to injure both themselves 
 and family ; and they were enjoined a total abstinence 
 with respect to it. Well, who was it broke over this 
 rule first ? Who first violated the temperance pledge 
 in the garden of Eden ? The man did notJgo to this 
 grog-shop of forbidden gratification, to make himself 
 intoxicated with the essence of human depravity ; and 
 then go home to beat his poor wife, and turn her out 
 from her beautiful abode into a wilderness of thorns 
 and briers. No doubt this would have made a much 
 more pathetic story than the dry repulsive facts as we 
 now find them on the unimaginative page of the oldest 
 of all books. But how was it ? The WOMAN, being 
 deceived, was the first in the transgression. W T hen 
 
68 THE PURITAN. 
 
 THE WOMAN saw that the tree was good for food, and 
 that it was pk as ant to the eyes, and a tree to be de 
 sired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, 
 and did eat and gave also to her husband with her and 
 he did eat. Eve has generally been accounted a 
 beautiful woman ; she was certainly a wife, and she 
 led her husband into sin ; and hence I infer, from the 
 Bible itself, notwithstanding all our fine imaginings, 
 that the fair may be frail ; that the grossest vice may 
 deform and disgrace the tenderest sex. 
 
 The influence of females may be great in promot 
 ing temperance, and all its happy consequences. 
 
 The influence of woman has been great in all the 
 departments of life. Her smiles cheer, her frowns 
 depress, her counsels are heard, her tears are felt, and 
 her example will be followed. It is true, her power 
 is not like the thunder, which strikes and consumes, 
 but it is like the blossom which silently perfumes the 
 air. Solomon, the wisest of men, has represented the 
 tenderness of maternal wisdom, pouring its counsel 
 into the ears of a son ; and it is generally supposed to 
 be himself under a fictitious name. It is not for 
 kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine, nor 
 for princes strong drink; lest they drink and forget 
 the law, mid pervert the judgment of any of the 
 afflicted. The wisdom of Solomon would have been 
 useless without temperance, and temperance was 
 taught from a mother s tongue. In Greece, the state 
 of female manners was one of the most powerful 
 
THE PURITAN. 69 
 
 causes of the cold and heartless fashions of domestic 
 life. Education was lavished on the harlot, while the 
 wife, imprisoned at home, raised but a little above the 
 domestic slaves, was denied all those accomplishments 
 which would surround utility with the ornaments of 
 the imagination, and give new attractions to the 
 beauties of virtue. Female influence was felt in 
 Roman history. It has been justly remarked, that 
 most of their great revolutions are to be traced to the 
 influence of woman on the public councils. The 
 names of Julia, Lucretia, Virginia, Fulvia and Cleo 
 patra, are proofs of what I say. Female influence 
 never can be accounted as trifling, when it is recol 
 lected that two of the greatest events in which this 
 world was ever interested, were accomplished by their 
 instrumentality. By a woman sin entered our world, 
 and by a woman a Saviour was born ! 
 
 But especially in domestic life is their example felt. 
 A garden is not more the proper place for some fair 
 flower to unfold its leaves, and diffuse its sweetness, 
 than domestic life is the place where a woman, by a 
 constant action amidst quiet shades, is to accomplish 
 the good which is not the less real, because it may 
 never reach the public ear. It is the throne of her 
 influence, the sphere of her duties, the paradise of her 
 enjoyments. Take a man of the most decided char 
 acter, of the most settled resolution, of the clearest 
 views, and he will sometimes be influenced by his 
 wife. Buonaparte was an example. The impetuous 
 
70 THE PURITAN. 
 
 temper of the warrior, before whom all Europe trem 
 bled, was guided and directed by the insinuating Jo 
 sephine. What a beautiful example have we in 
 Scripture. Manoah was afraid ; he had seen a vision. 
 The terrible countenance of the angel of God, had 
 been uncovered to him ; and he was afraid he should 
 die ; but what says his wife ? If the Lord had been 
 pleased to kill us, he would not have received a burnt 
 offering at our hands ; neither would he have showed 
 us all these things. Solomon, the wisest of men, 
 was beguiled by fair idolatresses ; and Samson, the 
 Danite strong, lost his locks on the lap of her who 
 conquered strength by the smiles of deceitful love. 
 Over children, the power of a mother is immense. 
 The influence of a woman on the world through the 
 medium of her family, may be compared to the action 
 of the gentle breeze on the trees of the forest. The 
 breeze is invisible, the tree is a pillar, lofty and 
 strong, apparently too firm to be moved by the varying 
 air, in which its branches w\ye without resistance. 
 But at the rising of the evening gale, every leaf trem 
 bles, and the whole vegetable phalanx derives its life 
 and vigor from the apparently feeble agent which it 
 seems to deride. St. Paul recognizes that influence 
 as great, when he asks, what knowest thou, O wife, 
 but thou shalt save thy husband ? Yes, I exult in the 
 strength of my examples, for they reach to salvation ! 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 38. 
 
 At Bacchus feast non shall her mete 
 
 Xe at no wanton playe ; 
 Nor gasing in an o^.en street, 
 Nor gadding as astray ; 
 
 The modest mirth, that she doth use, 
 Is mixed with shamefastness ; 
 All vice she doth wholly refuse, 
 
 And hateth ungodleness. 
 
 Old song, of uncertain auctores. 
 
 THE influence of w^ an is felt by direct example ; 
 and the temperance cause is precisely the one in 
 which it is most likely to be salutary and extensive. 
 I am not sure that this sex have not been as deep in 
 this sin as the other part of our race. I know it is 
 pleasing to believe, that a delicate lady is above such 
 low appetites ; that a female heart, is the seat of re 
 finement; and purity, and softness, and, at least, tem 
 perance. A lover, can hardly bear the idea that his 
 mistress is given to eating ; in some romances, they 
 
72 THE PURITAN. 
 
 never eat at all ; they have the art of subsisting on 
 love alone ; he can hardly bear that she should prefer 
 a glass of wine, to water. But it is shocking to him 
 beyond measure, that she should keep a bottle of 
 cordials in her closet, which is nothing but alcohol 
 under a softer name ; and that the hues on her. 
 cheek, red as the blushes of the morning, should not 
 be the fresh paint of nature, but of something else. 
 It is very pathetic when we see a miserable family, to 
 suppose that the husband drinks all the rum, and the 
 wife sheds all the tears. 1 have several pamphlets 
 written in this very strain, which I have thoughts of 
 sending in to our societies, which offer prizes for 
 excitements to benevolent genius. But I am afraid, 
 if we should establish a strict system of induction, 
 and put down the result in those figures which cannot 
 lie, we should find an alarming proportion of women, 
 who have so much of flesh and blo^d, as actually to 
 drink spirit ; and if they do drink it, the consequence 
 is inevitable it will intoxicate their delicate brains, 
 as well as those of the vilest drunkard that ever at 
 tempted in vain to walk the street. It is horrible to 
 think of it ; but perhaps if we were to take the world 
 through, we should find an equal proportion of drunk 
 ards in one sex, as the other. True, they become so 
 in very different ways. With man, it is a social vice ; 
 they become intemperate in company. With women, 
 it is taken as a medicine. They have feebler consti 
 tutions ; they are denominated the weaker vessels. 
 
THE PURITAN. 73 
 
 They are subject to unaccountable depression of 
 spirits. They are confined to rooms ; sit over warm 
 fires ; use little exercise ; are pinched up in fashion 
 able garments ; have often little to do, and much to 
 imagine. They find themselves sick, or sad, or per 
 plexed, or gloomy ; have lost their spirits or their ap 
 petites ; and nothing seems to set them to rights so 
 speedily as some precious cordial, in which alcohol 
 lurks under some pleasing name. Man, becomes a 
 drunkard, for the most part, in public ; woman, in 
 solitude. Man, takes his glass from the bar-room; 
 woman, from the labelled bottle kept in the closet. 
 Man, drinks to make himself more merry ; woman, 
 to remove her sadness. Man, often makes his crime 
 too public; woman, conceals it even from herself. 
 Man, drinks without an excuse, and a woman always 
 has a very good one. Besides, the female sex pass 
 more of their time alone ; they use less exercise than 
 their more vigorous counterparts ; their hearts often 
 slumber in inactivity, for the want of a motive ,- and 
 he knows little of the course of temptation, who sees 
 not, that solitude is no security against the creepings 
 of this seductive vice. Such is its constant activity, 
 that it comes upon us in company and alone. 
 
 I will only add that female intemperance is most 
 prevalent in great cities, and in high places. The 
 stately matron, imprisoned for hours in magnificent 
 seclusion, is compelled to wear away the hours with 
 out a motive ; and flies to the bottle for relief. 
 
 VOL. II. 6 
 
74 THE PURITAN. 
 
 Thus a woman should promote temperance by ex 
 ample. 
 
 But there is a great deal of secondary influence 
 she may employ. It begins in forming a connection 
 for life. Here, I can say much that is honorable to 
 the sex. I have known ladies who have dismissed 
 very pleasing lovers, for persistency in this sad vice. 
 If you suspect your friend ; if his cheek looks too 
 red, or his breath smells too strong ; you had better 
 allow your love to be checked by your prudence, and 
 await until your suspicions are confirmed or removed. 
 If he is sanable, set him some time for total absti 
 nence, as a test of his love to morality and you ; let 
 the time be sufficiently long, and double it by the 
 rule of geometrical progression every time he fails. 
 Do not trust to your influence after marriage, nor 
 dream that it will be greater than before. This is 
 the rock on which thousands of credulous fair ones 
 have made shipwreck of their happiness. 
 
 When married, if your husband is temperate, it 
 should be your study to keep him so ; and if not, to 
 reclaim him. You know the seductive power of bad 
 company. It should be your object, to induce him 
 to spend as many evenings at home, as is consistent 
 with his necessary engagements. Not that you should 
 be jealous or chiding every time that business calls 
 him away ; but you must make home agreeable. I 
 have no hesitation in saying it is your duty to be 
 handsome. But what 1 can we control a quality 
 
THE PURITAN. 75 
 
 which is the gift of nature ? Yes you can ; for the 
 ugliest face that ever deformed the workmanship of 
 God, comes from some bad passion corroding in the 
 heart. I say again, it is your duty to be handsome. 
 Not by paint or artifice ; but by benevolence, good 
 nature ; a face arrayed in smiles, and an eye that 
 sparkles with love ; the beauty of expression, which 
 is the best of all beauties. Let your person be ar 
 rayed in the neatest apparel ; let your neck and face 
 be perfectly clean ; let there be a cheerful fire ; a 
 well-ordered parlor : a swept hearth and welcoming 
 hand, whenever your husband returns home ; and let 
 him learn, that however the world may oppose or 
 business perplex him, that there is one faithful heart, 
 whose felicity is identified with his own. What a 
 sweet path has a wife before her, in whose exertions 
 for morality, duty is nothing but delight ! 
 
 Be very punctual in all your engagements. If you 
 are going out, be always ready at the hour ; let your 
 family move in the strictest order ; let dinner and 
 breakfast be ready at the expected time. Have a 
 place for every thing, and let every thing be in its 
 place. 
 
 One thing I deem important. That sentimental 
 fool, Tom Moore, has infected the heads of some 
 women with false notions ; he has said, keep your 
 tears for me! But no husband will say so. I have 
 asked a hundred husbands, if they were ever affected, 
 or pleased, or made better by then: wives weeping j 
 
76 THE PURITAN. 
 
 and they all tell me No ! ! Never, therefore, weep 
 in your husband s presence. If you cannot restrain 
 your grief; go up to some back closet, and there 
 indulge it alone ; for of all the disgusting objects in 
 every day life, a snivelling woman is the most abom 
 inable. 
 
 I hope I am not fanciful in what I am about to 
 say ; but I will say it, because there are some little 
 truths which will only be told by little men. Good 
 Bread, then, is an important article in keeping men 
 temperate. Half the dyspepsycal cases which exist 
 in our cities, arise from bad bread. The profession 
 of a baker is useless, and should be abolished. Some 
 physicians have recently said, that drunkenness, is 
 wholly a physical vice, originating from a disordered 
 stomach or bad digestion. This is overstated ; for 
 physical causes never can be more than powerful 
 temptations. But powerful temptations they are ; 
 and let every wife see to it, that her husband eats the 
 manna, made by her own clean hands, or at least, 
 under her careful supervision. Transfer your atten 
 tion from pound cake and mince-pies, to the original 
 gift of nature. No woman, rich or poor, has done 
 her utmost to make or keep her husband temperate, 
 until she knows how to make or cause to be made, 
 without failure or intermission, GOOD BREAD. 
 
 There are moments, when every man puts his vig 
 ilance asleep, and resigns himself to the careless 
 relaxation of a mind, dropping its purposes, and 
 
THE PURITAN. 77 
 
 floating at random like a chip on the sea. The 
 greatest men are most prone to this ; for the tension 
 of business in important cases, leads to the most per 
 fect remission. Then they are under the influence 
 of a wife. In all common matters, they take her 
 suggestions, and follow her rules. Now in such 
 cases, if through ignorance or mistaken tenderness 
 (or, perhaps, what is not impossible, a wish for 
 countenance and good company,) she presents the 
 dangerous liquor in the sparkling glass, she may be 
 come accessary to her own ruin ; she may accuse 
 herself, when she sees character gone, health under 
 mined, poverty approaching, and destruction near. 
 
 But it is on the children, that a woman s influence 
 will be most apparent. They are little images of 
 plaster clay, put into her hand to be moulded into 
 vessels of utility, or ruin. Some infants have been 
 dosed with opiates and cordials, long before they had 
 the power of choice. They have had the sin put 
 into them by a physical infusion ; the appetite has 
 been created in the cradle. In a word, a mother 
 should remember, that in training her children up to 
 the practice of virtue, she has a double string in her 
 hand, the body, and the mind ; and if she is suc 
 cessful, she may be a blessing to future generations. 
 
 The state of female education has been very un 
 happy in our land, and many an artless girl has been 
 sent into life, totally ignorant of the part she was to 
 act. I have, in my own conception, a peculiar idea 
 
78 THE PURITAN. 
 
 of a republican lady ; she is a plant which can grow 
 only on our own soil. She must be more compre 
 hensive in her aims, than the fickle beings who dance 
 in the court of St. James ; she must know how to 
 preside in her parlor, and regulate her kitchen; to 
 unite the plain utilities of life, with all that is graceful 
 and lovely ; and to resemble the conserve-rose, which 
 retains its best qualities, when its beauty is lost. As 
 fortunes are uncertain in our country, she must be 
 prepared for exertion, even should she become poor. 
 She must be prepared to meet and adorn all stations 
 in life, and thus become the noblest specimen of hu 
 man nature. 
 
C&1 
 
 . 
 
 THE PURITAN. 
 
 No. 39. 
 
 $fe 
 
 Hypocrisy, of course, delights in the most sublime speculations ; for, never 
 intending to go beyond speculation, it costs nothing to have it magnificent. 
 
 Burke on French Revolution. 
 
 IN my dear country and in this peculiar age, it is 
 the fashion to get astride of some hobby, and spur 
 him, until you have reached the utmost extremes of 
 the lists, or he has tumbled down some precipice to 
 rise no more. It is the age of total abstinence, and I 
 expect soon we shall have a society formed for cutting 
 off fingers, lest we should be tempted to steal. One 
 of the extravagances of the day respects emulation in 
 schools ; and, as there is no great danger of being 
 ridiculous without company, I also will show my 
 opinion. 
 
 Whether emulation ought to be encouraged in 
 schools, depends on the answer to the question, 
 whether emulation is a good principle. What is 
 
80 THE PURITAN. 
 
 emulation ? Our discourse must take its origin from 
 a verbal discussion. 
 
 Mr. Locke, whose examination of principles showed 
 him the necessity of nicely considering words, has 
 told us, that language has a twofold usage ; civil and 
 philosophical; by the civil usage, he says, he means 
 such a communication of thoughts and ideas by 
 words, as may serve for upholding common conversa 
 tion and commerce, about the ordinary affairs and 
 conveniences of life ; and by the philosophical use of 
 words, he means such a use of them, as may serve to 
 convey the precise notion of things, and to express in 
 general propositions certain and undoubted truths, 
 which the mind may rest upon and be satisfied with, 
 in its search after true knowledge. These two uses, 
 he says, are very distinct ; and a great deal less ex 
 actness will serve in the one case than the other. 
 Similar expressions we may find in almost all the 
 metaphysical writers. They all sing a melancholy 
 monody on the ambiguity of popular language ; and 
 plead the necessity of a new lexicon, compiled with 
 far greater precision and suited to the purposes of 
 metaphysicians alone. 
 
 I confess for one, that I doubt the correctness of 
 these representations. I suspect and it is certainly 
 lawful to propose a suspicion even against high au 
 thority that language, after all, is a practical analysis 
 of the powers of the mind, and the properties of 
 things, made according to the wants and observations 
 
THE PURITAN. 81 
 
 of men ; and that these broad views, formed in the 
 exigencies of real life, are more permanent and more 
 useful, and have more relative truth in them, than the 
 fine spun distinctions devised in the closet of the phi 
 losopher ; and never to be understood until our 
 thoughts are wrought into an artificial state. Men in 
 common life never give names but where they can 
 see distinctions ; and when the names of these dis 
 tinctions are found in all languages, and have floated 
 down through all ages; we know they are founded 
 on the common observation of mankind, they have 
 the suffrage of the whole world in their favor. Be 
 sides, we give names for speculative and for practical 
 purposes; and speculative names are often lost as 
 soon as the speculator moves out of his abstract 
 circle. The a b c , the x y z, of the algebraist, are of 
 no use but for algebraical calculations. But it is re 
 markable that the common use of language is always 
 given for practical purposes. It is the sign and the 
 representation of that outside view of things, which 
 men in active life always take. Let me illustrate my 
 meaning by an example. In popular language, and 
 in the broad views of the human mind, which men 
 in all the stages of society have entertained, they 
 have held such a conception and wanted such a word 
 as memory ; it is, I suppose, translatable into all lan 
 guages ; and if uttered to the savage, would be im 
 mediately understood. A late metaphysical writer,* 
 
 * Dr. Brown. 
 
82 THE PURITAN. 
 
 however, thinks that, for the analysis he has in view, 
 it would be better to sink the word in a more com 
 prehensive but accurate term suggestion. For what 
 is memory, says he, but the suggestion of an event, 
 with the consciousness of its being past 1 Well, no 
 doubt to throw away memory and to take suggestion, 
 simplified his system, and increased the beauty of his 
 arrangement. But if you were to go into Boston 
 market, and leave your memory behind you, and take 
 nothing with you but suggestion, how long would you 
 make yourself understood 1 The truth is, all arrange 
 ment of things, all classification, and of course all 
 language, has a reference to the practical perceptions 
 of men. These they have always followed, and 
 hence I suspect that language, popular language, is 
 a safe light to guide us in finding the extent of their 
 conceptions, and the principles of their knowledge. 
 The civil use of language is always substantial and 
 permanent ; the philosophical (in Locke s sense of 
 that word) is often shadowy, and like other shadows, 
 passes away. 
 
 In tracing the history of all metaphysical reasoning, 
 it is curious to see how much of its acuteness and 
 ingenuity consists in innovations on language, and 
 departures from the common usages of mankind. 
 We are told by one, that all virtue depends on expe 
 diency. But what is expediency ? Surely not what 
 that word expresses in the light conversation of com 
 mon parlance ; as well might the eagle attempt to 
 
THE PURITAN. 83 
 
 support his flight to the sun, by the waving of a single 
 feather, as for a moralist to build a solemn system of 
 duty on such a sandy foundation ; but expediency 
 here, is something which can justify the assertion that 
 it is the ground of all virtue. Then you have a won 
 derful discovery, a reciprocal definition, that all virtue 
 is founded on expediency ; and expediency is that 
 which supports all virtue. When two abstract words 
 are thus brought together, the one to define the other, 
 with an attempted accuracy beyond the plainness of 
 common speech, I am sure beforehand, that I am to 
 have all the puzzle of philosophy without the light of 
 truth. One column of smoke goes up to illuminate 
 another column of smoke, and both these columns 
 serve only to fill the air with darkness, and increase 
 the number of sore eyes. Bishop Butler speaks of 
 those, who trace all our actions up to selfishness ; even 
 the saint and the angel act from selfish principles, for 
 they find delight in serving God, and doing good to 
 man ; as much delight as the epicure in his sensual 
 pleasures ; and that delight is as much their own de 
 light, and therefore it is selfish. In this sense, no 
 doubt, every action in every holy being is selfish. 
 But then, as Butler remarks, t/tis is not the language 
 of mankind. I have often thought how many a fine 
 system might be overthrown by the remark THIS is 
 
 NOT THE LANGUAGE OF MANKIND. Seneca tells US 
 
 that all anger is sinful. We must not merely rule it, 
 but we must kill and purge from our hearts every seed 
 
84 THE PURITAN. 
 
 and sediment of that baneful passion. Aristotle had 
 said that anger was necessary ; it was one of the con 
 stituent principles of our moral composition ; but we 
 must govern it by reason ; we must use it as a private 
 soldier, and not as a general to lead the way. But 
 no, says Seneca ; if anger listens to reason, it ceases 
 to be anger ; it is to be called by another name ; for 
 what I understand by anger, is a principle unbridled 
 and ungoverned. Very well ; here we have a defini 
 tion which makes anger a wrong thing, and then the 
 sapient conclusion, that all anger is wrong.* Now 
 what shall you oppose to Seneca s reasoning ? Why, 
 simply the remark of Butler this is not the language 
 of mankind. St. Paul came much nearer to that 
 language when he said, be ye angry and sin not. Of 
 all the writers who have apparently led us through 
 new mazes of thought, and landed us on the shore of 
 unknown conclusions, I remember none, who holds a 
 more sparkling pre-eminence at the present day, than 
 Coleridge. His language is beautiful and precise ; 
 his figures are the finest devices, stamped on the most 
 shining metal ; his thoughts are sometimes new, and 
 his reasoning is sometimes just. His books have para 
 graphs in them finer and more eloquent than the 
 English language can elsewhere show. Yet his 
 Friend is the most misleading book that was ever 
 written ; he is the last guide that I should select to 
 
 *DeM, Lib. I., Sect. 9. 
 
THE PURITAN. 85 
 
 lead me to the temple of truth. And what is the 
 difficulty? He is a mystic, with more truth and more 
 power in him, than most other mystics ; and when he 
 has led you up the mount, in a path of sunshine, 
 as far as he, perhaps, or any other mortal can go; 
 then to fill you with greater astonishment, he plunges 
 into the fogs which surround the top of his Ida or 
 Olympus, and you lose him somewhere between earth 
 and heaven. The reader is inclined to say at the 
 close of some paragraph, splendid and dark, this is 
 very eloquent and touching, and perhaps there is some 
 truth in it, but this is not the language of mankind. 
 In short, you may define a metaphysician generally, 
 as a man who makes a language of his own. When 
 you see a startling paradox, you may be sure there 
 has been tampering with the king s English; and 
 metaphysics can prove any thing, (as some say,) 
 because she is a sovereign mistress of language, and 
 moulds its words to her own imperial will. 
 
 There is a kind of unconscious wisdom which, 
 when men act from the impulse of the occasion, and 
 without any elaborate theories, almost always leads 
 them to a right course. Hence it has been remarked, 
 that there is a wisdom in the common law, which de 
 liberative assemblies have emulated in vain ; and 
 hence I infer that the popular use of language, is 
 often the best analysis of the composition of the 
 passions and the operations of the mind. The in 
 stincts of man are the wisdom of God. 
 
86 THE PURITAN. 
 
 It becomes then, in my view, a matter of great im 
 portance, in seeking whether emulation be a good or 
 an evil principle, to ask what is the usage of that 
 word. For language in its civil use, is often but the 
 soundings of the voice of nature. Now in all the 
 languages with which I am acquainted, there is a 
 word answering to our word emulation, which is sup 
 posed to express an ambiguous passion of the mind ; 
 and that passion is good or evil, as it is prompted by 
 right or wrong motives, and is directed to salutary or 
 pernicious objects. In Hebrew, the verb is top, and 
 the corresponding noun, mp a word so holy, as some 
 times to be attributed to God himself, and sometimes 
 so bad as to express one of the most hateful emotions 
 of the human breast. Gen. xxxvii. 2. His brethren 
 envied him. But Elijah says I have been very jealous, 
 (which will bear to be translated very emulous,) for 
 the Lord God of Hosts, because the children of Israel, 
 &c. 1 Kings xix. 14. The word-Z/p.oc, in Greek, is 
 of the same character. It answers very nearly to 
 our word emulation. It is a medium word, says 
 Oecumenius, an old commentator of the middle ages, 
 which may be used in a good or bad sense. It is a 
 good emulation, says Chrysostom, one of the most 
 pious and eloquent of the Greek fathers, when any 
 one is emulous to imitate virtue. EOTI trjkog dfadds, 
 OTav Tig dvT(o s ^ot, cos [iifiijaaadul TTJV aQi]ri]v. See 
 Suicerus dc hoc vcrbo. Theophylactus says the same. 
 The Apostle Paul uses this word in this double sense. 
 
THE PURITAN. 87 
 
 It is good to be always zealously affected in a good 
 thing. Cicero remarks concerning the Latin word 
 sEtmtlatio, that is used in two senses, good and bad. 
 As to our English word, it is defined by Dr. Johnson 
 to be desire of superiority ; which may be a superi 
 ority in goodness as well as sin. In the examples 
 which he quotes, we have not only the use but the 
 definition of the word. * Aristotle/ says Dr. Sprat, 
 1 allows that some emulation may be good, and may be 
 found in some good men ; yet envy he utterly con 
 demns, as wicked in itself, and only to be found in 
 wicked minds. The Apostle, says Dr. South, ex 
 horts the Corinthians to a holy and general emulation 
 of the charity of the Macedonians, in contributing 
 freely to the poor saints in Jerusalem. The pious 
 Cowper also uses the word in a good sense, whom I 
 more willingly quote, as the sentence bears directly on 
 the point in debate. In his Task, speaking of the 
 decay of discipline in public schools, he says, 
 
 Then study languished, EMULATION slept, 
 And virtue fled. 
 
 Here we have not only the use of the word in a good 
 sense, but the direct testimony of Cowper, that he 
 considered it as a great evil to have all emulation ex 
 tinguished in our public seminaries. He couples it 
 with the decay of study and the flight of virtue. The 
 translators of our Bible have used the word twice, 
 once in a good sense, and once in a bad one. Rom. 
 
88 THE PURITAN. 
 
 xi. 14, and Galatians v. 20. In the first instance it 
 is in a good sense. If by any means I may provoke 
 to emulation them which are my flesh, and might save 
 some of them. In the second instance it is used in 
 a bad sense. In enumerating the works of the flesh, 
 he enumerates idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, 
 emulations, &c. These instances may prove that it 
 is the general suffrage of mankind, (for their language 
 is a transcript of their thoughts,) that they believe 
 they have found a good principle in the human breast 
 which may be expressed by the term emulation ; and 
 that it bears so much resemblance to a bad principle, 
 that it may be expressed by a common word. Now 
 if a man is of a mind so to define emulation, as that 
 the very existence of the principle must be wrong, no 
 doubt he can do it ; but then we reply to him in the 
 words of Butler this is not the language of mankind. 
 
 Let us next inquire what the good part of this prin 
 ciple is, which mankind have consented to express by 
 so suspicious a word. 
 
 We find, when we nicely survey the works of God, 
 that one part of creation is made to correspond to 
 another ; one thing is set over against another, as an 
 apocryphal writer expresses it ; objects are adapted 
 to our eyes, and our eyes to objects ; motives are 
 made to move our minds, and our minds are made to 
 be moved by motives. We find from what we can 
 learn of the vast circle of existence, that nothing is 
 alike ; no two flowers are of equal fragrance ; no two 
 
THE PURITAN. 89 
 
 stars are of equal brightness; there are ranks and 
 degrees in heaven ; archangels, angels, thrones, do 
 minions, principalities and powers ; even the glorified 
 saints, sunk as they were in a common guilt, and re 
 deemed as they are by a common blood, are not 
 probably exalted to equal glory. In the parable of 
 the talents, we find that those who had made the best 
 improvement, were raised to the highest reward. On 
 this earth we know there cannot be equality. Whether 
 we rate men by their abilities or their estates, it is 
 impossible to keep them equal for a single day. You 
 might as well attempt to make all birds fly in the 
 same altitude of air, or all fishes swim in the same 
 fathoms of water. If you were to prostrate every 
 throne, and break every gubernatorial chair, and turn 
 out every member from his seat in congress, others 
 would arise up to take their places ; if you were to 
 scatter all property, by the strictest agrarian law, the 
 equality could not last some would be rich, and others 
 poor. In a word, if from the universal order of 
 nature in this planet^ and probably in all planets, we 
 can collect the will of God, as it is manifested by all 
 testimony of all times, it is his holy will, that his 
 creatures, in higher and lower circles, should stand 
 around his throne, occupying all the gradations of 
 being, from the highest archangel, of whose existence 
 we trace no commencement, to the sightless insect, 
 who flourishes only for an hour.* 
 
 * I hope no reader will suspect me of adopting Paley s dan- 
 VOL. II. 7 
 
90 THE PURITAN. 
 
 Nor are these orders fixed. It is intended that all 
 intellectual beings should rise ; certainly it is so with 
 man, or why do we mount from infancy to boyhood, 
 from boyhood to the state of man, from private life to 
 public, and finally, if holy, from this dying world to 
 an immortal state ? This vast universe seems made 
 for progression. That ladder which the sleeping pa 
 triarch saw in his dream, is placed before every man, 
 without a vision ; its foot is supported by the earth, 
 and its summit leans on the skies. 
 
 Such is the outer world. If we look within, we 
 shall find a propensity, an impulse, which exactly 
 corresponds to this external order of things. We all 
 desire to rise. It rouses our activity and conquers 
 our indolence, to look forward to some future state of 
 greater influence, and greater power, when we shall 
 receive that submission of opinion which we are now 
 paying to others, and hand down the wisdom to future 
 ages which \ve have received from those who have 
 gone before us. This principle is born with us, and 
 breathes in us ; and it is in vain- to try to suppress it ; 
 it is too much a^law of nature. In short, it seems 
 that a man s reputation for learning or invention, or 
 ability of any kind, is an estate to which he has just 
 
 gerous notion, that Heaven and Hell differ only by degrees; 
 that hell is only the base of the staircase of which heaven is 
 the top ; I speak only of the virtuous part of creation, in 
 which, when the wicked are separated, there will doubtless 
 always remain orders and ranks. 
 
THE PURITAN. 91 
 
 as much a right as the acres which he purchases with 
 his money. To be sure, he must not covet more than 
 he can justly claim. He must not set up for a facti 
 tious reputation. He must not claim to speak as well 
 as Cicero, when he hardly equals Hortensius. But 
 there is a place to which he is entitled, and there let 
 him contentedly stand. The property of the mind, 
 the estates of genius, are not the less real, because 
 they cannot be fixed by deeds, nor measured by the 
 surveyor s chain. 
 
 If the man has a right to this, why not the boy 1 
 Children have all the feelings of men, and a school 
 is but an epitome of the world. If a boy comes into 
 a school with twice the abilities of any other, and 
 twice the industry, why, he has a right to all the 
 fruits of these powers. He has a right to take the 
 standing which his Maker has given him. It is his 
 estate, to which he can make out the best of all titles 
 the gift of God. If he can spell better than any 
 one in the class, he has a right to the head of the 
 class. If he is a better mathematician, or a better 
 linguist, he is entitled so to rank in the estimation of 
 all who would judge according to the truth. In a 
 word, there ought to be justice in schools, and justice 
 implies property ; but in schools the only property is 
 the tenements of the mind. Perhaps it is the best 
 moral discipline to which a school can be subjected, 
 to find the master dealing out reputation according to 
 merit, and teaching his scholars to do the same. 
 
 Here, then, we have two indications of the will of 
 
92 THE PURITAN. 
 
 God; the external and internal world. Without, we 
 find the whole universe ranked in orders and degrees, 
 that a boundless field might be opened to enterprise, 
 and that each individual might be incited to effort. 
 Within, we find the irrepressible desire ; a desire 
 dangerous, I know, and to be controlled by higher 
 principles ; but still a desire which no attainments in 
 religion will ever extinguish to rise to put forth all 
 our powers, and to reach the highest station our 
 abilities may be fitted for. Now it seems to me, that 
 these two arrangements meet each other, and conspire 
 to promote the harmony of the world ; for as the old 
 poets tell us in the ancient chaos, that when the par 
 ticles separated, the fiery element flew up and formed 
 the stars ; the ethereal air went next ; the grosser 
 sunk still nearer to the earth, and downward purged 
 the black tartareous dregs, and every element found 
 its place ; 
 
 Ignea convex! vis sine pondere coeli 
 Emicuit, summaque locum sibi legit in arce. 
 Proximus est aer illi levitate, locoque : 
 
 Densior his tellus. 
 
 Ovid Met., L. I., line 26. 
 
 So it seems to me, in the moral world, that that de 
 gree of emulation in good things, which leads the 
 man or boy to put forth all his strength, controlled by 
 that principle which forbids him to ask any more 
 reputation than is assigned by justice, that, that pre 
 serves the balance of the system. That is the law of 
 nature ; that is the wisdom of God. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 40. 
 
 But thus it is for the most part with the venders of startling paradoxes. 
 In the sense in which they are to gain for their author the character of a 
 bold and original thinker, they are false even to absurdity ; and the sense in 
 which they are true and harmless, conveys so mean a truism, that it even 
 borders on nonsense. 
 
 Coleridge s Friend, JVo. VT. 
 
 I AM not ignorant, that here it may be objected 
 that emulation is a dangerous passion the parent of 
 ambition ; the mother of crimes which have filled life 
 with contests, and deluged the world in blood. I 
 shall be told, perhaps, of the morbid sensibility which 
 it awakened in the heart of Saul, whose peace of 
 mind was forever destroyed, when the daughters of 
 Israel sung Saul has slain his thousands, and David 
 his ten thousands ; of Haman, whose honors were 
 nothing to him, and whose banquets were tasteless, 
 so long as he saw a poor captive Jew sitting at the 
 king s gate. I shall be pointed perhaps to Roman 
 story ; and told of Marius driven almost to distraction, 
 
94 THE PURITAN. 
 
 by the impress of a seal, in which was represented 
 Jugurtha, delivered up to his rival, Sylla. I shall be 
 called to look at all the heart-burnings and supplant- 
 ings of political life ; the party spirit, which has 
 shaken nations, exalted the worthless, and tumbled 
 the most deserving from the summit of their power. 
 I shall be called to review the jealousies which have 
 entered the gardens of philosophy, and disturbed the 
 men of genius, amidst their laurels and their repose. 
 I shall, finally, be called to review the principles of 
 the gospel, which trace every sin to its earliest ger 
 mination in the heart ; which enjoins pure actions 
 from pure motives ; and commands us to lose every 
 selfish regard for personal ambition, in a generous 
 desire to advance the glory of Him who made us. 
 The gospel enjoins purity of heart and deep humility ; 
 and how are these consistent with a spirit of emula 
 tion, cultivated even in our common schools ? 
 
 These are timely suggestions, and, if they cannot 
 be answered, I confess I must abandon my ground. 
 But is it not plain, that as some minerals are fatal 
 poisons when given in great quantities and alone, yet 
 become salutary medicines when mixed in a com 
 pound and in proper proportions, so of some of the 
 instincts of our nature, they are dangerous when left 
 alone, uncontrolled by higher principles, yet they 
 form the very beauty and perfection of the human 
 character, when blended with the principles of our 
 holy religion 1 For example, industry what a dan- 
 
THE PURITAN. 95 
 
 gerous thing it is, left to run without direction, and 
 toil to fill up the cravings of an unsanctified heart ! 
 What was Catiline s industry 1 What was the in 
 dustry of Benedict Arnold ? It was an industry 
 prompted by their selfishness ; and which exhausted 
 their powers only in the works of treachery and blood. 
 But how would you cure these men ? Would you rob 
 them of their activity and put them asleep ? No ; you 
 would turn their industry into a better channel. Now 
 emulation bears some resemblance to industry, of 
 which it is often the most powerful spring. We may 
 be emulous for good things ; and we may be emulous, 
 and yet satisfied with that portion of reputation, which 
 truth and justice assign to us. I may put forth all 
 my powers ; I may resolve to do my best ; and yet be 
 satisfied, when, after a fair trial, another has gone 
 beyond me ; that is, I may value the possessions of 
 the mind, and yet covet no more than my lawful 
 possessions. Emulation is a very harmless principle, 
 only let justice come in to control it ; and is not this 
 possible ? Does the introduction of property neces 
 sarily imply the introduction of theft and extortion ? 
 No ; the command, thou shalt not steal, necessarily 
 supposes the existence of private property, and the 
 command not to envy others, necessarily supposes a 
 share of reputation, which justly belongs to each one 
 of our species. Now it seems to me, you will not 
 promote moral discipline, by denying the existence of 
 this ideal, but not imaginary property, (that were a 
 
96 THE PURITAN. 
 
 vain attempt,) but you must allow the existence of it ; 
 and teach each one to be willing to receive his own 
 proportion in due season. In curing vice, we must 
 not war with nature. 
 
 Nor can I think a regulated emulation, so incon 
 sistent with the principles of the gospel, as some 
 seem to suppose. The gospel sets before us a new 
 career of duty, and incites to action by the noblest 
 of all motives love to man and love to God. These, 
 no doubt, should be the predominant principles in 
 the Christian s heart. But do these motives exclude 
 all regard to the original impulses of our nature ? 
 When it is said, if any man be in Christ, he is a new 
 creature ; old things are passed away ; I would ask, 
 with humble submission, what are these old things ? 
 It refers does it not ? to the old sinful principles of 
 our nature, and not to such as are natural and in 
 different. Religion does not alter the constitution of 
 a man s mind ; nor the essential elements of human 
 nature. I cannot but think that a part of humility 
 itself, consists in having a sensibility to reputation, 
 (and what is reputation, but our relative standing in 
 life ?) and yet a willingness to be surpassed by our 
 superiors, in whatever pursuit is worthy of appro 
 bation. As patience implies the existence of pain, 
 and a sense of suffering, so humility implies the 
 existence of praise, and a sense of its value. Saint 
 Paul was a penitent sinner, humbled in the dust be 
 fore God ; and yet he has not scrupled to say, that he 
 
THE PURITAN. 97 
 
 was not a whit behind the very chiefest of the apos 
 tles ; and he has taught us, according to the common 
 reading, to covet earnestly the best gifts* 
 
 As to what is said respecting the morbid sensibility 
 which this passion produces ; the ravages which it 
 made on the mind of a Saul or a Marius, I must be 
 permitted to remark, that these evils result not from 
 emulation alone. It was not the emulation of man, 
 but of Marius, that made that insolent warrior frantic 
 when he saw the signature of his rival. It was an 
 emulation grown into ambition ; swollen with vanity ; 
 woven into a cruel and unprincipled heart ; an em 
 ulation not for good things, but a passion nursed in 
 blood ; it was a race between two rivals, to see which 
 should outstrip each other in wasting their country, 
 and in inflicting miseries on mankind. I take it, all 
 our passions receive a tincture from the particular 
 mind in which they spring up, and from the principles 
 with which they are combined. It is sometimes 
 
 * After all, this question must be settled, if possible, from the 
 Bible. Now, though our Lord has said (Luke xxii. 25.) that 
 the kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, and they 
 that exercise authority upon them are called benefactors ; but ye 
 shall not be so; see also Matthew xxiii. 8 12; the question 
 still remains, whether this prohibits a desire for a just reputa 
 tion, and a just desire for influence, when we compare our 
 selves with others. Certainly he did not mean to prostrate all 
 civil authority among Christians, when he speaks of lordships; 
 and. in the college of Apostles, we must remember, that, ac 
 cording to his own appointment, Peter was first, 
 
98 THE PURITAN. 
 
 dangerous to argue from the individual to the species. 
 It is fallacious to argue from a passion governed by 
 principle, to the operation of that passion, uncom- 
 bined with principle, and in its ungoverned state. It 
 was not the fault of Saul or Marius that they had the 
 sentiments of emulation in their breasts ; but that 
 they were totally destitute of higher principles, which 
 should control them. Because a wild horse may run 
 away with you, if you mount him without a bridle ; 
 it does not follow, that he may not be ridden with 
 perfect safety, when tamed by discipline, and governed 
 by the rein. 
 
 But perhaps you will ask, considering the inflam 
 mable character of the human heart ; is it possible 
 to address this principle, in any degree, without lead 
 ing it to arise to excess ? If you encourage it in 
 your schools, will you not inevitably bring forward 
 young Mariuses and young Caesars, in whose breasts 
 this principle shall absorb all others ? Here are two 
 boys, of nearly equal industry and talent. If you set 
 them to comparing themselves with each other, and 
 acting on that principle, will it not be inevitably bad? 
 This is the very pinch of the question. If the use of 
 the principle, like the use of alcohol, is necessarily 
 connected with the abuse, why then every Christian 
 moralist will conclude, whatever intellectual advan 
 tages it may be connected with, it should be aban 
 doned by all those who set virtue higher than know 
 ledge. 
 
THE PURITAN. 99 
 
 But I apprehend, that when a rule can be laid 
 down, which a boy of an honest conscience may 
 always apply a rule which separates the lawful from 
 the unlawful ; the moderate from the excessive ; in 
 such cases, there is no necessity of connecting the 
 use of a principle with the abuse. He knows when 
 he reaches the line of justice ; and he knows he 
 ought not to pass over it. Let us suppose, for ex 
 ample, that the rooms of the treasurer s office in our 
 State House were full of gold ; and the legislature 
 have passed a law, that every one of my readers shall 
 take a portion of it exactly equal to the weight of his 
 body. The proclamation is made ; and here are the 
 scales, moving with the truest beam, and adjusted 
 with the nicest care. Certainly there need be no 
 difficulty in distributing this gold ; it will not neces 
 sarily be connected with scrambling, or with heart 
 burning, or bitterness, or recriminations. We have 
 only to step into the balances, and take the gold 
 answering to our weight, and depart, poorer probably 
 than some, and richer than others. Now 1 must 
 contend, that in a public school, and also in public 
 life, there are these perfect balances, to weigh out the 
 precious metal of reputation, according to each indi 
 vidual s mental gravity. Every scholar, every man, 
 finds his level ; fashion and party spirit, envy and 
 personal dislike, may conceal a man s name for a 
 time, as the clouds for a season may obscure the 
 brightest stars in the nocturnal sky ; but as the fair 
 
100 THE PURITAN. 
 
 weather winds are sure at length to arise, and brush 
 away the clouds, and the hidden star shines out in all 
 its original lustre and native beauty ; so a clouded 
 reputation is sure to be seen and admired at last. 
 Take some single quality, to be sure, and you may 
 sometimes wonder at the disproportion between a 
 man s merit, and his fame ; but when you look at the 
 whole compound of his character, it is surprising to 
 see how much justice there is in the public sentiment. 
 In a public school, it is still more clear that every 
 scholar finds his true point of elevation. For, if the 
 master should be envious, or distrustful, or partial, 
 the scholars will be sure to reverse his decrees. They 
 recite together daily ; they know each other s appli 
 cation and powers ; and their opinions, founded on the 
 most intimate knowledge, are generally correct. The 
 truth is, they must judge of each other s standing ; 
 it would be impossible to prevent it. Now which is 
 best, to attempt to suppress what it is impossible to 
 suppress, or to allow at once nature to have her 
 course, and to endeavor to regulate her impulses ac 
 cording to the rules of justice ? 
 
 But perhaps you will ask another question. Sup 
 pose it should be granted that much of this principle 
 will exist, and it is impossible to suppress it ; should 
 not all the influence of moral action lean the other 
 way ? Nature will certainly supply enough of it ; you 
 need not encourage it by excitements, holding a pos 
 itive place in your systems of education. It may be 
 
THE PURITAN. 101 
 
 important that your boys should play and laugh ; 
 should jump and exercise ; should urge the rolling 
 circle s speed, and chase the flying ball ; but we never 
 saw these articles insisted on as duties, in the regu 
 lation of any school. There are many cases in which 
 all the powers of moral discipline should lean against 
 the impulses of nature ; though the existence of these 
 impulses, in every degree, may not be absolutely 
 wrong. 
 
 In reply, I would remark, that the chief error on 
 the subject of emulation has been, applying it to 
 those minds for which it is least needed. It is of the 
 nature of a stimulant, to be given, not to those who 
 have already a feverish excitement to the love of 
 station and of praise ; but those doubtful and dis 
 couraged natures, who view the summits of learning, 
 and despair of scaling them. In this view, it seems to 
 me, it is needed ; and it ought to have a place in our 
 systems of discipline. In some instances, it is the 
 only principle which can wake up the mind or infuse 
 confidence. We are often incited to do ourselves, by 
 viewing what others have done. We compare our 
 weakness with their weakness ; our difficulties with 
 their difficulties ; and learn to hope for ourselves, by 
 observing what they have conquered. How naturally 
 does a jaded horse quicken his pace when a chaise 
 passes him. It is a law of universal nature, and was 
 not given in vain. I have no hesitation in saying, 
 that there are some people who have not emulation 
 
102 THE PURITAN. 
 
 enough. There are some hearts in which this quick 
 ening fire needs to be lighted up. What is the man, 
 and what is the boy, that is lost to all sense of char 
 acter, and is alike insensible to approbation or shame? 
 There are, too, some gloomy, discouraged minds, 
 who need only to compare their powers with those of 
 others, and they will be excited to exertion, by be 
 lieving in the possibility of success. I should be very 
 sorry, I should esteem it hazardous, with all the va 
 rieties of human nature before me, with all its weak 
 ness and all its diseases, to be precluded from the use 
 of this medicine of peculiar minds ; in some cases, 
 perhaps the only resort. 
 
 Then, too, consider the indolence of our nature. 
 Consider with wl at difficulty boys are brought to 
 make exertions necessary to success in learning; how 
 little capable they are of appreciating distant good, 
 or of feeling the refined motives which may be suited 
 only to saintly minds. You must take human nature 
 as it is ; and though you are not to encourage its 
 corruptions, you must move it, if you move it at all, 
 according to its original laws. 
 
 If you were to expel all emulation from a school, 
 and attempt to reduce to one dead level every mind, 
 I question whether you would not. make it so different 
 from the world in which your pupils must act, that it 
 would hardly be a place of salutary discipline ; and 
 perhaps the best thing about your plan would be, that 
 such is the force of nature, it would be impossible 
 

 THE PURITAN. 103 
 
 for you perfectly to succeed. The imperfections of 
 your scheme would be its only redeeming qualities. 
 
 But while I would warn you from one extreme, I 
 would also caution you on the other side. While I 
 would not extinguish emulation, nothing can be more 
 dangerous than to appeal to that principle alone. 
 Perhaps the grand error of the present day is, paying 
 the Christian religion the decent compliment of ac 
 knowledging its excellences, and then acting, in de 
 tail, as if it were not true. But the claims of that 
 religion are as wide as the actions of men ; it is a 
 rule for practice. There is great emphasis in that 
 passage of Scripture which commands us to walk by 
 faith. The precepts of religion are the results of its 
 doctrines, and both of them should influence every 
 part of life. If any thing I have said goes to exclude 
 the strictest principles of the gospel from our systems 
 of education, I abandon my ground ; for I agree with 
 Augustine, constat inter omnes veraciter pins, ncminem 
 sine vera pietate, id est, veri Dei vero cultu vcram 
 posse habcre virtutem, nee earn veram esse, quando 
 gloria servit humance. Civitate Dei, Lib. v. cxix. 
 
 It is the fault of our great cities, that every thing 
 in education is conducted on a system of flattery. 
 The young master is sent to the public exhibition to 
 be admired ; and the young miss is presented before 
 the company to be admired. Our praises are de 
 manded, and almost plundered from us, when she 
 presents us the composition, that is not English ; 
 
104 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the painting, which resembles nothing; and the music, 
 of which the discords are the most pleasing parts. 
 Emulation is taught even in frivolous attainments ; 
 and ambition is addressed as if it were a virtue. In 
 the mean time, a religion, which knows nothing of 
 humility, presides over the whole. The dangerous 
 pride of the human heart is kept out of sight ; kept 
 out of sight did I say 1 nay ; it is made the chief 
 stock on which the social virtues are grafted ; and by 
 the nurture of its evil sap, they are expected to bloom 
 and bear fruit. 
 
 The conclusion, then, to which we come, is that 
 it is not a question whether emulation is to be ad 
 mitted into schools, for it will exist there whether we 
 will or no. Non scripta ; sed nata lex ; quam non 
 didicimus, accepimus, legimus, verum ex natura ipsa 
 arripuimus, hausimus, express imus ; ad quam non 
 docti ; sedfacti; non instituti ; sed imhuti sumus ; 
 that since nature has admitted its existence, we are 
 to allow it ; but always to apply it where most needed, 
 and to endeavor to combine it with higher principles. 
 Finally, to direct it only to worthy objects, and teach 
 it to submit to the regulations of a sagacious justice. 
 In a public school, every boy has a share of reputa 
 tion, which can be measured out to him with almost 
 mathematic certainty ; let him take it, and therewith 
 be content. Within these bounds, emulation may 
 fire the genius (sEmulatio edit ingcnid) without in 
 flaming the passions or corrupting the heart. 
 
THE PURITAN. 105 
 
 If, however, experience must overthrow this theory * ; 
 if the existence of the thing is necessarily connected 
 with the abuse; if, in the intellectual house, you 
 cannot place on the hearth, the smallest spark of this 
 fire, without wrapping the whole building in a confla 
 gration, then, I confess, we must bend all our moral 
 powers against it; for we must abhor that conven 
 tional morality, which calls to the aid of virtue, the 
 incitements of vice. Nunquam enim virtus vitio ad- 
 juvanda est, se contenta. Experience must decide; 
 but let it be a careful experience ; let it not be based 
 on a prejudiced observation, or a superficial insight 
 into an inadequate number of facts. 
 
 * Hardly a theory, however, for the whole world has said so. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 41. 
 
 Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 
 
 While proudly riding o er the azure realm, 
 
 In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; 
 
 Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm ; 
 
 Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind s sway, 
 
 That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey. 
 
 Oray^s Bard, 
 
 THE RIVER OF LIFE. 
 
 RETURNING home one evening, after having been 
 employed, during a solitary walk, in reflecting on the 
 illusiveness of human expectation, the vanity of human 
 prospects, and the folly of the vast multitude, who live 
 without virtue, and die without repentance ; and, 
 having revolved these melancholy reflections in my 
 mind, until they had extorted the solemn aspiration 
 What is man, that thou art mindful of him ? I re 
 tired to my pillow, and fell into the following vision. 
 
 I seemed to be standing on a desolate island, in a 
 wide river ; a place so excessively barren, that it 
 
THE PURITAN. 107 
 
 yielded neither fruit, nor shrub, nor plant, nor any 
 thing to delight the eye, or gratify the taste. All 
 around me was barren uniformity, and seemed strik 
 ingly to figure out the inanity of an infant mind. I 
 was told that it was called the Island of Nativity ; a 
 most dreary, desolate spot, where no one wished to 
 reside; that all who found themselves here, immediately 
 launched in boats, which floated down from above, 
 into the river of life, which was rolling its waters 
 before me ; that none ever returned to occupy their 
 former residence, since of those, who thus ventured, 
 some were landed in flowery gardens, on a happier 
 shore ; and as for the others, they perished down a 
 tremendous cataract at the end of the river : I was 
 told further, that the channel of the river was winding 
 and intricate ; crossed by many counter-currents and 
 rocks, which increased the danger ; that none of the 
 navigators could be relied on as pilots, since none 
 ever navigated it but once ; and that, consequently, 
 vast numbers ultimately perished. Amidst these 
 dreary considerations, however, there was one com 
 fort. A great Benefactor had, in compassion to the 
 miserable voyagers, drawn an accurate chart of the 
 river ; by duly attending to which, all who wished, 
 might escape destruction. 
 
 I had no sooner heard this, than I seized one of 
 the boats, and launched off little doubtino- of success, 
 
 7 O " 
 
 and receiving a chart, rather from the importunity of 
 a friend, than for any essential benefit that I sup. 
 posed it could bestow. 
 
108 THE PURITAN. 
 
 I had advanced but a small way into the river, when 
 I perceived that it separated into two channels, one 
 on the right hand, the other on the left. That on the 
 right hand ran along a dark and desolate shore ; 
 craggy clefts frowned terribly above, while the river 
 rolled its turbid waters through a narrow channel be 
 low ; not a flower grew on the bank ; not a grove or 
 a valley gladdened the prospect. There were but few 
 voyagers ; and they appeared to pass their time be 
 tween the awful agitations of doubtful hope, or settled 
 despondency. I was told, that this was called the 
 bank of wisdom. That on the other side presented a 
 very different appearance. Flowers and fruits bor 
 dered the stream, and the yielding waters curled be 
 neath the embraces of Arabian winds. The prospect 
 was everywhere delightful ; the channel was crowded 
 with passengers, who sported and sung, without sor 
 row or care. All was beauty and hilarity. This 
 side, I was told, was called the bank of pleasure. 
 
 On both sides, they appeared solicitous to make me 
 of their party. They on the right hand, told me of 
 the safety and happiness which they should gain at 
 last ; that though this channel appeared frightful and 
 forbidding at a distance, yet those gloomy appearances 
 vanished on a nearer approach, arid that it was even 
 more quiet and serene than that on the opposite side ; 
 whether more pleasant or not, it was the strait and 
 narrow way, by which we must avoid the cataract, 
 and arrive at bliss. They on the other side, told me 
 
THE PURITAN. 109 
 
 <P 
 
 of the companions and pleasures I should enjoy on 
 my passage they pointed to their flowers, and invited 
 me to partake of their sweets ; as for the dangerous 
 cataract, they said, it was very doubtful whether there 
 was one, or, if there was, it would be time enough to 
 avoid it hereafter. They declared, that they them 
 selves were steering for the shores of bliss, and only 
 took a more circuitous course, to avoid the rocks that 
 frowned on the opposite shore. One party addressed 
 my senses, the other my understanding ; one allured 
 me with smiles, the other exhorted me with tears ; 
 one promised me a pleasant voyage, the other a profit 
 able one. 
 
 I was a long time doubtful which course to take; 
 but, finding that I was already nearest to the bank of 
 pleasure, and that the current strongly set that way, 
 I yielded to its impulse ; firmly resolving, however, 
 soon to change my course, and get over to the bank 
 of wisdom. " At least," said J, " I may try it for a 
 little while." 
 
 On joining my new companions, I found them all 
 busy, cheerful, and apparently happy. Some were 
 employed in cropping the flowers, that grew on the 
 bank ; some in angling for the golden fishes, that 
 swam in the stream. Some spread out every sail, to 
 catch the delicious gale ; others found their happiness 
 in toiling at the laborious oar. Some were employed 
 in explaining to us the various windings of the river ; 
 and, in their anxiety to teach others the way, fre- 
 
110 THE PURITAN. 
 
 quently got on the rocks themselves. Others exerted 
 all their eloquence to disprove the authenticity of our 
 chart, though it was evident, that in their calmer 
 moments, they dreaded the correctness of its delinea 
 tions themselves. All were active about something ; 
 and all had much happiness, because they all were 
 possessed of much hope. 
 
 By reason of the many meanderings of the stream, 
 it was impossible for us to discern our course for 
 any considerable distance before us. But one thing 
 was very remarkable we always found, that the 
 scenery on our banks was less pleasant, as we ap 
 proached it. The flowers, on a nearer inspection, 
 had a fainter hue, and the trees a less pleasing 
 verdure. Sometimes, when we were approaching a 
 projecting promontory, on the further side of which 
 we expected to see unusual fertility and beauty in the 
 scene, we found the country still less pleasant than 
 before, and sometimes, even a barren sand. I re 
 member one in particular, which sorely disappointed 
 us. As we approached it, there was a remarkable 
 turn in the river, and we expected that Paradise was 
 beyond it. We turned but Paradise was not there. 
 At that promontory, I was told we had measured 
 about one third of the stream. 
 
 One thing that struck me, was the remarkably slow 
 manner in which we seemed to descend. I really 
 feared that the waters would stagnate. On looking 
 more narrowly, however, I found that the current 
 
THE PURITAN. HI 
 
 set with a fearful impetuosity, which no force could 
 stop, or for a moment retard ; and, what was still 
 more alarming, the velocity of the stream seemed to 
 accumulate at every stage of our progress. 
 
 Our hilarity was frequently interrupted by the sol 
 emn warnings and reproofs of those on the opposite 
 side. They told us of our temerity, in hazarding the 
 dangers of the cataract ; they expatiated on its terrors, 
 and the certainty of our own destruction, if we con 
 tinued in our present course ; they entreated us, as 
 we loved our lives, to come over to them, and prom 
 ised us safety if we would but join them. Triey fre 
 quently appealed to the chart, and showed the exact 
 coincidence there was between that and the part of 
 the river we had already passed ; they talked of the 
 fearful probability of the coincidence still to be found. 
 We listened, hesitated, and persisted in our course. 
 The timid sighed the fearless laughed and most of 
 us went on as before. 
 
 I observed, how r ever, that in the earlier part of our 
 course, now and then one would go over from the 
 bank of pleasure to the batik of wisdom. The number 
 of these grew less and less continually, as we got 
 further down the stream. One thing was remarkable 
 many of our party went over to them ; but none, 
 that fairly got over to them, ever returned to us. 
 
 Many of us were split to pieces on untimely rocks, 
 and whirled beneath the waters down the stream. I 
 was sailing, in full glee, with a companion by my 
 
112 THE PURITAN. 
 
 side. His bark struck a rock, and I saw the waters 
 close over his head. I started and, for once, re 
 solved to steer over to the other side. I turned my 
 bark, fixed my oafs, and had already reached the di 
 viding line. I saw them beckon me with smiles I 
 was almost there but a violent current set strong 
 against me my companions drew me back, and I 
 found myself again on the stream of pleasure. 
 
 Finding this attempt fruitless, I resolved on another 
 expedient. I perceived there were many who seemed 
 to take a middle course, so that we knew not to which 
 party they belonged. Sometimes they were wry near 
 the bank of wisdom, and sometimes they were on the 
 bank of pleasure. They wished to be numbered with 
 the voyagers on each side, though they, in fact, in 
 curred the suspicion of both. I tried their course for 
 a while, but found it more unpleasant than any other. 
 There were so many counter-currents and eddies, 
 that it was impossible to steer straight. I was told, 
 moreover, that these doubtful beings generally per 
 ished, down the cataract, with the rest. 
 
 As we proceeded on, I perceived that the banks on 
 the opposite side grew more pleasant, and ours grew 
 more dreary ; their countenances became more cheer 
 ful, and ours more sad. We were no longer fanned by 
 fragrant winds, or exhilarated by nutritious fruits. 
 The eye saw nothing but sterility around us ; the ear 
 heard nothing but noises of alarm. We saw the cat 
 aract delineated on our chart, as just before us. 
 
THE PURITAN. 113 
 
 Some disbelieved, and threw away their chart ; many 
 hesitated ; all feared. 
 
 The stream still descended, and we went on. We 
 caught hold of the reeds and rushes to retard our pro 
 gress, but they broke, and we still went on. The 
 song of youth was heard no more, or heard with dis 
 gust. We looked back on the flowery field by which 
 we had passed, saw others tasting their sweets, but 
 they were beyond our reach. Our comforts were 
 gone, and our hopes, like a tropical twilight, grew 
 darker fast. 
 
 While I was surveying this mournful change, I 
 heard a voice address me " Thoughtless mortal ! 
 thou hast spent the day of probation the day that 
 departs, but does not return. With life and death 
 before thee, thou hast chosen the latter ; the votaries 
 of folly have beguiled thee by their flatteries, and the 
 streams of pleasure have caught thee in their vortex. 
 Behold destruction before! Who shall struggle with 
 these conflicting elements? Who shall survive the 
 cataract of destruction ? " 
 
 I started up, and heard the dashing of waters, and 
 the shrieks of perishing wretches. The waves were 
 already heaping around me I was on the tremen 
 dous brink, when I awoke, glad to find a respite 
 from that destruction, which is not the dream of the 
 moment, but an endless death ! 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 42. 
 
 Beneath a sable vale, and shadows deep, 
 
 Of unaccessible and dimming light, 
 
 In silence, ebbing clouds more black than night, 
 The world s GREAT MIND his secrets hid doth keep, 
 Through whose thick mists when any mortal wight 
 
 Aspires, with halting pace, and eyes that weep 
 
 To pry, and in his mysteries to creep, 
 With thunders he, and lightnings blasts their sight. 
 O Sun invisible ! that dost abide 
 
 Within thy bright abysmes, most fair, most dark, 
 When with thy proper rays thou doest thee hide, 
 
 O ever shining, never full seen mark, 
 To guide me in life s night, thy light me show, 
 The more I search of thee, the less I know ! 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 OF no subject have we had so much romance in 
 stead of reason, as of solitude ; that power of which 
 so many have written and so few have improved. All 
 the misses at our boarding-schools, think it necessary 
 to write, at least, one paper on solitude, in which the 
 lady pours out the effusions of her fancy, in lines 
 
THE PURITAN. 115 
 
 which belie every wish of her heart; in which the 
 gayest and most superficial will be most sentimental. 
 Indeed, woman, from her earliest hoars to her last, is 
 a bundle of contradictions. At least you cannot 
 predict her course of conduct by her literary exer ci 
 tations. I have known a young lady to read Sher 
 lock on Death, when she was going to a ball ; and 
 Mr. Hitchcock s Essay on Eating, with a pound of 
 wedding-cake in her hand. If you see before a pair 
 of bright eyes, Enfield s Philosophy, you may con 
 clude she is going to take a walk with an emptv-pated 
 lover ; and if she is studying Zimmerman on Soli 
 tude, it is clear she is just about to be married. 
 Whatever women may say or sing about solitude, it 
 is certain their sphere is society ; and therefore I 
 heartily advise them to let alone a subject, on which 
 they cannot utter a word without acting the part of 
 affected, little hypocrites. 
 
 Solitude is by no means, as has been said, a test of 
 virtue. We retire for very different objects. A 
 shopkeeper, when he goes alone, goes to cast up his 
 accounts ; the miser, to reckon his money ; the bat 
 tered beau and libertine, to put on his plasters, to 
 dress his sores and take his medicines ; and the am 
 bitious man, to lay his schemes for advancement and 
 power. Some retire to write idle books, and some to 
 read them ; and some in solitude fill their imagina 
 tions with images of voluptuousness, more exquisite 
 and more seductive than any that are found in real 
 
116 THE PURITAN. 
 
 life. I hardly know a more sensual wretch than 
 Rousseau. Indeed, it seems to me when the Prince 
 of Darkness raised up advocates for his cause, and 
 patrons of infidelity, it was a master-piece of policy, 
 to commit it to two such men as Rousseau and Vol 
 taire ; they were perfect correlatives. Voltaire took 
 all the laughers, and Rousseau all the weepers. Vol 
 taire was all sarcasm and satire, and Rousseau all 
 romance and sentiment ; and thus between them 
 both, they swept the board. They have done more 
 than any others to undermine the religious principles 
 of mankind ; and, to this hour, reign without rivals, 
 the giants of licentious principles on the continent of 
 Europe Yet Rousseau was a lover of solitude. He 
 even once attempted to establish a plan of seclusion 
 for life, though he found that his fancy had imposed 
 on his feelings. Hear how he exposes his singular 
 views. " Sometimes." says he, speaking of Madame 
 de Warrens, who, by the way, was one of the chastest 
 harlots that ever departed from virtue, through the 
 sublimest of principles, " Sometimes I quitted this 
 dear friend, that I might enjoy the uninterrupted 
 pleasure of thinking of her; this is a caprice I can 
 neither excuse nor fully explain ; I only know this 
 was really the case, and therefore avow it. I re 
 member that Madame de Luxembourg told me one 
 day, in raillery, of a man, who used to leave his mis 
 tress, that he might enjoy the satisfaction of writing to 
 her. I answered, I could have been this man. I 
 
THE PURITAN. 117 
 
 might have added, that I had done the very same." 
 In another place, he describes, in his own glowing 
 language, how he filled up his solitary moments, 
 when he lived as a kind of amorous dependent on 
 this peculiar lady. "If all this, (i. e. his happiness,) 
 consisted in facts, actions or words, I could somehow 
 or other convey an idea of it. But how shall I de 
 scribe what was neither said or done, nor even 
 thought ; but enjoyed, felt, without my being able to 
 particularize any other object of my happiness than 
 the bare idea. I rose with the sun and was happy ; 
 I walked and was happy ; I saw Madame de War 
 rens and was happy ; I quitted her and was still 
 happy ! Whether I rambled through the woods, over 
 the hills, or strolled along the vallies, read, was idle, 
 walked in the garden, or gathered fruits, happiness 
 still accompanied me ; it was fixed on no particular 
 object : it was within me, nor could I depart from it 
 a single moment." Such was the solitude of Rousseau. 
 I only wish, in the abundance of his communicative 
 ness, he had informed us, whether this happiness, 
 which he thinks so mystical, did or did not, in any 
 part of it, arise, in addition to Madame de Warrens 
 charms, from opium or brandy. 
 
 The good man, too, Idves occasional solitude. He 
 is very happy when alone ; and he is not in the least 
 perplexed to tell the cause of his happiness. It arises 
 from a conscious sense of the presence of God, and a 
 contemplation of his infinite perfections. When he 
 
118 THE PURITAN. 
 
 enters the shades, he feels himself to be in the bosom 
 of his Father and friend. He hears his voice in the 
 passing breeze, and sees his glory in the stars of the 
 sky. Whether he prostrates himself in humble peni 
 tence before the throne of mercy, or rises to a view 
 of the wonders of creation and redemption ; whether 
 he looks on God, or himself; whether he surveys his 
 past life, or looks on to future emancipation and glory ; 
 his emotions are high, though his passions are at 
 peace. He tastes many a precious drop from the 
 river of life, and returns from retirement to the 
 world, more strengthened for duty, and more prepared 
 to fulfil all the engagements of a social being. No 
 hours are more profitable to the Christian, than those 
 which he passes alone. 
 
 It may be a serious question then, to each one of 
 my readers, not whether he loves solitude ; for that is 
 ambiguous ; but how he fills up the profitable or per 
 nicious hours, which to solitude are given. Do you 
 reflect ; look inward ; meditate pray commune 
 with God and commune with yourself, when you 
 retire from the haunts of business and activity ? Is 
 your solitude a root to bear the branches of benevo 
 lent exertion ? Or do you retire to fill ? 
 
 But I must close my paper with a 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 I l"ve the shade ; I love the lonely walk, 
 
 Where, while the zephyrs whisper peace around, 
 And the bat flies o er grass by trees imbrowned, 
 
 Descending spirits, seem to meet and talk, 
 
THE PURITAN. 119 
 
 And giant-shadows in procession stalk ; 
 
 While the low sun in glory, though profound, 
 
 Sprinkles his pearls o er all the dewy ground, 
 In hues, which fancy soothe, but reason balk. 
 
 Father of nature ! Father of our race ! 
 
 Of the refulgent sun the rain the dew! 
 Who hear st the hungry ravens when they cry ; 
 
 let me here thy secret footsteps trace ; 
 Thou God of nature, ocean, earth, and sky, 
 Subdue ray soul and be my father too ! 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 43. 
 
 The love of popularity, is the all-tainting vice of a republic. 
 
 Dr. Chunninff. 
 
 NOTHING is more deceiving, than judging of theo 
 ries, without an eye to their operation in practice ; 
 and especially is it so in politics. I have often sus 
 pected, and indeed the suspicion is almost ripened 
 into a confirmed belief, that all the boasted forms of 
 government, which have been most admired for their 
 excellence, have little value in the abstract, and are 
 only wise in reference to the past history of the people. 
 They were expedients, which their present habits and 
 prejudices rendered necessary. Take the British 
 constitution, as an example. They have three inde 
 pendent powers, each of which has a negative on 
 each other. In theory, then, we may say, that each 
 may perpetually resist the other, put a negative on all 
 its proceedings, and the whole government must per- 
 
THE PURITAN. 121 
 
 petually stand still. It is easy to put a drag-chain 
 on your waggon, when preparing to descend the hill, 
 which shall perfectly stop it ; but the great question 
 is, how shall it move, and move with the requisite 
 moderation 1 In theory, therefore, the British con 
 stitution provides not a particle of remedy for these 
 evils ; but they are found in their past history. Hav 
 ing suffered the commotions of two revolutions, and 
 an obstinate family having been twice driven from the 
 throne, all parties feel the necessity of proceeding 
 by compromise. The parliament is careful of pre 
 senting an offensive bill to the king; and the king, 
 for years, has not exercised the power of the veto ; 
 and thus, by accommodating their abstract constitu 
 tion with a moral power which corrects its evils, the 
 government proceeds, with some jarring, to accom 
 plish the imperfect objects at which government 
 aims. 
 
 Our own constitution was made with the utmost 
 care ; and, I have no doubt, was intended to be so 
 completely finished, that it should go, like perpetual 
 motion, of its own accord. But such is the impossi 
 bility of anticipating all possible exigencies in pre 
 vious speculation, that our constitution, formed as it 
 was in a later age, and by the wisest men, after the 
 maturest experience, yet in its adaptation to practi 
 cable life, owes its feasibility to certain expedients, 
 for which its luminous sections have made no pro 
 vision. 
 
 VOL. II. 9 
 
122 THE PURITAN. 
 
 Much has been said about our caucuses; and that 
 American word has been thought to express an as 
 sembly, where selfishness and faction meet, to plan 
 their devices, and exercise their violence. Dr. Dvvight 
 somewhere describes a caucus, as a place where the 
 party-man and the demagogue come, to plot for de 
 ceiving the people, and to control the lawful assemblies. 
 To say that a man figures at a caucus, is to insinuate 
 everything bad of him, as a politician. Yet I see 
 not how it would be possible to go along with our 
 elections, without these previous assemblies. They 
 were not brought in by faction, but by necessity; and 
 in condemning them, we are acting the part of the 
 bigots of the middle ages, who condemned all usury, 
 and the Jews as brokers and usurers, who always 
 existed, though always persecuted, because it was 
 impossible for commerce to exist, without money s 
 being lent on trust, and the lender s being rewarded 
 for that trust. 
 
 Let us consider, for a moment, how it is in the 
 election of governor. The constitution makes provi 
 sion for the act of voting; it requires a hundred 
 thousand people and more to come together on a set 
 day, and cast their votes for a chief magistrate. 
 "Those persons, who shall be qualified to vote for 
 senators and representatives, within the several towns 
 of this commonwealth, shall, at a meeting to be called 
 for that purpose, on the first Monday of April, annu- 
 $lly, give in their votes for a governor, to the select* 
 
THE PURITAN. 123 
 
 men, who shall preside at such meetings: and the 
 town-clerk, in the presence and with the assistance 
 of the selectmen, shall, in open town-meeting, sort 
 and count the votes, and form a list of the persons 
 voted for, with the number of votes for each person 
 against his name ; and shall make a fair record of 
 the same in the town-books, and a public declaration 
 thereof in the said meeting ; and shall, in the pres 
 ence of the inhabitants, seal up copies of the said 
 list, attested by him and the selectmen, and transmit 
 the same to the sheriff of the county," &,c.* This is 
 all that is said, respecting the choice of governor. 
 Now, how are a hundred thousand people to coincide 
 in one man, or hope or expect such a miracle, without 
 some concert 1 There must be some previous nomi 
 nation ; there must be some effort, to bring up men, 
 well qualified, before the public eye, and fasten their 
 merits on the public attention. As there are no legal 
 assemblies for this, it is done in voluntary meetings, 
 called caucuses ; and it seems to me, an honest 
 citizen may go to them, without the imputation of 
 being a lover of faction, or a follower of dema 
 gogues. 
 
 If these nominations were not made in these 
 caucuses, they must be made by single citizens, or 
 editors of newspapers, which would be infinitely 
 worse. 
 
 * Constitution of Massachusetts, Chap. II., Art. i., Sec* 2L 
 
124 THE PURITAN. 
 
 As caucuses seem to be necessary, so it seems to 
 me, some of them are managed with singular wisdom. 
 I see nothing which the most dreaming theorist could 
 desire to mend. Take the usual method in which a 
 governor is nominated, as an example. The mem 
 bers of the legislature, previous to the next election, 
 assemble on some evening, to consult on this impor 
 tant point. They are supposed to be the wisest men 
 in the commonwealth; they come from all parts of 
 the State ; they stand in a responsible situation, and 
 their characters are well known. Such nominations 
 are as little likely to fail either from want of wisdom, 
 or want of virtue, as any that can be devised. 
 
 Respecting the lower caucuses, more might be 
 said ; they too often fall into the hands of busy and 
 irresponsible men. No government can be worse, 
 than that which is managed by secret agents, behind 
 a curtain. But the defect of these caucuses, happens 
 through the negligence of our best citizens. They 
 have imbibed such a prejudice for the word, and have 
 such a perfect detestation of a meeting called for the 
 purposes of violence and faction, that they often stay 
 away from them ; and leave their purposes to be fore 
 stalled by agents of less virtue, but more activity. It 
 should be remembered, that the caucus is the most 
 important meeting; there resides the spirit of the 
 election, and in the other only the form. Here, 
 minds are compared, wills are united, and the pro 
 ceedings here fix the election, as the planting of the 
 seed decides the character of the tree. 
 
THE PURITAN. 125 
 
 It may be asked, whether caucuses should be con 
 fined to men of one party, as is now generally the 
 case ? or whether a general meeting of free citizens, 
 should be invited? In times of high excitement, I 
 apprehend the exclusive mode is the best. If in an 
 informal meeting, you were to bring two parties 
 together, there would be danger of a tumultuous 
 assembly, and no decision. But in calmer times, it 
 would perhaps be best to collect all, and to adjust 
 differences by a mutual compromise. 
 
 It is an evil, that caucuses are held in the evening. 
 A man is not the same being by candle-light, that he 
 is in sunshine ; no, not the wisest and best. It is 
 true, it will be said on the other side, that the evening 
 is the season of leisure ; and that it would be difficult 
 for artisans and men of business to leave their work, 
 during earlier hours. How far these evils counter 
 balance those of nocturnal deliberations, deserves to 
 be considered. But I am sure no man ought to 
 allow himself to make any important decision, after 
 ten o clock at night. He will be apt to find it a work 
 of darkness, in more senses than one. Late sessions, 
 late courtships, late meetings, are the ruin of our 
 welfare, in politics, love, and religion. 
 
 One evil of caucuses is, that there is often a frst 
 cause before the Jirst ; a caucus before the caucus, 
 where a number of busy men have already anticipated 
 the decisions of the meeting. It is as hard to trace 
 things to their first causes in politics, as it is to find 
 
126 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the end of the little fibrous roots of a tree, which run 
 deep in the ground. To prevent this, I could wish 
 that a caucus could always hold two sessions. Let 
 them first meet to discuss matters, interchange opi 
 nions, hear speeches, (which should be short, and not 
 inflammatory,) and run over a list of candidates. Let 
 them choose a large committee of nomination, and 
 then adjourn ; for it is an excellent thing to sleep, 
 after a debate, before a decision. Let them come 
 together, to hear the report of their committee, and 
 fix on their candidates. All this should not be con 
 sidered as a subsidiary part of an election. It seems 
 to be essential to a union of efforts, and a wise 
 result. 
 
 Republicanism is a car, which can only accomplish 
 its journey, by going slow enough. The people will 
 generally be right, if you can only keep them in 
 pause long enough to think. For this reason, in all 
 our proceedings, we should avoid hasty decisions. A 
 great deal has been said about long speeches, irrele 
 vant repetition, and a needless consumption of time, 
 in our State legislature. This is a preservative evil 
 in republicanism. I had rather be vexed with long 
 speeches, than ruined by rash legislation. I have 
 sometimes thought it would be wise, to hire ten long- 
 winded tribunes, to consume the day for the preser 
 vation of our laws, and to save us from the evils of 
 perpetual innovation. 
 
T PI E PURITAN, 
 
 No. 44. 
 
 For though most hands dispatch apace, 
 And make light work (the proverb says), 
 Yet many different intellects 
 Are found t have contrary effects ; 
 And many heads t obstruct intrigues, 
 As slowest insects have most legs. 
 
 Hudibras. 
 
 YOUTHFUL recollections are not easily effaced ; and 
 I look back with some pleasure on the eloquence I 
 heard, and the scenes I witnessed, in former days, at 
 our Bundleborough town-meetings. 
 
 In the first place, a half sheet of fools-cap paper, 
 with all the articles to be debated, written out in a 
 fair hand, was pasted up at the porch-door of the 
 meeting-house, and other conspicuous places in town, 
 signed by the selectmen, warning all good citizens 
 worth sixty pounds in money, to come and vote on 
 their municipal affairs. Sometimes it was to choose 
 a governor, sometimes representatives to the State 
 
128 THE PURITAN. 
 
 legislature, and sometimes to raise monies to defray the 
 expenses of the town ; and if any one wished to have 
 a birds-eye view of politics and politicians, he might 
 have seen it there. There were dupes and knaves, 
 demagogues and gulls, management and jealousy, art 
 and deception, rustic shrewdness and rustic elo 
 quence ; all the tricks and knaveries of social life 
 played off to perfection, so that what our primer was 
 to other books, our town-meetings were to more dig 
 nified assemblies. I am an impartial judge of politics, 
 for I began life by looking down on its operations 
 from a gallery ; and I must own, from that day to 
 this, I have seen little in the science to enamor me 
 with its beauties. 
 
 On the appointed day, the meeting-house was 
 thrown open ; and in the great pew immediately under 
 the pulpit, a little elevated above the rest of the audi 
 ence, were collected the town-clerk, the selectmen, 
 and whoever had a right to that dignified seat. The 
 first business was to choose a moderator, to regulate 
 the meeting a very needful officer; and here the 
 choice almost invariably fell upon squire Wilson, 
 whose silver tongue, and cautious wisdom, made him 
 the hero of our town. How often have I seen him 
 walk to the chair, with all the dignity of a speaker in 
 the house of commons, taking off his three-cornered 
 hat, showing on his back the circle, which the club 
 of his powdered wig had made on his coat, every step 
 firm and deliberate, every look a thunderbolt of 
 
THE PURITAN. 129 
 
 wisdom ! Then came his handsome apologies He felt 
 " wholly incompetent to discharge the arduous duties 
 imposed upon him ; it was a violent constraint on 
 his conscious sense of inability to take that exalted 
 chair ; he should need all the candor and indulgence 
 of his fellow townsmen, to conduct the business of 
 this important meeting ; but reiving on their good 
 sense and generosity, the proofs of which, on many 
 trying occasions, he had so often received, he would, 
 according to his poor abilities, endeavor to discharge 
 the duties of a Bundleborough moderator." All this 
 appeared to me, in those days, as the very topmost 
 flights of modesty and eloquence. I had heard the 
 names of Demosthenes and Cicero, but what they 
 could do more or better, I could not imagine. 
 
 In every age, it seems that peculiar modesty on the 
 superficies is required of the man, who presides over 
 a deliberative assembly. Demosthenes had it in his 
 orations, and always takes care to hoist it into notice 
 in the beginning of his speech ; Cicero mixes it with 
 all his vanity ; and it is well known how the speaker 
 of the house of commons, was accustomed to plead 
 with and petition the king, to set aside his election 
 and excuse him from an honor, for which he panted 
 with all his heart. " Till Sir Fletcher Norton was 
 elected speaker," says the editor of Blackstone s Com 
 mentaries, "on 29th Nov. 1774, every gentleman, 
 who was proposed to fill that honorable office, aifected 
 great modesty, and if elected, was almost forced into 
 
130 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the chair, and at the same time, he requested per 
 mission to plead, in another place, his excuses and in 
 ability to discharge the office, which he used to do on 
 being presented to the king." He goes on to say, a 
 little after, " Sir John Gust was the last speaker who 
 addressed the throne in the language of diffidence, of 
 which the following sentence may serve as a speci 
 men ; I am now a humble suitor to your majesty, 
 that you would give your faithful commons an oppor 
 tunity of rectifying this, the only inadvertent step 
 which they can ever take, and be graciously pleased 
 to direct them to present some other to your majesty, 
 whom they may not hereafter be sorry to have chosen, 
 nor your majesty to have approved. " See Blackstone s 
 Commentaries, vol. I. page 181, note. But all this I 
 had seen without going to England, in Bundleborough, 
 my dear native town. 
 
 Our sharpest debates, as in the British parliament, 
 used to be about money matters. This was wont to 
 call forth all the eloquence of the house, and some 
 times exhaust the whole session of six hours. Some 
 times Dr. Snivelwell would want to have his salary 
 raised; for the whole town was but one parish. 
 Sometimes our schools must be multiplied, and some 
 times a new road was to be laid out. In all these 
 debates, there were two parties, the savers and the 
 spenders ; and each of them guided, notwithstanding 
 their professions, a little by private interest. Those 
 gentlemen, whose property was invisible and paid the 
 
THE PURITAN. 13J 
 
 smallest taxes, in proportion to their wealth, were 
 always most ready to vote away the town s money ; 
 whereas the farmer, whose purse was small and 
 whose lands must be taxed, was invariably the most 
 parsimonious and saving. 
 
 I remember I used to compare our venerable cler 
 gyman to the king ; his church to the house of lords ; 
 and the people, in town-meeting assembled, to the 
 commons. Our reverend king was very willing to 
 have his salary increased ; the church were not very 
 adverse to it, or, at least, less so than the lower house ; 
 but the commons were always griping the purse- 
 strings. Thus we had deep management and warm 
 debates. 
 
 It was curious sometimes to notice the mistakes 
 made by rustic eloquence. Great liberties were often 
 taken with the king s English, and we used to show 
 that we were true freemen, by violating the laws of 
 language. I recollect the discussion was once re 
 specting continuing our schools throughout the year ; 
 when one crentleman remarked that we were an an- 
 
 O 
 
 cient, growing town, and needed two annual schools ; 
 when an honest farmer started up, and said, " that 
 for his part, he never went to an animal school, nor 
 his father before him ; and he did not see why our 
 children should need animal schools. He thought we 
 had better save our money, and leave animal schools 
 to the Boston fops, who needed them." On another 
 occasion, it was objected to an agricultural gentleman, 
 
132 THE PURITAN. 
 
 who had made a speech rather inconclusive in its 
 reasoning, that his ground was not tenable. " Not 
 tillable, Mr. Moderator," said he ; "I own as much 
 tillable ground as any other man ; I pay the largest 
 tax of any one in town ; and, Sir, is it to be objected 
 to me, that my ground is not tillable ?" So the 
 worthy man, like some logicians, found his mistake to 
 be an error in tcrminis. 
 
 There was one famous speaker in our rustic senate, 
 who was accustomed to attract great attention. He 
 went by the name of the learned cobbler. He had a 
 thin person, a loud voice, a meagre and haggard 
 look, and as much brass in his face, as prevented 
 him from ever being abashed. He was always in the 
 opposition ; and had he been in the British parliament, 
 would soon have been in the ministry. His gesticu 
 lation was very vehement ; and I remember a part 
 of his speech against raising our minister s salary. 
 " Turn your eyes," said he, " my fellow-townsmen, to 
 Bunker Hill." [Which, by the way, was far enough 
 out of sight, but he obviously meant the eyes of the 
 imagination.] " On that consecrated ground, our 
 fathers poured out their blood, in crimson torrents, 
 for the cause of liberty ; for liberty they faced their 
 British foes ; for liberty they fought and for liberty 
 they bled. For liberty, Warren lay a breathless corps 
 on the cold ground, sprinkled by the dews of the 
 night, and making the green sod his immortal pillow. 
 For liberty they resisted the stamp-act. Yes, liberty 
 
THE PURITAN. 133 
 
 was the goddess at whose shrine they poured the 
 sacrifice of their blood, and the incense of their 
 prayers. Yes. They did and shall we now be 
 slaves ? " This speech must appear very beautiful, 
 when we remember it was made on a motion to add 
 twenty-five dollars per annum to a clergyman s salary. 
 
 
 
THE PURITAN. 
 No. 45. 
 
 I would be worldly wise ; for the other wisdom, 
 That does prescribe us a well-governed life, 
 And to do right to others, as ourselves, 
 I value not an atom. 
 
 Massenger. 
 
 AMIDST all the character that have passed under 
 my inspection, I know of none more disgusting and 
 contemptible, than a thorough-going politician. Poli 
 tics, in all the forms of the science, from the manage 
 ment of the parish to the rival candidates for the 
 highest chair in the nation, sharpens the envy, ex 
 tinguishes the benevolence of men, and makes them 
 arithmetical machines, moving only by their interest, 
 without one impulse from the benevolence of a gen 
 erous heart. 
 
 I have already mentioned squire Wilson, our mod 
 erator, who was a true specimen of a politician on a 
 small scale, and in a humble sphere. The squire 
 
 
THE PURITAN. 135 
 
 was a man who lived on calculation. He never ut 
 tered a sentiment, or moved a step, or took off his 
 hat, but with a view to the effect. He was a tall, 
 stately man, well dressed ; who loved a glass of 
 brandy, and spoke with a silver tongue. He was re 
 markable for never committing himself on any ques 
 tion, until it was absolutely necessary ; and he had a 
 fund of common-place remarks, by which he could 
 go round a subject, without coming to the vital point. 
 He always waited to see which way the stream would 
 set, and then threw himself into the current. His 
 practice was to suspend his opinion, "the matter 
 was weighty and worthy of deliberation." No man 
 could call him hasty or rash with his mouth ; he never 
 let his tongue run before his thoughts. He fully 
 complied with the direction of Scripture, in being 
 swift to hear, slow to speak. He remembered, ac 
 cording to the directions of the old philosopher, that 
 he had one mouth and two ears, and therefore he 
 should hear twice as much as he taxed others with 
 hearing. He well knew that one hasty speech might 
 "lose him ten votes, and ten votes might turn the 
 election. 
 
 The squire was one of the most affable men alive. 
 He would pat one man on the shoulder, whilst he 
 gave him agreeable advice ; pull off his hat to a 
 second, and squeeze a third by the hand. He never 
 gave any advice but what was agreeable. There was 
 another squire in town, who was as great a bon vivant 
 
 
136 THE PURITAN. 
 
 as himself, being generally muddled by three o clock 
 in the afternoon, from drinking brandy. All the 
 town noticed it, and predicted, unless some faithful 
 friend should arouse him from his error, he would be 
 over seas, and gone as a citizen and as a man. Every 
 body knows how agreeable certain prescriptions are 
 to people in this condition. Squire Wilson went to 
 see him, and thus addressed him "Brother," said he, 
 " your health fails ; I clearly perceive you look pale ; 
 (the fact was, his cheeks were like two red pulpit- 
 cushions ;) you are too abstemious ; I advise you, as 
 you grow older, to lay in some good Madeira, and 
 some good old cogniac, and take a glass now and 
 then. Your stomach requires it." Whether the ad 
 vice was taken, I know not ; but an assenting smile 
 testified that it was abundantly agreeable. 
 
 Squire Wilson was remarkable for never giving a 
 direct answer. I remember that my old favorite 
 John Bunyan says, that out of the mouth of Apollyon, 
 the fiend that encountered Christian, came fire and 
 smoke. It was not so with squire Wilson. Out of 
 his mouth, whenever he spoke, there came nothing 
 but smoke. I recollect that one day when he was 
 walking in his field, swinging his cane and overlook 
 ing his workmen, two worthy citizens laid a wager of 
 ten dollars, that one of them could not go to him and 
 propose any question, whatever the question might be, 
 to which he should give a simple and direct answer. 
 The champion went, and out of all possible questions, 
 
THE PURITAN. 137 
 
 he proposed the following. He knew that the worthy 
 gentleman had an only son in Savannah, whom he 
 loved as well as he was capable of loving any thing. 
 He therefore asked, " Pray, sir, when did you hear 
 from your son?" The squire paused, looked up to 
 the sun in the sky, squirted the tobacco-juice from 
 his mouth, and said, " My good friend, do you think 
 the mail has got in to-day ? " Thus nature was un 
 deviating, and the wager was lost. 
 
 This popular man was very discreet with his tongue. 
 He was no slanderer ; he neither invented nor re 
 ported any tales, to the injury of his neighbor s good 
 name. He was even excessively incredulous, to all 
 such stories as other people were prone to believe. 
 If he ever heard that a man set his own house on 
 fire, in order to cheat the insurers or to excite the 
 charities of the people, he always rejected the ao 
 count, as an incredible act of wickedness. Though 
 he was a Calvinist, and had been taught the As 
 sembly s Catechism, he was no believer in total de 
 pravity, at least in detail. With him, everybody was 
 good ; it was good Mr. A, and worthy Mr. B, and 
 my estimable friend Mr. C, and so on to the last 
 scoundrel that filled up the tail of the human al 
 phabet. Conscious, he said, of his own imperfections, 
 he was unwilling to turn a scrutinizing or cruel eye 
 on those of mankind. 
 
 As to his charities, they were all secret : he never 
 sounded a trumpet before him when he gave alms, 
 
 YQL. II. 10 
 
138 THE PURITAN. 
 
 nor did he let his right hand know what his left hand 
 did. How many poor widows he relieved, or how 
 many orphans he educated, no man in Bundleborough 
 pretended to say. But that he might have performed 
 many secret charities, is possible ; for he was saving 
 of his money ; and what could he save it for, unless 
 to give it away ? But he kept his charities so very 
 secret, that not one of them ever came to light. 
 
 Yet this man was one of the most popular leaders 
 in our town. He was the darling of the place. Long 
 did he represent us in the general court ; where, I 
 have heard it said, he was the wisest looking man in 
 the whole body, though he seldom made speeches in 
 that assembly. There, he hid his mental wisdom as 
 carefully as he did his charities when he was at home, 
 in Bundleborough. But I have been informed, and 
 tradition still preserves the fact, that no man walked 
 into the hall of legislation with a better grace ; no 
 man bowed to the speaker s chair with greater dignity ; 
 and no man could say yea or no with a firmer voice, 
 when the signified interests of his constituents were 
 at stake. In all these things, he was the very Sol 
 omon of his day. 
 
 The mortal remains of this great statesman now 
 sleep in our grave-yard. Under a thorn-bush, whose 
 crinkled boughs represent the tortuosities of a poli 
 tician s heart, is seen his marble stone, bearing the 
 figure of two angels, crowning his head with laurel, 
 while a ray of glory seems to stream on it from the 
 
THE PURITAN. 139 
 
 skies. On the smooth marble is this epitaph ; written 
 by some surviving friend, who soothed his sorrows by 
 thus lauding the departed dead. 
 
 Beneath this stone 
 
 Lie the mortal remains of 
 
 Ebenezer Wilson, Esq., 
 
 Who departed &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Born in the times which tried men s souls, 
 
 He was bold, valiant, and sincere ; 
 
 He sought the public interest 
 
 To the neglect of his own ; 
 He was prudent, yet open-hearted ; 
 
 Liberal, yet economical ; 
 A moralist, and yet a Christian ; 
 
 Bundleborough never lost a more faithful representative, 
 Nor his country a greater man ; 
 
 He lies here 
 In the confident hope of a glorious resurrection. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 46. 
 
 A clear idea is therefore another name for a little idea. 
 
 Burke. 
 
 SIR THOMAS BROWN, was a singular character, and, 
 in his Religio Medici, he has laid open his heart with 
 great freedom. He tells us, that in the Bible, he 
 could hardly find impossibilities enough for his active 
 faith ; he adopted those interpretations of certain 
 texts, which place them in irreconcilable contradic 
 tion to the demonstrations of science and the expe 
 rience of mankind ; " because," says he, " I love to 
 lose myself in mystery, and tis my solitary recrea 
 tion to pose my apprehension with those involved 
 enigmas and riddles of the Trinity and incarnation;" 
 he delights to believe a thing not only above, but con 
 trary to reason. Such was the exalted faith of Sir 
 Thomas Brown, which one may safely expose to 
 public notice, as there is very little danger of its being 
 followed in this analytic age. 
 
THE PURITAN. 141 
 
 The reverse of wrong is not always right ; and 
 there is such a thing, as being too much afraid of a 
 mystery, both in our philosophy and religion. For 
 what is a mystery ? It is the antithesis, I apprehend, 
 of something we can analyze, and the end of every 
 analytic process is to terminate in a mystery. A so 
 lution has reference to what it solves ; and the solu 
 tion itself is a mystery. Thus, for example, when we 
 see this vast universe in motion ; planets, comets and 
 satellites, keeping their appropriate places ; and we 
 ask, how the motion began ? we find, according to 
 the doctrine of some of the old philosophers, that we 
 must terminate in the belief of a universal mind ; for, 
 as all matter is passive, we must suppose that the be 
 ginning of activity is spirit. In this sense, the existence 
 of God is a solution ; an ultimate truth which explains, 
 in the most satisfactory manner conceivable, all the 
 phenomena of nature. But then, in itself considered, 
 the existence of God is a mystery. If you undertake 
 to solve the solution, or to analyze that which is the 
 end of every other analysis, you are lost at once. An 
 ocean of darkness arises before you, and you have 
 neither chart nor compass to picture or cross its illim 
 itable wastes. 
 
 The truth is, all philosophy (and what is religion 
 but a species of just philosophy ?) consists of two 
 parts analysis and mystery. These are blended, 
 like the light and darkness in the natural world. The 
 great art is, to know when the analytic possibility 
 
142 THE PURITAN. 
 
 closes and the mystery begins. THIS is WISDOM ; 
 
 THIS IS THE LAST DISCOVERY RESERVED FOR THE FAC 
 ULTIES OF MAN. If it were not so, we might go on 
 explaining forever. Every lamp we bring to the word 
 of God or the works of nature would want another light 
 to illuminate it ; and the maxim of the old poet would 
 be false, that light is a thing which is seen by itself; 
 or in other words, it would not be true that knowledge 
 is knowledge. 
 
 Nor are these mysteries barren and unproductive 
 in their influence on the understanding or the heart. 
 In religious things I am persuaded, that the unknown 
 is almost as necessary to the sanctifying the heart as 
 the known. Sir Thomas Brown got part of the truth, 
 though he overstated it through his love of paradox. 
 For what can be more necessary, than that man should 
 wonder and adore, before an idea so vast, as to assure 
 us that it comes from God, and so perplexing, as to 
 lead us up to God again ? It is the same impression 
 in intellectuals, which was made on the Israelites 
 in visible things, when they saw, at a trembling dis 
 tance, Moses approach the thick darkness where God 
 was. 
 
 We should distinguish between mystery and mysti 
 fication. The last is always foolish and contemptible, 
 or weak and to be explained. If a man comes to me 
 with some crude thoughts, which he clothes in a half 
 metaphor, (as, for example, when some honest quaker 
 calls his reason and conscience the light within ; or 
 
THE PURITAN. 143 
 
 when a Swedenborgian comes and expresses moral 
 edification, by all the technics of architecture,) I see 
 at once he is mystifying what might be expressed in 
 much more literal language. Very much of this 
 language is found, I suspect, in the works of the old 
 platonist, and even in the writings of some excellent 
 theologians. This I call mystijication ; and to such 
 a man, I should say, Pray, sir, do learn to call a spade 
 by its right name. Of these cobwebs of a diseased, 
 unswept imagination, we cannot keep our minds too 
 free. But if any one thinks, by avoiding these, to 
 avoid all mystery, he knows but half the work of 
 philosophy, and he loses all the power of religion. 
 Religion, without mystery, would be a little idea. Its 
 immensity, its majesty, its glory, its adoration would 
 be sunk in the crucible and irrecoverably lost. 
 
 It is not without severe reflection, that we see how 
 these mysteries meet us on every side. An analytic 
 mind gets a taste for half the work of philosophy,* 
 and loses all that is to be found on the other side. 
 But as it is with our roads they either terminate on 
 the seaside, or are connected until we reach the 
 boundless forests of the west ; so it is with our investi 
 gations they all end in a mystery, which it is useful 
 for us to see, and it would be pious in us to adore. 
 
 Let us take an example. 
 
 We exist in time and space. These are the two 
 " receptivities," as the Germans call them, in which 
 
 * i. e. for analysis only. 
 
144 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the understanding acts, and all incorporated things 
 are found. But what is time 1 and what is space ? 
 At first they seem to be very comprehensible ; for 
 they are the conditions of all existence. They seem 
 almost like finer elements in which we float ; and it is 
 by opening our eyes and attending to our own con 
 sciousness, that these ideas enter the mind. But 
 what is time ? What do we mean by equal periods of 
 duration? It is one of the most puzzling questions, I 
 ever asked myself. Time can be only measured by 
 time, as extension can only be measured by extension. 
 Two parts of extension you can bring together to 
 measure one by the other ; but how can you bring 
 two parts of time (which is elapsed and gone, while 
 we speak of it) together, to measure one by the other? 
 There is no standard hour laid up in the tower, or a 
 chronometer s office in Washington, by which all 
 time shall be measured. Even while my breath is 
 forming the expressions, " equal time," and " com 
 mensurate portions," I am at a loss to know what I 
 mean. A fugitive idea is there ; it flits before me ; I 
 grasp it and it is gone. O the deep mystery ! The 
 Power that measures my existence, eludes my re 
 search, and plunges me into darkness. 
 
 If the reader will thoughtfully peruse the 590th 
 number of the Spectator, he will there find all I wish 
 to say, concerning the mysteries involved (I might 
 say apparent contradictions) in the existence of time 
 and space. I refer to that number with great pleasure. 
 

 THE PURITAN. 145 
 
 It was the first production which involved me in deep 
 thinking. It made me a little, petulant metaphysi 
 cian ; and brought down some severe rebukes on my 
 boyish head, from my grandfather and aunt. 
 
 For these reasons, I have never been scrupulous of 
 receiving a system of religion, which presents me 
 with some mysteries. I find them in nature ; and I 
 ought to expect to find them in a revelation, which 
 comes from an infinite God ; and as I have settled it 
 to my own satisfaction, that some of the deep things 
 of my creed, are not JUSTIFICATION, (i. e. things 
 voluntarily darkened, when they might be expressed 
 more plainly,) I conclude them to be MYSTERIES; 
 and, though I would not say with Sir Thomas Brown, 
 that there is not enough of these in the Bible for my 
 active faith, yet far less would I reject an interpreta 
 tion, " which contains a doctrine, the light of nature 
 cannot discover, or a precept, which the law of nature 
 does not oblige to." * 
 
 Before I close, let me say a word respecting one 
 of the most repulsive articles in the old theology of 
 New England. It is well known that our fathers 
 taught the doctrine of the imputation of Adam s sin 
 to all his posterity ex arbitrio Dei ; and this has filled 
 their descendants with the most pious horror, and 
 been a standing reproach to them and their religion. 
 What! make men sinners by an arbitrary decree; 
 and damn tender infants for a crime which they never 
 
 * Butler s Analogy, chap. I. part 2. 
 
146 THE PURITAN. 
 
 committed!! Horrible! absurd! blasphemous!! But, 
 it is a rule with me, when I find any thing emi 
 nently strange in human opinions, to ask myself 
 whether I understand the thing as it lay in the minds 
 of those, wlio embraced it. I would respectfully in 
 quire then, whether all these exclamations are not 
 founded in mistake ? The existence of sin is a 
 mystery ; and if the doctrine of imputation is to be 
 considered as a solution of that mystery, it is worthy 
 of all the names of absurdity, which have been heaped 
 upon it. But was it so intended ? I apprehend our 
 fathers meant to leave the primitive mystery just where 
 the light of nature and revelation leaves and finds it. 
 They only meant to state a subordinate fact, in the 
 government of God. If so, their doctrine darkened 
 nothing; it only leaves us to bow in submissive 
 adoration when reason says we must. 
 
THE PURITAN. 
 
 No. 47. 
 
 Desire first taught us words : Man when created, 
 At first alone, long wandered up and down, 
 Forlorn and silent as his vassal-beasts ; 
 But when a heaven -born maid, like you, appeared, 
 Strange pleasure filled his eyes, and fired his heart, 
 Unloosed his tongue, and his first talk was love. 
 
 The Orphan. 
 
 I HAVE often employed myself in speculating on the 
 influence of republicanism on the private manners of 
 domestic life ; on those little items of thought and sen 
 sation which make up, after all our proud aspirations, 
 the sum total of our wretchedness or felicity. There 
 can be no doubt that republicanism, and the free dis 
 cussions, which it invites and allows, tends to produce 
 a conflict of opinions, a sharpening of the temper, a 
 division of neighborhoods into factions, a jealousy and 
 alienation of life and heart, which it requires the 
 strongest wisdom to regulate, and the highest moral 
 principle to resist and overcome. But let us not 
 
148 THE PURITAN. 
 
 dwell on the dark side. In all ages and all govern 
 ments, the duty of man is a combat with his propensi 
 ties ; and if liberty makes him too rough a disputer, 
 despotism grinds him down to be a servile hypocrite. 
 
 There is one point of view, in which I am con 
 vinced that republicanism is eminently favorable to 
 domestic happiness ; I allude to its influence on love 
 and marriage. The affections are left far more to 
 their natural course, than in the aristocratic world, and 
 there are far fewer restrictions on marriage. Dr. 
 Dwight used frequently to say, that the doctrine of the 
 English moralists on this subject was erroneous. 
 That there are few happy marriages, is their constant 
 assertion. They represent courtship, especially among 
 the higher classes, as constant effort at simulation 
 and dissimulation ; love is professed and riches are 
 sought. Jointures, pin-money, and all the arts of in 
 terest disturb the hearts of the parties, and destroy 
 their happiness. A connection begun in mercenary 
 views, often is continued in jealousy, and, ends in 
 divorce. But in America, love flies over our cities 
 and villages, on his golden wings, unhampered by 
 these oppressive chains. Our marriages are prompted 
 by nature, regulated by principle, and are therefore 
 introductions to happiness. A time will probably 
 come, when the present condition of New England in 
 this respect, will be looked back on as its golden 
 age. 
 
 As a proof of the justice of this remark, I would 
 
THE PURITAN. 149 
 
 adduce the fact, that so few pathetic stories of wound 
 ed affection and disappointed love can be formed on 
 New England manners, and yet bear much resem 
 blance to truth. Here is no proud lord, ready to 
 sacrifice his daughter s happiness to a marriage of 
 policy; no Clarissa to be given to a Somes, and no 
 Douglas to be joined to a Percy ; but, nature prompted 
 by affection follows her own laws ; a process of love, 
 is too happy for the parties to be pleasing to the spec 
 tator. I have been looking round for some pathetic 
 stories with which to adorn my book ; but among all 
 my acquaintance, I have hardly found a hint for fic 
 tion to manufacture into a tale of tears. 
 
 Yet there is always a defective side in all human 
 manners, a gap for vice to enter in. As we look over 
 countries, we find some fashions supremely happy; 
 they seem to be invented by Wisdom herself, to bind 
 virtue to the soil by linking her with delight. But on 
 the other hand, there will be some instances as re 
 markable of an opposite kind. Take, for example, 
 the well-regulated stage in Athens, especially when 
 under the influence of the muse of tragedy. How in 
 tellectual her voice ! How sublime (for pagans) her 
 moral lessons ! Yet, on the other hand, what a fatal 
 mistake it was ; how completely did they set manners 
 on the side of vice, when they cramped and confined 
 the education of the wife, denied her all the orna 
 ments which please, and lavished them on the harlot ! 
 It seems as if the fashions of all countries, had been 
 
150 THE PURITAN. 
 
 established by two powers ; part of them by a messen 
 ger of benevolence, and part by a destroying angel. 
 So strangely are they combined. 
 
 There is one side on which sensuality has sadly 
 soiled the purity of love in New England ; and it is a 
 vice to which our youth have been tempted by an un 
 fortunate system of manners. I can explain it best 
 by a quotation from Shakspeare. When Ferdinand 
 is breathing out the ardor of his love to Miranda, the 
 poet makes her father say and may the spirit of the 
 lines thrill through the hearts of all our rustic youth ! 
 
 Then as my gift and thine own acquisition 
 "Worthily pui chased, take my daughter : But 
 If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
 All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
 With full and holy rite be ministered, 
 No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
 To make this contract grow ; but barren hate, 
 Sour-eyed disdain and discord, shall bestrew 
 The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, 
 That you shall hate it both : therefore, take heed, 
 As Hymen s lamp shall like you. 
 
 This has been, and is, a needed lesson in New 
 England ; and I am afraid that thousands have found 
 the imprecation verified in their after-experience. For 
 how can the man esteem the wife whom he has found 
 and made frail ; and who can never point to the 
 register of his family births without confusion and 
 shame ! 
 
THE PURITAN. 151 
 
 For this common fault, I have no hesitation in 
 saying, that a large part of the blame lights on pa 
 rents. It is well known, that at a late hour of night, 
 our bodies and minds undergo a change. Those 
 hours nature designed for sleep ; and if we steal them 
 from their purpose, they are apt to be devoted to crim 
 inal dreams. To turn, therefore, an inexperienced 
 pair, w r arm with youth, blind with passion, into a dark 
 room, at a late hour, unguarded and alone nay even 
 to do worse ! ! (for the charges of the Quarterly Re 
 view, are supported by one of Mr. Edwards s sermons. 
 See sermon on Genesis, xxxix. 12.) what, can you 
 expect? Why just the result that our history has 
 disclosed ; a result which has made us a scorn to 
 other nations and a confusion to ourselves ! 
 
 The time of courtship is an important season. 
 Then the parties are to learn each other s character, 
 adjust themselves to each other s habits, and to suffer 
 those affections to ripen into esteem, which are to 
 form their happiness in future life. Let it be a period 
 of warmth ; (and passion, if you please ;) but let it be 
 also, tempered with the strictest purity. No man can 
 imagine, until taught by experience, how much the 
 virtue of chastity rises in importance, when he sees 
 his own daughters grow up around him. In all such 
 cases, he wishes to have his lessons seconded by his 
 own pure example. 
 
 These pages teach no ascetic doctrine. I could 
 wish the intercourse of our youth to be free without 
 
152 THE PURITAN. 
 
 being licentious. The rose is never sweeter, than 
 when it waves its beauty on the flexile bush, wagging 
 its head in the breeze, unbent by art, and moving in 
 all the original freedom and simplicity of nature. But 
 I am a determined enemy of late hours in all possible 
 concerns. I love the sun ; I love his light ; and I 
 love that better light, of which his resplendent visage 
 is but a feeble emblem. I once sat up on an arbitra 
 tion all night, in a case, in which it seemed to be 
 necessary ; but the decision was such as satisfied 
 none of the parties, no impartial hearer, and such as 
 I myself could never after bear to think on, during 
 the hours of sunshine. 
 
 The whole secret of choosing well in matrimony, 
 may be taught in three words Explore the character. 
 A violent love-fit is always the result of ignorance ; 
 for there is not a daughter of Eve, that has merit 
 enough to justify romantic love, though thousands and 
 thousands, may reasonably inspire that gentle esteem, 
 which is infinitely better. A woman-worshipper and 
 a woman-hater, both derive their mistakes from igno 
 rance of the female world ; for if the characters of 
 women were thoroughly understood, they would be 
 found too good to be hated, and yet not good enough 
 to be idolized. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 ..... 
 
 No. 48. 
 
 At length the morn and cold indifference came ; 
 When, fully sated with the luscious banquet, 
 I hastily took leave ; and left the nymph 
 To think on what was past, and sigh alone. 
 
 Fair Penitent. 
 
 MY design in this number, is to illustrate the re 
 marks of the former number, by a story, which I have 
 heard from several elder people, and which I believe 
 to be strictly true. 
 
 On the banks of the Merrimack, there dwelt a 
 young lady, whose accomplishments were above her 
 birth. She was not a finished beauty ; but had a 
 delicate, interesting countenance, and a wit and 
 vivacity, which made her the life and delight of all the 
 companies with which she chose to mingle. Her ed 
 ucation had been good, for that day, (the commence 
 ment of the revolutionary war,) and her character was 
 brightened by that good sense (I had almost said ge- 
 
 VOL. II. 11 
 
154 THE PURITAN. 
 
 nius) which, however untaught, always forms the 
 foundation of the interest we take, either in woman 
 or man. She was addressed by a young and enter 
 prising youth ; the master of a vessel, of a family 
 rather more genteel than her own ; who was consid 
 ered every way worthy of her. The parents of the 
 young man, it is true, made some objections at first, 
 because the girl belonged to a plain household; but 
 when they came to be acquainted with her, after a 
 short visit at their house, every objection vanished ; 
 her personal charms overcame the impediments of her 
 birth, and the mother of the young captain declared, 
 that she was as much in love with the girl as her son. 
 It was considered as a very happy connection. Two 
 of the most sprightly youth of both sexes, the life of 
 all parties, and the delight of all friends, were to be 
 united ; and nobody wondered, (which is in itself a 
 wonder,) that the one had chosen the other. 
 
 The young lover made several voyages to sea for 
 he was taught by his father, though he might marry a 
 girl without much property, he must earn some money 
 before marriage, or love would starve on penury 
 and affection freeze. His adventures were good ; his 
 voyages, though long, were generally prosperous ; and 
 he was rising to that independence, which, on all 
 principles of prudence, might justify marriage. But 
 somehow, from some secret reason, unaccountable to 
 all but the parties concerned, just before his last voy 
 age, (previous to a disaster I am going to relate,) his 
 
 
THE PURITAN. 155 
 
 affections became cold; and, though the lady s charms 
 were the same, and her interest the same, he treated 
 her with the indifference of a cloyed lover. He 
 seemed insensibly to lose his esteem for her ; and on 
 parting for this memorable voyage, they almost agreed 
 to dissolve their connection. However they left the 
 matter ambiguous; and it was evident that the thought 
 of parting was more painful to the lady than to the 
 man. Amidst all her lightness, and wit, and appa 
 rent trifling, it was obvious there was some deep- 
 seated affliction preying on her heart. She smiled, 
 and told him she did not doubt she should soon see 
 him back again ; for a bad penny was soon returned ; 
 but the speech was uttered in a mixed tone, and fol 
 lowed by some insuppressible tears. 
 
 During that voyage, he was taken by the British 
 cruisers ; he was carried into Deptford, and confined 
 in a mariner s prison for several years. The war 
 continued ; no opportunity of exchange occurred ; his 
 letters were intercepted, and all thoughts of home, 
 and its once charming connections, were obliterated 
 from his heart. 
 
 I ought to mention, perhaps, that though he was a 
 man not destitute of moral impressions, and of the 
 strictest sentiments of honesty and honor, yet he had 
 that loose notion prevalent in New England, that 
 marriage rectifies all the slips previous to its cere 
 mony ; and had he known of any disaster at home, 
 he would certainly felt bound in conscience to return 
 and repair it. 
 
156 THE PURITAN. 
 
 When peace was declared, he was liberated, and 
 once more began his career of commercial enterprise. 
 He concluded that his connection with his once-loved 
 Mehitable was dissolved ; he had been long from 
 home, he heard nothing ; he supposed she was mar 
 ried ; and like the bounding bird, on St. Valentine s 
 day, he thought he was once more at liberty to spread 
 the painted wing of freedom, and choose for himself 
 another mate. 
 
 He went to the West Indies, and there found an 
 opportunity of gratifying fancy and fortune both. 
 There was a daughter of a rich merchant in the place, 
 an only child, who attracted his attention. She was 
 young, comely, rich, and willing to receive a youthful 
 adventurer as her partner for life. As the young 
 man bore an excellent character, her father could 
 make no objection ; and they were married ; the 
 bridegroom writing home to tell his parents of his sit 
 uation, and prospects, with a signification for the 
 present that he should make his residence in the 
 West Indies. 
 
 But just as the marriage was finished, a vessel from 
 Nevvburyport arrived in the island. It was natural 
 for him to walk down to the shore, hear the news, 
 inquire about home, and talk with one who had just 
 come from the paternal abode. " Your parents are 
 well," said the new arrived captain, "and things go on 
 as usual ; but do you know about Mehitable ? She 
 is the mother of a child of whom you are supposed to 
 
THE PURITAN. 157 
 
 be the father. She is shut up in her father s house ; 
 she never sees company ; she weeps night and day ; 
 and the only recompense you can ever make her, is 
 to return and marry her ; for I am sure she is a fine 
 girl, and is now spoiled for every body but yourself." 
 
 It would be difficult to conceive the horror that 
 came over the face of Mehitable s lover. " O that I 
 could call back yesterday ! O that I could undo 
 the work of a few short hours." He ought to 
 have thrown his retrospections farther back. But 
 he was married, and no reparation remained for 
 poor Mehitable. Perhaps I should mention here, that 
 her father, though poor, at least not rich, was a very 
 proud and severe man. When he found out her situ 
 ation, after her lover s capture in England, he said to 
 her, with a dreadful look, dreadful at least to a guilty 
 daughter, " You may stay in my house ; I will not 
 turn you out of doors. But never let me see your 
 face again, never until the grave has covered your 
 body or mine." This awful command was complied 
 with. For seven years, the fallen, afflicted daughter 
 spent her time in her father s house, in a solitary cham 
 ber, (weeping almost literally day and night,) some 
 times hearing his voice, but never seeing his face. 
 
 Sad too, was the task which the bridegroom in the 
 West Indies had to perform to his wife. Concluding 
 that honesty was the best policy, he went home and 
 told his bride the whole story. He confessed his for 
 mer attachment to poor Mehitable ; acknowledged 
 
158 THE PURITAN. 
 
 that he was the father of a son, not his wife s ; allowed 
 her merit and his own guilt and declared it was his 
 intention, as it was certainly his duty, to make every 
 provision for the education of a child, which he was 
 the means of introducing into the world in such un 
 happy circumstances. Here was a trying case ! 
 What should a woman do? What a wife ? Should 
 she give way to rage or magnanimity 1 Should she 
 show her own virtue by kindness and generosity, or 
 by invectives and triumphs over the fallen and op 
 pressed. 
 
 I rejoice to say she acted the better part. She 
 sent every article of comfort that her kindness could 
 devise for her unfortunate rival. Teas, sugars, sweet 
 meats, oranges, dress, money, (but what is money 
 when affection bleeds !) were sent over in almost every 
 vessel. The boy was ordered to be put to school. 
 She even allowed her husband to write a soothing 
 letter to the heart he had seduced, bleeding over the 
 reputation he had destroyed. This, I consider, as 
 the highest flight of female generosity. Noble woman ! 
 Two words are enough for your eulogy. 
 
 In a few years, (three, I think,) this generous wife 
 fell a prey to the climate ; and left her husband at 
 liberty to return home and raise his former love from 
 her deep degradation. And now, I suppose, my reader 
 imagines we are to have smooth sailing. The youth 
 is to return, raise up his drooping flower, kiss away 
 her tears, speak the accents of tenderness and conso- 
 
THE PURITAN. 159 
 
 lation, and spend the rest of his days in reputation 
 and happiness. But no ! The just Power that is 
 never offended with impunity, had otherwise deter 
 mined. It is true, he tried to do all this ; he went 
 home, released Mehitable from her bondage ; married 
 her, and tried every method to raise her to the honors 
 of a wife. But her cheerfulness was gone ; her vivac 
 ity was gone ; her innocence was gone ! and it was 
 generally agreed, that they passed together a cheer 
 less, unhappy life ; and I recommend this story to 
 the deep consideration, not only of those who trifle 
 with, what Shakspeare calls, the beforehand sin, but 
 of all those, who think that a subsequent recompense, 
 however ample, always removes the whole evil of a 
 preceding transgression. 
 
THE PURITAN, 
 
 No. 49. 
 
 Yet much remains 
 
 To conquer still : Peace hath her victories 
 No less renowned than War: New foes arise 
 Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains : 
 
 Milton s Sonnet to Cromwell. 
 
 ALREADY have I told my readers, that whatever 
 might be my efforts, the cruel and ungrateful world 
 always seemed to make it a point to leave me to ob 
 scurity and neglect. No deathless laurels bloomed 
 for me. Votes bore not my name ; and essays, epi 
 grams, sermons, epic poems, though calculated for 
 immortality, went to immediate oblivion. But once 
 in my life my disastrous stars made a sudden revolu 
 tion from the nadir to the zenith ; and I was chosen 
 to deliver an oration, on the 4th of July, to the whole 
 assembled town of Bundleborough. Here was a great 
 occasion. Much was expected ; and I endeavored to 
 arise to the height of the great argument set before me. 
 
THE PURITAN. 161 
 
 As however the oration, though I thought it my mas 
 ter-piece, was not requested for the press, I shall 
 publish it here. 
 
 ORATION FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY, 1830. 
 BY JOHN OLDBUG. 
 
 Hail, natal day ! Hail, happy country, where every 
 sound is the echo of tranquillity, and every blossom the 
 efflorescence of delight! Hail, Columbia, the glory of all 
 lands, the home of the brave, and the paradise of the 
 free ! Hail, those noble heroes ! who poured out their 
 blood like water to purchase our liberties, though some 
 of them had been so starved by oppression that they 
 had scarcely any blood to shed ! Hail, this blessed 
 morn ! when the blushing aurora, leading on the 
 joyful hours from the golden gates of the east, and 
 calling up every tuneful bird, reminds us, as she 
 drives her airy chariot over the sil.er drops of dew, 
 of the times, which tried men s souls. Hail, the fair 
 sex ! whose beauties incite the patriot and reward 
 the conqueror, as he returns home on his triumphal 
 car, to lay, in his sweet, domestic nest, the eggs of 
 hope, and brood over them, with fond, parental care, 
 until he hatches the chickens of innocent enjoyment. 
 Hail, Washington ! Hail, Green ! Hail, Bunker Hill, 
 and Lexington ! or rather, (to speak without an an 
 achronism,) Lexington and Bunker Hill ! Hail, every 
 thing that ought to be hailed on such a glorious day 
 as this ! And now, fellow citizens, having got through 
 
162 THE PURITAN. 
 
 this travelled paragraph, which it has almost ex 
 hausted my ingenuity to write, and my breath to 
 speak, let me lay aside my sublimities and call you, 
 through the rest of this oration, to hear a little plain 
 common sense. 
 
 It is certain, whatever may be the purposes of hu 
 man nature, man was never made for solitude. His 
 station is society ; his passion-, his wants, his desires 
 and his aversions, all point him to the social scene ; 
 and mix him with the great ocean of which his own 
 existence is a constituent drop. This consideration 
 should urge us to take a deep interest in the welfare 
 of our fellow creatures ; to improve that community 
 from which it is impossible for us to retreat. Though 
 the solitary island, the silent grove, the peaceful cell, 
 the lonely bed, and the tranquil stream, may occa 
 sionally amuse a romantic imagination, yet in these 
 respects, truth and fancy are entirely opposite. No 
 man can, probably, bear a perfect seclusion from his 
 species. This remark is not confuted by the history 
 of the ancient monks. It was eminently a social 
 passion that drove them into retirement. They were 
 sought out and admired in their cells ; and the wil 
 derness was often to them, a passage to the episcopal 
 throne. Whatever storms may pass over the sea of 
 life, whatever passions may rage, however vice may be 
 exalted and virtue depressed, it is the duty of a good 
 man to face the difficulties. As politicians have said, 
 that the most tyrannical government, is better than 
 
THE PURITAN. 163 
 
 anarchy ; so it may be said, with equal truth, that the 
 most corrupt society is better than solitude. The 
 whole system of social virtue, is built on the divine 
 command, " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." 
 This implies that we have a neighbor. It is social 
 life alone that can give meaning to the law of God. 
 
 It is not uncommon to find some men, whose in 
 tentions are the best, whose perceptions are the most 
 clear, and whose morality is most refined, shuffled 
 out their influence, because they could not bear the 
 roughness of the contest because they would not 
 purchase popularity at the market-price because 
 when their motives were misunderstood, and their 
 character torn, they shrunk in discouragement from 
 an ungrateful world, and felt in evil times, that a 
 private station was the post of honor. This, however, 
 is a fatal mistake. Evil times are precisely the occa 
 sions when the influence of good men is most needed. 
 The station that mortifies their pride, which they call 
 their feelings, that taxes their modesty, is precisely 
 the station which in duty they ought to keep. It is 
 true, you will see the noisy and the bold run away 
 with much of the influence. You will see the meanest 
 abilities succeeding by arts, which you cannot use. You 
 will see the grossest hypocrisy for a while pass unde 
 tected ; and the crowd so completely deceived, that 
 they will consider it almost as treason to show them 
 their true interest. But what then ? Let not the 
 good man despair. The arts of deception are ex- 
 
164 THE PURITAN. 
 
 haustible. The influence of truth is eternal. Like 
 a constant stream, never foaming and never dry it 
 wears away the obstacle by a ceaseless flow. The 
 people, it is true, sometimes sleep over their interest ; 
 they not only sleep, but they dream. Yet however 
 soft their slumbers, or wild their dreams, they must 
 wake at last. It has been the fatal mistake of some 
 good men, that they have not waited for the waking 
 hour. They have been defeated by their own de 
 spair. 
 
 In farther pursuing this subject, I solicit your pa 
 tience while I shall discuss the following propositions. 
 
 1st. That most of the real good accomplished in the 
 world, has been done by cool and impartial men not 
 the slaves of a party. 
 
 2d. That much more good would have been done, 
 if such men had not too soon abandoned their cause. 
 
 3d. They ought to persevere and support each 
 other. 
 
 1. That most of the real good accomplished in the 
 world, has been done by cool and impartial men not 
 the slaves of a party. 
 
 A moment s reflection must convince us that utility 
 is a distant object ; to be looked at only by a cool and 
 considering mind. It is like the rainbow which 
 bounds the prospect and is to be seen by him alone, 
 who cast his sight forward and elevates his eye, to 
 that heaven in which the beautiful arch is completed. 
 Impartial discernment is necessary even to form a 
 
THE PURITAN. 165 
 
 view of so remote an object ; and still more is it ne 
 cessary to pursue and overtake it. Passion blinds the 
 mind ; passion is employed in seeing and devouring 
 the gratifications within its reach. It throws a man 
 on little arts and temporary expedients ; and urges 
 him to lose the welfare of his country, in his own re 
 vengeful and ambitious ends. Take any one of the 
 passions, and in their violence how completely will 
 they cloud the strongest intellect, and make a man 
 an incompetent judge, wherein he is thus inflamed. 
 Anger has been called a short madness; pleasure has 
 entered the cool breast, and broken down the most 
 resolved heart ; and even without the passions, a cold 
 and villanous selfishness has bound the man to the 
 worst of purposes, and rendered him as incapable of 
 serving his country, as he was dead to the glory of his 
 God. Such is the effect of these qualities in their 
 separate state. But party spirit is a combination of 
 them all. It is a collection of flames, raging with 
 intense fury, and imparting to each other reciprocal 
 heat. It wraps up in one deluded mind, every prin 
 ciple which can blind human nature, and inflame its 
 corruptions to the highest degree. It is a combina 
 tion of rage, revenge, malice; selfishness, pride, in 
 terest, ambition ; all broken from their restraints, and 
 set to run in the full career of their utmost wishes. 
 You all know that when men act in crowds, the 
 checks of conscience are diminished, because the 
 sense of responsibility is divided. They counte- 
 
166 THE PURITAN. 
 
 nance each other, and there are none to punish 
 where the majority are involved in the crime. If I 
 wished to picture human nature in its worst and most 
 degraded form : if 1 wished to add one more to the 
 melancholy proofs we have of the great depravity of 
 our race, 1 would show you an ignorant and bigoted 
 populace, inflamed by libels ; misled by demagogues ; 
 calling for revenge on imaginary crimes, and raving 
 with that hunger which must be appeased with blood. 
 Such scenes rather shock those fine speculations 
 which we sometimes hear of the dignity of human 
 nature. They show us man as he is ; or at least 
 as he may be ; and they teach us how incapable an 
 inflamed crowd is of seeing the plainest truth, or 
 pursuing their most obvious interest. 
 
 If we turn to facts, we find that public utility has 
 been seen and sought only by unparty-like men. 
 II is. dry unrolls her thick volume ; and the same bright 
 moral has been found on every page. Some men 
 have kept a steady career ; and amidst all the 
 shoutings and shakings of the crowd, have walked 
 firmly to the same objects. They did not always save 
 their country ; but they retarded its ruin and almost 
 sanctified its fall. Among the examples, I would 
 mention the name of Cicero. His letters show his 
 strong love of his country ; and how that love made 
 him slow in joining the violent sections into which 
 Rome was split. He reasoned ; he remonstrated ; he 
 exposed the faults of both sides ; he blamed the ex- 
 
THE PURITAN. 167 
 
 cesses of all ; and though his influence was impaired 
 by his constitutional timidity, yet a few more such 
 men, and Rome might have been free. His writings 
 are almost the only relics of permanent utility which 
 the political struggles of that time have left behind. 
 We have the authority of lord Clarendon for saying, 
 that Hampden and Pym, before the waverings of the 
 king made it impossible to trust him, were moderate 
 men. They were driven to violence by dire necessity. 
 And where shall we find brighter names? New Eng 
 land is hardly indebted more to any of her own patriot 
 sons. She may almost claim them as her own. I 
 might adduce also the example of the eloquent Burke, 
 who changed his apparent ground only because the 
 wants of the times were changed. When he saw the 
 power of the crown to be too great, he plead the cause 
 of freedom ; and when the mounds of society were 
 broken, and a mad liberty was coming in like a fiood, 
 with a perfect consistency, he went over to the other 
 side, and plead the cause of order and power. These 
 are the great examples which history leaves us. They 
 might easily be multiplied ; and they go to support 
 the point, that when a man s reason and conscience 
 are trammeled, his usefulness is also confined. 
 
 Perhaps there may seem to be one exception to 
 these remarks ; and that is, when the world is sunk 
 in a long and lazy slumber, when tyranny and oppres 
 sion have a strong hold on the mind ; it may be said 
 that a violent man is necessary to wake them from 
 
168 THE PURITAN. 
 
 their sleep. Thus it is often said, that Luther was 
 the exact instrument to produce the reformation. 
 Something, perhaps, must be granted to the force of 
 these examples. But after all, the good performed by 
 a violent man, is generally a violent good. It passes 
 for its full worth ; and is seldom lasting, unless a 
 more cautious spirit moves after him, and mends up 
 the mischief he has done. It is like lighting the 
 lamps of a dark room the first only makes the strik 
 ing transition from total darkness ; while all the lustre 
 of the lights that follow, shooting their radiance and 
 mixing their beams, and constituting the brightness, 
 are hardly noticed. It is the fate of the best men to 
 be feebly praised. 
 
 2. That much more good would have been done, if 
 such men had not too soon abandoned their cause. 
 
 It is one of the few advantages which the wicked 
 have over the good, that they always pursue their 
 purposes with greater activity. This truth has been 
 noticed by our Saviour the children of this world are 
 wiser in their generation than the children of light ; 
 and we may see from observation, that men become 
 zealous, just in proportion to the badness of their 
 cause. So cold is human nature in the cause of 
 virtue, that that cause never engrosses all our powers. 
 The most glowing Christian is seldom so ardent in 
 the pursuit of his benevolent objects, as the man of 
 pleasure in pursuit of his crimes. The sincerest 
 patriot hardly watches to preserve his country, as the 
 
THE PURITAN. 169 
 
 traitor does to overthrow it. Sad perversity of human 
 nature ! Mournful proof of the imperfection of man ! 
 In a bad heart, all the passions move together ; they 
 rush to their objects, urged by instinct, by appetite, 
 by false reason. The whole soul floats on one on 
 ward stream, in which there is neither counter-current 
 nor eddy. But a good cause, never calls out the un 
 divided man ; because the best are but partially good. 
 The good man is cool, is cautious, is fearful he acts 
 by intervals, and is scrupulous about his means ; while 
 the bad man is urged by a reckless desperation ; he 
 feels he has nothing to lose ; he is regardless of means ; 
 and he tramples all inferior considerations under foot 
 in the pursuit of his ends. The purest virtue, like 
 water, is never more beautiful than when it settles into 
 tranquillity. But vice never sleeps. 
 
 There is something in politics very discouraging to 
 a man of fine and delicate morality. The virtues of 
 the politician are not the virtues of the man. In the 
 stormy region of public life, all the maxims which 
 constituted the honor and glory of a private station 
 are assaulted and shaken. New interests are felt ; 
 new passions are awake, and a new scene is opened. 
 The immeasurable glitter of the prize for which they 
 run the toil with which it must be pursued and the 
 difficulty of obtaining it excites the strongest desires, 
 and makes the candidates little scrupulous as to the 
 measures they employ. I appeal to experience, and ask 
 my hearers, if you have not felt your views of human 
 
 VOL. II. 12 
 
L70 THE PURITAN. 
 
 nature sink, when you have entered the troubled 
 scene, and viewed the great actors with a closer in 
 spection. I suspect that most people have approached 
 public life with the same wonder, that the young pupil 
 of anatomy approaches the dissecting room aston 
 ished at the indifference with which the old practi 
 tioner can cut up the relics of mortality, and deal 
 out his axioms over corruption and death. Our edu 
 cation teaches us to embrace only abstract truth ; that 
 truth is to be sought out and collected from all the 
 combinations in which it is found in the world. We 
 are told we must not suffer our prejudices or interests 
 to warp us in the search of truth ; but that she is a 
 sovereign power which we are to acknowledge and 
 adore, wherever we find her. Such is the lesson of 
 the school ; but the moment we step into the world, 
 we find it divided into parties. Principles must be 
 taken in the mass ; and the very idea of forming 
 new combinations, is scouted at as presumptuous and 
 absurd. The public ear is already occupied ; the 
 section is already formed ; and if you modify one of 
 the principles, you injure the cause. We are taught 
 in youth, that a good cause can only be promoted by 
 good means. But real life is scarcely any thing else 
 but the use of very suspicious means. Take the man 
 versed in the world, and how changed ! How little 
 scrupulous does he become ! I am afraid that re 
 publics are no exceptions to these remarks. The 
 polished courtier and the stern republican, may seem 
 
THE PURITAN. 171 
 
 at first view to differ. But the one flatters the mon 
 arch and the other the crowd ; and both of them are 
 in the same danger of substituting policy for truth. 
 The work of Sir Robert Walpole, is that of almost 
 every politician ; to beat down the standard of morality 
 to a political level ; to ridicule all the sublimities of 
 the moral creed ; to displace the earliest sympathies 
 of the heart; and to make a cold and calculating self 
 ishness, the pivot of our actions and the measure of 
 our virtues. 
 
 But what makes this state more dangerous, is, that 
 it is supported by several plausible reasons ; which, 
 backed by interest, are strong enough to convince a 
 willing mind. 
 
 The first originates in the tyrant s plea ; that is, as 
 the politician will tell you, in the necessity of the case. 
 How are we, he will say, to move man, except by the 
 tools which have always moved him 1 What signify 
 your fine-spun theories, when we are struggling for 
 existence in the rush of life 1 Consult the nature of 
 man, and consult history, and see if the crowd have 
 ever been governed by simple truth. No ! In deal 
 ing with mankind, a certain quantum of deception is 
 necessary. King James found it so in his king-craft ; 
 the demagogue has found it so in his schemes ; and 
 even the best patriot has mixed some dross with his 
 gold before he could work it into coin, and give it 
 currency in the world. To-day, there is some popular 
 measure abroad, which runs like wild-fire through the 
 
172 THE PURITAN. 
 
 land. The whole world is giddy. To oppose it, is 
 certain death to your influence. Your lips are sealed 
 up in inevitable silence. You must fall into the 
 current and turn it when you can. To-morrow, fac 
 tion is awake; the parties are formed ; the lines are 
 drawn ; an absorbing interest sweeps every creature 
 in the shape of a man, to the one side or the other. 
 Truth may lie in the middle ground ; but if you take 
 your stand there, you will be shot down by the first 
 fire of the advancing ranks. Now, a demagogue 
 starts up, whose smooth eloquence and plausible pro 
 fessions have stolen the influence of every better man. 
 At another time, some contingent advantage bribes 
 the public opinion, and renders the people fierce for 
 breaking over the rules which themselves have es 
 tablished. Such is the world on which we are thrown. 
 It is just as impossible for a politician to keep a strait 
 course and carry his plans, as it would be for a general 
 to march on a mathematical line and win the fight. 
 Now necessity, it is said, has no law. We must suc 
 cumb to the laws of nature, which are but another 
 name for the decrees of God. 
 
 But second, it is pretended that the very rules of mo 
 rality themselves, refract and deviate as they pass into 
 the denser medium of public life. They are no longer 
 the same things ; the lines of duty can no longer be 
 drawn with the same precision. Political rights, for 
 example, are very different things from private rights. 
 Abstractly speaking, no man has a right to an office ; 
 
THE PURITAN. 173 
 
 and yet all agree that the best offices should be occu 
 pied by the best men. But who are the best men ? 
 There is no certain measure of abilities. You cannot 
 carry the surveyor s chain over a man s mind, as you 
 can over his field. There are no needles and theod 
 olites to take the heights and bearings of a man s 
 wisdom and integrity. What wonder then, if in these 
 uncertain claims to an office, a man should sometimes 
 prefer himself to his neighbor, and depreciate his 
 character simply in justice to his own. In a public 
 struggle, a man is driven in self-defence, to that policy 
 by which he is assailed. He is sorry, but he must 
 meet his enemy on equal ground. He despises the 
 whole code of crooked arts; but (unhappy man!) he 
 must use them. Just as our duellists tell us how 
 much they despise the laws of honor, how tender and 
 benevolent were their hearts, as they drew the pistol 
 to shoot their antagonist dead. A libel is a dreadful 
 thing, in private life; but in a public station it is 
 a lawful weapon of self-defence. 
 
 It is said in the third place, that it would give an 
 immense advantage to total wickedness, if the good 
 patriot did not borrow some of the bad man s arts, 
 and not leave him to all his advantages. Actions must 
 not be estimated by their intrinsic nature ; but by the 
 character and intentions of the men from whom they 
 proceed. Why should the honest man suffer the 
 knave to usurp all the influence, merely because he 
 is too scrupulous to tread in his footsteps, or copy his 
 
174 THE PURITAN. 
 
 arts. This is certainly violating the old maxim, that 
 virtue is its own reward it is discouraging the best 
 men from serving their country ; and forcing integrity 
 to commit a kind of suicide. No man scruples to 
 shoot a robber with his own weapon, or to entrap a 
 swindler in his own arts. 
 
 It surely will not be expected that I shall pause to 
 answer these sophistries, which, merely to state, is to 
 confute them. Suffice it to say, that when one suffers 
 his conscience to depart from the strict line of recti 
 tude drawn by God, the whole ocean of policy is be 
 fore him ; and he has not a star or a chart to steer 
 by, but his interest and his will. We have melan 
 choly proof of this in the case of Cromwell a man, 
 whose character has been blackened by hands far less 
 clean than his own. We are told by Burnet, that he 
 found from some of Cromwell s confidential friends, 
 that he was a man by no means without his morality 
 meaning, on the whole, to maintain the strictest 
 principles of virtue and religion. In private life, he 
 did so ; his character was without a stain. But in 
 his public capacity, he considered himself as a man 
 thrown on great exigencies encompassed around 
 with political necessities ; and in this connection, ab 
 solved from the rules which govern meaner mortals in 
 lower stations. Thus he shed blood ; thus he took the 
 full sweep of ambition, without conscience and with 
 out remorse. So have reasoned far worse tyrants than 
 Cromwell, and this reasoning has justified all their 
 crimes. 
 
 
THE PURITAN. 175 
 
 Such are the dangers which enclose a man s in 
 tegrity, when he steps from the private shade to the 
 public forum. These are the temptations which urge 
 him to violence and to policy. On the other hand, 
 there are great difficulties in the cool and impartial 
 course. 
 
 In the first place, it is hard for an impartial friend 
 to truth to make himself understood. Parties have 
 their watchwords, and the people always take all 
 opinions in a lump. The idea of discriminating and 
 limiting, is what they cannot or will not understand. 
 It is not uncommon for some politic leaders in order to 
 make a measure succeed, to overstate it ; to exagger 
 ate its importance ; to mix it up with some measures 
 addressed to the popular prejudices ; and to surround 
 it with the false and baleful flowers of a spurious rhet 
 oric ; so that even truth itself cannot prevail, without 
 being mixed with many a lie. Indeed, I hardly ever 
 knew a good cause carried with the multitude, on its 
 naked merits. Now when an honest man is called 
 upon to support this suspicious mixture, he hesitates ; 
 he is for limiting the propositions and paring off the 
 deceitful rhetoric, and telling the world, in a long 
 discourse, which they have not patience to hear, what 
 he does believe and what he does not. The conse 
 quence is, he becomes suspected. All that is under 
 stood of him by the majority is, that he is not hearty in 
 the cause. The only question put to him by the warm 
 partizans is, Will you join us ? and the only answer 
 
176 THE PURITAN. 
 
 they wish to hear is, yes or no. To talk of limitations 
 and consequences, and doubts and fears, in such a 
 world as this ! Away with such a fellow from the 
 face of the earth. And it must be confessed it is 
 hard to make the people understand the value of a 
 moderate goodj or the force of a limited proposition. 
 In high party times, it is almost impossible. Here is 
 the advantage which the violent man, however erro 
 neous, has over the just. His sweeping assertions 
 electrify and charm the public ear He arouses ; he 
 deceives ; he conquers ; while poor forsaken truth, on 
 her lame feet, comes limping far behind. I have 
 not resigned my crown," said Buonaparte, when he 
 was forced to abdicate ; " but with limitations." " Ah, 
 Sire," said one of his marshals, ** soldiers never un 
 derstand limitations." It is just so with the people. 
 If you once work them into a ferment, they will not 
 understand a single limitation. They must be kept 
 cool. 
 
 In the second place, the impartial man is easily 
 confounded with a very different character ; to which, 
 though his face may have some resemblance, his 
 heart is wholly unlike. Moderation, in politics or re 
 ligion, is the best or the worst thing, according to the 
 state of the times, or the motives of the individual who 
 assumes it. There is a class of men, no doubt, who 
 veil their selfish purposes, under the guise of belonging 
 to no party; who love to rise in an assembly surround 
 ed by wondering eyes, because no man can divine 
 
THE PURITAN. 177 
 
 whether they will espouse or oppose a measure ; who 
 never commit themselves to any party, because they 
 are wedded to their own selfish interests ; and who 
 mean to choose their side just when the victory is 
 won. Such men pay the same honor to moderation, 
 that a hypocrite does to religion. They acknowledge 
 its worth, by counterfeiting its form. They are spirits 
 too independent to follow a multitude even to do good. 
 There is another class not so despicable, but equally 
 inefficient. Souls that are too timid ever to act. 
 They would know how to make up their opinion, if 
 all men would only think alike. They are sorry 
 that there should be differences and contentions, and 
 wish, whether the wind falls or not, to hush the waves 
 to peace. There are some too, so perfectly good 
 natured, that they never can oppose any man or meas 
 ure minds born to be overwhelmed. All these will 
 pass for moderate men. But though the weakest and 
 basest minds have abused the name, it does not follow 
 that there is no such thing as honest moderation. In 
 a turbulent age it must exist ; it is the last cable to 
 keep us from swinging to the rocks. In an inflated 
 assembly, it is only the steady minds, who look through 
 the tempest to the sunshine beyond it, that can guide 
 you through. I venture to say that no one ever broke 
 through the outworks of a party to the central leader, 
 if he had the least claim to his station, who did not 
 find him ten times more cool and impartial than the 
 tools he used in his cause. Federalism never blinded 
 
178 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the mind of Hamilton ; nor democracy that of Jeffer 
 son. They sat on a hill above the smoke of the battle, 
 and saw the whole prospect around. Shall we then 
 give ourselves up to the deceptions which make the 
 master spirits smile, who reap the profit of our delu 
 sions ? 
 
 But the greatest difficulty after all, is in the moral 
 cowardice of good men. They have flinched from 
 their station ; they have abandoned their cause too 
 soon. Impressed with the melancholy idea, that the 
 cause of truth was lost, and that this world was only 
 made for cheats and scoundrels, they have retired 
 from the post of action, and left the world to be gov 
 erned by the world s law. This was the fault of the 
 discouraged prophet, when he said I have been very 
 jealous for the Lord God of Hosts, because the chil 
 dren of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown 
 down thine altars, and slain thy prophets by the 
 sword ; and I, even I only, am left ; and they seek 
 my life to take it away. This was the fault of Brutus 
 when he slew himself, pronouncing virtue to be an 
 empty name. This was the capital error of the best 
 men in the French revolution they fled when they 
 should have staid ; and left their country to all 
 the horrors of violence and Jacobinism ; and if there 
 is one quality which stands out to noble admiration 
 in the character of Washington, it is his cool perse- 
 verence, when the tongues of a thousand zealous 
 
THE PURITAN. 179 
 
 friends were silenced, and a thousand hearts suspected 
 him. This, O venerable spirit, this was thy glory. 
 
 Thus I have endeavored to show, that much more 
 good would have been done, if the best men had not 
 too soon abandoned their cause. 
 
 Lastly, They ought to persevere and support each 
 other. 
 
 It is the duty of a good man never to despair. The 
 power of truth, after all, is great in our world. It 
 comes on slowly, like the rising of the sun ; you can 
 not hasten it by your impatience ; but it will shine 
 at last, and the clouds must break away before its 
 light. There are no secrets of a party w r hich have 
 not finally been detected ; no motives that have not 
 at last been seen ; no public characters which have 
 not been appreciated. The false laurels have faded, 
 and the true have flourished, matured by time. I am 
 aware that this w y ork of deception is always beginning 
 anew. New deceivers arise to play off their errors, 
 and new generations are misled. But the percussion 
 of the last blow which truth strikes, is terrible indeed. 
 She is a dreadful power, and will march to her final 
 victory. She begins her course, to be sure, without 
 pomp or pretensions ; she is patient ; she waits some 
 times for years to elapse ; she suffers the motley crowd 
 of folly and error, to play off their tricks, and exhaust 
 their pretensions. But she lies watching, in ambush, 
 like the lion, and is sure of her prey. Not one of the 
 puny tribe that have sported with their own deceiving, 
 
180 THE PURITAN. 
 
 can escape the flashings of her dreadful eye. Truth 
 sometimes retires and weeps but her tears turn to 
 sparks of fire, and the world is illumined by their 
 light. There is no estimating the force of a well- 
 proved point, frequently and earnestly repeated. Let 
 the deceiver, then, tremble, and let not the just man 
 despair. Without looking to the final judgment, 
 when all purposes shall be detected, you may rest 
 assured there is a noble reversion in coming time. 
 
 Bad times are never so bad as they appear to be ; 
 and good times never so good. When we look over 
 the agitated surface, in a period of violence and ex 
 citement, we are apt to say, Surely human nature is 
 transformed, the sparks of truth and reason have be 
 come extinct, an universal frenzy seems to have seized 
 on every mind. We grow superstitious, and almost be 
 lieve that the moon has wheeled her course too near 
 the earth, and unsettled the brains on her sister planet. 
 No remonstrating voice is heard; wisdom and mod 
 eration seem to have hid themselves in the dens of 
 the earth. But on a little research, we find the 
 secret suspicion is cherished, that all is not right. 
 We find lurking in one corner and another, the friend 
 of man and the friend of God, mourning over these 
 abominations ; and wanting nothing but a little union 
 and a little encouragement, to come forth and stem 
 the torrent. I make no doubt, that during the popish 
 plot, in the days of king Charles II., and during the 
 reign of terror in France, that there were thousands 
 
THE PURITAN. 181 
 
 and thousands, who might have encouraged each 
 other, and been united ; had they but known each 
 other s sentiments. These delusions are never so 
 general as they appear to be. The truth is, a few 
 maniacs have burst their prison, and usurped a place 
 which they do not deserve ; and the mass of society 
 are confounded and astonished at their noise. Con 
 sider .he case of the prophet, when he declared that 
 every altar was thiown down and he alone was left. 
 It is the declaration of God himself, Yet have I left 
 me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have 
 not bowed unto Baal. 
 
 But in all such circumstances, in one thing you 
 must copy your enemies you must borrow their un- 
 slumbering activity. You must step forward and make 
 your opinions known. You must burst from every 
 connection but that which binds you to the sacred 
 cause of truth and righteousness. The disposition 
 sometimes to sacrifice party attachments to higher 
 obligations, becomes more necessary, because when 
 it is most needed it is hardest to be done. Impartial 
 justice is the greatest crime, when two parties both 
 become so violent, that it is absolutely necessary that 
 some one should arbitrate between them. When men 
 become inflamed, they act on each other ; they are re 
 pelled from the central ground of truth ; the future 
 is lost in the present; and no parties ever acted long 
 in warm opposition to each other, but in their various 
 evolutions both were wrong. In fact, they are con- 
 
182 THE PURITAN. 
 
 demned by their own maxims; so that what was 
 claimed by one side, as a right in one period, is denied 
 to their opponents in another. It is melancholy to 
 find how little long debating sometimes conduces to 
 truth. I have often thought, if some celestial messen 
 ger could hover over our political assemblies, (I say 
 nothing here of our religious ones,) when warm with 
 conflict and fierce with opposition ; if some angel of 
 GOD could unfold a scroll, written by the finger of 
 truth, declaring the question as some future day must 
 decide it to a silenced world how few there would 
 be who would receive the mandate ; in some cases, 
 perhaps not one. So true is the language of Scrip 
 ture, that when God looks down from heaven to see 
 the children of men, he sometimes finds that all have 
 gone aside there is none that doeth good ; no, not 
 one. To strip off a single exaggeration ; to weaken 
 a single argument ; to attempt to give precision to a 
 single ambiguity, are, in some instances, unpardona 
 ble crimes. The fog has a kind of halo of glory 
 thrown over it, which the infatuated wanderers mis 
 take for light. 
 
 Be it remembered, too, that the danger of such 
 dissent is always greater in proportion as the govern 
 ment is more free. I speak, to be sure, of the moral 
 danger. Racks and prisons are out of the question. 
 But in a state of anarchy, it is instant death to oppose 
 the wishes of the crowd; and the danger is always 
 greater in proportion as the government leans over 
 
 
THE PURITAN. 183 
 
 towards anarchy, or verges towards the highest free 
 dom. Men will find the energy somewhere ; and if 
 it is not given them in the theory of their laws, they 
 will supply it by the violence of their manners. A 
 republic does not destroy the social power ; it often 
 only veils it from the general view, and artfully shirts 
 its place. Parties have no other arms to enforce 
 their measures, than violent expulsion ; outcries of re 
 venge ; blackening scandal ; engines which rack the 
 mind, while they spare the body ; and talons which 
 tear the character until they reach the soul. Men 
 will always have some instruments to accomplish their 
 purposes ; and when the legal ones are denied them, 
 they will use others, sanctioned by no law, either of 
 God or man. Besides, parties are held together by 
 voluntary assent ; the flinching of one member seems 
 to endanger the union of the whole. They must 
 therefore hew down the first man that moves from his 
 post, that others may tremble. I say not these things 
 to reproach any body of men. But such are the laws 
 of human nature. Such is the constant course of 
 events. How important is it then, that some men 
 should preserve a clear perception of unchanging 
 truth, and with that perception, a willingness to sup 
 port each other. He is the noblest martyr, who dares 
 to lay his dearest reputation on the public altar, as 
 Abraham offered his only son. 
 
 I am sure that politics, in themselves, are very cool 
 concerns. Separate them from their unfortunate at- 
 
184 THE PURITAN. 
 
 tendants interest and ambition and the problems of 
 mathematics are hardly more remote from touching 
 the passions. The great question in politics is, how 
 much alleviation of human infelicity can come from 
 government. This is the great problem of statesmen ; 
 and it is from losing sight of it, or not solving it, that 
 all political errors originate. It is a complex question 
 which must be worked out like the equations of Alge 
 bra. There is a certain line drawn by the great 
 Founder of society, to which the evil waves of social 
 life must come ; and all attempts to beat them back, 
 is like stopping the tide. If you seem to expel them 
 in one point, they will break in upon you in another. 
 The very question now before the public mind, of im 
 prisonment for debt, may be taken as an example. To 
 imprison an honest man because he is poor, is doubt 
 less a great evil, and the government ought to relieve 
 him, if it can. But here comes the question Will it 
 be any relief to deny the creditor this security for his 
 loan ? and will not the poor man suffer as much from 
 being never trusted, as from thirty days confinement 
 in the yard of a prison? And as to making a distinc 
 tion between the honest debtor and the fraudulent ; 
 will it not impose an entangling question on your 
 courts of law, which no human sagacity can ever 
 decide 1 I merely propose these questions. I do not 
 answer them. They are merely specimens of the 
 great problem, How much can government do for us? 
 So no government can supersede the necessity of in- 
 
THE PURITAN. 185 
 
 dividual industry and self-exertion ; no government 
 can feed all its population ; no government can give 
 prosperity to the profligate and idle ; no government 
 can raise all the ambitious to office and renown. 
 There is a certain degree of rigor necessary in im 
 posing taxes and punishing crimes ; because a lenity, 
 which forgets justice, is sure to end in greater pain. 
 In removing human ills, you can level down to a 
 certain base ; beyond which, if you think to go, your 
 efforts become forever impotent and vain. They are 
 worse than vain ; for under the mockery of relief, the 
 evil breaks in upon you in another form and a greater 
 degree. The old evil is measured and known ; but 
 the new has all the indefinite horrors of an untried 
 experiment. Now I ask, what have passion and pride 
 to do in settling these complex problems ? It is one 
 of the coolest subjects which can possibly meet the 
 human mind. There should be nothing to stir the 
 passions, for it is a point in which all men have one 
 interest. Nothing is wanted but a few cool heads to 
 sit down, and compare the items until they can come 
 to a result. Such are politics in the abstract. But 
 alas ! where am I ? I have wandered from our world. 
 A righteous cause is never totally defeated ; and 
 even the feeble efforts of one solitary individual, in 
 doing good, are never entirely lost. In this world of 
 violence and sin, the only permanent victories, (strange 
 as it may seem,) are the victories of principle. I hope 
 it is not too serious in this assembly to make a transi- 
 
 VOL. II. 13 
 
186 THE PURITAN. 
 
 tion to the death of Christ. When he left his primi 
 tive glory, and veiled his divinity in the form of flesh 
 and blood, he laid aside the greatness of his power, 
 and chose to oppose the hostility of the world, in the 
 weakness of a man. He addressed himself to the 
 minds of mankind, and met them with no other 
 weapons but those of principle. Instructive example! 
 See how Omnipotence renounces its own might 
 pleased with no other victories than the captivity of 
 willing hearts. For a while this force, even in the 
 hands of the divine Redeemer, seemed to be con 
 temptible. The rage of his enemies accomplished 
 much more visible effect. They conquered him, as 
 completely as brutal force could conquer. They ac 
 complished their utmost wishes upon him ; and it is 
 often said, in the language of mystical theology, that 
 he triumphed when he fell. But it is little understood 
 what a strict precision there is to the meaning of these 
 words. He did triumph he exhibited the meekness 
 and benevolence which shot remorse into the hearts 
 which opposed him ; and his death will be a powerful 
 spectacle till the end of time. That simple story will 
 bring millions of hearts to God. Yes, the very vio 
 lence with which goodness is overwhelmed, is a part 
 of its power. It gives pathos and eloquence to the 
 dying scene. The principle may seem to be slain ; 
 but the ghost rises to haunt the murderers ; and they 
 find themselves conquered and prostrated in their own 
 Yictories. Who would have thought, that saw the 
 
 
THE PURITAN. 187 
 
 meek and humble Baxter insulted and oppressed before 
 Jeffreys, in mockery of all justice, and in an age when 
 the sun of liberty seemed to have set forever, who 
 would have thought that English jurisprudence was 
 learning some indignant lessons which she will never 
 forget? Such is the price which liberty pays for her 
 privileges ; and such are the ways in which the victo 
 ries of principle are won. 
 
 There is one fallacy, however, against which I must 
 caution you. It is the supposing that all our blessings 
 must be purchased at the price which has hitherto 
 been paid for them. I hardly ever knew a man much 
 versed in the world, who did not fall into this very 
 error. Indeed it is a part of the system of some politi 
 cians. They say the world has always gone on pretty 
 much at the same rate. Governments have always 
 been administered by bribery and corruption ; political 
 discussions have always been attended by party spirit 
 and strife. Liberty has always been a violent struggle 
 of human passions. If you purchase it, you must 
 pay the price. But is it so ? Does not the hope of 
 improving the condition of man, go on the supposition 
 of separating these blessings from many, very many 
 of their attendant evils ? The very object of the ex 
 pensive examples in former times, has been, I trust, 
 that such examples may never return. Baxter was 
 insulted by Jeffreys, that another Jeffreys may never 
 sit upon the bench. The violence and mistakes of 
 both parties, in our country, from the year 1796 to 
 
188 THE PURITAN. 
 
 1814, are remembered, I hope, that our government 
 hereafter may be administered without these evils. Is 
 there no such thing as growing wise from experience ? 
 Is religion nothing? Is principle nothing? Away 
 with such dark wisdom. It is not true ; and if it were 
 true, it is better to be deceived. 
 
 We certainly purchase our other commodities at a 
 cheaper rate. The market has always been improv 
 ing ; the pack-horse has been laid aside for the 
 waggon ; and the waggon gives place to the rail-road 
 and the steam-boat. We build better ships the com 
 forts of life are multiplied. And shall the nobler 
 science of man be stationary ? Shall the immortal 
 part be resigned over to despair ? 
 
 No ! let us form high ideas of our future destiny 
 let us fill our hearts with a sense of our responsible 
 station ; and let us remember that we act not only for 
 man, but for God. I trust that our critical institutions 
 will yet be sanctified ; and that a voice will be heard 
 in all our halls of legislation, speaking of BLESSING, 
 and HONOR, and GLORY. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 50. 
 
 With all thy heart, with all thy soul and mind, 
 Thou must Him love, and His behests embrace ; 
 All other loves, with which the world doth blind 
 Weak fancies, and stir up affections base, 
 Thou must renounce and utterly displace, 
 And give thyself unto Him full and free, 
 That full and freely gave himself for thee. 
 
 Spenser s Hymn of Heavenly Love. 
 
 WHAT IS TRUTH ? 
 
 THIS question has passed through many reflect 
 ing minds, without finding any satisfactory answer. 
 Amongst all the religious divisions which prevail in 
 the world the clashing interests and jarring contro 
 versies, which have distracted the church and dark 
 ened the light of revelation, it is impossible for a 
 probationer for eternity, who to-day is and to-morrow 
 may die, not sometimes to pause and ask, what is 
 truth ? 
 
 Truth is that, which bears with a crushing power on 
 the first suggestions of a vain heart. All that pleases 
 
190 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the mere man of the world; all that fills his im 
 agination and fires his passions, is as false as the heart 
 from which it springs, or the happiness it inspires. 
 Truth is not the first suggestion of a mind left to 
 itself; but it is those second thoughts which, as the 
 proverb says, are always best. You might as well 
 expect wheat from an unsown field, as to expect truth 
 in the natural operations of a sensual and unsancti- 
 fied mind. 
 
 Truth, in religion, is that which almost always at 
 first sight gives pain. It is a discovery of our mean 
 ness, our wretchedness, our guilt and our dependence 
 in the sight of God. Analyze human happiness, and 
 you will find a great part of it is founded on delusion. 
 What Swift said, in his favorite tone of sarcasm, is 
 more true in sober reality, than perhaps he imagined. 
 Human happiness (that is happiness without piety) is 
 the possession of being perpetually well deceived. Man 
 overrates his abilities and overrates his virtues. Divine 
 truth lets in its blasting light and humbles him in the 
 dust before God. 
 
 Truth, in religion, is that which at first sight always 
 gives pain ; not because error in itself is more conge 
 nial to our faculties than truth ; but because religious 
 truth is peculiar ; revealing secrets about his heart 
 and condition, which man has no wish to know. 
 
 Truth is the daughter of reflection. She is the 
 angel that meets and blesses that man, who seeks her 
 in his closet, looking into his soul, before his God, in 
 view of eternity. Truth is the result of holding the 
 
THE PURITAN. 191 
 
 balance with a trembling hand which weighs interest, 
 and duty ; pleasure and conscience ; the present and 
 the future ; life and death ; heaven and hell. Re 
 flection is a very serious thing ; it differs from reason 
 ing. The number of those who reason, compared 
 with those who do not, is very small ; and yet for one 
 that reflects there are thousands who reason. See 
 Psalm iv. 4. 
 
 Truth in spiritual things, is not, as one of the 
 fathers expresses it, the result of geometrical neces 
 sities. A man may make definitions and form infer 
 ences, and yet not reach the truth. I never yet saw 
 a demonstration, even of the existence of God, which 
 did not seem to me to weaken the conclusion. The 
 Lord is in his temple and we must behold him 
 there. 
 
 Truth is the fruit of prayer. He that never groaned 
 out in the noontide and midnight hour Oh Lord, 
 open thou mine eyes that I may see wondrous things 
 out of thy law, never yet found the truth. 
 
 To possess the truth, we must buy it ; and a pur 
 chase implies a price. The price of truth is, what 
 men are slow to resign, their indolence, their interest, 
 (i. e. earthly interest,) and their pride. 
 
 In one word, truth is that which distresses or re 
 joices the soul. It is the fruit of many an anxious 
 struggle ; many a serious thought ; many an earnest 
 look to the fountain of light. Truth, spiritual truth, 
 clearly seen and deeply felt, must either fill us with 
 consolation or plunge us in despair. 
 
THE PURITAN. 
 No. 51. 
 
 A law is a rule prescribed. Because a bare resolution confined in the 
 breast of the legislator, without manifesting it by some external sign, can 
 never be properly a law. It is requisite that this resolution be notified to the 
 people who are to obey it. But the manner in which this notification is to 
 be made, is a matter of very great indifference. It may be notified by uni 
 versal tradition and long practice, which supposes a previous publication, and 
 is the case of the common law of England. It may be notified viva voce, by 
 officers appointed for that purpose, as is done with regard to proclamations, 
 and such acts of parliament as are appointed to be publicly read in churches 
 and other assemblies. It may, lastly, be notified by writing, printing, or the 
 like; which is the general course taken with all our acts of parliament. Yet, 
 whatever way is made use of, it is incumbent on the piomulgators, to do it in 
 the most public and perspicuous manner ; not like Caligula, who (according 
 to Dio Cassius) wrote his laws in a very small character, and hung them 
 up on high pillars, the more effectually to ensnare the people. 
 
 Blackstone s Commentaries ^ page 46, vol. I. 
 
 THE BIBLE. 
 
 THE foundation of all duty is obedience to the will 
 of God; for however philosophers and theologians 
 may have disputed respecting the nature of virtue and 
 the sources of moral obligation, it will always remain 
 
THE PURITAN. 193 
 
 true, that the human mind, in its most vigorous 
 excursions, never can rest on any satisfactory reason 
 for obedience, but the simple fact, that God has com 
 manded it. That great Being, that made us, knows 
 all connections and all possible causes ; and therefore, 
 we have reason to believe, that his laws are founded 
 on all the collected reasons, that can be present to 
 an all- wise and all-knowing mind. When it is asked, 
 therefore, what is the foundation of man s duty, the 
 proper answer is, obedience to the will of God. 
 
 It is true there have been writers, who have at 
 tempted to give us some other reasons for our obedi 
 ence. But they remind us of some of the solutions 
 of the old philosophy, which Dr. Watts has so pleas 
 antly ridiculed in his logic. " If I were asked," says 
 Dr. Watts, " why a Jack roasts meat ; and, if instead 
 of showing the chains, the weight and the wheels, 
 (such as the old meat Jacks formerly had,) and show 
 ing how they operated, I were to say it is owing to 
 the ustorious or meat roasting quality of the Jack, I 
 believe I should give very little information." The 
 question still returns, what is this ustorious or meat- 
 roasting quality ? So when Dr. Paley tells us, that 
 virtue is founded on utility, as it is that which pro 
 motes general happiness ; he solves the question by 
 setting before us one of the darkest speculations that 
 can meet the human mind. What is utility ? Is 
 man to judge in all cases what will promote the com 
 prehensive happiness of a boundless universe, and 
 
194 THE PURITAN. 
 
 that too, through the boundless ages of eternity ? 
 Surely, of such a writer, we may say, the more we 
 think of his speculations the less we understand him ; 
 and therefore the thoughtful and the pious mind in all 
 ages, has taken refuge from the darkness and agitation 
 of human speculation, under the clear obligement of 
 the divine will. 
 
 But the power of the divine will, considered as a 
 rule of duty, depends upon our having some clear 
 revelation. This is the corner-stone on which the 
 whole of the Christian theory is built. We believe 
 that true religion, as existing in the heart, consists in 
 a strong desire and fixed determination to believe 
 what God has spoken as a motive to obey what God 
 has required. Our religion is founded on faith. But 
 faith must have an object. That object is, the com 
 mands, the instructions, the ordinances, the laws, or 
 whatever you please to call them, of God. Faith as 
 much supposes a revealed rule by which it regulates 
 its conclusions, as the use of the eye supposes a sun. 
 Our eyes would have been in vain if God had given 
 no light, and our faith would have been in vain if 
 God had given no revelation. 
 
 It is these considerations that make it so vastly im 
 portant, not only to believe that the Bihle came from 
 God, but that it is in the strictest sense inspired. The 
 will of God is the rule of duty, and that sacred book 
 is the sole certain medium through which we find his 
 will. The full inspiration of the Scriptures therefore, 
 
THE PURITAN. 195 
 
 is a doctrine which all serious Christians will embrace 
 as necessary to give a glow to their piety and pre 
 cision to their faith. 
 
 This then we consider as one of the articles of a 
 standing or a falling church. We are aware of the 
 propensity of the human mind to bigotry ; and we 
 have no wish to bandy about those abused terms, 
 heretic and heresy, on the heads or hearts that do not 
 deserve them. But the moment the public confidence 
 in the full inspiration of Scripture is shaken, we be 
 lieve that the church is overthrown and the gospel is 
 gone. This we believe to be the polluted source of 
 the most dangerous delusions in religion that are now 
 abroad. 
 
 There are some we are aware who pass under the 
 name of Christians, who allow the Bible to be an ex 
 cellent book, containing some of the best precepts 
 and purest moral examples, who hold up its inspira 
 tion in such a way as entirely to destroy its power. 
 They say, to be sure, that all wisdom comes from 
 God ; his common providence is extended over all 
 his works ; all extraordinary genius is his gift ; and 
 the same being that endowed a Newton with his sub 
 lime faculties, gave a Paul his ability to write. Thus 
 it is covertly insinuated that Paul was no more in 
 spired to deliver the counsels of Heaven and the rules 
 of faith, than a great philosopher is inspired to give 
 us the structure of the material heavens. But will 
 such views satisfy the anxious mind that is looking 
 
196 THE PURITAN. 
 
 for a rule of duty ? Surely this is to mock us with 
 the name of inspiration when the thing itself is denied. 
 No man believes that Newton was inspired, in the 
 proper sense of that word. We believe that he was 
 an extraordinary man with extraordinary faculties; 
 and by diligence and study, he gave us many impor 
 tant truths, which he had discovered ; but no man 
 imagines in any thing Newton says, that he sees a 
 divine command. We believe, when the apostles 
 spoke, they uttered the divine will as much and as 
 truly as if the voice had come from the radiant throne. 
 So says the Son of God. He that hearcth you, heareth 
 ME. This is the appropriate notion of inspiration, 
 and all who do not believe it, conceal their sentiments 
 as they will, have abandoned the ground of the whole 
 Christian church ; and are but infidels in disguise. 
 
 The artifice of calling a bad invention by a good 
 old name, and then endeavoring to shuffle it off under 
 the protection of that name, is too stale, the present 
 day, to prevail without detection. If a man calls his 
 dark lantern, the sun ; it makes it not a whit the 
 brighter or better light. 
 
 Some believe the Bible is partly inspired. But 
 which part is to be rejected and which is to be re 
 ceived, they are not very careful to say. We are 
 aware here, that much quibbling may be raised by 
 asking what is the Scripture, and are we to receive a 
 book as inspiration because we find it bound up in a 
 volume which we call the Bible ? In answer to such 
 
THE PURITAN. 197 
 
 inquiries, we simply say, that when the united church, 
 after ages of examination, have agreed to put certain 
 books into the canon and exclude others, such decision 
 is the best proof that human affairs allow, that that 
 canon is the word of God. It stands whole and entire 
 the code of Heaven and the guide of man. Any 
 doubts, needlessly suggested, that part is not inspired, 
 is throwing us back into the night of ignorance ; it is 
 teaching infidelity by piecemeal. Who shall say what 
 part is inspired ? The rule is broken ; the sun is 
 gone ; the shadows thicken into midnight ; and man 
 is a pilgrim on the wilderness, without a ray to guide 
 him to safety and to peace. 
 
 Some teach that the Bible is not a revelation ; but 
 a record of inspiration. Eternal truth spoke the word, 
 but fallen men recorded it. We might ask them, for 
 whose benefit God revealed his word, for those who 
 immediately heard it, or for all mankind ? Would he 
 at first have given a perfect pattern and then have 
 left that pattern to have been mutilated and corrupted 
 by the unskilful servants to whom it was committed ? 
 Besides, how does such a sentiment comport with the 
 solemn promise, which Christ gave his apostles, that 
 if he departed he would send them the Comforter to 
 lead them into all truth ? 
 
 The best antidote to all such foolish and wicked 
 opinions, is a knowledge of the Bible itself. Let each 
 one read it, and see what it is, and what it claims to 
 be. The best Christians are Bible Christians. They 
 
198 THE PURITAN. 
 
 who open it with reverence ; read it for information ; 
 reflect on it with prayer ; and pass from its pages to 
 retain its truths and walk by its spirit ; they, and they 
 alone are the children of light. 
 
 I have already remarked, that I consider all virtue 
 as founded on the requirements of some law ; without 
 such a previous conception, virtue would be instinct, 
 good nature, blind impulse any thing rather than a 
 fixed and sublime principle. For the heathen we 
 are obliged to assume a law of nature ; i. e. a know 
 ledge of God and his will, discovered (dimly, to be 
 sure, but still discovered) by tradition, reason, con 
 jecture, or any oth, r mode that is not revelation. 
 And we see then, virtue failed for want of authority. 
 Now the essence of the new dispensation is, that it 
 brings us in direct contact with the authority of the 
 Lawgiver, i. e. God. But a law must be prescribed ; 
 not confined, as Blackstone says, to the breast of the 
 legislator. What prescribing is, in reference to mu 
 nicipal law, the plenary inspiration of the Scriptures 
 is with reference to the law divine. It is the medium 
 by which we know its authority ; and by which the 
 articles of faith are made more clear than the dictates 
 of reason. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 52. 
 
 Man ought for future happiness to fear, 
 If he live always happy her 
 He wants the bleeding mark of grace, 
 The circumcision of the chosen race. 
 
 Cotaley. 
 
 THERE are serious hours when the soul sinks into 
 a deeper consciousness of its own character and wants 
 than it possesses in the ordinary tenor of life. Re 
 ligion is addressed to our consciousness; just as much 
 so as light to the eye. The reason why it is not uni 
 versally received is, that the soul is turned out of its 
 own interior feelings by having its attention solicited 
 and seduced abroad. Were it not for this, the truth 
 of the Christian religion would strike us with an in 
 stant impression ; and we should see its beauties as 
 soon as our hearts were conformed to its spirit. The 
 truth is, there are two kinds of consciousness in man ; 
 the common and the extraordinary ; the superficial 
 
200 THE PURITAN. 
 
 and the deep ; the one produced by the trifles of the 
 world, and the other by more important objects, 
 brought up to the attention sometimes by reflection, 
 sometimes by calamity, but always through the agency 
 of the divine Spirit. We must sound deep, in order 
 to know what seems the nearest object even our 
 selves. 
 
 I have said that there is two kinds of consciousness ; 
 and I believe every person has felt it to be so, who 
 has ever been laid on a sick bed without the abate 
 ment or loss of his power of reason. This truth is 
 so obvious, that it has forced itself on the conviction 
 of a writer very far from possessing any strict senti 
 ments of religion. Adam Smith was the friend of 
 David Hume, and of course not much the friend of 
 the gospel of Christ. But he has pointed out, in one 
 of his chapters, in his work on the Moral Sentiments, 
 with great force and beauty, the different sentiments, 
 which a man gets on a sick bed, respecting the world, 
 its honors, its pleasures, and the importance of its 
 pursuits, and above all, of his own merits and his 
 claims on the divine favor. As a man must kneel 
 low to bend his telescope to look up to the light of 
 some meridian star, so it is with divine truth, it strikes 
 us with the clearest impression, when we sink lowest 
 in dependence and humility, in view of coming eter 
 nity before a present God. 
 
 In the ordinary course of life, we are apt to regard 
 material things as the only substantial objects ; and 
 
 
THE PURITAN. 201 
 
 to view spiritual concerns as shadows, which, though 
 we confess their possible existence, have very little 
 influence over our practical wisdom. Sickness, when 
 dangerous, reverses this process. The shadow be 
 comes substance, and the substance shadow. A 
 worldly man, in the full career of prosperity, may be 
 compared to an enthusiast of nature, standing on the 
 borders of some tranquil lake, when its waters are so 
 still as to be a mirror, reflecting the surrounding 
 scenery of earth and sky. The real bodies are be 
 hind his back, and all that he watches with such in 
 tense interest, is delusion. If he were to pursue these 
 images, it would prove his destruction. In both situ 
 ations, facts are not only diverse, but contrary to the 
 reportings of sense. 
 
 I, too, have been sick. I have felt the prostrating 
 pang ; counted the lingering hours ; taken the nause 
 ating cup. I have been called to see the world 
 recede, and weigh temporal and eternal things in new 
 balances on the borders of the grave. It was dreadful 
 to see the dejected look ; to hear the mysterious whis 
 per ; to watch and return the starting tear. It was 
 dreadful to think of leaving this warm life, with all its 
 connections, for a leap in the dark for the cold 
 tomb, and all the possible horrors beyond the tomb. 
 But, ;,bove all dreadful was it, without some witness 
 within, which my soul felt not, to th nk of appearing 
 before the eyes of Him, in whose sight the very heavens 
 are unclean. One wants the enthusiasm of religion, 
 
 VOL. II. 14 
 
202 THE PURITAN. 
 
 in order to die in peace. And had not I felt some of 
 the confidence afterwards, which dictated the follow 
 ing hymn, I could not have borne it. But my fears 
 were not realized, and I recovered. 
 
 The following lines were suggested, not written, 
 one beautiful morning, when the author looked out 
 on the landscape from a bed of sickness. Every one 
 has heard of the dying Rousseau, ordering his window 
 to be opened, in his last sickness, that he might take 
 one more look of nature. It was a striking incident 
 in a man, who, with all his infidelity, found it hard to 
 exterminate every religious impression from his soul. 
 But if the infidel can look on nature with profit and 
 pleasure, much more can the Christi:n, who sees, in 
 the sweet aspect of a summer morning, but a dim 
 shadow of the brighter glories of his Saviour s face. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Suggested on looking out one bright morning, from a sick bed, on tho 
 face of nature. 
 
 Behold, the morn, with vermil cheek, 
 Is beaming from the Ocean s bed ; 
 O er green-hair d hills, and meadow s sleek, 
 With airy heels, young zephyrs tread : 
 Awake oppressed with languor pale ; 
 1 rise to meet the new-born gale ; 
 To drink once more before I die, 
 The fresh elixir of the sky. 
 
 O Sun, about, through Heaven s blue road, 
 Once more to roll thy burning wheel ; 
 
THE PURITAN. 2Q3 
 
 May 1, from suffering s lorn abode 
 One glance at thy bright visage steal ? 
 Enough tis sweet the narrow grot 
 For me prepared thou enterest not. 
 The earth shall be my rigid bed ; 
 And tomb-drops trickle round my head. 
 
 How fresh the green ! how soft the air ! 
 How cheerful every warbler nigh ! 
 Soothed by the prospect, sick Despair 
 Might smile, and Death forget to die, 
 But restoration, on her wing, 
 To me the morning will not bring ; 
 The brightest lawn, the softest strain, 
 To me are bright and soft in vain. 
 
 O birds, whose spirits never know, 
 Nor bodies, a tormenting pang ; 
 Who sleep where tender blossoms blow, 
 And sing, where trembling dew-drops hang ; 
 Why should you sing when earth and sky, 
 Though bright, are sackcloth to my eye ? 
 Ah cease My spirits share no part, 
 Your little anthems rend my heart. 
 
 O flowers, that deck the lowland dell, 
 Meek forms, meek children of the shade ; 
 Receive, receive the last farewell 
 Of one, more swift than you to fade : 
 Heaven o er me spreads its concave wings \ 
 With melody the woodland rino-s; 
 The opening lilac looks divine, 
 Rejoicing every heart but mine. 
 
 And I ll rejoice where Jesus died, 
 Such splendid forms if God can give ; 
 
204 THE PURITAN. 
 
 What richer glories must abide, 
 Where Jesus shall forever live ! 
 To those bright scenes which still remain, 
 Unsoil d with guilt, unwrung with pain, 
 Death soon shall set my spirit free 
 Strike, Tyrant, strike and let me see. 
 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 53. 
 
 The stricken dere by kinde 
 Of death that stands in awe, 
 For his recure an herb can fynde, 
 The arrowe to withdrawe. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 HUMAN LIFE ! Human Life ! What a fine title for 
 a writer, who publishes his lucubrations in peri 
 odical papers. I remember, in college, there were 
 certain subjects which were considered as excellent 
 themes for forensic discussion, because they opened 
 a maze of diversity, and one might dispute on them 
 forever, without coming to any conclusion. Some 
 thing like this is a discourse on human life. It 
 is a circle hazy and wide, embracing all subjects, from 
 the pig-sty to the palace ; and I defy the reader, even 
 if he should be good-natured enough to honor this 
 piece with his attention, and a very Yankee at guess- 
 
206 THE PURITAN, 
 
 ing, to surmise what is to be the tenor of my remarks. 
 I place my covered dish on the table ; and no man 
 can tell, by the sight or the smell, whether it is to be 
 the pot-luck of Metaphysics or the poultry (not poetry) 
 of Romance and Love. 
 
 Human Life ! Let me see, what did I understand 
 by this term, when I was joyous and young ? Human 
 life, to me, was then the gay vision of a bridegroom s 
 dream, on the morning before marriage. I saw before 
 me a long succession of enterprises, efforts, successes, 
 honors, and enjoyments, which reason told me were 
 possible, and a sanguine temperament assured me 
 would not fail. I was not such a fool as to suppose 
 that the rainbow could exist without the cloud, or that 
 the sky above me was never to be darkened by a 
 tempest. In picturing future life, therefore, I always 
 used to throw in some sombre shades ; but they were 
 just such shades as suited the imagination ; just such 
 shades as a painter puts into his picture, to show off, 
 by contrast, the lighter and gayer parts. They were 
 sorrows formed by fancy, for fancy to bear. I made 
 myself sick enough to be visited by some imaginary 
 goddess ; poor enough to bear my poverty with the 
 spirit of a hero ; in disgrace enough always to come 
 off with final honor ; and in danger enough at last to 
 escape. I can truly say, I have been more disap 
 pointed in my pre-conceived misfortunes, than I ever 
 have in the brightest pictures of fore-imagined bliss. 
 I knew better how to draw the roses of life than its 
 
THE PURITAN. 207 
 
 thorns ; I could picture the robin, with his red bosom 
 and delightful song, better than the lizard or the toad. 
 My sorrows, seen in perspective of the sun-light of the 
 brightest morning that ever glittered over a human 
 head ; my pre-conceived sorrows, I say, have had 
 about as much resemblance to real sorrow, as the 
 bowls and daggers of a play-house have to real bowls 
 and daggers. O ye visions of youthful bliss, ye dew- 
 drops of the morning ! I complain not that ye have 
 fled ; it is the common lot, and I ought to have sus 
 pected it. But how have I been disappointed in my 
 griefs ! How unlike the tales which passion and im 
 agination told ! The armor, which I had prepared, 
 was the foil of the fencing-school, and not the spear 
 for the battle. 
 
 Human life is a science, which no theory can 
 teach ; it must be infused gradually by experience. 
 All young men think alike ; and they must think 
 alike, because there is nothing within, to meet with 
 the response of consciousness, the testimonies they 
 may have from books or men. I remember a poor 
 old man, who dwelt near my father s, who used to go 
 round with two shingles and a wheelbarrow, picking 
 up the manure in the road for his land ; the whole 
 patrimony of which consisted of three acres and an 
 half. If he was asked by a kind neighbor after his 
 health, his reply was, a long string of complaints ; a 
 pain in his shoulder ; a pain across his kidneys ; a 
 pain in his joints; a pain wherever there was a 
 
208 THE PURITAN. 
 
 sensation to suffer. That man s body is now beneath 
 the clods of the valley; and his spirit, I hope, 
 in a world where all pains cease, and all tears are 
 wiped away. But if I could be indulged with one 
 half hour s converse with his disembodied spirit, I 
 would not fail to ask his pardon that I formerly heard 
 his tale of suffering with so little sympathy or belief. 
 I have since been taught by experience. 
 
 Yes, reader ; and grim experience is the only thing 
 that will ever teach you. We begin life in the spring ; 
 and the orchard of one of the Brookline farmers looks 
 not more diversely in a morning of May and January, 
 than human life looks, seen in prospect and retro 
 spect. We commence our voyage near the head of 
 the river, near its healthful banks arid grassy foun 
 tains : its trees shade us ; its birds soothe us ; its 
 breezes fan our bounding pulses and burning cheeks ; 
 and, as we glide softly and smoothly down its silent 
 waters, we see no danger, and we suspect none. We 
 are told that it will not always be thus ; we are fore 
 warned of the sterility and dullness, through which 
 the current winds. But the silent waters, which are 
 slipping beneath us, and bearing us along, are teach 
 ing the only effectual lesson. Why should the rare 
 ness of religious faith be taken as an argument of the 
 non-existence of spiritual things ? We are as incred 
 ulous to the evils of old age, in the hey-day of youth, 
 as we are to the pains of eternity, amid the intoxica 
 tions of life. 
 
THE PURITAN. 209 
 
 There are hours, however, when every thinking 
 man feels that external things cannot satisfy him. 
 The pursuit of business, the accumulation of wealth, 
 leaves a void in hi- hear. The round of pleasure 
 becomes tasteless and tiresome ; and the life of life 
 dies before death. Almost every one has been com 
 pelled to complain, in some sad hour, 
 
 " How weary, stale, flat, and nprofitable, 
 Seem to me, all the uses of this world! " 
 
 The sun loses its lustre the flowers their fragrance ; 
 and there seems hardly motion enough in the cur 
 rent of life to preserve it from putrefaction. There 
 are two causes which produce this emptiness of heart 
 this vacancy of interest. The one is exhausted 
 novelty ; and the other, the coming of sore disappoint 
 ment. O ! in the sad hour when sorrow takes hold 
 of a man, when privation sweeps away his enjoy 
 ments, and grief wrings his bosom he looks round 
 and finds the world converted into a wilderness. He 
 sees human life in its true colors; the ordinary topics 
 of moral declamation have a meaning, which he never 
 saw or felt before. In the sadness and depth of his 
 moral despondency, he looks round and asks " Is 
 there no refuge ? Is this the sum of existence ? Is 
 there no cure for the wounds of the heart ? Is there 
 no medicine for man s higher nature ? Is there no 
 balm in Gilcad 1 Is there no physician there 1 " 
 Such a man is in a state at once favorable and n- 
 
210 THE PURITAN. 
 
 favorable, to appreciate the gospel, and to receive its 
 spirit and consolations into his heart. He is in a 
 favorable state, inasmuch as he estimates the prospects 
 of the world more correctly than he ever did before. 
 Our neglect of religion, and indifference to its duties 
 and claims, is not, perhaps, a primary emotion of the 
 soul. We first love, inordinately, what God forbids ; 
 and then are disturbed that he forbids it, and willingly 
 withdraw our attention from a subject, which only 
 serves to damp our pleasures and alarm our fears. 
 The mind has often been compared to balances ; in 
 one scale lie all the motives to a life of sense ; in the 
 other, the motives to a life of piety. It would seem, 
 then, that when you have destroyed or lightened all 
 the weights in the sensual scale, the other must pre 
 ponderate, and the whole man be consecrated to duty 
 and to God. 
 
 Religion consists, substantially, in two great dis 
 coveries ; the one is the emptiness of temporal things ; 
 the other is the satisfactory nature of things eternal 
 and divine. Thou, perhaps, hast made one of these 
 discoveries. But why stop here ? Why does not the 
 ruin show the need of the recovery ? Why should 
 not the crown of thorns lead thee to the cross ? 
 
 The grand evidence of the truth of the gospel con 
 sists in its adaptation to our condition and our wants. 
 This is the only thing which carries conviction to the 
 heart, after all the elaborate volumes which have been 
 written on the evidences of Christianity. Suppose a 
 
THE PURITAN. 211 
 
 man to be walking on the side of a rivulet, on a sum 
 mer s day ; the water flows before him ; he is thirsty; 
 he stoops to drink ; his thirst is quenched his spirits 
 are refreshed, and he goes on his way rejoicing. 
 There can be no doubt, in this case, that water 
 quenches our thirst, or that, if there is a design in 
 creation, that God made it for that end. All the met 
 aphysics of the schools would not dissuade such a 
 traveller from such a conclusion. Now, what water 
 is to the fainting traveller, the gospel is to the mind, 
 when passion is checked by privation, and reason is 
 purified by experience. It gives an end. and an aim 
 to all creation. It shows that man was not made in 
 vain. It carries sweet conviction to a humble heart. 
 
 There are some objects, which are seen best in the 
 twilight ; the sombre hues of the evening are more 
 refreshing to the eye, and set off these forms with 
 more beauty and lovelier attraction. So there are 
 hours of seriousness, when the evidences of religion 
 strike the mind with deeper force. 
 
 To a man recovered from the delusions with which 
 we all begin life, and viewing his present existence 
 and future prospects in the light of reason and truth, 
 the consolations of religion assume a new value. 
 Once he slighted them ; for he felt, in the succession 
 of his pleasures and occupations, he wanted them not. 
 The hunger of his mind was satisfied by other food ; 
 and he imputed to all men the gaiety and joy that 
 danced in his own heart. A fond mother once gave 
 
212 THE PURITAN. 
 
 to her son a warm, well-lined pea-jacket, as he was 
 going on a long voyage in various climates. As he 
 sailed first through tropical regions, he was tempted 
 to despise the maternal gift, and was about to part 
 with his garment for some luxury which hit his fancy. 
 But, as he advanced into polar regions, amidst storms 
 and snows, he found the warm jacket not so contempt 
 ible a gift. Such are the consolations of religion ; no 
 man knows their value until the hour has come in 
 which he needs them. 
 
 The objects of revelation are invisible ; they do not 
 lie before us like a house or a tree ; they are seen 
 only by an internal light. They are seen by faith ; 
 and faith is produced, so far as human endeavors can 
 produce it, by reflection. Now the man, awakened 
 from the dreams of life, is disposed to reflect. He 
 must pause and think. His disappointments turn his 
 eye inward on himself, and forward beyond the grave, 
 and upward to his God. He loves to retire, when 
 the cares and business of the day are over, to catch a 
 glimpse of those objects and images, which are seen 
 only by the mental eye. He is a meditative being, 
 and is most busy when most alone. 
 
 Perhaps it will here be thought, that I ought to 
 mention the power which affliction has to humble the 
 heart, and give it that childlike simplicity of temper 
 by which the kingdom of heaven must always be re 
 ceived. But alas ! I doubt the fact ; our pride fol 
 lows us even in our sackcloth and our ashes; nor 
 
THE PURITAN. 213 
 
 shall I impute that to affliction, which ever has been 
 and ever must be the work of grace. 
 
 But there are several things, which render the hour 
 of affliction not so favorable to the reception of religion 
 as might at first be supposed. 
 
 Religion (at least the religion of the gospel) is not, 
 as some suppose, a disease of the mind ; it is the 
 choice of its most sound and healthy state. It is true 
 there are a great many people, who are driven to some 
 thing, which they call religion, by the murky opera 
 tions of a disoidered mind. When the disappointed 
 girl leaves her parties of pleasure for a convent ; when 
 a broken merchant joins the Shakers ; or a lady of 
 suspected reputation suddenly reforms and joins the 
 church ; all these are but impressions made on the 
 fancy, which leave the heart in the same rebellious 
 state, in the sight of Heaven, which it was in before. 
 Such persons, we may venture to predict, will soon 
 repent of their repentance, and pass their lives under 
 the forms of religion, entirely destitute of its consola 
 tions or its power. 
 
 So general and indefinite are our ideas of that re 
 ligion, which it is man s sole wisdom to know, that 
 we mistake almost any shadow for the substance, and 
 baptize, by the name of piety, the gloomiest depres 
 sions or the wildest caprices, which ever sported over 
 the human breast. We include, in a general name, 
 objects which have no other resemblance than their 
 outward appearance ; and hence, when the conflict 
 
214 THE PURITAN. 
 
 comes, we take up with a piety as shadowy as were 
 the images of our wandering pre-conceptions. 
 
 One of the deceptions of a mind, pausing under a 
 cloud, is the view which it takes of the grave. To 
 most men it is a terror to die. Death is awful even 
 in its privations. To say nothing of the world to 
 which it introduces us, we know the social joys and 
 warm pursuits from which it will take us away. , 
 
 No more the sun these eyes shall view ; 
 Earth o er these limbs her dust shall strew, 
 And life s fantastic dream be o er. 
 
 But, to a heart depressed and wounded, the grave as 
 sumes a new appearance. Its shades dissipate ; a 
 fantastic charm is thrown around it ; and we conclude 
 that, as all is empty and vain on this side of it, all 
 must be serene and reposing beyond it. This state 
 of mind has been pictured in the book of Job, and 
 repeated by a thousand subsequent poets. There the 
 wicked cease from troubling ; and there the weary be 
 at rest. There the prisoners rest together they hear 
 not the voice of the oppressor. The small and great 
 are there ; and the servant is free from his master. 
 Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and 
 life unto the bitter in soul ; which long for death, and 
 it cometh not, and dig for it more than for hid treas 
 ures ; which rejoice exceedingly and are glad when they 
 canjind the grave. 
 
THE PURITAN. 215 
 
 We have the same state of mind described by 
 Montgomery. 
 
 There is a calm for those that weep, 
 A rest for weary pilgrims found ; 
 They softly lie and sweetly sleep 
 
 Beneath the ground. 
 
 The storm that sweeps the wintry sky 
 No more disturbs their sweet repose, 
 Than summer evening s latest sigh, 
 That shuts the rose. 
 
 I long to lay my weary head, .c. 
 
 Such a state, no doubt, implies a great revolution 
 in a man s feelings. Because he wishes for death, he 
 supposes he is prepared for it ; because he is tired of 
 the world, he concludes he is meet for heaven. He 
 mistakes depression for repentance, and the slumbers 
 of passion for the renovation of the heart. 
 
 But let no one deceive himself. The change, 
 accomplished by the divine Spirit, in making a man 
 a Christian, is very different. It reveals before him 
 the majesty of a holy God, whom, by his sins, he has 
 offended, and prostrates him in the dust in view of 
 that spotless throne, before which the best of us might 
 tremble to appear. It teaches him that, without the 
 shedding of blood, there is no remission of sin. It 
 infuses a new sorrow into the heart, other than that 
 sorrow of the world, which worketh death. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 54. 
 
 I HAVE already mentioned in my papers, Tom Wild- 
 bull, who advised rne to go to the theatre. Tom was 
 a sad dog for a while ; but he has long since sown all 
 his wild oats, and has married an estimable woman, 
 and become himself an estimable man. He has re 
 quested me to allow place for one paper in my book, 
 and I have consented. As in the case of Will Honey 
 comb, the reader will perceive, perhaps a little dash 
 of his former character. 
 
 Love, on this earth the only mean thou art, 
 
 Whereby we hold Intel ligpnce with heaven, 
 And it is thou that only dost impart 
 The good that to mortality is given. 
 
 O sacred bond, by time thou art not broken ! 
 O thing divine, by angels to be spoken! 
 
 The Legend of Pierce Qaveston, by Drayton. 
 
 THE BIRD S NEST IN THE MOON. 
 DID you ever, my friendly reader, in revisiting your 
 native place, from which, like me, you had been 
 
THE PURITAN. 217 
 
 separated by many years of wandering, experience 
 the sensation of littleness, with which every object 
 seemed clothed, shrinking in its dimensions as your 
 eye had become enlarged by a familiarity with the 
 nobler scenes of a wider world ? I was born on the 
 northern side of the Blue Hills, which seemed, to my 
 boyish eyes, as the loftiest mountains that ever prop 
 ped the incumbent sky. My first expedition on the 
 ocean was down the capacious waters of Dorchester 
 bay, in one of those vast floating castles, called a 
 wherry, or a canoe, to catch those mighty monsters of 
 the deep, denominated torn-cod. O how did my heart 
 expand as we ploughed out of the great bason of 
 waters called Mill-creek ! What emotions of sub 
 limity did I feel when I reached the juncture, where 
 the dark Neponset, the mother of frogs and mud- 
 turtles, rolls her copious streams to join the billows of 
 Boston harbor ! What sensations of alarm entered 
 my breast as we doubled that long cape called Farm- 
 bar, renowned for periwinkles and clams ! How did 
 I look with an aching eye over the boundless surface 
 of brine, which separates Farm-bar from Dorchester 
 Heights, now ycleped South Boston. And, to look 
 still farther into the impenetrable regions of the north, 
 and see, beyond the forts, the dome of the State- 
 House and the steeples of Boston, lifting their tops in 
 the blue horizon, almost beyond the ken of human 
 vision, it made my imagination real. I had new 
 conceptions of the magnitude of our world. Thomp- 
 
 VOL. II. 15 
 
218 THE PURITAN. 
 
 son s Island I supposed must be the shores of some of 
 the western countries in Europe. But when we came 
 to sail through the narrows of squaw rock, and finally 
 pass the Moon,* my imagination became dizzy, and 
 I felt like a man in a balloon, who has bid farewell to 
 sublunary scenes, and scarcely expects again to tread 
 the terrestrial ball. Bounding billows ! how did you 
 roll in majesty to my youthful eye ! Mighty scenes ! 
 how did you impress my childish fancy with the first 
 ideas of vastitude and magnificence ! Alas ! our 
 conceptions are all relative. Every thing depends on 
 the state of the mind. One may see St. Peter s church 
 at Rome with less emotion than our State-House, and 
 stand at the foot of ./Etna itself without feeling or 
 fear. 
 
 I love to visit these scenes ; for they give me back 
 the green days of childhood and pleasure with all the 
 freshness of the original impression. I do not mean 
 to say that I view these scenes with the admiration 
 and delight, with which they were once beheld. But 
 they form a kind of medium, a perspective glass, by 
 which one can look back to the time when every 
 prospect was pleasing because every object was new. 
 I love to go to the Moon. I never shake off sub 
 lunary cares and sorrows so completely as when I am 
 fairly landed on that beautiful island. A man in the 
 Moon, may see Castle Island, the city of Boston, the 
 ships in the harbor, the silver waters of our little Archi- 
 * Moon Island, in Boston harbor. 
 
THE PURITAN. 219 
 
 pelago, all lying as it were at his feet. There you 
 maybe at once social and solitary; social, because 
 you see the busy world before you, and solitary, be 
 cause there is not a single creature on the island, 
 except a few feeding cows, to disturb your repose. 
 
 I was there last summer, and was surveying the 
 scene with my usual emotions, when my attention was 
 attracted by the whirring wings of a little sparrow, 
 whom, in walking, I had frightened from her nest. 
 It may be necessary, perhaps, to tell some of the 
 clerks in Washington street, who, six months from 
 the countiy, are apt to forget all the objects among 
 which they were born and bred, that this bird always 
 builds its nest on the ground. I have seen their nests 
 in the middle of a corn-hill, curiously placed in the 
 centre of the five green stalks, so that it was difficult, 
 at hoeing time, to dress the hili without burying the 
 nest. This sparrow had built her nest as usual on 
 the ground, beneath a little tuft of grass, more rich 
 and thick-set than the rest of the herbage around it. 
 I cast a careless glance at the nest, saw the soft down 
 that lined its internal part, the four little speckled 
 eggs which enclosed the parent s hope. I marked 
 the cows that were feeding around it ; and I came 
 away without -the least imagination that I should 
 write a dissertation on the Bird s Nest in the Moon. 
 
 But our minds are strange things. That bird s nest 
 has haunted me ever since. I could not but inquire 
 why Providence, who inspires all animals with an 
 
220 THE PURITAN. 
 
 ring instinct, had not moved the foolish creature to build 
 her habitation in a safer place. A multitude of huge 
 animals were feeding around it, one tread of whose 
 cloven foot would crush both bird and progeny into 
 ruin. I could not but reflect on the precarious con 
 dition to which the creature had committed her most 
 tender hopes. I was thinking how the interest of two 
 beings, both created by the same high hand and sup 
 ported by the same kind power, might cross each 
 other, and neither of them know it, until the fatal 
 moment when the feebler might be annihilated by the 
 stronger power. A cow is seeking a bite of grass ; 
 she steps aside merely to gratify that idle appetite ; 
 she treads on the nest, and destroys the offspring of 
 the defenceless bird. Thus, what is a trifle to one 
 being, is destruction to another. 
 
 Before I proceed any farther, I think proper to ap 
 prise the reader that I was in a right frame of mind 
 to write a meditation on a broomstick ; and, however 
 much wits may sneer and critics condemn, I am de 
 termined to make something of my bird s nest. 
 
 As I carne away from the island, I reflected that 
 this bird s situation, in her humble defenceless nest, 
 might be no unapt emblem of man in this precarious 
 world of uncertainty and sorrow. W.e are impelled, 
 by some of the tenderest instincts of our nature, to 
 form the conjugal connection ; the eye of some match 
 less beauty attracts our attention, and melts our hearts ; 
 we form the tender union, and we build our nest ; 
 
THE PURITAN. 221 
 
 committing to it the soft deposites of our gentlest 
 affections. But where do we build this nest 1 Are 
 we any wiser than the foolish bird ? No the nest is 
 on the ground of terrestrial calamities, and a thousand 
 invisible dangers are roving around. We are doubled 
 in wedlock and multiplied in children, and stand but a 
 broader mark for the cruel arrows of death and de 
 struction, which are shot from every side. What are 
 diseases, in their countless forms, accidents by flood 
 and fire, the seductions of temptation, and even hali 
 the human species themselves, but so many huge 
 cows feeding around our nest, and ready, every mo 
 ment, to crush our dearest hopes, with the most 
 careless indifference, beneath their brutal tread? 
 Sometimes, as we sit at home, we can see the calamity 
 coming at a distance. We hear the breathing of the 
 vast monster ; we mark its wavering path now look 
 ing towards us in a direct line now capriciously 
 turning for a moment aside. We see the swing of its 
 dreadful horns, the savage rapacity of its brutal appe 
 tite ; we behold it approaching nearer and nearer, 
 and it passes by within a hair-breadth of our ruin, 
 leaving us to the sad reflection that another and 
 another are still behind. Poor bird ! I feel no heart 
 to condemn thy folly, but rather to weep over thy 
 condition and my own. Our situations are exactly 
 alike. Thy choicest comforts come entwined with 
 pain ; and no sooner is thy callow young developed, 
 than thou feelest all the cares that distract a parent s 
 
222 THE PURITAN. 
 
 heart. How often hast thou been driven from thy 
 nest ! How often hast thou flattered thy wings in 
 agony, and taken up the wail of sorrow, as if thy 
 children were already lost. The careless step, so in 
 different to another, was rapture or despair to thee. 
 
 A man must be a fool not to perceive that these 
 remarks are written by a parent; and I am sure they 
 are dictated by feelings, which none but a parent can 
 understand. Well, then, let me tell the secret, and 
 be as foolish as the best of them, since, in this hard 
 age, none but a fool would have a feeling heart. The 
 other evening I walked into the chamber where my 
 children were sleeping. There was Nathan with the 
 clothes half kicked down, his hands thrown carelessly 
 over his head, tired with play, now resting in repose ; 
 there was little Sal, with her balmy breath and her 
 rosy cheeks, sleeping and looking like innocence 
 itself. There was Lucy, who has just begun to prattle, 
 and runs daily with tottering steps and lisping voice 
 to ask her father to toss her into the air. [I solemnly 
 wish, if these remarks are read by any youthful bach 
 elor of forty, who boards and means to board all his 
 days in Tremont House, that he would read not a 
 syllable farther.] As I looked upon these sleeping in 
 nocents, I could not but regard them as so many little 
 birds, which I must fold under my wing, and protect, 
 if possible, in security in my nest. But when I thought 
 of the huge cows that were feeding around them ; the 
 ugly hoofs that might crush them into ruin ; in short, 
 
THE PURITAN. 223 
 
 when I remembered the Bird s Nest in the Moon, I 
 trembled and wept. 
 
 But why weep ? Is there not a special Providence 
 in the fall of a sparrow 1 It is very possible, that the 
 nest which I saw was not in so precarious a condition 
 as it appeared to be. Perhaps some providential in 
 stinct led the bird to build her fragile house in the 
 ranker grass, which the kine never bite, and, of course, 
 on which they would not be likely to tread ; perhaps 
 some kind impulse may guide that species so as not 
 to tread even on a bird s nest. At any rate, chance 
 might lead to an escape. I have never heard, and 
 I despair now of ascertaining the important fact, 
 that the nest I saw was actually crushed by the foot 
 of a cow. Perhaps the joyful mother saw her young 
 expand their wings, and inherit their paternal air ; 
 perhaps the progeny of those very eggs are now singing 
 in the groves around Boston. There is a merciful 
 God, whose care and protection extend over all his 
 works, who takes care of the sparrow s children and 
 of mine. 
 
 I think I have read somewhere, that, if a man 
 wishes to learn to pray, he must go to sea ; but, with 
 all due submission to the author of this wise remark, 
 I think we should rather say Let him be married and 
 have a family of children. It is almost impossible to 
 be an in6del with a little progeny rising round you. 
 If Hume could have seen a little lisping girl, come 
 and climb his knees and address him as a father 
 
224 THE PURITAN. 
 
 " Papa, who made all things?" he would have almost 
 involuntarily answered God. If a man wishes to 
 learn to pray for protection during the night, let him 
 go, as I have done, and see his children asleep, and 
 remember the pestilence that walks in darkness. Let 
 him experience the feelings of an anxious father, 
 bending over the sleeping forms of his tender children, 
 and conscious of the thousand dangers, seen and 
 unseen, that hover around their defenceless heads. 
 It was over her dear little sleeping infants if she 
 had any I imagine, that Mrs. Barbauld penned the 
 following beautiful remarks : " If prayer were not en 
 joined to the perfection, it would be permitted to the 
 weakness of our nature. We should be betrayed into 
 it, if we thought it sin ; and pious ejaculations would 
 escape our lips, though we were obliged to preface 
 them with God forgive me for praying ! " 
 
 A family of children, walking amidst a thousand 
 dangers and often escaping, is one of the most strik 
 ing proofs of a particular Providence that ever met 
 my mind. To talk about the general laws of nature, 
 immutable and unbendible to the interposing will of 
 the Deity ! Away with such metaphysical trash ; it 
 is just fit for old bachelors to write. Until I had 
 children, I never knew what the Scriptures meant, 
 when they say that the very hairs of our head are 
 all numbered. I was once standing in a public road, 
 and saw a team of three yokes of oxen and a horse, 
 moving very fast along the road without a driver. A 
 
THE PURITAN. 
 
 little child was standing in the road directly before the 
 wagon, with no time for escaping. The whole train 
 of cattle passed directly over the child, throwing it 
 down, and apparently crushing it into jelly. Every 
 spectator thought it dead ; its life was not worth a 
 pin s fee; the anxious mother ran to rescue her off 
 spring ; but, alas, too late ; and her piercing shrieks 
 spoke her despair. But lo, when the little urchin was 
 picked up, instead of being found a corpse, as was by 
 all expected, its roguish smile seemed to say that it 
 regarded the event as a good joke, which it would 
 willingly see repeated. Every one of the beasts, 
 though moving so rapidly, had contrived to shun the 
 child ; and this event, together with the Bird s Nest 
 in the Moon, have convinced me, that verily there is a 
 God, and that he governs the world by a particular 
 providence. 
 
 I have often thought it was unfortunate that some 
 of the great geniuses, who have undertaken to en 
 lighten the world by their infidelity, were not mar 
 ried men. It would have done more to help them to 
 digest the venom of their spleen, than all the long 
 volumes of rejoinders which have been written by 
 metaphysical theologians. For, to say nothing of the 
 powerful smiles of a woman, when that woman is your 
 wife, reflecting aiid beaming the very benevolence of 
 a creating God, there are some things in a married 
 life, which are enough to overthrow the faith of the 
 most stubborn infidel, that ever apportioned his incre- 
 
226 THE PURITAN. 
 
 dulity to his ignorance. I myself was rather inclined 
 to infidelity when I was first married. But the smiles 
 of the honey-moon softened me, and I bought a Bible 
 to lie in our parlor. When my wife first sent me 
 after the doctor, at midnight, my faith began to 
 waver ; and I was absolutely staggered when I heard 
 the new-born infant cry. As I looked on the little 
 miracle, I was ashamed, and renounced my former 
 faith ; and every new prattler, that has risen around 
 me, has made me a better Christian. I now actually 
 read the Bible with my children, and we pray over it. 
 I sometimes tell my former companions in infidelity, 
 when they try to flout rne out of my religion, that 
 they are welcome to our old belief to all its wisdom 
 and all its comforts. They are old bachelors still. 
 
 And no wonder that such an unnatural life should 
 lead to such an absurd faith. Hume was an old 
 bachelor, and every page of his philosophy smells of 
 his folly. Hobbs was an old bachelor, and so was 
 Voltaire, and Rousseau, and Jeremy Bentham, and 
 Tom Paine. I have always thought it a thousand 
 pities, that Mademoiselle Curchod did not wind her 
 chains more effectually around Gibbon s heart. I 
 imagine that Cupid, the little god of love, might 
 have expelled a great deal of Paganism from the 
 pages of his splendid history. Some, to be sure, 
 will be infidels in the bosom of wedlock, as some 
 would be fools in the very palaces of Solomon. But 
 this is not the order of nature. Her virtuous in 
 stincts lead to truth. 
 
THE PURITAN. 327 
 
 In that beautiful dialogue which Plato has written, 
 in which he describes the closing scene in the life of 
 Socrates, Plato makes his master Socrates, in the 
 course of the discussion, attempt to account for the 
 existence of skepticism ; and he traces it to the same 
 cause as that which produces misanthropy. He thinks 
 that men of rash judgments and irritable tempers, 
 when they have once confided in a character super 
 ficially virtuous, and have found themselves deceived, 
 pass a judgment on the whole species, and spend the 
 rest of their lives in revenging their disappointment 
 by railing at mankind. In like manner, he supposes, 
 that when a hasty mind has been deceived by an ap 
 parent demonstration, and afterwards discovers that 
 the demonstration is false, it loses its confidence in 
 all reasoning, and views all things in the universe as 
 floating, like the waters of the Euripus, without order 
 and without end. Such a man is TMV ?e OVTMV rife 
 dlrfieiuz gf Gadfly, deprived of the certainty of real 
 existence, and imputes to reason the darkness of his 
 own mind. 
 
 I have generally noticed that infidelity and misan 
 thropy have an affinity for each other, and are often 
 combined in the same heart. But how is a man to 
 avoid misanthropy ? No man ever became a misan 
 thrope under the smiles of an affectionate wife, and 
 surrounded by a family of ruddy children. These 
 are tender chains, which connect us with the uni 
 verse ; they bind us in harmony with our species ; 
 
228 THE PURITAN. 
 
 they lead us to feel our need of a higher protector, 
 to see the glory and the goodness, and therefore to 
 believe in the existence of God. 
 
 When a man is once on a wrong track, every step 
 he takes only leads him so much farther out of the 
 way. God, when he built the world, designed to pack 
 men together in families; and it is the only way in 
 which you can throw the human species together, 
 without impairing their principles and endangering 
 their virtue. A man goes into a splendid city, he 
 becomes too licentious, or too lazy, or too proud to 
 establish a family. He passes his time among the 
 rubicund inmates of a fashionable boarding-house. 
 He spends his evenings at the theatre or billiard-table. 
 He rails at women, and hates children, because he 
 only knows the vilest of the sex, and has never seen 
 a child which was his own. His affections become 
 warped, his heart is insulated ; and, because he has 
 lost his humanity, he has never found his religion. O 
 how I should like, before such a fellow goes to his 
 lonely grave, and his rotten carcass manures the 
 ground, to throw into his narrow heart, one straw 
 from my Bird s Nest in the Moon ! 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 55. 
 
 King Stephen was a worthy peer, 
 
 His breeches cost him but a crown; 
 He held them sixpence all too dear, 
 
 With that he called the tailor lown; 
 He was a wight of high renown, 
 
 And thou wert but of low degree ; 
 Tis pride that pulls the country down, 
 
 Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 To John Ollbu<r, Esq. 
 
 SIR, Shall I tell you my story? You will find it 
 exemplify an error too prevalent in our land. I was 
 the son of a very frugal family ; my father was a far 
 mer in the county of Worcester, who suffered nothing 
 to be done in a slow or drivelling manner. In 
 summer we were up with the sun, to hear the 
 Bob O Lincon, to follow the plough and tend the hay ; 
 and in winter I went to school, to improve my mind, 
 and to prepare to be a good republican. I was 
 peculiarly apt in the mysteries of arithmetic ; wrote 
 
230 THE PURITAN. 
 
 a fine hand, and made a rapid progress in all my 
 winter studies, until our schoolmaster declared it was 
 a shame that such a rising genius should be buried 
 in the country, and confined to the labors of an 
 agricultural life. Accordingly, I persuaded my 
 father to place me in a mercantile house in Boston, 
 where my facilities with my pen and readiness at 
 business, soon made me distinguished. I served my 
 time with a very liberal master, who, when I was one 
 and twenty, put me in as a supercargo to one of 
 his vessels ; and I made several profitable voyages 
 both for myself and him. I believe I hit the true 
 medium between meanness and extravagance ; for 
 though I always appeared well in company, and never 
 failed to pay my shot in any necessary expenses, I 
 yet took care not to involve myself in expenses 
 beyon^ my means. If I was entrapped into a 
 costly , (which it was seldom,) I always came 
 
 off with honor, but took special care for the future. 
 I was soon enabled to set up for myself; my business 
 was flourishing. I had a wholesale store in State 
 street, and I was soon in a condition to offer myself 
 as a respectable candidate for marriage. Many of 
 the city belles, I verily believe, (I speak without 
 vanity,) set their caps for me. At least, respectable 
 fathers often invited me to dine ; and wonderful con 
 veniences were opened to me, to get acquainted with 
 any lady I wished. But I preferred a humble con 
 nection from my native town. I married a girl, who, 
 
THE PURITAN. 231 
 
 like myself, had been brought up on a farm ; but she 
 had an improvable genius, a fine mixture of lady 
 like politeness and good housewifery ; and, after a 
 few months residence in the city, she became as 
 accomplished as the best. These were the golden 
 days of my prosperity. Like St. Paul at Rome, I 
 lived in my own hired house ; but my business was 
 prosperous ; my appearance was equal to that of 
 other merchants. I had a frugal and affectionate 
 wife, with no debts but such as I could pay, and a 
 clear conscience according to the common measure 
 of moral obligation. 
 
 In this course, I soon acquired something like 
 forty thousand dollars ; and I frequently proposed to 
 my wife the expedient of building a house, and be 
 coming lord of my own tenement; having the pleasure 
 of saying that " I reside in a shelter from which no 
 man could legally turn me out." But^> -;~ ; .iways 
 checked my vanity ; reminded me that we were doing 
 well now ; told me how many merchants had foiled 
 by the extravagance of domestic expenses, and con 
 cluded with a quotation from Mr. John Rogers s 
 poetry, where he tells his children not to build their 
 house too high. 
 
 About this time, in the hey-day of my pecuniary 
 prosperity, my prudent wife died ; and after mourn 
 ing for sometime with a husband s bitterness and 
 brevity, I began to wipe away my tears and look 
 around for another. My condition was altered ; I 
 
232 THE PURITAN. 
 
 was now, comparatively a rich man, and I wanted a 
 companion suited to my station. Accordingly,- I 
 married into one of the most aristocratic families in 
 Boston. My new partner was a perfect lady. I had 
 no reason to complain of her person or accomplish 
 ments ; but she was as ignorant of economy as a 
 child. In short, she began to incite me to do what I 
 was too prone to perform already to purchase a 
 handsome house in the west end of the town. 
 
 It seems to be a sort of maxim among Bostonians, 
 (at least the most superficial of them,) that a man 
 must lay out half his estate in a house. If he is 
 worth ten thousand dollars, he must spend five thou 
 sand on his habitation, and so on up to the highest 
 opulence a man can obtain. I was worth about forty 
 thousand dollars, and therefore calculated to expend 
 twenty thousand on my house. But, alas ! experi 
 ence always outruns the most rigid calculation. I 
 had supposed that even with such an expensive house, 
 I should have twenty thousand dollars left for trade, 
 and this with the credit, which is so liberally granted 
 in our country, would enable me to rise to my expen 
 ses, and justify my splendor by my success. I bought 
 my house we entered it; and now began my career 
 of splendor and misfortune. In the first place, no 
 man buys a house without altering it a little. This 
 cost me two thousand dollars ; then I was obliged to 
 purchase a new supply of furniture ; new carpets for 
 more spacious rooms, new chairs for new visitors ; 
 
THE PURITAN. 233 
 
 and finally I was obliged to enlarge my domestic 
 establishment in all respects ; so that my expenses 
 were multiplied to a fearful amount. In short, it was 
 just as it was with my dress, when a boy in the coun 
 try, if I stuck to my old clothes, all was frugal and 
 of a piece ; but if I bought a new coat, I must add a 
 new waistcoat, and pantaloons, and a hat, and boots, 
 until my whole person was renovated, and all parts 
 refreshed except my poor purse. 
 
 To add to my misfortunes, just about this time my 
 business became embarrassed. I had launched into 
 some daring speculations, just as business was on the 
 point of depression ; and had I had at command my 
 whole capital, I might have survived it. But you are 
 aware that business has its turns of rise and depres 
 sion, like the ebbing and flowing of the sea. Busi 
 ness was now on the wane ; my speculations were 
 bad, and my notes at the iank increased to a fearful 
 amount. My name was on a great deal of bad paper ; 
 and I was obliged to lay a heavy mortgage on my 
 house. I concealed my condition from my wife, and 
 I considered it as a point of policy to shine out in my 
 living and equipage as much as possible. But one 
 morning, after we had entertained one of our most 
 expensive parties, a man failed on whose paper was 
 my name to a large amount. My creditors became 
 suspicious, and the next day I was obliged to fail 
 also. Our house was attached the mortgage was 
 sued my wife was in tears, and my whole family in 
 
 VOL. II. 16 
 
234 THE PURITAN. 
 
 the utmost distress. It was a blow from which I 
 have never been able to recover. We were soon 
 obliged to move into the country in the most abject 
 poverty ; and I write this account, that every man 
 who purchases or builds a house, may learn wisdom 
 from my mistakes ; and not make the very roof 
 which should protect him, the means of exposing his 
 houseless head to exile and ruin. 
 
 C. NEEDHAM. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 56. 
 
 It is clearly demonstrable, that the production of cotton depends not BO 
 much on soil and climate, as on the existence of domestic slavery. In the 
 relaxing latitudes where it grows, not one half the quantity would be pro 
 duced, but for the existence of this institution ; and every practical planter 
 will concur in the opinion, that if all the slaves in these States were now 
 emancipated, the American crop will be reduced, the very next year, from 
 1,200,000 to 600,000 bales. No great skill in political economy will be re 
 quired to estimate how enormously the price of cotton would be increased 
 by this change, and no one who will consider how largely this staple con 
 tributes to the wealth of manufacturing nations, and to the necessaries and 
 comforts of the poorer classes all over the world, can fail to perceive the 
 disastrous effects of so great a reduction in the quantity, and so great an 
 enhancement in the price of it. In Great Britain, France and the United 
 States, the catastrophe would be overwhelming ; and it is not extravagant to 
 say, that for little more than two millions of negro slaves, cut loose from 
 their tranquil moorings and set adrift upon the untried ocean of at least a 
 doubtful experiment, ten millions of poor white people would be reduced to 
 destitution, pauperism and starvation. An anxious desire to avoid the last 
 sad alternative of an injured community, prompts this final appeal to the 
 interests and enlightened philanthropy of our confederate States. And we 
 cannot permit ourselves to believe, that our just demands, thus supported 
 by every consideration of humanity and duty, will be rejected by States who 
 are united to us by so many social and political ties, and who have so deep 
 an interest in the preservation of that union. Gov. Me Duffies Message to 
 South Carolina Legislature, 1835. 
 
 I HAVE placed this motto at the head of my paper 
 as an absolute curiosity. It is impossible for bur- 
 
236 THE PURITAN. 
 
 lesque to go beyond it. Indeed, it is precisely the 
 instance which Montesquieu brings, in that sarcastic 
 chapter which he has written on the origin of slavery. 
 What the theoretic Frenchman says, as bitter, biting 
 irony, our republican governor brings forward as 
 sober, political truth. Le sucre seroit trop cher si Von 
 ne faisoit, travailler la plante qui le produit par dcs 
 esdaves* So we must trample on the laws of God, 
 and violate the rights of humanity, because, if we 
 should attempt to respect them, sugar and cotton 
 would become too dear. 
 
 I have hitherto avoided taking any part in the 
 temporary questions which are now agitating the 
 country throughout all its borders ; because I wish 
 my book to be the repository, only of those truths 
 which are permanent, and which the mind of the 
 reader may receive with the least prejudice and 
 objection. But this motto contains a principle, (car 
 ried to be sure to its highest extreme, and therefore 
 more proper to be made a monument,) which must 
 prove the bane of all free government. It is setting 
 expediency higher than moral principle ; or rather 
 it is bringing an argument from expediency, not to 
 modify but to overthrow the highest rule of righteous 
 ness. This is the great error of our land ; this is the 
 bane of republicanism. For, as in a Russian house 
 made for winter, you can only throw up the windows 
 and diminish the battlements in safety, by increasing 
 
 * De L Esprit Des Lois Livre xv. c. v. 
 
THE PURITAN. 237 
 
 the general mildness of the atmosphere ; so with re 
 spect to government, you can only throw off the 
 restraints of external power, by increasing the preva 
 lence of deep principle in voluntary hearts. When 
 interest is the criterion of wisdom, liberty will degen 
 erate into despotism. 
 
 It has been observed by lord Coke, that corpora 
 tions have no souls ; and it would seem in all collec 
 tive bodies, from the parish to the nation, that in most 
 of their deliberations, the immortal nature of man, 
 with all its wants and wishes, is forgotten. Man, in 
 his private capacity, has a body and a spirit ; and 
 the sensualities of the first are infinitely inferior to 
 the everlasting wants of the last. But when men are 
 associated in political bodies, the high principles of a 
 deathless spirit, seem to be lost in the transient regu 
 lations of a material life ; and there seems to be a 
 total divorce between politics and principle. 
 
 There is no science for which I feel a greater dis 
 trust, as to its details, and a deeper abhorrence, as to 
 its general principles, than that of political economy 
 the great idol of the age. Nebuchadnezzar the 
 king, made an image of gold, whose height was three 
 score cubits, and the breadth thereof six cubits : and 
 he set it up in the plain of Dura, in the province of 
 Babylon. * * * * Then an herald cried aloud, 
 To you it is commanded, O people, nations and lan 
 guages, that, at what time ye hear the sound of the 
 cornet, fute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and 
 
238 THE PURITAN. 
 
 all kinds of music, ye fall down and worship the 
 golden image that Nebuchadnezzar the king hath set 
 tip ; and whoso falleth not down and worshippeth, 
 shall in the same hour be cast into the midst of a 
 burning fiery furnace. Yet in despite of all the 
 charms of this united music, and all the terrors of this 
 flaming furnace, I must hesitate to fall before this 
 golden image, more dazzling to the imagination, 
 than conducive to the well-being of man. 
 
 In the first place, as to its induction Is it so per 
 fect as to lay the foundation of much certain know 
 ledge ? We will suppose, to please the modern poli 
 tician, that trade is the great channel of public duty, 
 and that beef and pudding are the supreme objects of 
 national felicity. Still the investigations of the politi 
 cal economist, run into such an infinite number of 
 infinitesimal items, as to elude the comprehension of 
 the most careful mind in its most patient investiga 
 tion. He will find his regulations have touched but 
 the smaller part of the springs which move the wheels 
 of the complex machine. There is a wisdom in 
 nature, which any partial interference of man only 
 disturbs and deteriorates ; and as the water, dropped 
 from the clouds, finds its way over the mountains, to 
 the brooks and springs which conduct it over the 
 earth, in obedience to pre-established laws, which the 
 wisdom of man would in vain attempt to improve or 
 destroy ; so, I suspect, the interests of men, in marts 
 and cities, in towns and nations, are balanced by a 
 
THE PURITAN. 239 
 
 wisdom, which we only disturb when we touch it. 
 What should we say to a college of physicians, col 
 lected to devise means to keep up an equality in the 
 birth of the sexes ? 
 
 The uncertainty of the science, the differences 
 amongst the highest authorities, increases the suspi 
 cion, that the inductions must be very imperfect 
 among millions of facts where thousands of causes 
 meet and mingle. 
 
 But it is the spirit of the science which is most 
 deleterious. Its assumptions are not grounded on 
 the true nature of man. It is not true that man be 
 comes a sensual being as soon as he joins the body 
 politic, and delegates his representatives in congress 
 to take care of his sensual interests alone. The soul 
 is the creature of principle ; and there are principles 
 never to be violated, however great the loss or the 
 gain. In the scramble for wealth and power, which 
 is daily increasing in some high quarters, and flowing 
 like lava-torrents from the top of some ignited moun 
 tain to every quarter of the land, he is the valuable 
 politician, who will dare to avow his reverence and 
 respect for ETERNAL RIGHTEOUSNESS ; and will own 
 that expediency is not the predominating object in 
 the code of a politician. 
 
 Republicanism has its tendencies ; and one of 
 them is to leap over the rules of right, for accomplish 
 ing gain. The only antagonist power to this dan 
 gerous propensity, is a reverence for justice to the 
 
240 THE PURITAN. 
 
 incurring of some loss. This is the last lesson 
 learned by individuals; and nations need to be taught 
 it still more. The famous anecdote of Aristides, illus 
 trates the point at which I aim. Whea he refused 
 to burn the fleet of an enemy, though highly advan 
 tageous to the public, because it was NOT KIGHT, he 
 taught a lesson to all succeeding statesmen, more 
 noble, more profitable too, than all the systems of 
 political economy ever written. How great the mind 
 into which such conceptions could enter ! How 
 noble the people who could support him ! Bat it is 
 no very criminal libel to say that Gov. McDuffie is 
 not Aristides, and South Carolina is not Athens. 
 
 Indeed we are fast going down the hill which de 
 grades human nature to the lowest competitions. 
 Already politics has become a game of skill to secure 
 a cunning interest. This is now avowed ; and hy 
 pocrisy drops her mask because there is not reverence 
 enough for virtue to induce her to wear it. The 
 transition has been awful and rapid. We are a young 
 people, with all the vices of a hoary empire on our 
 heads. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 No. 57. 
 
 Still they were wise, whatever way they went. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 IT seems to be generally agreed, that our republic 
 is in a perilous condition commotions are heard of 
 from every quarter. The supremacy of the laws is set 
 aside ; the statutes of justice and mercy are veiled, 
 while the sovereign people signify their supreme will ; 
 and a short cut to rectitude, (or at least to vengeance,) 
 seems now to be chosen by those who are impatient 
 of the law s delay. A mob in a great city is a mat 
 ter of course ; and, even in Bundleborough itself, 
 we have some thoughts of attempting one to pull 
 down Mr. Needle s sign, whom we suspect of being 
 a secret abolitionist. We have hardly materials 
 enough for a genuine riot, but if we can turn out all 
 the paupers from our workhouse ; all the boys from 
 our two animal schools, (as they were called in town- 
 
242 THE PURITAN. 
 
 meeting,) and all the scolds and termagants, we may 
 make a pretty respectable mob, and be in the fashion, 
 which is the glory of all towns. 
 
 The reason of this general agitation over our 
 country, is a matter of some curiosity. What is it 
 that has thus let loose the spirit of discord and dis 
 turbance, to break our own repose, and make us a 
 reproach in the sight of other nations? Has the 
 devil broke his chain ? or has the angel, foretold in 
 Revelation, to whom was given the key of the bot 
 tomless pit, come down and opened that horrid chasm, 
 so that there arises a smoke out of the pit, as the 
 smoke of a great furnace ? Some cause has produced 
 this fermented state of things, open or latent; a cause 
 which, if sagacity could discover, wisdom might be 
 employed to remove it. 
 
 We are told by physicians that there are some dis 
 eases of the body, for the origin of which we must 
 look into the mind. They are caused by grief, or 
 care, or depression ; so that in these cases we must 
 seek a moral medicine for a mortifying mischief. In 
 the diseases of nations, a similar remark is sometimes 
 true. For their outward faults, you must look into 
 their ideal world. You must inquire into the state of 
 religion and philosophy among them. You must in 
 quire into the processes of education in schools and 
 colleges. There the steam is generated, which moves 
 the engine. There is a public soul ; and its habits 
 
THE PURITAN. 243 
 
 and opinions will govern the body politic in all its 
 material developments. 
 
 Now, if we look into the ideal of our own age and 
 country, we shall find that its characteristic is, that 
 no principle is fixed, no foundation is laid ; a uni 
 versal skepticism has seized the public mind as to 
 every human interest, and not a corner-stone is laid 
 in politics, religion, morals, or education. We are, 
 to be sure, on the verge of a glorious millennium ; 
 the day of light and felicity is soon to dawn upon us ; 
 but this day is future, and all the light and splendor 
 of it, only serves to throw darkness on the present 
 hour. Our hopes are in discovery ; we have nothing 
 in possession. The description which Dr. Johnson 
 has given of the age of Hudibras, is too faithful a 
 picture of our own time. " It is scarcely possible," 
 says he, " in the regularity and composure of the 
 present, to imagine the tumult of absurdity and 
 clamor of contradiction, which perplexed doctrine, 
 disordered practice, and disturbed both public and 
 private quiet, in that age when subordination was 
 broken, and awe was hissed away; when any unset 
 tled innovator, who could hatch a half-formed no 
 tion, produced it to the public ; when every man 
 might become a preacher, and almost every preacher 
 could collect a congregation." 
 
 These must be considered as the tendencies of re 
 publicanism, and they can only be overcome by some 
 opposite tendencies of a moral and voluntary kind. 
 
244 THE PURITAN. 
 
 I was a few days since conversing with a lawyer, 
 and expressing my astonishment, considering the na 
 ture of our courts, that any culprit was ever brought 
 to execution. I observed to him that crimes were 
 always secret, and there must be evidence technically 
 sufficient; then the justice must commit him; the 
 grand jury must find a bill ; the attorney general was 
 intrusted with A vast deal of discretionary power ; the 
 traverse jury must be unanimous in their verdict ; 
 one man with a scruple in his mind may defeat their 
 decision ; then comes the motion for arrest of judg 
 ment, or for a new trial ; the judge must pronounce 
 sentence, and finally the executive power may grant 
 a pardon. So many were the tripping stones in the 
 way to justice, in the plainest cases. The lawyer re 
 plied it would be so, were it not that the very difficulty 
 in the theory was counteracted by a moral spirit in 
 the practice. Nay, the consciousness of this diffi 
 culty almost produced this reacting spirit. In like 
 manner it seems to me, our only salvation from cer 
 tain tendencies in republicanism, must come from 
 a consciousness of them, and an antagonist spirit 
 produced by that knowledge. 
 
 Republicanism has a tendency to rash innovation, 
 and must be counteracted by a moral bearing the other 
 way. It wants a stable philosophy, and a fixed and 
 binding religion. Party spirit has existed ever since 
 man has existed in the social state ; and I have often 
 thought it might be reduced, like the questions in 
 
.THE PURITAN. 245 
 
 algebra, to a certain formula. Whatever the subject, 
 political or religious, there are the innovators and 
 conservatives, and these again are subdivided into 
 divisions more or less developed, according to cir 
 cumstances. There is your headlong innovators, 
 root and branch men, radicals, enthusiasts, jacobins, 
 or whatsoever name they assume, and the moderate in 
 novators. So on the other side, the conservators are 
 subdivided into two orders, more or less tenacious. 
 Now the rectitude of these principles depends on cir 
 cumstances. Our blessed Saviour was an innovator ; 
 but then we know from Josephus and other sources, 
 it was in opposition to the phariseeism of the Jewish 
 religion. Cicero was a conservative, but then it was 
 in opposition to the corruptions of Rome, and the 
 ambition of Csesar. On understanding this formula, 
 depends almost all the light we derive from history. 
 One of the strongest proofs of the truths of the gos 
 pel, historically speaking, is seen by viewing this 
 very question correctly. But however this may be, 
 in this age monarchy and all its appendages fall into 
 the favor and custody of the conservatives. Repub 
 licanism was born in innovation, and loves innovation. 
 Innovation in politics ; innovation in morals ; innova 
 tion in principle ; innovation in practice. We are 
 on a whirling stream, sure to go fast, and not very 
 sure whither we go. It is the spirit of this age that 
 nothing is fixed. Every foundation totters, and every 
 fundamental principle is disputed. Now, if you were 
 
246 THE PURITAN. 
 
 to see a great fleet, spreading all their canvass, throw 
 ing over their ballast and committing themselves to 
 the wildest winds, you would see in visibles the in 
 visible spirit of our times. We cannot entirely pre 
 vent it. But we may counteract it by a spirit of 
 moral conservation. Let us lay the injunction on 
 our youth ; let us teach it to our children, that old 
 principles tried by experience, are not lightly to be 
 shaken. We have something to keep as well as to 
 gain. 
 
 Some excellent men, in giving exhortations on this 
 subject, have been deceived by the value of their 
 object. They seem to think that by exhorting the 
 young men in our colleges to cast off the chains of 
 authority, they shall stimulate their powers, and make 
 them original geniuses. One eminent writer has said, 
 11 that the chief object of past ages has been to rear 
 prison walls around the human mind." I accept his 
 metaphor, and would observe that these walls never 
 imprisoned one original genius ; they only serve as a 
 test of his strength, by showing how easily he can 
 leap over them ; and, as to the majority of students, 
 they were not born to expand the horizon of human 
 knowledge. But, whatever we want in these days, 
 we do not want less reverence for authority. There 
 are too many who, with the unjust judge s moral char* 
 acter, have his dangerous intrepidity I FEAR NOT 
 
 GOD, NEITHER REGARD MAN. 
 
UNIVERSITY; 
 
 THE PURITAN. 
 
 No. 58. 
 
 O gracious God ! how far have we 
 Prophaned thy heavenly gift of poesy ? 
 Made prostitute and profligate the muse, 
 Debased to each obscene and impious use, 
 Whose harmony was first ordained above, 
 For tongues of angels and for hymns of love. 
 
 Dryden, 
 
 A SOUND and healthful literature is so necessary to 
 the good morals of a country, that it should be sup 
 ported by all the dictates of a just criticism ; and by 
 literature, I mean not the elaborate volumes, which 
 please a few in their closets, but those light and 
 readable pages which fly, like scattered blossoms, to 
 every part of our land. The number is very few 
 who form their opinions from deep examination. 
 Some phantom of fancy, some spark, blown on the 
 winds of chance, strikes the vacant and youthful 
 mind, awakes the imagination, combines with their 
 passions, and ripens into a confirmed belief. There 
 
248 THE PURITAN. 
 
 are thousands of vain girls, who have extracted their 
 theology from novels, and equally vain gentlemen, 
 who have received their whole code of ethics from 
 the mouth of a player. 
 
 For this reason, I have always thought it a matter 
 of gratitude that the English language has so much 
 excellent poetry. Perhaps there is no tongue under 
 heaven, in which so much solid truth is arrayed in 
 such attractive verse. Spenser has dressed all the 
 moral virtues in pleasing allegories ; Fletcher sung 
 the mysteries of redemption ; Sir John Davis proves 
 to us the immortality of the soul, in better arguments 
 (it must be confessed) than poetry. Drummond and 
 Crashaw give us the raptures of mystic and medita 
 tive devotion. And to come to later times, who ever 
 united so much devotion with so much poetry, as Dr. 
 Watts ! for I must dissent from the criticism of Dr. 
 Johnson on the great man great he certainly was ; 
 great as a Christian, and great as a poet ; to prove 
 which, I would only propose this one test the diffi 
 culties which his genius overcame. When a poet 
 sings of love and rapture ; of moonlight walks and 
 bright eyes ; of smelling flowers and gushing streams; 
 of the tender meeting and the parting agony, he 
 touches a sensual chord, and his very subject does 
 half his work for him. His very terms intoxicate the 
 host of youths and virgins that gather around his 
 song. Not so the poet that touches on the solemn 
 themes of devotion. There the bent of nature is 
 
THE PURITAN. 249 
 
 against him, and he must kindle his fire with green 
 wood on the frozen wilds of the forest. We owe 
 much to those authors, who have employed melody 
 on the side of virtue and religion. They had a hard 
 task to execute ; they had to disjoin ideas long asso 
 ciated, and to awaken the cold admiration of reluc 
 tant readers. They cultivated frankincense in Green 
 land. 
 
 The fashionable poetry of the present day, is what 
 may be denominated morbid poetry ; and as it is, or 
 at least has been, (for there are some symptoms of the 
 dawning of a better day,) infatuating the sensitive 
 youth of our land, let me give its characteristics. 
 
 Now the mark of morbid poetry is not that it is 
 drawn from the depths of nature, as some of its man 
 ufacturers pretend, nor that it is the result of strong 
 feeling ; but that it comes from a mind introspective 
 and inverted ; a mind nervous and moody ; that 
 dwells among its own musings ; a mind in as unnatu 
 ral a state as can be imagined. Hence in morbid 
 poetry you will find strong feelings produced by no 
 adequate cause. I am no enemy to strong feeling ; 
 the author may touch the deepest tones of the heart ; 
 he may pour forth his strains of rapture and agony, 
 if he will only assign a sufficient cause for them, and 
 make his hero feel as most other people would feel in 
 similar circumstances. This is the aim of wisdom, 
 and the triumph of real genius. But when he intro 
 duces a moody gentleman, such as God never made 
 VOL. ii. 17 
 
250 THE PURITAN. 
 
 and earth never saw ; when he makes him in deep 
 anguish without any calamities ; seeking he knows 
 not what, and disappointed at the loss of that which 
 never existed ; when it is his sole aim and delight 
 " to bring a lover, a lady, and a rival, into the fable ; 
 to entangle them in contradictory obligations, perplex 
 them with oppositions of interest, and harass them 
 with violence of desires inconsistent with each other; 
 to make them meet in rapture, and part in agony ; 
 to fill their mouths with hyperbolical joy and outrageous 
 sorrow ; to distress them as nothing human ever was 
 distressed ; to deliver them as nothing human ever 
 was delivered ; "* when this is the case, I must think 
 that such poetry is the sickly progeny of a sickly sire; 
 and if it becomes so by imitation or affectation, why 
 this only makes the fault worse. For of all diseases, 
 voluntary sickness is the most disgusting. 
 
 Perhaps these remarks might be illustrated by an 
 example. Of all the characters which Shakspeare 
 has drawn, none comes so near the introspective and 
 excessively meditative, as Hamlet. He is sad and 
 solitary ; he almost approaches to insanity before he 
 feigns it ; arid yet, though Hamlet is actually diseased, 
 nothing is further from morbid poetry, than the whole 
 drama which paints his character. It is the very 
 bloom and efflorescence of sound and healthful nature ; 
 and why ? Because there is an adequate cause for 
 
 * Dr. Johnson s Preface to Shakspeare. 
 
THE PURITAN. 251 
 
 all Hamlet s feeling. We see great events acting on 
 a fair specimen of human nature. The reader feels if 
 he were young, had lost a father, and were perplexed 
 as to the character of a mother ; and, above all, were 
 he met by an awful messenger from the supernatural 
 world, he would feel and act as Hamlet does. But 
 what a wide difference between the meditations of 
 Hamlet and those of some of the heroes of lord 
 Byron ! 
 
 Some writers are deceived into this faulty poetry, 
 by looking for strong feeling in a wrong direction. 
 They look for it within ; they think to move our 
 sympathy by increasing the sensitiveness of their 
 heroes, rather than by exciting natural emotions by 
 great events. Hence they surround themselves with 
 splendid haloes of their own creation ; plunge into 
 the dark and mystical ; and speculate, and feel as 
 they hope none ever speculated and felt before. 
 
 Such minds do love the marvellous too well 
 Not to believe it. 
 
 Hence the poems of Dana, though rich in descrip 
 tion, and crowded with sentiment, must fail to strike a 
 sympathetic string in the general breast ; and hence, 
 in the productions of Coleridge, we find so many 
 traces of genius and opium. 
 
 Having thus spoken of poetry, I shall now, like 
 some other authors, give a specimen which violates 
 my own criticism. Of all the inverted states of mind 
 
252 THE PURITAN. 
 
 which a man feels in common life, perhaps none are 
 more morbid, than when he is thoroughly home-sick. 
 When I was in college, I went out one winter vacation 
 to keep school in a village in Connecticut. I was 
 young, moody, among strangers, and hated my occu 
 pation. One fair moonlight evening in winter, I 
 walked out on the shore of Long Island Sound, to 
 lament my cruel fate, i. e. the cruel fate of being 
 obliged to do something for my living ; and, seated 
 on a little eminence, indulged in the feelings which 
 generated the following lines. 
 
 A THOUGHT OF HOME. 
 
 Reposed in caverns dark and drear, 
 
 The nothern tempest sleeps awhile ; 
 Old winter, in his frowns severe, 
 
 Old frowning winter deigns to smile. 
 
 On a lorn hill, whose snowy height 
 
 Seems reared the storms and seas to brave, 
 
 I sit companion of the night, 
 
 And listener to the breaking wave. 
 
 From home removed, midst strangers cast, 
 
 While hopes excite, or fears benumb, 
 I think of pleasant moments past, 
 
 Or happier moments yet to come. 
 
 I ii ve they re here strong memory speaks, 
 
 Anticipation brings her store ; 
 With bounding heart and burning cheeks, 
 
 I feel the joys once felt before. 
 
THE PURITAN. 253 
 
 The plain for sport, the bower for love, 
 
 Where youth or boyhood used to go; 
 The elms that spread their arms above 
 
 The rapid brook that ran below. 
 
 The shaded pond the laboring mill, 
 
 To which the salt creek winding strayed 
 
 The spire beyond the savin hill 
 
 The ancient school-house, half decayed j 
 
 All, all are here I am not blind, 
 
 Not duped by fancy s flattering zeal ; 
 Tis not the mockery of the mind ; 
 
 Tis something that I deeply feel. 
 
 My mother ! o er the distant stile, 
 
 Tis she ! she looks she now is near ; 
 I guess her by that heavenly smile 
 
 I know her by that bursting tear. 
 
 My sister ! dost thou near me stand, 
 
 And every doubt and cloud remove ? 
 Do I not press thy ofiered hand, 
 
 And kiss the lips of chastest love ? 
 
 My father ! at that sacred name, 
 
 With reverence, love and awe I bow ; 
 I fill anew the filial flame, 
 
 Twas duty once, but rapture now. 
 
 Friends ! how they haste with generous zeal, 
 
 The wanderer on his way to meet; 
 They smile upon me, and I feel 
 
 The sum of happiness complete. 
 
 
254 THE PURITAN. 
 
 Where am I ? All the charm is o er : 
 No father, friends or sister nigh ; 
 
 The wave beats lazy on the shore ; 
 The wind sighs loud and passes by. 
 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 59. 
 
 His anger moral and his wisdom gay. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 IN this paper, I design to give a sketch-like view of 
 those illustrious predecessors, whose footsteps I am 
 endeavoring to follow in humble imitation. 
 
 Cotton Mather, quoting Basil, mentions a certain 
 art of drawing many doves, by anointing the wings 
 of a few with a fragrant ointment, and so sending 
 them abroad, that by the fragrancy of the ointment, 
 they may allure others into the house. There are a 
 certain class of writers, whose object it is to fill up 
 men s minds and spare time, and to allure them to 
 goodness, not merely by the ponderous truths of the 
 ology, or the deep arguments of philosophy, but by 
 the fragrance of those intellectual wings, with which 
 they wake the fancy and infold the heart. 
 
 I have already mentioned Addison. After some 
 
 
256 THE PURITAN. 
 
 considerable interval, followed the illustrious author 
 of the Rambler. Of a work so well known, it may 
 be both difficult and needless to say any thing new, 
 or which has not a thousand times been presented to the 
 reader s mind. It is a book, which is always the 
 delight of young students in colleges, when they begin 
 to write themes ; because it has exactly the unbusi 
 nesslike style, which the mind relishes and craves 
 when it writes solely for criticism ; but our admira 
 tion of Johnson almost always abates with the progress 
 of life. His false antithesis, his uniform roll of sen 
 tence, his pomposity and pendentry have often been 
 pointed out, and severely censured ; yet, after all his 
 errors, where is the man, who like him, can chain the 
 attention to mere didactic discussion without the aid 
 of narrative? Criticism, with me, I have already re 
 marked, is an affair of feeling; and if I were to be 
 called to watch with a sick man, where the object was 
 to sit in idleness and repell sleep, and if a narrative 
 volume were prohibited, I would certainly take a 
 volume of the Rambler. 
 
 He has certainly his weak points ; his allegories I 
 always pass over ; though all Addison s are excellent. 
 His wit is much what we may suppose his dancing 
 would have been, had he, as was reported of him, taken 
 lessons of Vestris. His pictures of life and man 
 ners are rather clumsy ; and his women are strange 
 formal phantoms, such as earth never saw and I hope 
 never will see. But when he writes a paper on the 
 
THE PURITAN. 257 
 
 misery of man, the vanity of life and the solemnities 
 of a death-bed, he warbles out his groans with the 
 sweetest melody, and I am sure to follow his eloquence 
 though his philosophy should lead me to despair. 
 His criticisms, too, if not always true, are always su 
 premely beautiful. 
 
 It has been lamented by some serious people, that 
 both he and Addison, when they touch with so much 
 felicity, on some of the parts of religion, had not more 
 clearly seen, or more clearly displayed the central 
 truth the terms of our acceptance with the Deity. 
 There are expressions in both these great writers, on 
 this point, which every evangelical reader wishes 
 away. But we should consider in all works, the 
 writer s end ; and what would have been the condi 
 tion of English literature if Addison and Johnson had 
 had the principles of Voltaire and Rousseau ! 
 
 Toaaov tvegd didsw, oaov ovgaro; eg dno you j/. 
 
 Scarcely had Johnson finished his Rambler, when 
 Dr. Hawkesworth began his renowned work. The 
 Adventurer was partly written by Johnson, and in 
 most of its pages closely imitates him. But it is not as 
 an imitator that Hawkesworth s best excellence ap 
 pears. His peculiar brightness, as it appears to me, 
 is the skill with which he can construct some natural 
 story to illustrate some moral principle. I recollect 
 
258 THE PURITAN. 
 
 one which began in thoughtless lying and endel in a 
 fatal duel. 
 
 The Mirror has all the characteristics of the man 
 who has been called the Scotch Addison. Indeed 
 the author of the Man of Feeling, could not fail of 
 producing an interesting periodical. His book, I 
 should suppose, must be a favorite with the ladies; 
 and most youthful eyes, like mine, have*probably wept 
 over the stories of Sir Edward and La Roche, This 
 writer is inexpressibly tender and delicate. But this 
 is his chief praise. His natural tenderness sup 
 plies the place of deeper principle ; and there are few 
 of our popular writers who have so seldom bound their 
 precepts on the conscience, by the strong sanctions of 
 revealed religion. 
 
 I have not space to characterize the World, the 
 Looker-on, the Lounger, the Connoisseur, and various 
 other volumes written with various ability, and des 
 tined to oblivion, from their very number, perhaps, 
 rather than their want of merit. But one I must 
 notice Cumberland s Observer ; a periodical paper 
 only in name ; but a beautiful repository of literary 
 history and criticism. His criticism however, too 
 often revolves on one pivot, and that fixed in a wrong 
 position. In analyzing a drama, he always turns a 
 very scrutinizing eye on the probability of the fable 
 the last thing I think of when I read a play ; for I 
 agree with Mr. Puff, in Sheridan s Critic " O lud, 
 Sir, if people who want to listen, or overhear, were 
 
THE PURITAN. 259 
 
 not always connived at in a tragedy, there would be 
 no carrying on any plot in the world." There is no 
 end to such criticism. 
 
 From British writers let us turn to those of our 
 own land ; and here the first shape that meets us, 
 is the renowned Franklin. His good sense taught 
 him, to write to the circumstances and wants of 
 his own country, and hence instead of conjuring 
 up the aristocratic images of a foreign land, and 
 painting them in colors which had already been ex 
 hausted, he remembered that he dwelt among the 
 farmers and tradesmen of an infant country all of 
 them free and equal, and all struggling for a subsis 
 tence ; and hence he teaches them the lessons of fru 
 gality and economy. He was the first American 
 author who possessed thf > patavinity of morals ; and in 
 this respect his sagacity, his originality, his rustic wit 
 and household wisdom, are equal to all antiquity and 
 above all praise. His style, too, is the happiest for 
 his purpose imaginable. It is a great pity, that in 
 addition to his life and essays, another little volume, 
 consisting of his beauties, (and his essence is in 
 his beauties,) has not been collected. If a man 
 could believe prudence to be the sum of virtue, could 
 live as Franklin did, to be eighty years old, and then 
 return, as Franklin wished, to live his life over again, 
 then this great writer s morality would be all existence 
 could wish, or conscience demand. But if there be 
 
260 THE PURITAN. 
 
 such a thing as religion, then But I must conceal 
 
 my severe censures, and spare the venerable dead. 
 
 The high praises bestowed by the Edinburgh 
 Review, on the works of Dickinson, led me to an impa 
 tient search after the FARMER S LETTERS ; and I must 
 say, I read them with disappointment. Though the 
 author assumes with great parade, the character of a 
 practical man, yet the reader may judge of the justice 
 of that claim, by his pretending to plough with a little 
 child riding on the beam ; which is very sentimental. 
 His tale of a gibbeted negro in the southern States, 
 is so horrible, that the reader is compelled to disbe 
 lieve it ; his style is redundant, and he labors hard 
 at the vain effort of making backwoodsmen happy, 
 and log-houses picturesque. These foreign critics 
 are doubly unjust ; they know not how to praise us. 
 
 There was a couple of volumes published in Massa 
 chusetts some forty years ago, called the MORAL MON 
 ITOR, not wholly unworthy of notice. As another fol 
 lower in the bright succession, we may notice Dennie, 
 who refused " to beat down mud walls with roses," 
 but whose papers were a selection of roses collected 
 in a golden string. People as old as 1 am, will re 
 member some other fugitive names, which had only 
 an ephemeral existence. Such as the GLEANER, sup 
 posed to be written by a clergyman s wife, and too 
 foolish to be approved by any body ; the GOSSIP, in a 
 Magazine published in Boston thirty years ago, con- 
 
THE PURITAN. 261 
 
 sidered as the work of the same hand, and bearing 
 marks of equal folly. The ORDEAL, in a paper called 
 the Emerald, was a far more respectable production. 
 But all its merits could not redeem it from oblivion. 
 
 Purpureus veluti cum flos succisus aratro 
 Languescit moriens, lassove papavera collo 
 Demisere caput, pluvia cum forte gravantur. 
 
 But one of the best of these writers, and one who 
 has placed the lighter morals on their only solid foun 
 dation, and that too in a sweet and playful style, is 
 Mr. Sampson, the author of the BRIEF RE.MARKER. 
 This author has not contented himself in dealing out 
 moral truisms, nor has he plunged into a dazzling 
 deluge of perverse originality. He has some pene 
 trating remarks on human nature, and many of his 
 papers are beautiful, original and just. I am sure 
 my commendation is impartial ; for I know the man 
 only from his book. 
 
 Thus have I endeavored to do justice to all my pre 
 decessors, so far as I know them. My book comes 
 after, like a humble servant to the illustrious train. 
 I could wish such pleasing themes had fallen into 
 more skilful hands ; but if Mr. Everett will conde 
 scend to be governor ; if Dr. Channing and Dr. 
 Beecher will waste their energies on temporary con 
 troversies ; if Mr. Irving will write semi-novels, and 
 Mr. Paulding exaggerated caricatures for satires 
 
262 THE PURITAN. 
 
 why then the moral and the permanent must fall into 
 such hands as those of John Oldbug. I say JOHN 
 OLDBUG. 
 
 Phoebus ! what a name ! 
 To fill the speaking trump of future fame. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 No. 60. 
 
 Now Mr. Great-heart was a strong man; so he was not afrnid of a Hon. 
 
 Pilgrim * Progress. 
 
 BEHOLD ! I have reached my last number. After 
 having long been tossed by the billows and beaten by 
 the tempest, I am at last sailing by the buoy of Point 
 Alderton, and have the prospect of casting my anr 
 chor, for a quarantine, by Rainsford s island. I 
 mean, I am about closing my book ; and it requires 
 no small share of intrepidity to deliver the offspring 
 of one s brain, to this cold and censorious world. I 
 am afraid of the lions. In anticipation I hear them 
 roar already ; and fancy I can see the critics devour 
 ing my harmless pages, with that merciless spirit with 
 which they can at once gratify their hunger and 
 satiate their revenge. 
 
 But I am not answerable for consequences ; and 
 the first thing I have to tell the reader, is, that time 
 
264 THE PURITAN. 
 
 has intercepted my purposes ; and many things, 
 which I designed to have put into my volumes, have 
 slipped through my fingers and are gone probably 
 forever. Whether this be thy sorrow or mine, I must 
 tell thee that I intended to have described my aunt 
 Hannah s death-bed ; to have made much more use 
 of my uncle Gideon ; to have invited thee to a husk 
 ing ; to have talked more about that New England 
 feast a thanksgiving ; to have given the history of a 
 debt ; to have told thee some capital stories, related by 
 my grandfather, about the Indians ; to have brought up 
 New England manners and incidents, in more viva 
 cious pictures than any I have yet been able to paint. 
 I had some flowers, at the bottom of my basket, more 
 sweet, more fair, than any I have yet presented thee. 
 But, alas ! how do our designs shrivel in the execution ! 
 My last hour has come; and, instead of weaving new 
 narratives, I must give my closing advice. 
 
 Remember then, my friendly reader, who hast thus 
 followed me patiently to my last page, that thou art 
 a REPUBLICAN ; thy duties, like those of all other 
 men, arise from thy station ; and there are certain 
 tendencies in republicanism, which will certainly 
 upset our happiness, unless they are resisted by an 
 antagonist spirit. You have observed, no doubt, that 
 many things preserve their position by balancing. 
 Hold up a pair of scales, for example ; see two boys 
 tilting on a rail ; see Signer Blitz, walking the slack 
 rope, (if that is among his jugglings, for I have never 
 
THE PURITAN. 265 
 
 seen this thaumaturgus work his wonders,) consider 
 a ship loaded with iron ; or rise to the planets, re 
 volving in their orbits ; and you will find that every 
 thing keeps its place, and sounds its notes in concord 
 with the universal harmony, by the counteracting in 
 fluence of two opposite powers. Republicanism tends 
 to ambition ; offering the prizes of office to all, it dif 
 fuses the cravings of that dangerous passion, through 
 all the ranks of life. All hate to work and love to 
 rule. This then must be counteracted by an antago 
 nist spirit ; and as powerful as the tendency to which 
 it is opposed. Need I tell you that the spirit is 
 religion ? a religion which enforces humility am 
 bition s balance and ambition s cure. Republicanism 
 tends to self-glorification ; the will of the people a 
 free, enlightened community ! the last great empire ! 
 a people capable of self-government ! a wonderful 
 people ! 
 
 Columbia ! Columbia ! to glory arise ! 
 
 The queen of the world and the child of the skies. 
 
 These visions, for aught I know proper in their 
 place, can only be overcome by opening a book 
 which tells us in rather plain language that men of 
 low degree are vanity, and men of high degree are a lie. 
 Republicanism tends to excitement and disorganiza 
 tion ; and therefore the counter-spirit must be strict 
 subordination in schools and families. Heaven de 
 liver us, I say, from republican schools and families ; 
 
 VOL. II. 18 
 
266 THE PURITAN. 
 
 there every master and father must and shall be king ; 
 and here let me advise you, attentively to peruse Sir 
 William Temple s account of the Netherlands. The 
 Dutch were a wise people. They understood liberty. 
 They were the first who resisted oppression on con 
 sistent principles, and they long preserved it. Now 
 their peculiarity was, that while their theory and 
 public system was very free, it was overcome, in its 
 tendencies to excess, by the strictest system of do 
 mestic manners, and by the severest municipal regu 
 lations. Republicanism tends to make men unsocial 
 to alienate them into factions. As Dr. Goldsmith 
 says 
 
 That independence Britons prize so high, 
 Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie. 
 
 How much more is this true of Americans ! Every 
 thing is here addressed to the many ; and the proverb 
 tells us that many men have many minds. Shaks- 
 peare, who, with all his genius, I fear, was no true 
 republican, has described the disposition of the many 
 with too much severity. In Corel anus, he makes 
 one of the honest citizens say We have been called 
 so (i. e. the many headed multitude) of many ; not 
 that our heads are some brown, some black, some au 
 burn, some bald ; but that our wits are so diversely 
 colored; and truly, I think, if all our wits were to 
 issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, 
 south ; and this consent of one direction, would be at 
 
THE PURITAN. 267 
 
 once to all points of the compass. Corolanus, Act IT. 
 scene 3. Indeed we find we have always something 
 to quarrel about. A candidate, a tariff, a new law, 
 an old one, masonry or anti-masonry, colonization or 
 abolitionism, a bank or a bridge, a foreigner or a fool. 
 Even in my dear native town, Bundleborough, we 
 always had our factions. Squire Wilson wanted a 
 new road, and Col. Crane would oppose it ; Tom 
 Long wanted a license, and some of the selectmen 
 would say he should not have it ; the singers would 
 quarrel, or Dr. Snivelwell would threaten to ask a 
 dismission ; in short, we had something to keep us in 
 commotion year in and year out. 
 
 Difficulty is behind, fear is before ; 
 
 When he gets up the hill he hears the lions roar ; 
 
 A Christian man is never long at ease ; 
 
 When one fright s gone, another doth him seize. 
 
 The counter spirit to this, is great meekness and 
 benevolence. An obstinate man makes a sad re 
 publican. 
 
 Nor must a man be blown about by every shifting 
 wind of doctrine. Republicanism is naturally an in 
 novator, and we want some discreet conservatives. 
 The truth is, in our whirl-a-gig times, a wise man 
 must bend, like the tree, to recover himself when th 
 wind is over. He must resemble the nave of a 
 wheel not a worse knave which turns gently with 
 the circumference; conforms, but preserves its centre; 
 
268 THE PURITAN. 
 
 turns, but turns less, and connects its swiftest motion 
 with the progress of the vehicle. Such are the politi 
 cians we want, and such should be our citizens. 
 
 But, above all things, in the perilous times which I 
 foresee are coming, (perilous I say, but not clearly de 
 structive,) if you are a good man, preserve your sin 
 cerity. Bring out the individuality of your charac 
 ter ; and never shrink from the roaring of the popular 
 lions of the day. When I have gone to a public 
 meeting, and heard some of our flaming orators, 
 puffing and blowing, and rolling out hyperboles, 
 which must be figures of speech to save them from 
 being LIES, I have said but I am afraid to tell 
 what I have said. I have said it to my wife and 
 children ; and thanks be to the Father of mercies, the 
 freedom of speech still lingers around the fireside. 
 
 My last paragraph shall be to explain a hard word. 
 I have used the word antithesis; and by it, I mean 
 that which cannot be understood without its correla 
 tive opposite ; as light without darkness, heat with 
 out cold, matter without spirit, and spirit without 
 matter ; and so, reader, take my explanation, and rr< 
 last 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
YA 
 
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