OLD PORTRAITS AND MODERN SKETCHES

 PERSONAL SKETCHES AND TRIBUTES

 HISTORICAL PAPERS

 BY

 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

CONTENTS

OLD PORTRAITS AND MODERN SKETCHES. JOHN BUNYAN THOMAS ELLWOOD JAMES NAYLER ANDREW MARVELL JOHN ROBERTS SAMUEL HOPKINS RICHARD BAXTER WILLIAM LEGGETT NATHANIEL PEABODY ROGERS ROBERT DINSMORE PLACIDO, THE SLAVE POET

PERSONAL SKETCHES AND TRIBUTES. THE FUNERAL OF TORREY EDWARD EVERETT LEWIS TAPPAN BAYARD TAYLOR WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING DEATH OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD LYDIA MARIA CHILD OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES LONGFELLOW OLD NEWBURY SCHOOLDAY REMEMBRANCES EDWIN PERCY WHIPPLE

HISTORICAL PAPERS. DANIEL O'CONNELL ENGLAND UNDER JAMES II. THE BORDER WAR OF 1708 THE GREAT IPSWICH FRIGHT THE BOY CAPTIVES THE BLACK MEN IN THE REVOLUTION AND WAR OF 1812 THE SCOTTISH REFORMERS THE PILGRIMS OF PLYMOUTH GOVERNOR ENDICOTT JOHN WINTHROP

 OLD PORTRAITS AND MODERN SKETCHES

 Inscribed as follows, when first collected in book-form:-- To Dr. G. BAILEY, of the National Era, Washington, D. C. , these sketches, many of which originally appeared in the columns of the paper under his editorial supervision, are, in their present form, offered as a token of the esteem and confidence which years of political and literary communion have justified and confirmed, on the part of his friend and associate, THE AUTHOR. 

 JOHN BUNYAN. 

 "Wouldst see A man I' the clouds, and hear him speak to thee?"

Who has not read Pilgrim's Progress? Who has not, in childhood, followed the wandering Christian on his way to the Celestial City? Whohas not laid at night his young head on the pillow, to paint on thewalls of darkness pictures of the Wicket Gate and the Archers, the Hillof Difficulty, the Lions and Giants, Doubting Castle and Vanity Fair, the sunny Delectable Mountains and the Shepherds, the Black River andthe wonderful glory beyond it; and at last fallen asleep, to dream overthe strange story, to hear the sweet welcomings of the sisters at theHouse Beautiful, and the song of birds from the window of that "upperchamber which opened towards the sunrising?" And who, looking back tothe green spots in his childish experiences, does not bless the goodTinker of Elstow?

And who, that has reperused the story of the Pilgrim at a maturer age, and felt the plummet of its truth sounding in the deep places of thesoul, has not reason to bless the author for some timely warning orgrateful encouragement? Where is the scholar, the poet, the man of tasteand feeling, who does not, with Cowper, "Even in transitory life's late day, Revere the man whose Pilgrim marks the road, And guides the Progress of the soul to God!"

We have just been reading, with no slight degree of interest, that simplebut wonderful piece of autobiography, entitled Grace abounding to theChief of Sinners, from the pen of the author of Pilgrim's Progress. Itis the record of a journey more terrible than that of the ideal Pilgrim;"truth stranger than fiction;" the painful upward struggling of a spiritfrom the blackness of despair and blasphemy, into the high, pure air ofHope and Faith. More earnest words were never written. It is the entireunveiling of a human heart; the tearing off of the fig-leaf covering ofits sin. The voice which speaks to us from these old pages seems not somuch that of a denizen of the world in which we live, as of a soul at thelast solemn confessional. Shorn of all ornament, simple and direct asthe contrition and prayer of childhood, when for the first time theSpectre of Sin stands by its bedside, the style is that of a man dead toself-gratification, careless of the world's opinion, and only desirous toconvey to others, in all truthfulness and sincerity, the lesson of hisinward trials, temptations, sins, weaknesses, and dangers; and to giveglory to Him who had mercifully led him through all, and enabled him, like his own Pilgrim, to leave behind the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the snares of the Enchanted Ground, and the terrors of Doubting Castle, and to reach the land of Beulah, where the air was sweet and pleasant, and the birds sang and the flowers sprang up around him, and the ShiningOnes walked in the brightness of the not distant Heaven. In theintroductory pages he says "he could have dipped into a style higher thanthis in which I have discoursed, and could have adorned all things morethan here I have seemed to do; but I dared not. God did not play intempting me; neither did I play when I sunk, as it were, into abottomless pit, when the pangs of hell took hold on me; wherefore, I maynot play in relating of them, but be plain and simple, and lay down thething as it was. "

This book, as well as Pilgrim's Progress, was written in Bedford prison, and was designed especially for the comfort and edification of his"children, whom God had counted him worthy to beget in faith by hisministry. " In his introduction he tells them, that, although taken fromthem, and tied up, "sticking, as it were, between the teeth of the lionsof the wilderness, " he once again, as before, from the top of Shemer andHermon, so now, from the lion's den and the mountain of leopards, wouldlook after then with fatherly care and desires for their everlastingwelfare. "If, " said he, "you have sinned against light; if you aretempted to blaspheme; if you are drowned in despair; if you think Godfights against you; or if Heaven is hidden from your eyes, remember itwas so with your father. But out of all the Lord delivered me. "

He gives no dates; be affords scarcely a clue to his localities; of theman, as he worked, and ate, and drank, and lodged, of his neighbors andcontemporaries, of all he saw and heard of the world about him, we haveonly an occasional glimpse, here and there, in his narrative. It is thestory of his inward life only that he relates. What had time and placeto do with one who trembled always with the awful consciousness of animmortal nature, and about whom fell alternately the shadows of hell andthe splendors of heaven? We gather, indeed, from his record, that he wasnot an idle on-looker in the time of England's great struggle forfreedom, but a soldier of the Parliament, in his young years, among thepraying sworders and psalm-singing pikemen, the Greathearts and Holdfastswhom he has immortalized in his allegory; but the only allusion which hemakes to this portion of his experience is by way of illustration of thegoodness of God in preserving him on occasions of peril. 

He was born at Elstow, in Bedfordshire, in 1628; and, to use his ownwords, his "father's house was of that rank which is the meanest and mostdespised of all the families of the land. " His father was a tinker, andthe son followed the same calling, which necessarily brought him intoassociation with the lowest and most depraved classes of English society. The estimation in which the tinker and his occupation were held, in theseventeenth century, may be learned from the quaint and humorousdescription of Sir Thomas Overbury. "The tinker, " saith he, "is amovable, for he hath no abiding in one place; he seems to be devout, forhis life is a continual pilgrimage, and sometimes, in humility, goesbarefoot, therein making necessity a virtue; he is a gallant, for hecarries all his wealth upon his back; or a philosopher, for he bears allhis substance with him. He is always furnished with a song, to which hishammer, keeping tune, proves that he was the first founder of the kettle-drum; where the best ale is, there stands his music most upon crotchets. The companion of his travel is some foul, sun-burnt quean, that, sincethe terrible statute, has recanted gypsyism, and is turned pedlaress. Somarches he all over England, with his bag and baggage; his conversationis irreprovable, for he is always mending. He observes truly thestatutes, and therefore had rather steal than beg. He is so strong anenemy of idleness, that in mending one hole he would rather make threethan want work; and when he hath done, he throws the wallet of his faultsbehind him. His tongue is very voluble, which, with canting, proves hima linguist. He is entertained in every place, yet enters no farther thanthe door, to avoid suspicion. To conclude, if he escape Tyburn andBanbury, he dies a beggar. "

Truly, but a poor beginning for a pious life was the youth of JohnBunyan. As might have been expected, he was a wild, reckless, swearingboy, as his father doubtless was before him. "It was my delight, " sayshe, "to be taken captive by the Devil. I had few equals, both forcursing and swearing, lying and blaspheming. " Yet, in his ignorance anddarkness, his powerful imagination early lent terror to the reproaches ofconscience. He was scared, even in childhood, with dreams of hell andapparitions of devils. Troubled with fears of eternal fire, and themalignant demons who fed it in the regions of despair, he says that heoften wished either that there was no hell, or that he had been born adevil himself, that he might be a tormentor rather than one of thetormented. 

At an early age he appears to have married. His wife was as poor ashimself, for he tells us that they had not so much as a dish or spoonbetween them; but she brought with her two books on religious subjects, the reading of which seems to have had no slight degree of influence onhis mind. He went to church regularly, adored the priest and all thingspertaining to his office, being, as he says, "overrun with superstition. "On one occasion, a sermon was preached against the breach of the Sabbathby sports or labor, which struck him at the moment as especially designedfor himself; but by the time he had finished his dinner he was preparedto "shake it out of his mind, and return to his sports and gaming. "

"But the same day, " he continues, "as I was in the midst of a game ofcat, and having struck it one blow from the hole, just as I was about tostrike it a second time, a voice did suddenly dart from Heaven into mysoul, which said, 'Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thysins and go to hell?' At this, I was put to an exceeding maze;wherefore, leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to Heaven, and itwas as if I had, with the eyes of my understanding, seen the Lord Jesuslook down upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as if Hedid severely threaten me with some grievous punishment for those andother ungodly practices. 

"I had no sooner thus conceived in my mind, but suddenly this conclusionfastened on my spirit, (for the former hint did set my sins again beforemy face, ) that I had been a great and grievous sinner, and that it wasnow too late for me to look after Heaven; for Christ would not forgive menor pardon my transgressions. Then, while I was thinking of it, andfearing lest it should be so, I felt my heart sink in despair, concludingit was too late; and therefore I resolved in my mind to go on in sin;for, thought I, if the case be thus, my state is surely miserable;miserable if I leave my sins, and but miserable if I follow them; I canbut be damned; and if I must be so, I had as good be damned for many sinsas be damned for few. "

The reader of Pilgrim's Progress cannot fail here to call to mind thewicked suggestions of the Giant to Christian, in the dungeon of DoubtingCastle. 

"I returned, " he says, "desperately to my sport again; and I wellremember, that presently this kind of despair did so possess my soul, that I was persuaded I could never attain to other comfort than what Ishould get in sin; for Heaven was gone already, so that on that I mustnot think; wherefore, I found within me great desire to take my fill ofsin, that I might taste the sweetness of it; and I made as much haste asI could to fill my belly with its delicates, lest I should die before Ihad my desires; for that I feared greatly. In these things, I protestbefore God, I lie not, neither do I frame this sort of speech; these werereally, strongly, and with all my heart, my desires; the good Lord, whosemercy is unsearchable, forgive my transgressions. "

One day, while standing in the street, cursing and blaspheming, he metwith a reproof which startled him. The woman of the house in front ofwhich the wicked young tinker was standing, herself, as he remarks, "avery loose, ungodly wretch, " protested that his horrible profanity madeher tremble; that he was the ungodliest fellow for swearing she had everheard, and able to spoil all the youth of the town who came in hiscompany. Struck by this wholly unexpected rebuke, he at once abandonedthe practice of swearing; although previously he tells us that "he hadnever known how to speak, unless he put an oath before and anotherbehind. "

The good name which he gained by this change was now a temptation to him. "My neighbors, " he says, "were amazed at my great conversion fromprodigious profaneness to something like a moral life and sober man. Now, therefore, they began to praise, to commend, and to speak well ofme, both to my face and behind my back. Now I was, as they said, becomegodly; now I was become a right honest man. But oh! when I understoodthose were their words and opinions of me, it pleased me mighty well; forthough as yet I was nothing but a poor painted hypocrite, yet I loved tobe talked of as one that was truly godly. I was proud of my godliness, and, indeed, I did all I did either to be seen of or well spoken of bymen; and thus I continued for about a twelvemonth or more. "

The tyranny of his imagination at this period is seen in the followingrelation of his abandonment of one of his favorite sports. 

"Now, you must know, that before this I had taken much delight inringing, but my conscience beginning to be tender, I thought suchpractice was but vain, and therefore forced myself to leave it; yet mymind hankered; wherefore, I would go to the steeple-house and look on, though I durst not ring; but I thought this did not become religionneither; yet I forced myself, and would look on still. But quicklyafter, I began to think, 'How if one of the bells should fall?' Then Ichose to stand under a main beam, that lay overthwart the steeple, fromside to side, thinking here I might stand sure; but then I thought again, should the bell fall with a swing, it might first hit the wall, and then, rebounding upon me, might kill me for all this beam. This made me standin the steeple door; and now, thought I, I am safe enough; for if a bellshould then fall, I can slip out behind these thick walls, and so bepreserved notwithstanding. 

"So after this I would yet go to see them ring, but would not go anyfarther than the steeple-door. But then it came in my head, 'How if thesteeple itself should fall?' And this thought (it may, for aught I know, when I stood and looked on) did continually so shake my mind, that Idurst not stand at the steeple-door any longer, but was forced to flee, for fear the steeple should fall upon my head. "

About this time, while wandering through Bedford in pursuit ofemployment, he chanced to see three or four poor old women sitting at adoor, in the evening sun, and, drawing near them, heard them converseupon the things of God; of His work in their hearts; of their naturaldepravity; of the temptations of the Adversary; and of the joy ofbelieving, and of the peace of reconciliation. The words of the agedwomen found a response in the soul of the listener. "He felt his heartshake, " to use his own words; he saw that he lacked the true tokens of aChristian. He now forsook the company of the profane and licentious, andsought that of a poor man who had the reputation of piety, but, to hisgrief, he found him "a devilish ranter, given up to all manner ofuncleanness; he would laugh at all exhortations to sobriety, and denythat there was a God, an angel, or a spirit. "

"Neither, " he continues, "was this man only a temptation to me, but, mycalling lying in the country, I happened to come into several people'scompany, who, though strict in religion formerly, yet were also drawnaway by these ranters. These would also talk with me of their ways, andcondemn me as illegal and dark; pretending that they only had attained toperfection, that they could do what they would, and not sin. Oh! thesetemptations were suitable to my flesh, I being but a young man, and mynature in its prime; but God, who had, as I hope, designed me for betterthings, kept me in the fear of His name, and did not suffer me to acceptsuch cursed principles. "

At this time he was sadly troubled to ascertain whether or not he hadthat faith which the Scriptures spake of. Travelling one day from Elstowto Bedford, after a recent rain, which had left pools of water in thepath, he felt a strong desire to settle the question, by commanding thepools to become dry, and the dry places to become pools. Going under thehedge, to pray for ability to work the miracle, he was struck with thethought that if he failed he should know, indeed, that he was a castaway, and give himself up to despair. He dared not attempt the experiment, andwent on his way, to use his own forcible language, "tossed up and downbetween the Devil and his own ignorance. "

Soon after, he had one of those visions which foreshadowed the wonderfuldream of his Pilgrim's Progress. He saw some holy people of Bedford onthe sunny side of an high mountain, refreshing themselves in the pleasantair and sunlight, while he was shivering in cold and darkness, amidstsnows and never-melting ices, like the victims of the Scandinavian hell. A wall compassed the mountain, separating him from the blessed, with onesmall gap or doorway, through which, with great pain and effort, he wasat last enabled to work his way into the sunshine, and sit down with thesaints, in the light and warmth thereof. 

But now a new trouble assailed him. Like Milton's metaphysical spirits, who sat apart, "And reasoned of foreknowledge, will, and fate, " he grappled with one ofthose great questions which have always perplexed and baffled humaninquiry, and upon which much has been written to little purpose. He wastortured with anxiety to know whether, according to the Westminsterformula, he was elected to salvation or damnation. His old adversaryvexed his soul with evil suggestions, and even quoted Scripture toenforce them. "It may be you are not elected, " said the Tempter; and thepoor tinker thought the supposition altogether too probable. "Why, then, " said Satan, "you had as good leave off, and strive no farther; forif, indeed, you should not be elected and chosen of God, there is no hopeof your being saved; for it is neither in him that willeth nor in himthat runneth, but in God who showeth mercy. " At length, when, as hesays, he was about giving up the ghost of all his hopes, this passagefell with weight upon his spirit: "Look at the generations of old, andsee; did ever any trust in God, and were confounded?" Comforted by thesewords, he opened his Bible took note them, but the most diligent searchand inquiry of his neighbors failed to discover them. At length his eyefell upon them in the Apocryphal book of Ecclesiasticus. This, he says, somewhat doubted him at first, as the book was not canonical; but in theend he took courage and comfort from the passage. "I bless God, " hesays, "for that word; it was good for me. That word doth stilloftentimes shine before my face. "

A long and weary struggle was now before him. "I cannot, " he says, "express with what longings and breathings of my soul I cried unto Christto call me. Gold! could it have been gotten by gold, what would I havegiven for it. Had I a whole world, it had all gone ten thousand timesover for this, that my soul might have been in a converted state. Howlovely now was every one in my eyes, that I thought to be converted menand women. They shone, they walked like a people who carried the broadseal of Heaven with them. "

With what force and intensity of language does he portray in thefollowing passage the reality and earnestness of his agonizingexperience:--

"While I was thus afflicted with the fears of my own damnation, therewere two things would make me wonder: the one was, when I saw old peoplehunting after the things of this life, as if they should live herealways; the other was, when I found professors much distressed and castdown, when they met with outward losses; as of husband, wife, or child. Lord, thought I, what seeking after carnal things by some, and what griefin others for the loss of them! If they so much labor after and shed somany tears for the things of this present life, how am I to be bemoaned, pitied, and prayed for! My soul is dying, my soul is damning. Were mysoul but in a good condition, and were I but sure of it, ah I how richshould I esteem myself, though blessed but with bread and water! Ishould count these but small afflictions, and should bear them as littleburdens. 'A wounded spirit who can bear!'"

He looked with envy, as he wandered through the country, upon the birdsin the trees, the hares in the preserves, and the fishes in the streams. They were happy in their brief existence, and their death was but asleep. He felt himself alienated from God, a discord in the harmonies ofthe universe. The very rooks which fluttered around the old church spireseemed more worthy of the Creator's love and care than himself. A visionof the infernal fire, like that glimpse of hell which was afforded toChristian by the Shepherds, was continually before him, with its"rumbling noise, and the cry of some tormented, and the scent ofbrimstone. " Whithersoever he went, the glare of it scorched him, and itsdreadful sound was in his ears. His vivid but disturbed imagination lentnew terrors to the awful figures by which the sacred writers conveyed theidea of future retribution to the Oriental mind. Bunyan's World of Woe, if it lacked the colossal architecture and solemn vastness of Milton'sPandemonium, was more clearly defined; its agonies were within the paleof human comprehension; its victims were men and women, with the samekeen sense of corporeal suffering which they possessed in life; and who, to use his own terrible description, had "all the loathed variety of hellto grapple with; fire unquenchable, a lake of choking brimstone, eternalchains, darkness more black than night, the everlasting gnawing of theworm, the sight of devils, and the yells and outcries of the damned. "

His mind at this period was evidently shaken in some degree from itsbalance. He was troubled with strange, wicked thoughts, confused bydoubts and blasphemous suggestions, for which he could only account bysupposing himself possessed of the Devil. He wanted to curse and swear, and had to clap his hands on his mouth to prevent it. In prayer, hefelt, as he supposed, Satan behind him, pulling his clothes, and tellinghim to have done, and break off; suggesting that he had better pray tohim, and calling up before his mind's eye the figures of a bull, a tree, or some other object, instead of the awful idea of God. 

He notes here, as cause of thankfulness, that, even in this dark andclouded state, he was enabled to see the "vile and abominable thingsfomented by the Quakers, " to be errors. Gradually, the shadow wherein hehad so long

 "Walked beneath the day's broad glare, A darkened man, "

passed from him, and for a season he was afforded an "evidence of hissalvation from Heaven, with many golden seals thereon hanging in hissight. " But, ere long, other temptations assailed him. A strangesuggestion haunted him, to sell or part with his Saviour. His ownaccount of this hallucination is too painfully vivid to awaken any otherfeeling than that of sympathy and sadness. 

"I could neither eat my food, stoop for a pin, chop a stick, or cast mineeye to look on this or that, but still the temptation would come, SellChrist for this, or sell Christ for that; sell him, sell him. 

"Sometimes it would run in my thoughts, not so little as a hundred timestogether, Sell him, sell him; against which, I may say, for whole hourstogether, I have been forced to stand as continually leaning and forcingmy spirit against it, lest haply, before I were aware, some wickedthought might arise in my heart, that might consent thereto; andsometimes the tempter would make me believe I had consented to it; butthen I should be as tortured upon a rack, for whole days together. 

"This temptation did put me to such scares, lest I should at sometimes, Isay, consent thereto, and be overcome therewith, that, by the very forceof my mind, my very body would be put into action or motion, by way ofpushing or thrusting with my hands or elbows; still answering, as fast asthe destroyer said, Sell him, I will not, I will not, I will not; no, notfor thousands, thousands, thousands of worlds; thus reckoning, lest Ishould set too low a value on him, even until I scarce well knew where Iwas, or how to be composed again. 

"But to be brief: one morning, as I did lie in my bed, I was, as at othertimes, most fiercely assaulted with this temptation, to sell and partwith Christ; the wicked suggestion still running in my mind, Sell him, sell him, sell him, sell him, sell him, as fast as a man could speak;against which, also, in my mind, as at other times, I answered, No, no, not for thousands, thousands, thousands, at least twenty times together;but at last, after much striving, I felt this thought pass through myheart, Let him go if he will; and I thought also, that I felt my heartfreely consent thereto. Oh, the diligence of Satan! Oh, thedesperateness of man's heart!

"Now was the battle won, and down fell I, as a bird that is shot from thetop of a tree, into great guilt, and fearful despair. Thus getting outof my bed, I went moping into the field; but God knows with as heavy aheart as mortal man, I think, could bear; where, for the space of twohours, I was like a man bereft of life; and, as now, past all recovery, and bound over to eternal punishment. 

"And withal, that Scripture did seize upon my soul: 'Or profane person, as Esau, who, for one morsel of meat, sold his birthright; for ye know, how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he wasrejected; for he found no place for repentance, though he sought itcarefully with tears. "

For two years and a half, as he informs us, that awful scripture soundedin his ears like the knell of a lost soul. He believed that he hadcommitted they unpardonable sin. His mental anguish 'was united withbodily illness and suffering. His nervous system became fearfullyderanged; his limbs trembled; and he supposed this visible tremulousnessand agitation to be the mark of Cain. 'Troubled with pain anddistressing sensations in his chest, he began to fear that his breast-bone would split open, and that he should perish like Judas Iscariot. Hefeared that the tiles of the houses would fall upon him as he walked inthe streets. He was like his own Man in the Cage at the House of theInterpreter, shut out from the promises, and looking forward to certainjudgment. "Methought, " he says, "the very sun that shineth in heaven didgrudge to give me light. " And still the dreadful words, "He found noplace for repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears, " soundedin the depths of his soul. They were, he says, like fetters of brass tohis legs, and their continual clanking followed him for months. Regarding himself elected and predestined for damnation, he thought thatall things worked for his damage and eternal overthrow, while all thingswrought for the best and to do good to the elect and called of God untosalvation. God and all His universe had, he thought, conspired againsthim; the green earth, the bright waters, the sky itself, were writtenover with His irrevocable curse. 

Well was it said by Bunyan's contemporary, the excellent Cudworth, in hiseloquent sermon before the Long Parliament, that "We are nowherecommanded to pry into the secrets of God, but the wholesome advice givenus is this: 'To make our calling and election sure. ' We have no warrantfrom Scripture to peep into the hidden rolls of eternity, to spell outour names among the stars. " "Must we say that God sometimes, to exerciseHis uncontrollable dominion, delights rather in plunging wretched soulsdown into infernal night and everlasting darkness? What, then, shall wemake the God of the whole world? Nothing but a cruel and dreadful_Erinnys_, with curled fiery snakes about His head, and firebrands in Hishand; thus governing the world! Surely, this will make us eithersecretly think there is no God in the world, if He must needs be such, orelse to wish heartily there were none. " It was thus at times withBunyan. He was tempted, in this season of despair, to believe that therewas no resurrection and no judgment. 

One day, he tells us, a sudden rushing sound, as of wind or the wings ofangels, came to him through the window, wonderfully sweet and pleasant;and it was as if a voice spoke to him from heaven words of encouragementand hope, which, to use his language, commanded, for the time, "a silencein his heart to all those tumultuous thoughts that did use, likemasterless hell-hounds, to roar and bellow and make a hideous noisewithin him. " About this time, also, some comforting passages ofScripture were called to mind; but he remarks, that whenever he strove toapply them to his case, Satan would thrust the curse of Esau in his face, and wrest the good word from him. The blessed promise "Him that comethto me, I will in no wise cast out" was the chief instrumentality inrestoring his lost peace. He says of it: "If ever Satan and I did strivefor any word of God in all my life, it was for this good word of Christ;he at one end, and I at the other. Oh, what work we made! It was forthis in John, I say, that we did so tug and strive; he pulled, and Ipulled, but, God be praised! I overcame him; I got sweetness from it. Oh, many a pull hath my heart had with Satan for this blessed sixthchapter of John!" Who does not here call to mind the struggle betweenChristian and Apollyon in the valley!

That was no fancy sketch; it was the narrative of the author's owngrapple with the Spirit of Evil. Like his ideal Christian, he "conqueredthrough Him that loved him. " Love wrought the victory the Scripture ofForgiveness overcame that of Hatred. 

He never afterwards relapsed into that state of religious melancholy fromwhich he so hardly escaped. He speaks of his deliverance as the wakingout of a troublesome dream. His painful experience was not lost uponhim; for it gave him, ever after, a tender sympathy for the weak, thesinful, the ignorant, and desponding. In some measure, he had been"touched with the feeling of their infirmities. " He could feel for thosein the bonds of sin and despair, as bound with them. Hence his power asa preacher; hence the wonderful adaptation of his great allegory to allthe variety of spiritual conditions. Like Fearing, he had lain a monthin the Slough of Despond, and had played, like him, the long melancholybass of spiritual heaviness. With Feeble-mind, he had fallen into thehands of Slay-good, of the nature of Man-eaters: and had limped along hisdifficult way upon the crutches of Ready-to-halt. Who better thanhimself could describe the condition of Despondency, and his daughterMuch-afraid, in the dungeon of Doubting Castle? Had he not also fallenamong thieves, like Little-faith?

His account of his entering upon the solemn duties of a preacher of theGospel is at once curious and instructive. He deals honestly withhimself, exposing all his various moods, weaknesses, doubts, andtemptations. "I preached, " he says, "what I felt; for the terrors of thelaw and the guilt of transgression lay heavy on my conscience. I havebeen as one sent to them from the dead. I went, myself in chains, topreach to them in chains; and carried that fire in my conscience which Ipersuaded them to beware of. " At times, when he stood up to preach, blasphemies and evil doubts rushed into his mind, and he felt a strongdesire to utter them aloud to his congregation; and at other seasons, when he was about to apply to the sinner some searching and fearful textof Scripture, he was tempted to withhold it, on the ground that itcondemned himself also; but, withstanding the suggestion of the Tempter, to use his own simile, he bowed himself like Samson to condemn sinwherever he found it, though he brought guilt and condemnation uponhimself thereby, choosing rather to die with the Philistines than to denythe truth. 

Foreseeing the consequences of exposing himself to the operation of thepenal laws by holding conventicles and preaching, he was deeply afflictedat the thought of the suffering and destitution to which his wife andchildren might be exposed by his death or imprisonment. Nothing can bemore touching than his simple and earnest words on this point. They showhow warm and deep were him human affections, and what a tender and lovingheart he laid as a sacrifice on the altar of duty. 

"I found myself a man compassed with infirmities; the parting with mywife and poor children hath often been to me in this place as the pullingthe flesh from the bones; and also it brought to my mind the manyhardships, miseries, and wants, that my poor family was like to meetwith, should I be taken from them, especially my poor blind child, wholay nearer my heart than all beside. Oh, the thoughts of the hardships Ithought my poor blind one might go under would break my heart to pieces. 

"Poor child! thought I, what sorrow art thou like to have for thy portionin this world! thou must be beaten, must beg, suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand calamities, though I cannot now endure the windshould blow upon thee. But yet, thought I, I must venture you all withGod, though it goeth to the quick to leave you: oh! I saw I was as a manwho was pulling down his house upon the heads of his wife and children;yet I thought on those 'two milch kine that were to carry the ark of Godinto another country, and to leave their calves behind them. '

"But that which helped me in this temptation was divers considerations:the first was, the consideration of those two Scriptures, 'Leave thyfatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trustin me;' and again, 'The Lord said, verily it shall go well with thyremnant; verily I will cause the enemy to entreat them well in the timeof evil. '"

He was arrested in 1660, charged with "devilishly and perniciouslyabstaining from church, " and of being "a common upholder ofconventicles. " At the Quarter Sessions, where his trial seems to havebeen conducted somewhat like that of Faithful at Vanity Fair, he wassentenced to perpetual banishment. This sentence, however, was neverexecuted, but he was remanded to Bedford jail, where he lay a prisonerfor twelve years. 

Here, shut out from the world, with no other books than the Bible andFox's Martyrs, he penned that great work which has attained a wider andmore stable popularity than any other book in the English tongue. It isalike the favorite of the nursery and the study. Many experiencedChristians hold it only second to the Bible; the infidel himself wouldnot willingly let it die. Men of all sects read it with delight, as inthe main a truthful representation of the 'Christian pilgrimage, withoutindeed assenting to all the doctrines which the author puts in the monthof his fighting sermonizer, Great-heart, or which may be deduced fromsome other portions of his allegory. A recollection of his fearfulsufferings, from misapprehension of a single text in the Scriptures, relative to the question of election, we may suppose gave a milder toneto the theology of his Pilgrim than was altogether consistent with theCalvinism of the seventeenth century. "Religion, " says Macaulay, "hasscarcely ever worn a form so calm and soothing as in Bunyan's allegory. "In composing it, he seems never to have altogether lost sight of thefact, that, in his life-and-death struggle with Satan for the blessedpromise recorded by the Apostle of Love, the adversary was generallyfound on the Genevan side of the argument. Little did the short-sightedpersecutors of Bunyan dream, when they closed upon him the door ofBedford jail, that God would overrule their poor spite and envy to Hisown glory and the worldwide renown of their victim. In the solitude ofhis prison, the ideal forms of beauty and sublimity, which had longflitted before him vaguely, like the vision of the Temanite, took shapeand coloring; and he was endowed with power to reduce them to order, andarrange them in harmonious groupings. His powerful imagination, nolonger self-tormenting, but under the direction of reason and grace, expanded his narrow cell into a vast theatre, lighted up for the displayof its wonders. To this creative faculty of his mind might have beenaptly applied the language which George Wither, a contemporary prisoner, addressed to his Muse:--

 "The dull loneness, the black shade Which these hanging vaults have made, The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect, -- From all these, and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might, To draw comfort and delight. "

That stony cell of his was to him like the rock of Padan-aram to thewandering Patriarch. He saw angels ascending and descending. The HouseBeautiful rose up before him, and its holy sisterhood welcomed him. Helooked, with his Pilgrim, from the Chamber of Peace. The Valley ofHumiliation lay stretched out beneath his eye, and he heard "the curious, melodious note of the country birds, who sing all the day long in thespring time, when the flowers appear, and the sun shines warm, and makethe woods and groves and solitary places glad. " Side by side with thegood Christiana and the loving Mercy, he walked through the green andlowly valley, "fruitful as any the crow flies over, " through "meadowsbeautiful with lilies;" the song of the poor but fresh-faced shepherd-boy, who lived a merry life, and wore the herb heartsease in his bosom, sounded through his cell:--

 "He that is down need fear no fall; He that is low no pride. "

The broad and pleasant "river of the Water of Life" glided peacefullybefore him, fringed "on either side with green trees, with all manner offruit, " and leaves of healing, with "meadows beautified with lilies, andgreen all the year long;" he saw the Delectable Mountains, glorious withsunshine, overhung with gardens and orchards and vineyards; and beyondall, the Land of Beulah, with its eternal sunshine, its song of birds, its music of fountains, its purple clustered vines, and groves throughwhich walked the Shining Ones, silver-winged and beautiful. 

What were bars and bolts and prison-walls to him, whose eyes wereanointed to see, and whose ears opened to hear, the glory and therejoicing of the City of God, when the pilgrims were conducted to itsgolden gates, from the black and bitter river, with the soundingtrumpeters, the transfigured harpers with their crowns of gold, the sweetvoices of angels, the welcoming peal of bells in the holy city, and thesongs of the redeemed ones? In reading the concluding pages of the firstpart of Pilgrim's Progress, we feel as if the mysterious glory of theBeatific Vision was unveiled before us. We are dazzled with the excessof light. We are entranced with the mighty melody; overwhelmed by thegreat anthem of rejoicing spirits. It can only be adequately describedin the language of Milton in respect to the Apocalypse, as "a seven-foldchorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies. "

Few who read Bunyan nowadays think of him as one of the brave old Englishconfessors, whose steady and firm endurance of persecution baffled and inthe end overcame the tyranny of the Established Church in the reign ofCharles II. What Milton and Penn and Locke wrote in defence of Liberty, Bunyan lived out and acted. He made no concessions to worldly rank. Dissolute lords and proud bishops he counted less than the humblest andpoorest of his disciples at Bedford. When first arrested and thrown intoprison, he supposed he should be called to suffer death for his faithfultestimony to the truth; and his great fear was, that he should not meethis fate with the requisite firmness, and so dishonor the cause of hisMaster. And when dark clouds came over him, and he sought in vain for asufficient evidence that in the event of his death it would be well withhim, he girded up his soul with the reflection, that, as he suffered forthe word and way of God, he was engaged not to shrink one hair's breadthfrom it. "I will leap, " he says, "off the ladder blindfold intoeternity, sink or swim, come heaven, come hell. Lord Jesus, if thou wiltcatch me, do; if not, I will venture in thy name!"

The English revolution of the seventeenth century, while it humbled thefalse and oppressive aristocracy of rank and title, was prodigal in thedevelopment of the real nobility of the mind and heart. Its history isbright with the footprints of men whose very names still stir the heartsof freemen, the world over, like a trumpet peal. Say what we may of itsfanaticism, laugh as we may at its extravagant enjoyment of newlyacquired religious and civil liberty, who shall now venture to deny thatit was the golden age of England? Who that regards freedom aboveslavery, will now sympathize with the outcry and lamentation of thoseinterested in the continuance of the old order of things, against theprevalence of sects and schism, but who, at the same time, as Miltonshrewdly intimates, dreaded more the rending of their pontifical sleevesthan the rending of the Church? Who shall now sneer at Puritanism, withthe Defence of Unlicensed Printing before him? Who scoff at Quakerismover the Journal of George Fox? Who shall join with debauched lordlingsand fat-witted prelates in ridicule of Anabaptist levellers and dippers, after rising from the perusal of Pilgrim's Progress? "There were giantsin those days. " And foremost amidst that band of liberty-loving and God-fearing men, "The slandered Calvinists of Charles's time, Who fought, and won it, Freedom's holy fight, "

stands the subject of our sketch, the Tinker of Elstow. Of his highmerit as an author there is no longer any question. The Edinburgh Reviewexpressed the common sentiment of the literary world, when it declaredthat the two great creative minds of the seventeenth century were thosewhich produced Paradise Lost and the Pilgrim's Progress. 

 THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

Commend us to autobiographies! Give us the veritable notchings ofRobinson Crusoe on his stick, the indubitable records of a life longsince swallowed up in the blackness of darkness, traced by a hand thevery dust of which has become undistinguishable. The foolishest egotistwho ever chronicled his daily experiences, his hopes and fears, poorplans and vain reachings after happiness, speaking to us out of the Past, and thereby giving us to understand that it was quite as real as ourPresent, is in no mean sort our benefactor, and commands our attention, in spite of his folly. We are thankful for the very vanity whichprompted him to bottle up his poor records, and cast them into the greatsea of Time, for future voyagers to pick up. We note, with the deepestinterest, that in him too was enacted that miracle of a consciousexistence, the reproduction of which in ourselves awes and perplexes us. He, too, had a mother; he hated and loved; the light from old-quenchedhearths shone over him; he walked in the sunshine over the dust of thosewho had gone before him, just as we are now walking over his. Theserecords of him remain, the footmarks of a long-extinct life, not of mereanimal organism, but of a being like ourselves, enabling us, by studyingtheir hieroglyphic significance, to decipher and see clearly into themystery of existence centuries ago. The dead generations live again inthese old self-biographies. Incidentally, unintentionally, yet in thesimplest and most natural manner, they make us familiar with all thephenomena of life in the bygone ages. We are brought in contact withactual flesh-and-blood men and women, not the ghostly outline figureswhich pass for such, in what is called History. The horn lantern of thebiographer, by the aid of which, with painful minuteness, he chronicled, from day to day, his own outgoings and incomings, making visible to ushis pitiful wants, labors, trials, and tribulations of the stomach and ofthe conscience, sheds, at times, a strong clear light uponcontemporaneous activities; what seemed before half fabulous, rises up indistinct and full proportions; we look at statesmen, philosophers, andpoets, with the eyes of those who lived perchance their next-doorneighbors, and sold them beer, and mutton, and household stuffs, hadaccess to their kitchens, and took note of the fashion of their wigs andthe color of their breeches. Without some such light, all history wouldbe just about as unintelligible and unreal as a dimly remembered dream. 

The journals of the early Friends or Quakers are in this respectinvaluable. Little, it is true, can be said, as a general thing, oftheir literary merits. Their authors were plain, earnest men and women, chiefly intent upon the substance of things, and having withal a strongtestimony to bear against carnal wit and outside show and ornament. Yet, even the scholar may well admire the power of certain portions of GeorgeFox's Journal, where a strong spirit clothes its utterance in simple, downright Saxon words; the quiet and beautiful enthusiasm of Pennington;the torrent energy of Edward Burrough; the serene wisdom of Penn; thelogical acuteness of Barclay; the honest truthfulness of Sewell; the witand humor of John Roberts, (for even Quakerism had its apostolic jokersand drab-coated Robert Halls;) and last, not least, the simple beauty ofWoolman's Journal, the modest record of a life of good works and love. 

Let us look at the Life of Thomas Ellwood. The book before us is ahardly used Philadelphia reprint, bearing date of 1775. The original waspublished some sixty years before. It is not a book to be found infashionable libraries, or noticed in fashionable reviews, but is none theless deserving of attention. 

Ellwood was born in 1639, in the little town of Crowell, in Oxfordshire. Old Walter, his father, was of "gentlemanly lineage, " and held acommission of the peace under Charles I. One of his most intimatefriends was Isaac Pennington, a gentleman of estate and good reputation, whose wife, the widow of Sir John Springette, was a lady of superiorendowments. Her only daughter, Gulielma, was the playmate and companionof Thomas. On making this family a visit, in 1658, in company with hisfather, he was surprised to find that they had united with the Quakers, asect then little known, and everywhere spoken against. Passing throughthe vista of nearly two centuries, let us cross the threshold, and lookwith the eyes of young Ellwood upon this Quaker family. It willdoubtless give us a good idea of the earnest and solemn spirit of thatage of religious awakening. 

"So great a change from a free, debonair, and courtly sort of behavior, which we had formerly found there, into so strict a gravity as they nowreceived us with, did not a little amuse us, and disappointed ourexpectations of such a pleasant visit as we had promised ourselves. 

"For my part, I sought, and at length found, means to cast myself intothe company of the daughter, whom I found gathering flowers in thegarden, attended by her maid, also a Quaker. But when I addressed herafter my accustomed manner, with intention to engage her in discourse onthe foot of our former acquaintance, though she treated me with acourteous mien, yet, as young as she was, the gravity of her looks andbehavior struck such an awe upon me, that I found myself not so muchmaster of myself as to pursue any further converse with her. 

"We staid dinner, which was very handsome, and lacked nothing torecommend it to me but the want of mirth and pleasant discourse, which wecould neither have with them, nor, by reason of them, with one another;the weightiness which was upon their spirits and countenances keepingdown the lightness that would have been up in ours. "

Not long after, they made a second visit to their sober friends, spendingseveral days, during which they attended a meeting, in a neighboringfarmhouse, where we are introduced by Ellwood to two remarkablepersonages, Edward Burrough, the friend and fearless reprover ofCromwell, and by far the most eloquent preacher of his sect and JamesNayler, whose melancholy after-history of fanaticism, cruel sufferings, and beautiful repentance, is so well known to the readers of Englishhistory under the Protectorate. Under the preaching of these men, andthe influence of the Pennington family, young Ellwood was brought intofellowship with the Quakers. Of the old Justice's sorrow and indignationat this sudden blasting of his hopes and wishes in respect to his son, and of the trials and difficulties of the latter in his new vocation, itis now scarcely worth while to speak. Let us step forward a few years, to 1662, considering meantime how matters, political and spiritual, arechanged in that brief period. Cromwell, the Maccabeus of Puritanism, isno longer among men; Charles the Second sits in his place; profane andlicentious cavaliers have thrust aside the sleek-haired, painful-facedIndependents, who used to groan approval to the Scriptural illustrationsof Harrison and Fleetwood; men easy of virtue, without sincerity, eitherin religion or politics, occupying the places made honorable by theMiltons, Whitlocks, and Vanes of the Commonwealth. Having this change inview, the light which the farthing candle of Ellwood sheds upon one ofthese illustrious names will not be unwelcome. In his intercourse withPenn, and other learned Quakers, he had reason to lament his owndeficiencies in scholarship, and his friend Pennington undertook to puthim in a way of remedying the defect. 

"He had, " says Ellwood, "an intimate acquaintance with Dr. Paget, aphysician of note in London, and he with John Milton, a gentleman ofgreat note for learning throughout the learned world, for the accuratepieces he had written on various subjects and occasions. 

"This person, having filled a public station in the former times, lived aprivate and retired life in London, and, having lost his sight, keptalways a man to read for him, which usually was the son of some gentlemanof his acquaintance, whom, in kindness, he took to improve in hislearning. 

"Thus, by the mediation of my friend Isaac Pennington with Dr. Paget, andthrough him with John Milton, was I admitted to come to him, not as aservant to him, nor to be in the house with him, but only to have theliberty of coming to his house at certain hours when I would, and read tohim what books he should appoint, which was all the favor I desired. 

"He received me courteously, as well for the sake of Dr. Paget, whointroduced me, as of Isaac Pennington, who recommended me, to both ofwhom he bore a good respect. And, having inquired divers things of me, with respect to my former progression in learning, he dismissed me, toprovide myself with such accommodations as might be most suitable to mystudies. 

"I went, therefore, and took lodgings as near to his house (which wasthen in Jewen Street) as I conveniently could, and from thenceforwardwent every day in the afternoon, except on the first day of the week, and, sitting by him in his dining-room, read to him such books in theLatin tongue as be pleased to have me read. 

"He perceiving with what earnest desire I had pursued learning, gave menot only all the encouragement, but all the help he could. For, having acurious ear, he understood by my tone when I understood what I read andwhen I did not, and accordingly would stop me, examine me, and open themost difficult passages to me. "

Thanks, worthy Thomas, for this glimpse into John Milton's dining-room!

He had been with "Master Milton, " as he calls him, only a few weeks, when, being one "first day morning, " at the Bull and Mouth meeting, Aldersgate, the train-bands of the city, "with great noise and clamor, "headed by Major Rosewell, fell upon him and his friends. The immediatecause of this onslaught upon quiet worshippers was the famous plot of theFifth Monarchy men, grim old fanatics, who (like the Millerites of thepresent day) had been waiting long for the personal reign of Christ andthe saints upon earth, and in their zeal to hasten such a consummationhad sallied into London streets with drawn swords and loaded matchlocks. The government took strong measures for suppressing dissenters' meetingsor "conventicles;" and the poor Quakers, although not at all implicatedin the disturbance, suffered more severely than any others. Let us lookat the "freedom of conscience and worship" in England under thatirreverent Defender of the Faith, Charles II. Ellwood says: "He thatcommanded the party gave us first a general charge to come out of theroom. But we, who came thither at God's requiring to worship Him, (likethat good man of old, who said, we ought to obey God rather than man, )stirred not, but kept our places. Whereupon, he sent some of hissoldiers among us, with command to drag or drive us out, which they didroughly enough. " Think of it: grave men and women, and modest maidens, sitting there with calm, impassive countenances, motionless as death, thepikes of the soldiery closing about them in a circle of bristling steel!Brave and true ones! Not in vain did ye thus oppose God's silence to theDevil's uproar; Christian endurance and calm persistence in the exerciseof your rights as Englishmen and men to the hot fury of impatienttyranny! From your day down to this, the world has been the better foryour faithfulness. 

Ellwood and some thirty of his friends were marched off to prison in OldBridewell, which, as well as nearly all the other prisons, was alreadycrowded with Quaker prisoners. One of the rooms of the prison was usedas a torture chamber. "I was almost affrighted, " says Ellwood, "by thedismalness of the place; for, besides that the walls were all laid overwith black, from top to bottom, there stood in the middle a greatwhipping-post. 

"The manner of whipping there is, to strip the party to the skin, fromthe waist upward, and, having fastened him to the whipping-post, (so thathe can neither resist nor shun the strokes, ) to lash his naked body withlong, slender twigs of holly, which will bend almost like thongs aroundthe body; and these, having little knots upon them, tear the skin andflesh, and give extreme pain. "

To this terrible punishment aged men and delicately nurtured youngfemales were often subjected, during this season of hot persecution. 

From the Bridewell, Ellwood was at length removed to Newgate, and thrustin, with other "Friends, " amidst the common felons. He speaks of thisprison, with its thieves, murderers, and prostitutes, its over-crowdedapartments and loathsome cells, as "a hell upon earth. " In a closet, adjoining the room where he was lodged, lay for several days thequartered bodies of Phillips, Tongue, and Gibbs, the leaders of the FifthMonarchy rising, frightful and loathsome, as they came from the bloodyhands of the executioners! These ghastly remains were at length obtainedby the friends of the dead, and buried. The heads were ordered to beprepared for setting up in different parts of the city. Read this grimpassage of description:--

"I saw the heads when they were brought to be boiled. The hangmanfetched them in a dirty basket, out of some by-place, and, setting themdown among the felons, he and they made sport of them. They took them bythe hair, flouting, jeering, and laughing at them; and then giving themsome ill names, boxed them on their ears and cheeks; which done, thehangman put them into his kettle, and parboiled them with bay-salt andcummin-seed: that to keep them from putrefaction, and this to keep offthe fowls from seizing upon them. The whole sight, as well that of thebloody quarters first as this of the heads afterwards, was both frightfuland loathsome, and begat an abhorrence in my nature. "

At the next session of the municipal court at the Old Bailey, Ellwoodobtained his discharge. After paying a visit to "my Master Milton, " hemade his way to Chalfont, the home of his friends the Penningtons, wherehe was soon after engaged as a Latin teacher. Here he seems to have hadhis trials and temptations. Gulielma Springette, the daughter ofPennington's wife, his old playmate, had now grown to be "a fair woman ofmarriageable age, " and, as he informs us, "very desirable, whether regardwas had to her outward person, which wanted nothing to make hercompletely comely, or to the endowments of her mind, which were every wayextraordinary, or to her outward fortune, which was fair. " From allwhich, we are not surprised to learn that "she was secretly and openlysought for by many of almost every rank and condition. " "To whom, "continues Thomas, "in their respective turns, (till he at length came forwhom she was reserved, ) she carried herself with so much evenness oftemper, such courteous freedom, guarded by the strictest modesty, that asit gave encouragement or ground of hope to none, so neither did itadminister any matter of offence or just cause of complaint to any. "

Beautiful and noble maiden! How the imagination fills up this outlinelimning by her friend, and, if truth must be told, admirer! Serene, courteous, healthful; a ray of tenderest and blandest light, shiningsteadily in the sober gloom of that old household! Confirmed Quaker asshe is, shrinking from none of the responsibilities and dangers of herprofession, and therefore liable at any time to the penalties of prisonand whipping-post, under that plain garb and in spite of that "certaingravity of look and behavior, "--which, as we have seen, on one occasionawed young Ellwood into silence, --youth, beauty, and refinement asserttheir prerogatives; love knows no creed; the gay, and titled, and wealthycrowd around her, suing in vain for her favor. 

 "Followed, like the tided moon, She moves as calmly on, "

"until he at length comes for whom she was reserved, " and her name isunited with that of one worthy even of her, the world-renowned WilliamPenn. 

Meantime, one cannot but feel a good degree of sympathy with youngEllwood, her old schoolmate and playmate, placed, as he was, in the samefamily with her, enjoying her familiar conversation and unreservedconfidence, and, as he says, the "advantageous opportunities of ridingand walking abroad with her, by night as well as by day, without anyother company than her maid; for so great, indeed, was the confidencethat her mother had in me, that she thought her daughter safe, if I waswith her, even from the plots and designs of others upon her. " So near, and yet, alas! in truth, so distant! The serene and gentle light whichshone upon him, in the sweet solitudes of Chalfont, was that of a star, itself unapproachable. 

As he himself meekly intimates, she was reserved for another. He seemsto have fully understood his own position in respect to her; although, touse his own words, "others, measuring him by the propensity of their owninclinations, concluded he would steal her, run away with her, and marryher. " Little did these jealous surmisers know of the true and reallyheroic spirit of the young Latin master. His own apology and defence ofhis conduct, under circumstances of temptation which St. Anthony himselfcould have scarcely better resisted, will not be amiss. 

"I was not ignorant of the various fears which filled the jealous headsof some concerning me, neither was I so stupid nor so divested of allhumanity as not to be sensible of the real and innate worth and virtuewhich adorned that excellent dame, and attracted the eyes and hearts ofso many, with the greatest importunity, to seek and solicit her; nor wasI so devoid of natural heat as not to feel some sparklings of desire, aswell as others; but the force of truth and sense of honor suppressedwhatever would have risen beyond the bounds of fair and virtuousfriendship. For I easily foresaw that, if I should have attempted anything in a dishonorable way, by fraud or force, upon her, I should havethereby brought a wound upon mine own soul, a foul scandal upon myreligious profession, and an infamous stain upon mine honor, which wasfar more dear unto me than my life. Wherefore, having observed how someothers had befooled themselves, by misconstruing her common kindness(expressed in an innocent, open, free, and familiar conversation, springing from the abundant affability, courtesy, and sweetness of hernatural temper) to be the effect of a singular regard and peculiaraffection to them, I resolved to shun the rock whereon they split; and, remembering the saying of the poet

 'Felix quem faciunt aliena Pericula cantum, '

I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage towards her, therebypreserving a fair reputation with my friends, and enjoying as much of herfavor and kindness, in a virtuous and firm friendship, as was fit for herto show or for me to seek. "

Well and worthily said, poor Thomas! Whatever might be said of others, thou, at least, wast no coxcomb. Thy distant and involuntary admirationof "the fair Guli" needs, however, no excuse. Poor human nature, guardit as one may, with strictest discipline and painfully crampingenvironment, will sometimes act out itself; and, in thy case, not evenGeorge Fox himself, knowing thy beautiful young friend, (and doubtlessadmiring her too, for he was one of the first to appreciate and honor theworth and dignity or woman, ) could have found it in his heart to censurethee!

At this period, as was indeed most natural, our young teacher solacedhimself with occasional appeals to what he calls "the Muses. " There isreason to believe, however, that the Pagan sisterhood whom he ventured toinvoke seldom graced his study with their personal attendance. In theserhyming efforts, scattered up and down his Journal, there are occasionalsparkles of genuine wit, and passages of keen sarcasm, tersely and fitlyexpressed. Others breathe a warm, devotional feeling; in the followingbrief prayer, for instance, the wants of the humble Christian arecondensed in a manner worthy of Quarles or Herbert:--

 "Oh! that mine eye might closed be To what concerns me not to see; That deafness might possess mine ear To what concerns me not to hear; That Truth my tongue might always tie From ever speaking foolishly; That no vain thought might ever rest Or be conceived in my breast; That by each word and deed and thought Glory may to my God be brought! But what are wishes? Lord, mine eye On Thee is fixed, to Thee I cry Wash, Lord, and purify my heart, And make it clean in every part; And when 't is clean, Lord, keep it too, For that is more than I can do. "

The thought in the following extracts from a poem written on the death ofhis friend Pennington's son is trite, but not inaptly or inelegantlyexpressed:--

 "What ground, alas, has any man To set his heart on things below, Which, when they seem most like to stand, Fly like the arrow from the bow! Who's now atop erelong shall feel The circling motion of the wheel!

 "The world cannot afford a thing Which to a well-composed mind Can any lasting pleasure bring, But in itself its grave will find. All things unto their centre tend What had beginning must have end!

 "No disappointment can befall Us, having Him who's all in all! What can of pleasure him prevent Who lath the Fountain of Content?"

In the year 1663 a severe law was enacted against the "sect calledQuakers, " prohibiting their meetings, with the penalty of banishment forthe third offence! The burden of the prosecution which followed fellupon the Quakers of the metropolis, large numbers of whom were heavilyfined, imprisoned, and sentenced to be banished from their native land. Yet, in time, our worthy friend Ellwood came in for his own share oftrouble, in consequence of attending the funeral of one of his friends. An evil-disposed justice of the county obtained information of the Quakergathering; and, while the body of the dead was "borne on Friends'shoulders through the street, in order to be carried to the burying-ground, which was at the town's end, " says Ellwood, "he rushed out uponus with the constables and a rabble of rude fellows whom he had gatheredtogether, and, having his drawn sword in his hand, struck one of theforemost of the bearers with it, commanding them to set down the coffin. But the Friend who was so stricken, being more concerned for the safetyof the dead body than for his own, lest it should fall, and any indecencythereupon follow, held the coffin fast; which the justice observing, andbeing enraged that his word was not forthwith obeyed, set his hand to thecoffin, and with a forcible thrust threw it off from the bearers'shoulders, so, that it fell to the ground in the middle of the street, and there we were forced to leave it; for the constables and rabble fellupon us, and drew some and drove others into the inn. Of those thustaken, " continues Ellwood, "I was one. They picked out ten of us, andsent us to Aylesbury jail. 

"They caused the body to lie in the open street and cartway, so that alltravellers that passed, whether horsemen, coaches, carts, or wagons, werefain to break out of the way to go by it, until it was almost night. Andthen, having caused a grave to be made in the unconsecrated part of whatis called the Churchyard, they forcibly took the body from the widow, andburied it there. "

He remained a prisoner only about two months, during which period hecomforted himself by such verse-making as follows, reminding us ofsimilar enigmas in Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_:

 "Lo! a Riddle for the wise, In the which a Mystery lies. 

 RIDDLE. "Some men are free whilst they in prison lie; Others who ne'er saw prison captives die. 

 CAUTION. "He that can receive it may, He that cannot, let him stay, Not be hasty, but suspend Judgment till he sees the end. 

 SOLUTION. "He's only free, indeed, who's free from sin, And he is fastest bound that's bound therein. "

In the mean time, where is our "Master Milton"? We, left him deprived ofhis young companion and reader, sitting lonely in his small dining-room, in Jewen Street. It is now the year 1665; is not the pestilence inLondon? A sinful and godless city, with its bloated bishops fawningaround the Nell Gwyns of a licentious and profane Defender of the Faith;its swaggering and drunken cavaliers; its ribald jesters; its obsceneballad-singers; its loathsome prisons, crowded with Godfearing men andwomen: is not the measure of its iniquity already filled up? Three yearsonly have passed since the terrible prayer of Vane went upward from thescaffold on Tower Hill: "When my blood is shed upon the block, let it, OGod, have a voice afterward!" Audible to thy ear, O bosom friend of themartyr! has that blood cried from earth; and now, how fearfully is itanswered! Like the ashes which the Seer of the Hebrews cast towardsHeaven, it has returned in boils and blains upon the proud and oppressivecity. John Milton, sitting blind in Jewen Street, has heard the toll ofthe death-bells, and the nightlong rumble of the burial-carts, and theterrible summons, "Bring out your dead!" The Angel of the Plague, inyellow mantle, purple-spotted, walks the streets. Why should he tarry ina doomed city, forsaken of God! Is not the command, even to him, "Ariseand flee, for thy life"? In some green nook of the quiet country, he mayfinish the great work which his hands have found to do. He bethinks himof his old friends, the Penningtons, and his young Quaker companion, thepatient and gentle Ellwood. "Wherefore, " says the latter, "some littletime before I went to Aylesbury jail, I was desired by my quondam MasterMilton to take an house for him in the neighborhood where I dwelt, thathe might go out of the city for the safety of himself and his family, thepestilence then growing hot in London. I took a pretty box for him inGiles Chalfont, a mile from me, of which I gave him notice, and intendedto have waited on him and seen him well settled, but was prevented bythat imprisonment. But now being released and returned home, I soon madea visit to him, to welcome him into the country. After some commondiscourse had passed between us, he called for a manuscript of his, which, having brought, he delivered to me, bidding me take it home withme and read it at my leisure, and when I had so done return it to him, with my judgment thereupon. "

Now, what does the reader think young Ellwood carried in his gray coatpocket across the dikes and hedges and through the green lanes of GilesChalfont that autumn day? Let us look farther "When I came home, and hadset myself to read it, I found it was that excellent poem which heentitled _Paradise Lost_. After I had, with the best attention, read itthrough, I made him another visit; and, returning his book with dueacknowledgment of the favor he had done me in communicating it to me, heasked me how I liked it and what I thought of it, which I modestly butfreely told him; and, after some farther discourse about it, I pleasantlysaid to him, 'Thou hast said much here of Paradise Lost; what hast thouto say of Paradise Found?' He made me no answer, but sat some time in amuse; then brake off that discourse, and fell upon another subject. "

"I modestly but freely told him what I thought" of Paradise Lost! Whathe told him remains a mystery. One would like to know more preciselywhat the first critical reader of that song "of Man's first disobedience"thought of it. Fancy the young Quaker and blind Milton sitting, somepleasant afternoon of the autumn of that old year, in "the pretty box" atChalfont, the soft wind through the open window lifting the thin hair ofthe glorious old Poet! Back-slidden England, plague-smitten, andaccursed with her faithless Church and libertine King, knows little ofpoor "Master Milton, " and takes small note of his Puritanic verse-making. Alone, with his humble friend, he sits there, conning over that poemwhich, he fondly hoped, the world, which had grown all dark and strangeto the author, "would not willingly let die. " The suggestion in respectto Paradise Found, to which, as we have seen, "he made no answer, but satsome time in a muse, " seems not to have been lost; for, "after thesickness was over, " continues Ellwood, "and the city well cleansed, andbecome safely habitable again, he returned thither; and when afterwards Iwaited on him there, which I seldom failed of doing whenever my occasionsdrew me to London, he showed me his second poem, called Paradise Gained;and, in a pleasant tone, said to me, 'This is owing to you, for you putit into my head by the question you put to me at Chalfont, which before Ihad not thought of. '"

Golden days were these for the young Latin reader, even if it be true, aswe suspect, that he was himself very far from appreciating the gloriousprivilege which he enjoyed, of the familiar friendship and confidence ofMilton. But they could not last. His amiable host, Isaac Pennington, a blameless and quiet country gentleman, was dragged from his house by amilitary force, and lodged in Aylesbury jail; his wife and familyforcibly ejected from their pleasant home, which was seized upon by thegovernment as security for the fines imposed upon its owner. The plaguewas in the village of Aylesbury, and in the very prison itself; but thenoble-hearted Mary Pennington followed her husband, sharing with him thedark peril. Poor Ellwood, while attending a monthly meeting at Hedgerly, with six others, (among them one Morgan Watkins, a poor old Welshman, who, painfully endeavoring to utter his testimony in his own dialect, wassuspected by the Dogberry of a justice of being a Jesuit trolling overhis Latin, ) was arrested, and committed to Wiccomb House of Correction. 

This was a time of severe trial for the sect with which Ellwood hadconnected himself. In the very midst of the pestilence, when thousandsperished weekly in London, fifty-four Quakers were marched through thealmost deserted streets, and placed on board a ship, for the purpose ofbeing conveyed, according to their sentence of banishment, to the WestIndies. The ship lay for a long time, with many others similarlysituated, a helpless prey to the pestilence. Through that terribleautumn, the prisoners sat waiting for the summons of the ghastlyDestroyer; and, from their floating dungeon. 

 "Heard the groan Of agonizing ships from shore to shore; Heard nightly plunged beneath the sullen wave The frequent corse. "

When the vessel at length set sail, of the fifty-four who went on board, twenty-seven only were living. A Dutch privateer captured her, when twodays out, and carried the prisoners to North Holland, where they were setat liberty. The condition of the jails in the city, where were largenumbers of Quakers, was dreadful in the extreme. Ill ventilated, crowded, and loathsome with the accumulated filth of centuries, theyinvited the disease which daily decimated their cells. "Go on!" saysPennington, writing to the King and bishops from his plague-infected cellin the Aylesbury prison: "try it out with the Spirit of the Lord! Comeforth with your laws, and prisons, and spoiling of goods, and banishment, and death, if the Lord please, and see if ye can carry it! Whom the Lordloveth He can save at His pleasure. Hath He begun to break our bonds anddeliver us, and shall we now distrust Him? Are we in a worse conditionthan Israel was when the sea was before them, the mountains on eitherside, and the Egyptians behind, pursuing them?"

Brave men and faithful! It is not necessary that the present generation, how quietly reaping the fruit of your heroic endurance, should see eye toeye with you in respect to all your testimonies and beliefs, in order torecognize your claim to gratitude and admiration. For, in an age ofhypocritical hollowness and mean self-seeking, when, with nobleexceptions, the very Puritans of Cromwell's Reign of the Saints weretaking profane lessons from their old enemies, and putting on an outsideshow of conformity, for the sake of place or pardon, ye maintained theaustere dignity of virtue, and, with King and Church and Parliamentarrayed against you, vindicated the Rights of Conscience, at the cost ofhome, fortune, and life. English liberty owes more to your unyieldingfirmness than to the blows stricken for her at Worcester and Naseby. 

In 1667, we find the Latin teacher in attendance at a great meeting ofFriends, in London, convened at the suggestion of George Fox, for thepurpose of settling a little difficulty which had arisen among theFriends, even under the pressure of the severest persecution, relative tothe very important matter of "wearing the hat. " George Fox, in his loveof truth and sincerity in word and action, had discountenanced thefashionable doffing of the hat, and other flattering obeisances towardsmen holding stations in Church or State, as savoring of man-worship, giving to the creature the reverence only due to the Creator, asundignified and wanting in due self-respect, and tending to supportunnatural and oppressive distinctions among those equal in the sight ofGod. But some of his disciples evidently made much more of this "hattestimony" than their teacher. One John Perrott, who had just returnedfrom an unsuccessful attempt to convert the Pope, at Rome, (where thatdignitary, after listening to his exhortations, and finding him in nocondition to be benefited by the spiritual physicians of the Inquisition, had quietly turned him over to the temporal ones of the Insane Hospital, )had broached the doctrine that, in public or private worship, the hat wasnot to be taken off, without an immediate revelation or call to do so!Ellwood himself seems to have been on the point of yielding to thisnotion, which appears to have been the occasion of a good deal ofdissension and scandal. Under these circumstances, to save truth fromreproach, and an important testimony to the essential equality of mankindfrom running into sheer fanaticism, Fox summoned his tried and faithfulfriends together, from all parts of the United Kingdom, and, as itappears, with the happiest result. Hat-revelations were discountenanced, good order and harmony reestablished, and John Perrott's beaver and thecrazy head under it were from thenceforth powerless for evil. Let thosewho are disposed to laugh at this notable "Ecumenical Council of the Hat"consider that ecclesiastical history has brought down to us the recordsof many larger and more imposing convocations, wherein grave bishops andlearned fathers took each other by the beard upon matters of far lesspractical importance. 

In 1669, we find Ellwood engaged in escorting his fair friend, Gulielma, to her uncle's residence in Sussex. Passing through London, and takingthe Tunbridge road, they stopped at Seven Oak to dine. The Duke of Yorkwas on the road, with his guards and hangers-on, and the inn was filledwith a rude company. "Hastening, " says Ellwood, "from a place where wefound nothing but rudeness, the roysterers who swarmed there, besides thedamning oaths they belched out against each other, looked very sourlyupon us, as if they grudged us the horses which we rode and the clotheswe wore. " They had proceeded but a little distance, when they wereovertaken by some half dozen drunken rough-riding cavaliers, of theWildrake stamp, in full pursuit after the beautiful Quakeress. One ofthem impudently attempted to pull her upon his horse before him, but washeld at bay by Ellwood, who seems, on this occasion, to have reliedsomewhat upon his "stick, " in defending his fair charge. Calling upGulielma's servant, he bade him ride on one side of his mistress, whilehe guarded her on the other. "But he, " says Ellwood, "not thinking itperhaps decent to ride so near his mistress, left room enough for anotherto ride between. " In dashed the drunken retainer, and Gulielma was oncemore in peril. It was clearly no time for exhortations andexpostulations; "so, " says Ellwood, "I chopped in upon him, by a nimbleturn, and kept him at bay. I told him I had hitherto spared him, butwished him not to provoke me further. This I spoke in such a tone asbespoke an high resentment of the abuse put upon us, and withal pressedhim so hard with my horse that I suffered him not to come up again toGuli. " By this time, it became evident to the companions of theruffianly assailant that the young Quaker was in earnest, and theyhastened to interfere. "For they, " says Ellwood, "seeing the contestrise so high, and probably fearing it would rise higher, not knowingwhere it might stop, came in to part us; which they did by taking himaway. "

Escaping from these sons of Belial, Ellwood and his fair companion rodeon through Tunbridge Wells, "the street thronged with men, who lookedvery earnestly at them, but offered them no affront, " and arrived, lateat night, in a driving rain, at the mansion-house of Herbert Springette. The fiery old gentleman was so indignant at the insult offered to hisniece, that he was with difficulty dissuaded from demanding satisfactionat the hands of the Duke of York. 

This seems to have been his last ride with Gulielma. She was soon aftermarried to William Penn, and took up her abode at Worminghurst, inSussex. How blessed and beautiful was that union may be understood fromthe following paragraph of a letter, written by her husband, on the eveof his departure for America to lay the foundations of a Christiancolony:--

 "My dear wife! remember thou wast the love of my youth, and much the joy of my life, the most beloved as well as the most worthy of all my earthly comforts; and the reason of that love was more thy inward than thy outward excellences, which yet were many. God knows, and thou knowest it, I can say it was a match of Providence's making; and God's image in us both was the first thing and the most amiable and engaging ornament in our eyes. "

About this time our friend Thomas, seeing that his old playmate atChalfont was destined for another, turned his attention towards a "youngFriend, named Mary Ellis. " He had been for several years acquainted withher, but now he "found his heart secretly drawn and inclining towardsher. " "At length, " he tells us, "as I was sitting all alone, waitingupon the Lord for counsel and guidance in this, in itself and to me, important affair, I felt a word sweetly arise in me, as if I had heard aVoice which said, Go, and prevail! and faith springing in my heart at theword, I immediately rose and went, nothing doubting. " On arriving at herresidence, he states that he "solemnly opened his mind to her, which wasa great surprisal to her, for she had taken in an apprehension, as othershad also done, " that his eye had been fixed elsewhere and nearer home. "I used not many words to her, " he continues, "but I felt a Divine Powerwent along with the words, and fixed the matter expressed by them so fastin her breast, that, as she afterwards acknowledged to me, she could notshut it out. "

"I continued, " he says, "my visits to my best-beloved Friend until wemarried, which was on the 28th day of the eighth month, 1669. We tookeach other in a select meeting of the ancient and grave Friends of thatcountry. A very solemn meeting it was, and in a weighty frame of spiritwe were. " His wife seems to have had some estate; and Ellwood, with thatnice sense of justice which marked all his actions, immediately made hiswill, securing to her, in case of his decease, all her own goods andmoneys, as well as all that he had himself acquired before marriage. "Which, " he tells, "was indeed but little, yet, by all that little, morethan I had ever given her ground to expect with me. " His father, who wasyet unreconciled to the son's religious views, found fault with hismarriage, on the ground that it was unlawful and unsanctioned by priestor liturgy, and consequently refused to render him any pecuniaryassistance. Yet, in spite of this and other trials, he seems to havepreserved his serenity of spirit. After an unpleasant interview with hisfather, on one occasion, he wrote, at his lodgings in an inn, in London, what be calls _A Song of Praise_. An extract from it will serve to showthe spirit of the good man in affliction:--

 "Unto the Glory of Thy Holy Name, Eternal God! whom I both love and fear, I hereby do declare, I never came Before Thy throne, and found Thee loath to hear, But always ready with an open ear; And, though sometimes Thou seem'st Thy face to hide, As one that had withdrawn his love from me, 'T is that my faith may to the full, be tried, And that I thereby may the better see How weak I am when not upheld by Thee!"

The next year, 1670, an act of Parliament, in relation to "Conventicles, "provided that any person who should be present at any meeting, undercolor or pretence of any exercise of religion, in other manner thanaccording to the liturgy and practice of the Church of England, "shouldbe liable to fines of from five to ten shillings; and any personpreaching at or giving his house for the meeting, to a fine of twentypounds: one third of the fines being received by the informer orinformers. " As a natural consequence of such a law, the vilestscoundrels in the land set up the trade of informers and heresy-hunters. Wherever a dissenting meeting or burial took place, there was sure to bea mercenary spy, ready to bring a complaint against all in attendance. The Independents and Baptists ceased, in a great measure, to hold publicmeetings, yet even they did not escape prosecution. Bunyan, forinstance, in these days, was dreaming, like another Jacob, of angelsascending and descending, in Bedford prison. But upon the poor Quakersfell, as usual, the great force of the unjust enactment. Some of thesespies or informers, men of sharp wit, close countenances, pliant tempers, and skill in dissimulation, took the guise of Quakers, Independents, orBaptists, as occasion required, thrusting themselves into the meetings ofthe proscribed sects, ascertaining the number who attended, their rankand condition, and then informing against them. Ellwood, in his Journalfor 1670, describes several of these emissaries of evil. One of themcame to a Friend's house, in Bucks, professing to be a brother in thefaith, but, overdoing his counterfeit Quakerism, was detected anddismissed by his host. Betaking himself to the inn, he appeared in histrue character, drank and swore roundly, and confessed over his cups thathe had been sent forth on his mission by the Rev. Dr. Mew, Vice-Chancellor of Oxford. Finding little success in counterfeitingQuakerism, he turned to the Baptists, where, for a time, he met withbetter success. Ellwood, at this time, rendered good service to hisfriends, by exposing the true character of these wretches, and bringingthem to justice for theft, perjury, and other misdemeanors. 

While this storm of persecution lasted, (a period of two or three years, )the different dissenting sects felt, in some measure, a common sympathy, and, while guarding themselves against their common foe, had littleleisure for controversy with each other; but, as was natural, theabatement of their mutual suffering and danger was the signal forrenewing their suspended quarrels. The Baptists fell upon the Quakers, with pamphlet and sermon; the latter replied in the same way. One of themost conspicuous of the Baptist disputants was the famous Jeremy Ives, with whom our friend Ellwood seems to have had a good deal of trouble. "His name, " says Ellwood, "was up for a topping Disputant. He was well, read in the fallacies of logic, and was ready in framing syllogisms. Hischief art lay in tickling the humor of rude, unlearned, and injudicioushearers. "

The following piece of Ellwood's, entitled "An Epitaph for Jeremy Ives, "will serve to show that wit and drollery were sometimes found even amongthe proverbially sober Quakers of the seventeenth century:--

 "Beneath this stone, depressed, doth lie The Mirror of Hypocrisy-- Ives, whose mercenary tongue Like a Weathercock was hung, And did this or that way play, As Advantage led the way. If well hired, he would dispute, Otherwise he would be mute. But he'd bawl for half a day, If he knew and liked his pay. 

 "For his person, let it pass; Only note his face was brass. His heart was like a pumice-stone, And for Conscience he had none. Of Earth and Air he was composed, With Water round about enclosed. Earth in him had greatest share, Questionless, his life lay there; Thence his cankered Envy sprung, Poisoning both his heart and tongue. 

 "Air made him frothy, light, and vain, And puffed him with a proud disdain. Into the Water oft he went, And through the Water many sent That was, ye know, his element! The greatest odds that did appear Was this, for aught that I can hear, That he in cold did others dip, But did himself hot water sip. 

 "And his cause he'd never doubt, If well soak'd o'er night in Stout; But, meanwhile, he must not lack Brandy and a draught of Sack. One dispute would shrink a bottle Of three pints, if not a pottle. One would think he fetched from thence All his dreamy eloquence. 

 "Let us now bring back the Sot To his Aqua Vita pot, And observe, with some content, How he framed his argument. That his whistle he might wet, The bottle to his mouth he set, And, being Master of that Art, Thence he drew the Major part, But left the Minor still behind; Good reason why, he wanted wind; If his breath would have held out, He had Conclusion drawn, no doubt. "

The residue of Ellwood's life seems to have glided on in serenity andpeace. He wrote, at intervals, many pamphlets in defence of his Society, and in favor of Liberty of Conscience. At his hospitable residence, theleading spirits of the sect were warmly welcomed. George Fox and WilliamPenn seem to have been frequent guests. We find that, in 1683, he wasarrested for seditious publications, when on the eve of hastening to hisearly friend, Gulielma, who, in the absence of her husband, GovernorPenn, had fallen dangerously ill. On coming before the judge, "I toldhim, " says Ellwood, "that I had that morning received an express out ofSussex, that William Penn's wife (with whom I had an intimateacquaintance and strict friendship, _ab ipsis fere incunabilis_, atleast, _a teneris unguiculis_) lay now ill, not without great danger, andthat she had expressed her desire that I would come to her as soon as Icould. " The judge said "he was very sorry for Madam Penn's illness, " ofwhose virtues he spoke very highly, but not more than was her due. Thenhe told me, "that, for her sake, he would do what he could to further myvisit to her. " Escaping from the hands of the law, he visited hisfriend, who was by this time in a way of recovery, and, on his return, learned that the prosecution had been abandoned. 

At about this date his narrative ceases. We learn, from other sources, that he continued to write and print in defence of his religious views upto the year of his death, which took place in 1713. One of hisproductions, a poetical version of the Life of David, may be still metwith, in the old Quaker libraries. On the score of poetical merit, it isabout on a level with Michael Drayton's verses on the same subject. Asthe history of one of the firm confessors of the old struggle forreligious freedom, of a genial-hearted and pleasant scholar, the friendof Penn and Milton, and the suggester of Paradise Regained, we trust ourhurried sketch has not been altogether without interest; and that, whatever may be the religious views of our readers, they have not failedto recognize a good and true man in Thomas Ellwood. 

 JAMES NAYLER. 

 "You will here read the true story of that much injured, ridiculed man, James Nayler; what dreadful sufferings, with what patience he endured, even to the boring of the tongue with hot irons, without a murmur; and with what strength of mind, when the delusion he had fallen into, which they stigmatized as blasphemy, had given place to clearer thoughts, he could renounce his error in a strain of the beautifullest humility. "--Essays of Elia. 

"Would that Carlyle could now try his hand at the English Revolution!"was our exclamation, on laying down the last volume of his remarkableHistory of the French Revolution with its brilliant and startling word-pictures still flashing before us. To some extent this wish has beenrealized in the Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell. Yet we confessthat the perusal of these volumes has disappointed us. Instead of givinghimself free scope, as in his French Revolution, and transferring to hiscanvas all the wild and ludicrous, the terrible and beautiful phases ofthat moral phenomenon, he has here concentrated all his artistic skillupon a single figure, whom he seems to have regarded as the embodimentand hero of the great event. All else on his canvas is subordinated tothe grim image of the colossal Puritan. Intent upon presenting him asthe fitting object of that "hero-worship, " which, in its blind admirationand adoration of mere abstract Power, seems to us at times nothing lessthan devil-worship, he dwarfs, casts into the shadow, nay, in someinstances caricatures and distorts, the figures which surround him. Toexcuse Cromwell in his usurpation, Henry Vane, one of those exalted andnoble characters, upon whose features the lights held by historicalfriends or foes detect no blemish, is dismissed with a sneer and anutterly unfounded imputation of dishonesty. To reconcile, in somedegree, the discrepancy between the declarations of Cromwell, in behalfof freedom of conscience, and that mean and cruel persecution which theQuakers suffered under the Protectorate, the generally harmlessfanaticism of a few individuals bearing that name is gravely urged. Nay, the fact that some weak-brained enthusiasts undertook to bring about themillennium, by associating together, cultivating the earth, and "dibblingbeans" for the New Jerusalem market, is regarded by our author as the"germ of Quakerism;" and furnishes an occasion for sneering at "my poorfriend Dryasdust, lamentably tearing his hair over the intolerance ofthat old time to Quakerism and such like. "

The readers of this (with all its faults) powerfully written Biographycannot fail to have been impressed with the intensely graphic description(Part I. , vol. Ii. , pp. 184, 185) of the entry of the poor fanatic, James Nayler, and his forlorn and draggled companions into Bristol. Sadly ludicrous is it; affecting us like the actual sight of tragicinsanity enacting its involuntary comedy, and making us smile through ourtears. 

In another portion of the work, a brief account is given of the trial andsentence of Nayler, also in the serio-comic view; and the poor man isdismissed with the simple intimation, that after his punishment he"repented, and confessed himself mad. " It was no part of the author'sbusiness, we are well aware, to waste time and words upon the history ofsuch a man as Nayler; he was of no importance to him, otherwise than asone of the disturbing influences in the government of the Lord Protector. But in our mind the story of James Nayler has always been one ofinterest; and in the belief that it will prove so to others, who, likeCharles Lamb, can appreciate the beautiful humility of a forgiven spirit, we have taken some pains to collect and embody the facts of it. 

James Nayler was born in the parish of Ardesley, in Yorkshire, 1616. Hisfather was a substantial farmer, of good repute and competent estate andbe, in consequence, received a good education: At the age of twenty-two, he married and removed to Wakefield parish, which has since been madeclassic ground by the pen of Goldsmith. Here, an honest, God-fearingfarmer, he tilled his soil, and alternated between cattle-markets andIndependent conventicles. In 1641, he obeyed the summons of "my LordFairfax" and the Parliament, and joined a troop of horse composed ofsturdy Independents, doing such signal service against "the man ofBelial, Charles Stuart, " that he was promoted to the rank ofquartermaster, in which capacity he served under General Lambert, in hisScottish campaign. Disabled at length by sickness, he was honorablydismissed from the service, and returned to his family in 1649. 

For three or four years, he continued to attend the meetings of theIndependents, as a zealous and devout member. But it so fell out, thatin the winter of 1651, George Fox, who had just been released from acruel imprisonment in Derby jail, felt a call to set his face towardsYorkshire. "So travelling, " says Fox, in his Journal, "through thecountries, to several places, preaching Repentance and the Word of Life, I came into the parts about Wakefield, where James Navler lived. " Theworn and weary soldier, covered with the scars of outward battle, received, as he believed, in the cause of God and his people, againstAntichrist and oppression, welcomed with thankfulness the veteran ofanother warfare; who, in conflict with a principalities and powers, andspiritual wickedness in high places, " had made his name a familiar one inevery English hamlet. "He and Thomas Goodyear, " says Fox, "came to me, and were both convinced, and received the truth. " He soon after joinedthe Society of Friends. In the spring of the next year he was in hisfield following his plough, and meditating, as he was wont, on the greatquestions of life and duty, when he seemed to hear a voice bidding him goout from his kindred and his father's house, with an assurance that theLord would be with him, while laboring in his service. Deeply impressed, he left his employment, and, returning to his house, made immediatepreparations for a journey. But hesitation and doubt followed; he becamesick from anxiety of mind, and his recovery, for a time, was exceedinglydoubtful. On his restoration to bodily health, he obeyed what heregarded as a clear intimation of duty, and went forth a preacher of thedoctrines he had embraced. The Independent minister of the society towhich be had formerly belonged sent after him the story that he was thevictim of sorcery; that George Fox carried with him a bottle, out ofwhich he made people drink; and that the draught had the power to changea Presbyterian or Independent into a Quaker at once; that, in short, theArch-Quaker, Fox, was a wizard, and could be seen at the same moment oftime riding on the same black horse, in two places widely separated. Hehad scarcely commenced his exhortations, before the mob, excited by suchstories, assailed him. In the early summer of the year we hear of him inAppleby jail. On his release, he fell in company with George Fox. AtWalney Island, he was furiously assaulted, and beaten with clubs andstones; the poor priest-led fishermen being fully persuaded that theywere dealing with a wizard. The spirit of the man, under thesecircumstances, may be seen in the following extract from a letter to hisfriends, dated at "Killet, in Lancashire, the 30th of 8th Month, 1652:"--

"Dear friends! Dwell in patience, and wait upon the Lord, who will dohis own work. Look not at man who is in the work, nor at any manopposing it; but rest in the will of the Lord, that so ye may befurnished with patience, both to do and to suffer what ye shall be calledunto, that your end in all things may be His praise. Meet oftentogether; take heed of what exalteth itself above its brother; but keeplow, and serve one another in love. "

Laboring thus, interrupted only by persecution, stripes, andimprisonment, he finally came to London, and spoke with great power andeloquence in the meetings of Friends in that city. Here he for the firsttime found himself surrounded by admiring and sympathizing friends. Hesaw and rejoiced in the fruits of his ministry. Profane and drunkencavaliers, intolerant Presbyters, and blind Papists, owned the truthswhich he uttered, and counted themselves his disciples. Women, too, intheir deep trustfulness and admiring reverence, sat at the feet of theeloquent stranger. Devout believers in the doctrine of the inward lightand manifestation of God in the heart of man, these latter, at length, thought they saw such unmistakable evidences of the true life in JamesNayler, that they felt constrained to declare that Christ was, in anespecial manner, within him, and to call upon all to recognize inreverent adoration this new incarnation of the divine and heavenly. Thewild enthusiasm of his disciples had its effect on the teacher. Weak inbody, worn with sickness, fasting, stripes, and prison-penance, andnaturally credulous and imaginative, is it strange that in some measurehe yielded to this miserable delusion? Let those who would harshly judgehim, or ascribe his fall to the peculiar doctrines of his sect, think ofLuther, engaged in personal combat with the Devil, or conversing with himon points of theology in his bed-chamber; or of Bunyan at actualfisticuffs with the adversary; or of Fleetwood and Vane and Harrisonmillennium-mad, and making preparations for an earthly reign of KingJesus. It was an age of intense religious excitement. Fanaticism hadbecome epidemic. Cromwell swayed his Parliaments by "revelations" andScripture phrases in the painted chamber; stout generals and sea-captainsexterminated the Irish, and swept Dutch navies from the ocean, with oldJewish war-cries, and hymns of Deborah and Miriam; country justicescharged juries in Hebraisms, and cited the laws of Palestine oftener thanthose of England. Poor Nayler found himself in the very midst of thisseething and confused moral maelstrom. He struggled against it for atime, but human nature was weak; he became, to use his own words, "bewildered and darkened, " and the floods went over him. 

Leaving London with some of his more zealous followers, not withoutsolemn admonition and rebuke from Francis Howgill and Edward Burrough, who at that period were regarded as the most eminent and gifted of theSociety's ministers, he bent his steps towards Exeter. Here, inconsequence of the extravagance of his language and that of hisdisciples, he was arrested and thrown into prison. Several infatuatedwomen surrounded the jail, declaring that "Christ was in prison, " and onbeing admitted to see him, knelt down and kissed his feet, exclaiming, "Thy name shall be no more called James Nayler, but Jesus!" Let us pityhim and them. They, full of grateful and extravagant affection for theman whose voice had called them away from worldly vanities to what theyregarded as eternal realities, whose hand they imagined had for themswung back the pearl gates of the celestial city, and flooded theiratmosphere with light from heaven; he, receiving their homage (not asoffered to a poor, weak, sinful Yorkshire trooper, but rather to thehidden man of the heart, the "Christ within" him) with that self-deceiving humility which is but another name for spiritual pride. Mournful, yet natural; such as is still in greater or less degreemanifested between the Catholic enthusiast and her confessor; such as thecareful observer may at times take note of in our Protestant revivals andcamp meetings. 

How Nayler was released from Exeter jail does not appear, but the next wehear of him is at Bristol, in the fall of the year. His entrance intothat city shows the progress which he and his followers had made in theinterval. Let us look at Carlyle's description of it: "A procession ofeight persons one, a man on horseback riding single, the others, men andwomen partly riding double, partly on foot, in the muddiest highway inthe wettest weather; singing, all but the single rider, at whose bridlewalk and splash two women, 'Hosannah! Holy, holy! Lord God of Sabaoth, 'and other things, 'in a buzzing tone, ' which the impartial hearer couldnot make out. The single rider is a raw-boned male figure, 'with lankhair reaching below his cheeks, ' hat drawn close over his brows, 'noserising slightly in the middle, ' of abstruse 'down look, ' and largedangerous jaws strictly closed: he sings not, sits there covered, and issung to by the others bare. Amid pouring deluges and mud knee-deep, 'sothat the rain ran in at their necks and vented it at their hose andbreeches: 'a spectacle to the West of England and posterity! Singing asabove; answering no question except in song. From Bedminster toRatcliffgate, along the streets to the High Cross of Bristol: at the HighCross they are laid hold of by the authorities: turn out to be JamesNayler and Company. "

Truly, a more pitiful example of "hero-worship" is not well to beconceived of. Instead of taking the rational view of it, however, andmercifully shutting up the actors in a mad-house, the authorities of thatday, conceiving it to be a stupendous blasphemy, and themselves God'savengers in the matter, sent Nayler under strong guard up to London, tobe examined before the Parliament. After long and tedious examinationsand cross-questionings, and still more tedious debates, some portion ofwhich, not uninstructive to the reader, may still be found in Burton'sDiary, the following horrible resolution was agreed upon:--

"That James Nayler be set in the pillory, with his head in the pillory inthe Palace Yard, Westminster, during the space of two hours on Thursdaynext; and be whipped by the hangman through the streets from Westminsterto the Old Exchange, and there, likewise, be set in the pillory, with hishead in the pillory for the space of two hours, between eleven and one, on Saturday next, in each place wearing a paper containing a descriptionof his crimes; and that at the Old Exchange his tongue be bored throughwith a hot iron, and that he be there stigmatized on the forehead withthe letter 'B;' and that he be afterwards sent to Bristol, to be conveyedinto and through the said city on horseback with his face backward, andthere, also, publicly whipped the next market-day after he comes thither;that from thence he be committed to prison in Bridewell, London, andthere restrained from the society of people, and there to labor harduntil he shall be released by Parliament; and during that time bedebarred the use of pen, ink, and paper, and have no relief except whathe earns by his daily labor. "

Such, neither more nor less, was, in the opinion of Parliament, requiredon their part to appease the divine vengeance. The sentence waspronounced on the 17th of the twelfth month; the entire time of theParliament for the two months previous having been occupied with thecase. The Presbyterians in that body were ready enough to make the mostof an offence committed by one who had been an Independent; theIndependents, to escape the stigma of extenuating the crimes of one oftheir quondam brethren, vied with their antagonists in shrieking over theatrocity of Nayler's blasphemy, and in urging its severe punishment. Here and there among both classes were men disposed to leniency, and morethan one earnest plea was made for merciful dealing with a man whosereason was evidently unsettled, and who was, therefore, a fitting objectof compassion; whose crime, if it could indeed be called one, wasevidently the result of a clouded intellect, and not of wilful intentionof evil. On the other hand, many were in favor of putting him to deathas a sort of peace-offering to the clergy, who, as a matter of course, were greatly scandalized by Nayler's blasphemy, and still more by therefusal of his sect to pay tithes, or recognize their divine commission. 

Nayler was called into the Parliament-house to receive his sentence. "I do not know mine offence, " he said mildly. "You shall know it, " saidSir Thomas Widrington, "by your sentence. " When the sentence was read, he attempted to speak, but was silenced. "I pray God, " said Nayler, "that he may not lay this to your charge. "

The next day, the 18th of the twelfth month, he stood in the pillory twohours, in the chill winter air, and was then stripped and scourged by thehangman at the tail of a cart through the streets. Three hundred and tenstripes were inflicted; his back and arms were horribly cut and mangled, and his feet crushed and bruised by the feet of horses treading on him inthe crowd. He bore all with uncomplaining patience; but was so farexhausted by his sufferings, that it was found necessary to postpone theexecution of the residue of the sentence for one week. The terribleseverity of his sentence, and his meek endurance of it, had in the meantime powerfully affected many of the humane and generous of all classesin the city; and a petition for the remission of the remaining part ofthe penalty was numerously signed and presented to Parliament. A debateensued upon it, but its prayer was rejected. Application was then madeto Cromwell, who addressed a letter to the Speaker of the House, inquiring into the affair, protesting an "abhorrence and detestation ofgiving or occasioning the least countenance to such opinions andpractices" as were imputed to Nayler; "yet we, being intrusted in thepresent government on behalf of the people of these nations, and notknowing how far such proceeding entered into wholly without us may extendin the consequence of it, do hereby desire the House may let us know thegrounds and reasons whereon they have proceeded. " From this, it is notunlikely that the Protector might have been disposed to clemency, and tolook with a degree of charity upon the weakness and errors of one of hisold and tried soldiers who had striven like a brave man, as he was, forthe rights and liberties of Englishmen; but the clergy here interposed, and vehemently, in the name of God and His Church, demanded that theexecutioner should finish his work. Five of the most eminent of them, names well known in the Protectorate, Caryl, Manton, Nye, Griffith, andReynolds, were deputed by Parliament to visit the mangled prisoner. Areasonable request was made, that some impartial person might be present, that justice might be done Nayler in the report of his answers. This wasrefused. It was, however, agreed that the conversation should be writtendown and a copy of it left with the jailer. He was asked if he was sorryfor his blasphemies. He said he did not know to what blasphemies theyalluded; that he did believe in Jesus Christ; that He had taken up Hisdwelling in his own heart, and for the testimony of Him he now suffered. "I believe, " said one of the ministers, "in a Christ who was never in anyman's heart. " "I know no such Christ, " rejoined the prisoner; "theChrist I witness to fills Heaven and Earth, and dwells in the hearts ofall true believers. " On being asked why he allowed the women to adoreand worship him, he said he "denied bowing to the creature; but if theybeheld the power of Christ, wherever it was, and bowed to it, he couldnot resist it, or say aught against it. "

After some further parley, the reverend visitors grew angry, threw thewritten record of the conversation in the fire, and left the prison, toreport the prisoner incorrigible. 

On the 27th of the month, he was again led out of his cell and placedupon the pillory. Thousands of citizens were gathered around, many ofthem earnestly protesting against the extreme cruelty of his punishment. Robert Rich, an influential and honorable merchant, followed him up tothe pillory with expressions of great sympathy, and held him by the handwhile the red-hot iron was pressed through his tongue and the brand wasplaced on his forehead. He was next sent to Bristol, and publiclywhipped through the principal streets of that city; and again broughtback to the Bridewell prison, where he remained about two years, shut outfrom all intercourse with his fellow-beings. At the expiration of thisperiod, he was released by order of Parliament. In the solitude of hiscell, the angel of patience had been with him. 

Through the cloud which had so long rested over him, the clear light oftruth shone in upon his spirit; the weltering chaos of a disorderedintellect settled into the calm peace of a reconciliation with God andman. His first act on leaving prison was to visit Bristol, the scene ofhis melancholy fall. There he publicly confessed his errors, in theeloquent earnestness of a contrite spirit, humbled in view of the past, yet full of thanksgiving and praise for the great boon of forgiveness. Awriter who was present says, the "assembly was tendered, and broken intotears; there were few dry eyes, and many were bowed in their minds. "

In a paper which he published soon after, he acknowledges his lamentabledelusion. "Condemned forever, " he says, "be all those false worshipswith which any have idolized my person in that Night of my Temptation, when the Power of Darkness was above rue; all that did in any way tend todishonor the Lord, or draw the minds of any from the measure of ChristJesus in themselves, to look at flesh, which is as grass, or to ascribethat to the visible which belongs to Him. Darkness came over methrough want of watchfulness and obedience to the pure Eye of God. I wastaken captive from the true light; I was walking in the Night, as awandering bird fit for a prey. And if the Lord of all my mercies had notrescued me, I had perished; for I was as one appointed to death anddestruction, and there was none to deliver me. "

"It is in my heart to confess to God, and before men, my folly andoffence in that day; yet there were many things formed against me inthat day, to take away my life and bring scandal upon the truth, ofwhich I was not guilty at all. " "The provocation of that Time ofTemptation was exceeding great against the Lord, yet He left me not; forwhen Darkness was above, and the Adversary so prevailed that all thingswere turned and perverted against my right seeing, hearing, orunderstanding, only a secret hope and faith I had in my God, whom I hadserved, that He would bring me through it and to the end of it, and thatI should again see the day of my redemption from under it all, --thisquieted my soul in its greatest tribulation. " He concludes hisconfession with these words: "He who hath saved my soul from death, whohath lifted my feet up out of the pit, even to Him be glory forever; andlet every troubled soul trust in Him, for his mercy endureth forever!"

Among his papers, written soon after his release, is a remarkable prayer, or rather thanksgiving. The limit I have prescribed to myself will onlyallow me to copy an extract:--

"It is in my heart to praise Thee, O my God! Let me never forget Thee, what Thou hast been to me in the night, by Thy presence in my hour oftrial, when I was beset in darkness, when I was cast out as a wanderingbird; when I was assaulted with strong temptations, then Thy presence, insecret, did preserve me, and in a low state I felt Thee near me; when myway was through the sea, when I passed under the mountains, there wastThou present with me; when the weight of the hills was upon me, Thouupheldest me. Thou didst fight, on my part, when I wrestled with death;when darkness would have shut me up, Thy light shone about me; when mywork was in the furnace, and I passed through the fire, by Thee I was notconsumed; when I beheld the dreadful visions, and was among the fieryspirits, Thy faith staid me, else through fear I had fallen. I saw Thee, and believed, so that the enemy could not prevail. " After speaking ofhis humiliation and sufferings, which Divine Mercy had overruled for hisspiritual good, he thus concludes: "Thou didst lift me out from the pit, and set me forth in the sight of my enemies; Thou proclaimedst liberty tothe captive; Thou calledst my acquaintances near me; they to whom I hadbeen a wonder looked upon me; and in Thy love I obtained favor with thosewho had deserted me. Then did gladness swallow up sorrow, and I forsookmy troubles; and I said, How good is it that man be proved in the night, that he may know his folly, that every mouth may become silent, untilThou makest man known unto himself, and has slain the boaster, and shownhim the vanity which vexeth Thy spirit. "

All honor to the Quakers of that day, that, at the risk ofmisrepresentation and calumny, they received back to their communiontheir greatly erring, but deeply repentant, brother. His life, everafter, was one of self-denial and jealous watchfulness over himself, --blameless and beautiful in its humility and lowly charity. 

Thomas Ellwood, in his autobiography for the year 1659, mentions Nayler, whom he met in company with Edward Burrough at the house of Milton'sfriend, Pennington. Ellwood's father held a discourse with the twoQuakers on their doctrine of free and universal grace. "James Nailer, "says Ellwood, "handled the subject with so much perspicuity and cleardemonstration, that his reasoning seemed to be irresistible. As forEdward Burrough, he was a brisk young Man, of a ready Tongue, and mighthave been for aught I then knew, a Scholar, which made me less admire hisWay of Reasoning. But what dropt from James Nailer had the greater Forceupon me, because he lookt like a simple Countryman, having the appearanceof an Husbandman or Shepherd. "

In the latter part of the eighth month, 1660, be left London on foot, tovisit his wife and children in Wakefield. As he journeyed on, the senseof a solemn change about to take place seemed with him; the shadow of theeternal world fell over him. As he passed through Huntingdon, a friendwho saw him describes him as "in an awful and weighty frame of mind, asif he had been redeemed from earth, and a stranger on it, seeking abetter home and inheritance. " A few miles beyond the town, he was found, in the dusk of the evening, very ill, and was taken to the house of afriend, who lived not far distant. He died shortly after, expressing hisgratitude for the kindness of his attendants, and invoking blessings uponthem. About two hours before his death, he spoke to the friend at hisbedside these remarkable words, solemn as eternity, and beautiful as thelove which fills it:--

"There is a spirit which I feel which delights to do no evil, nor toavenge any wrong; but delights to endure all things, in hope to enjoy itsown in the end; its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention, and toweary out all exultation and cruelty, or whatever is of a nature contraryto itself. It sees to the end of all temptations; as it bears no evil initself, so it conceives none in thought to any other: if it be betrayed, it bears it, for its ground and spring is the mercy and forgiveness ofGod. Its crown is meekness; its life is everlasting love unfeigned; ittakes its kingdom with entreaty, and not with contention, and keeps it bylowliness of mind. In God alone it can rejoice, though none else regardit, or can own its life. It is conceived in sorrow, and brought forthwith none to pity it; nor doth it murmur at grief and oppression. Itnever rejoiceth but through sufferings, for with the world's joy it ismurdered. I found it alone, being forsaken. I have fellowship thereinwith them who lived in dens and desolate places of the earth, who throughdeath obtained resurrection and eternal Holy Life. "

So died James Nayler. He was buried in "Thomas Parnell's burying-ground, at King's Rippon, " in a green nook of rural England. Wrong and violence, and temptation and sorrow, and evil-speaking, could reach him no more. And in taking leave of him, let us say, with old Joseph Wyeth, where hetouches upon this case in his _Anguis Flagellatus_: "Let none insult, buttake heed lest they also, in the hour of their temptation, do fall away. "

 ANDREW MARVELL

 "They who with a good conscience and an upright heart do their civil duties in the sight of God, and in their several places, to resist tyranny and the violence of superstition banded both against them, will never seek to be forgiven that which may justly be attributed to their immortal praise. "--Answer to Eikon Basilike. 

Among, the great names which adorned the Protectorate, --that period ofintense mental activity, when political and religious rights and dutieswere thoroughly discussed by strong and earnest statesmen andtheologians, --that of Andrew Marvell, the friend of Milton, and LatinSecretary of Cromwell, deserves honorable mention. The magnificent proseof Milton, long neglected, is now perhaps as frequently read as his greatepic; but the writings of his friend and fellow secretary, devoted likehis own to the cause of freedom and the rights of the people, arescarcely known to the present generation. It is true that Marvell'spolitical pamphlets were less elaborate and profound than those of theauthor of the glorious _Defence of Unlicensed Printing_. He was light, playful, witty, and sarcastic; he lacked the stern dignity, the terribleinvective, the bitter scorn, the crushing, annihilating retort, the grandand solemn eloquence, and the devout appeals, which render immortal thecontroversial works of Milton. But he, too, has left his foot-prints onhis age; he, too, has written for posterity that which they "will notwillingly let die. " As one of the inflexible defenders of Englishliberty, sowers of the seed, the fruits of which we are now reaping, hehas a higher claim on the kind regards of this generation than his meritsas a poet, by no means inconsiderable, would warrant. 

Andrew Marvell was born in Kingston-upon-Hull, in 1620. At the age ofeighteen he entered Trinity College, whence he was enticed by theJesuits, then actively seeking proselytes. After remaining with them ashort time, his father found him, and brought him back to his studies. On leaving college, he travelled on the Continent. At Rome he wrote hisfirst satire, a humorous critique upon Richard Flecknoe, an EnglishJesuit and verse writer, whose lines on Silence Charles Lamb quotes inone of his Essays. It is supposed that he made his first acquaintancewith Milton in Italy. 

At Paris he made the Abbot de Manihan the subject of another satire. TheAbbot pretended to skill in the arts of magic, and used to prognosticatethe fortunes of people from the character of their handwriting. At whatperiod he returned from his travels we are not aware. It is stated, bysome of his biographers, that he was sent as secretary of a Turkishmission. In 1653, he was appointed the tutor of Cromwell's nephew; and, four years after, doubtless through the instrumentality of his friendMilton, he received the honorable appointment of Latin Secretary of theCommonwealth. In 1658, he was selected by his townsmen of Hull torepresent them in Parliament. In this service he continued until 1663, when, notwithstanding his sturdy republican principles, he was appointedsecretary to the Russian embassy. On his return, in 1665, he was againelected to Parliament, and continued in the public service until theprorogation of the Parliament of 1675. 

The boldness, the uncompromising integrity and irreproachable consistencyof Marvell, as a statesman, have secured for him the honorableappellation of "the British Aristides. " Unlike too many of his oldassociates under the Protectorate, he did not change with the times. Hewas a republican in Cromwell's day, and neither threats of assassination, nor flatteries, nor proffered bribes, could make him anything else inthat of Charles II. He advocated the rights of the people at a time whenpatriotism was regarded as ridiculous folly; when a general corruption, spreading downwards from a lewd and abominable Court, had madelegislation a mere scramble for place and emolument. English historypresents no period so disgraceful as the Restoration. To use the wordsof Macaulay, it was "a day of servitude without loyalty and sensualitywithout love, of dwarfish talents and gigantic vices, the paradise ofcold hearts and narrow minds, the golden age of the coward, the bigot, and the slave. The principles of liberty were the scoff of everygrinning courtier, and the Anathema Maranatha of every fawning dean. " Itis the peculiar merit of Milton and Marvell, that in such an age theyheld fast their integrity, standing up in glorious contrast with clericalapostates and traitors to the cause of England's liberty. 

In the discharge of his duties as a statesman Marvell was as punctual andconscientious as our own venerable Apostle of Freedom, John Quincy Adams. He corresponded every post with his constituents, keeping them fullyapprised of all that transpired at Court or in Parliament. He spoke butseldom, but his great personal influence was exerted privately upon themembers of the Commons as well as upon the Peers. His wit, accomplishedmanners, and literary eminence made him a favorite at the Court itself. The voluptuous and careless monarch laughed over the biting satire of therepublican poet, and heartily enjoyed his lively conversation. It issaid that numerous advances were made to him by the courtiers of CharlesII. , but he was found to be incorruptible. The personal compliments ofthe King, the encomiums of Rochester, the smiles and flatteries of thefrail but fair and high-born ladies of the Court; nay, even the goldenoffers of the King's treasurer, who, climbing with difficulty to hisobscure retreat on an upper floor of a court in the Strand, laid atempting bribe of L1, 000 before him, on the very day when he had beencompelled to borrow a guinea, were all lost upon the inflexible patriot. He stood up manfully, in an age of persecution, for religious liberty, opposed the oppressive excise, and demanded frequent Parliaments and afair representation of the people. 

In 1672, Marvell engaged in a controversy with the famous High-Churchman, Dr. Parker, who had taken the lead in urging the persecution of Non-conformists. In one of the works of this arrogant divine, he says that"it is absolutely necessary to the peace and government of the world thatthe supreme magistrate should be vested with power to govern and conductthe consciences of subjects in affairs of religion. Princes may withless hazard give liberty to men's vices and debaucheries than to theirconsciences. " And, speaking of the various sects of Non-conformists, hecounsels princes and legislators that "tenderness and indulgence to suchmen is to nourish vipers in their own bowels, and the most sottishneglect of our quiet and security. " Marvell replied to him in a severelysatirical pamphlet, which provoked a reply from the Doctor. Marvellrejoined, with a rare combination of wit and argument. The effect of hissarcasm on the Doctor and his supporters may be inferred from ananonymous note sent him, in which the writer threatens by the eternal Godto cut his throat, if he uttered any more libels upon Dr. Parker. BishopBurnet remarks that "Marvell writ in a burlesque strain, but with sopeculiar and so entertaining a conduct 'that from the King down to thetradesman his books were read with great pleasure, and not only humbledParker, but his whole party, for Marvell had all the wits on his side. '"The Bishop further remarks that Marvell's satire "gave occasion to theonly piece of modesty with which Dr. Parker was ever charged, namely, ofwithdrawing from town, and not importuning the press for some years, since even a face of brass must grow red when it is burnt as his hasbeen. "

Dean Swift, in commenting upon the usual fate of controversial pamphlets, which seldom live beyond their generation, says: "There is indeed anexception, when a great genius undertakes to expose a foolish piece; sowe still read Marvell's answer to Parker with pleasure, though the bookit answers be sunk long ago. "

Perhaps, in the entire compass of our language, there is not to be founda finer piece of satirical writing than Marvell's famous parody of thespeeches of Charles II. , in which the private vices and publicinconsistencies of the King, and his gross violations of his pledges oncoming to the throne, are exposed with the keenest wit and the mostlaugh-provoking irony. Charles himself, although doubtless annoyed byit, could not refrain from joining in the mirth which it excited at hisexpense. 

The friendship between Marvell and Milton remained firm and unbroken tothe last. The former exerted himself to save his illustrious friend frompersecution, and omitted no opportunity to defend him as a politician andto eulogize him as a poet. In 1654 he presented to Cromwell Milton'snoble tract in _Defence of the People of England_, and, in writing to theauthor, says of the work, "When I consider how equally it teems and riseswith so many figures, it seems to me a Trajan's column, in whose windingascent we see embossed the several monuments of your learned victories. "He was one of the first to appreciate _Paradise Lost_, and to commend itin some admirable lines. One couplet is exceedingly beautiful, in itsreference to the author's blindness:--

 "Just Heaven, thee like Tiresias to requite, Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight. "

His poems, written in the "snatched leisure" of an active political life, bear marks of haste, and are very unequal. In the midst of passages ofpastoral description worthy of Milton himself, feeble lines and hackneyedphrases occur. His _Nymph lamenting the Death of her Fawn_ is a finishedand elaborate piece, full of grace and tenderness. _Thoughts in aGarden_ will be remembered by the quotations of that exquisite critic, Charles Lamb. How pleasant is this picture!

 "What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 

 "Here at this fountain's sliding foot, Or at the fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide. There like a bird it sits and sings, And whets and claps its silver wings; And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light. 

 "How well the skilful gard'ner drew Of flowers and herbs this dial true! Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run; And, as it works, the industrious bee Computes his time as well as we. How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers!"

One of his longer poems, _Appleton House_, contains passages of admirabledescription, and many not unpleasing conceits. Witness the following:--

 "Thus I, an easy philosopher, Among the birds and trees confer, And little now to make me wants, Or of the fowl or of the plants. Give me but wings, as they, and I Straight floating on the air shall fly; Or turn me but, and you shall see I am but an inverted tree. Already I begin to call In their most learned original; And, where I language want, my signs The bird upon the bough divines. No leaf does tremble in the wind, Which I returning cannot find. Out of these scattered Sibyl's leaves, Strange prophecies my fancy weaves: What Rome, Greece, Palestine, e'er said, I in this light Mosaic read. Under this antic cope I move, Like some great prelate of the grove; Then, languishing at ease, I toss On pallets thick with velvet moss; While the wind, cooling through the boughs, Flatters with air my panting brows. Thanks for my rest, ye mossy banks! And unto you, cool zephyrs, thanks! Who, as my hair, my thoughts too shed, And winnow from the chaff my head. How safe, methinks, and strong behind These trees have I encamped my mind!"

Here is a picture of a piscatorial idler and his trout stream, worthy ofthe pencil of Izaak Walton:--

 "See in what wanton harmless folds It everywhere the meadow holds: Where all things gaze themselves, and doubt If they be in it or without; And for this shade, which therein shines Narcissus-like, the sun too pines. Oh! what a pleasure 't is to hedge My temples here in heavy sedge; Abandoning my lazy side, Stretched as a bank unto the tide; Or, to suspend my sliding foot On the osier's undermining root, And in its branches tough to hang, While at my lines the fishes twang. "

A little poem of Marvell's, which he calls Eyes and Tears, has thefollowing passages:--

 "How wisely Nature did agree With the same eyes to weep and see! That having viewed the object vain, They might be ready to complain. And, since the self-deluding sight In a false angle takes each height, These tears, which better measure all, Like watery lines and plummets fall. "

 "Happy are they whom grief doth bless, That weep the more, and see the less; And, to preserve their sight more true, Bathe still their eyes in their own dew; So Magdalen, in tears more wise, Dissolved those captivating eyes, Whose liquid chains could, flowing, meet To fetter her Redeemer's feet. The sparkling glance, that shoots desire, Drenched in those tears, does lose its fire; Yea, oft the Thunderer pity takes, And there his hissing lightning slakes. The incense is to Heaven dear, Not as a perfume, but a tear; And stars shine lovely in the night, But as they seem the tears of light. Ope, then, mine eyes, your double sluice, And practise so your noblest use; For others, too, can see or sleep, But only human eyes can weep. "

The Bermuda Emigrants has some happy lines, as the following:--

 "He hangs in shade the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night. "

Or this, which doubtless suggested a couplet in Moore's _Canadian BoatSong_:--

 "And all the way, to guide the chime, With falling oars they kept the time. "

His facetious and burlesque poetry was much admired in his day; but agreat portion of it referred to persons and events no longer of generalinterest. The satire on Holland is an exception. There is nothing inits way superior to it in our language. Many of his best pieces wereoriginally written in Latin, and afterwards translated by himself. Thereis a splendid Ode to Cromwell--a worthy companion of Milton's glorioussonnet--which is not generally known, and which we transfer entire to ourpages. Its simple dignity and the melodious flow of its versificationcommend themselves more to our feelings than its eulogy of war. It isenergetic and impassioned, and probably affords a better idea of theauthor, as an actor in the stirring drama of his time, than the "softLydian airs" of the poems that we have quoted. 

 AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN FROM IRELAND. 

 The forward youth that would appear Must now forsake his Muses dear; Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing. 

 'T is time to leave the books in dust, And oil the unused armor's rust; Removing from the wall The corslet of the hall. 

 So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious arts of peace, But through adventurous war Urged his active star. 

 And, like the three-forked lightning, first Breaking the clouds wherein it nurst, Did thorough his own side His fiery way divide. 

 For 't is all one to courage high, The emulous, or enemy; And with such to enclose Is more than to oppose. 

 Then burning through the air he went, And palaces and temples rent; And Caesar's head at last Did through his laurels blast. 

 'T is madness to resist or blame The face of angry Heaven's flame; And, if we would speak true, Much to the man is due, Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere, (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot, )

 Could by industrious valor climb To ruin the great work of time, And cast the kingdoms old Into another mould!

 Though justice against fate complain, And plead the ancient rights in vain, -- But those do hold or break, As men are strong or weak. 

 Nature, that hateth emptiness, Allows of penetration less, And therefore must make room Where greater spirits come. 

 What field of all the civil war, Where his were not the deepest scar? And Hampton shows what part He had of wiser art;

 Where, twining subtle fears with hope, He wove a net of such a scope, That Charles himself might chase To Carisbrook's narrow case;

 That hence the royal actor borne, The tragic scaffold might adorn, While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands. 

 HE nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try

 Nor called the gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right! But bowed his comely head, Down, as upon a bed. 

 This was that memorable hour, Which first assured the forced power; So when they did design The Capitol's first line, A bleeding head, where they begun, Did fright the architects to run; And yet in that the state Foresaw its happy fate. 

 And now the Irish are ashamed To see themselves in one year tamed; So much one man can do, That does best act and know. 

 They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome, confest How good he is, how just, And fit for highest trust. 

 Nor yet grown stiffer by command, But still in the Republic's hand, How fit he is to sway That can so well obey. 

 He to the Commons' feet presents A kingdom for his first year's rents, And, what he may, forbears His fame to make it theirs. 

 And has his sword and spoils ungirt, To lay them at the public's skirt; So when the falcon high Falls heavy from the sky, She, having killed, no more does search, But on the next green bough to perch, Where, when he first does lure, The falconer has her sure. 

 What may not, then, our isle presume, While Victory his crest does plume? What may not others fear, If thus he crowns each year?

 As Caesar, he, erelong, to Gaul; To Italy as Hannibal, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be. 

 The Pict no shelter now shall find Within his parti-contoured mind; But from his valor sad Shrink underneath the plaid, Happy if in the tufted brake The English hunter him mistake, Nor lay his hands a near The Caledonian deer. 

 But thou, the war's and fortune's son, March indefatigably on; And, for the last effect, Still keep the sword erect. 

 Besides the force, it has to fright The spirits of the shady night The same arts that did gain A power, must it maintain. 

Marvell was never married. The modern critic, who affirms that bachelorshave done the most to exalt women into a divinity, might have quoted hisextravagant panegyric of Maria Fairfax as an apt illustration:--

 "'T is she that to these gardens gave The wondrous beauty which they have; She straitness on the woods bestows, To her the meadow sweetness owes; Nothing could make the river be So crystal pure but only she, -- She, yet more pure, sweet, strait, and fair, Than gardens, woods, meals, rivers are Therefore, what first she on them spent They gratefully again present: The meadow carpets where to tread, The garden flowers to crown her head, And for a glass the limpid brook Where she may all her beauties look; But, since she would not have them seen, The wood about her draws a screen; For she, to higher beauty raised, Disdains to be for lesser praised; She counts her beauty to converse In all the languages as hers, Nor yet in those herself employs, But for the wisdom, not the noise, Nor yet that wisdom could affect, But as 't is Heaven's dialect. "

It has been the fashion of a class of shallow Church and State defendersto ridicule the great men of the Commonwealth, the sturdy republicans ofEngland, as sour-featured, hard-hearted ascetics, enemies of the finearts and polite literature. The works of Milton and Marvell, the prose-poem of Harrington, and the admirable discourses of Algernon Sydney are asufficient answer to this accusation. To none has it less applicationthan to the subject of our sketch. He was a genial, warmhearted man, anelegant scholar, a finished gentleman at home, and the life of everycircle which he entered, whether that of the gay court of Charles II. , amidst such men as Rochester and L'Estrange, or that of the republicanphilosophers who assembled at Miles's Coffee House, where he discussedplans of a free representative government with the author of Oceana, andCyriack Skinner, that friend of Milton, whom the bard has immortalized inthe sonnet which so pathetically, yet heroically, alludes to his ownblindness. Men of all parties enjoyed his wit and graceful conversation. His personal appearance was altogether in his favor. A clear, dark, Spanish complexion, long hair of jetty blackness falling in gracefulwreaths to his shoulders, dark eyes, full of expression and fire, afinely chiselled chin, and a mouth whose soft voluptuousness scarcelygave token of the steady purpose and firm will of the inflexiblestatesman: these, added to the prestige of his genius, and the respectwhich a lofty, self-sacrificing patriotism extorts even from those whowould fain corrupt and bribe it, gave him a ready passport to thefashionable society of the metropolis. He was one of the few who mingledin that society, and escaped its contamination, and who, "Amidst the wavering days of sin, Kept himself icy chaste and pure. "

The tone and temper of his mind may be most fitly expressed in his ownparaphrase of Horace:--

 "Climb at Court for me that will, Tottering Favor's pinnacle; All I seek is to lie still! Settled in some secret nest, In calm leisure let me rest; And, far off the public stage, Pass away my silent age. Thus, when, without noise, unknown, I have lived out all my span, I shall die without a groan, An old, honest countryman. Who, exposed to other's eyes, Into his own heart ne'er pries, Death's to him a strange surprise. "

He died suddenly in 1678, while in attendance at a popular meeting of hisold constituents at Hull. His health had previously been remarkablygood; and it was supposed by many that he was poisoned by some of hispolitical or clerical enemies. His monument, erected by his gratefulconstituency, bears the following inscription:--

 "Near this place lyeth the body of Andrew Marvell, Esq. , a man so endowed by Nature, so improved by Education, Study, and Travel, so consummated by Experience, that, joining the peculiar graces of Wit and Learning, with a singular penetration and strength of judgment; and exercising all these in the whole course of his life, with an unutterable steadiness in the ways of Virtue, he became the ornament and example of his age, beloved by good men, feared by bad, admired by all, though imitated by few; and scarce paralleled by any. But a Tombstone can neither contain his character, nor is Marble necessary to transmit it to posterity; it is engraved in the minds of this generation, and will be always legible in his inimitable writings, nevertheless. He having served twenty years successfully in Parliament, and that with such Wisdom, Dexterity, and Courage, as becomes a true Patriot, the town of Kingston-upon-Hull, from whence he was deputed to that Assembly, lamenting in his death the public loss, have erected this Monument of their Grief and their Gratitude, 1688. "

Thus lived and died Andrew Marvell. His memory is the inheritance ofAmericans as well as Englishmen. His example commends itself in anespecial manner to the legislators of our Republic. Integrity andfidelity to principle are as greatly needed at this time in our halls ofCongress as in the Parliaments of the Restoration; men are required whocan feel, with Milton, that "it is high honor done them from God, and aspecial mark of His favor, to have been selected to stand upright andsteadfast in His cause, dignified with the defence of Truth and publicliberty. "

 JOHN ROBERTS. 

Thomas Carlyle, in his history of the stout and sagacious Monk of St. Edmunds, has given us a fine picture of the actual life of Englishmen inthe middle centuries. The dim cell-lamp of the somewhat apocryphalJocelin of Brakelond becomes in his hands a huge Drummond-light, shiningover the Dark Ages like the naphtha-fed cressets over Pandemonium, proving, as he says in his own quaint way, that "England in the year 1200was no dreamland, but a green, solid place, which grew corn and severalother things; the sun shone on it; the vicissitudes of seasons and humanfortunes were there; cloth was woven, ditches dug, fallow fieldsploughed, and houses built. " And if, as the writer just quoted insists, it is a matter of no small importance to make it credible to the presentgeneration that the Past is not a confused dream of thrones and battle-fields, creeds and constitutions, but a reality, substantial as hearthand home, harvest-field and smith-shop, merry-making and death, couldmake it, we shall not wholly waste our time and that of our readers ininviting them to look with us at the rural life of England two centuriesago, through the eyes of John Roberts and his worthy son, Daniel, yeomen, of Siddington, near Cirencester. 

_The Memoirs of John Roberts, alias Haywood, by his son, Daniel Roberts_, (the second edition, printed verbatim from the original one, with itspicturesque array of italics and capital letters, ) is to be found only ina few of our old Quaker libraries. It opens with some account of thefamily. The father of the elder Roberts "lived reputably, on a littleestate of his own, " and it is mentioned as noteworthy that he married asister of a gentleman in the Commission of the Peace. Coming of ageabout the beginning of the civil wars, John and one of his youngneighbors enlisted in the service of Parliament. Hearing thatCirencester had been taken by the King's forces, they obtained leave ofabsence to visit their friends, for whose safety they naturally feltsolicitous. The following account of the reception they met with fromthe drunken and ferocious troopers of Charles I. , the "bravos of Alsatiaand the pages of Whitehall, " throws a ghastly light upon the horrors ofcivil war:--

"As they were passing by Cirencester, they were discovered, and pursuedby two soldiers of the King's party, then in possession of the town. Seeing themselves pursued, they quitted their horses, and took to theirheels; but, by reason of their accoutrements, could make little speed. They came up with my father first; and, though he begged for quarter, none they would give him, but laid on him with their swords, cutting andslashing his hands and arms, which he held up to save his head; as themarks upon them did long after testify. At length it pleased theAlmighty to put it into his mind to fall down on his face; which he did. Hereupon the soldiers, being on horseback, cried to each other, _Alight, and cut his throat_! but neither of them did; yet continued to strike andprick him about the jaws, till they thought him dead. Then they lefthim, and pursued his neighbor, whom they presently overtook and killed. Soon after they had left my father, it was said in his heart, _Rise, andflee for thy life_! which call he obeyed; and, starting upon his feet, his enemies espied him in motion, and pursued him again. He ran down asteep hill, and through a river which ran at the bottom of it; thoughwith exceeding difficulty, his boots filling with water, and his woundsbleeding very much. They followed him to the top of the hill; but, seeing he had got over, pursued him no farther. "

The surgeon who attended him was a Royalist, and bluntly told hisbleeding patient that if he had met him in the street he would havekilled him himself, but now he was willing to cure him. On his recovery, young Roberts again entered the army, and continued in it until theoverthrow, of the Monarchy. On his return, he married "Lydia Tindall, of the denomination of Puritans. " A majestic figure rises before us, on reading the statement that Sir Matthew Hale, afterwards Lord ChiefJustice of England, the irreproachable jurist and judicial saint, was"his wife's kinsman, and drew her marriage settlement. "

No stronger testimony to the high-toned morality and austere virtue ofthe Puritan yeomanry of England can be adduced than the fact that, of thefifty thousand soldiers who were discharged on the accession of CharlesII. , and left to shift for themselves, comparatively few, if any, becamechargeable to their parishes, although at that very time one out of sixof the English population were unable to support themselves. Theycarried into their farm-fields and workshops the strict habits ofCromwell's discipline; and, in toiling to repair their wasted fortunes, they manifested the same heroic fortitude and self-denial which in warhad made them such formidable and efficient "Soldiers of the Lord. " Withfew exceptions, they remained steadfast in their uncompromising non-conformity, abhorring Prelacy and Popery, and entertaining no veryorthodox notions with respect to the divine right of Kings. From themthe Quakers drew their most zealous champions; men who, in renouncing the"carnal weapons" of their old service, found employment for habitualcombativeness in hot and wordy sectarian warfare. To this day thevocabulary of Quakerism abounds in the military phrases and figures whichwere in use in the Commonwealth's time. Their old force and significanceare now in a great measure lost; but one can well imagine that, in theassemblies of the primitive Quakers, such stirring battle-cries andwarlike tropes, even when employed in enforcing or illustrating thedoctrines of peace, must have made many a stout heart' to beat quicker, tinder its drab coloring, with recollections of Naseby and Preston;transporting many a listener from the benches of his place of worship tothe ranks of Ireton and Lambert, and causing him to hear, in the place ofthe solemn and nasal tones of the preacher, the blast of Rupert's bugles, and the answering shout of Cromwell's pikemen: "Let God arise, and lethis enemies be scattered!"

Of this class was John Roberts. He threw off his knapsack, and went backto his small homestead, contented with the privilege of supportinghimself and family by daily toil, and grumbling in concert with his oldcampaign brothers at the new order of things in Church and State. To hisapprehension, the Golden Days of England ended with the parade onBlackheath to receive the restored King. He manifested no reverence forBishops and Lords, for he felt none. For the Presbyterians he had nogood will; they had brought in the King, and they denied the liberty ofprophesying. John Milton has expressed the feeling of the Independentsand Anabaptists towards this latter class, in that famous line in whichhe defines Presbyter as "old priest writ large. " Roberts was by no meansa gloomy fanatic; he had a great deal of shrewdness and humor, loved aquiet joke; and every gambling priest and swearing magistrate in theneighborhood stood in fear of his sharp wit. It was quite in course forsuch a man to fall in with the Quakers, and he appears to have done so atthe first opportunity. 

In the year 1665, "it pleased the Lord to send two women Friends out ofthe North to Cirencester, " who, inquiring after such as feared God, weredirected to the house of John Roberts. He received them kindly, and, inviting in some of his neighbors, sat down with them, whereupon "theFriends spake a few words, which had a good effect. " After the meetingwas over, he was induced to visit a "Friend" then confined in Banburyjail, whom he found preaching through the grates of his cell to thepeople in the street. On seeing Roberts he called to mind the story ofZaccheus, and declared that the word was now to all who were seekingChrist by climbing the tree of knowledge, "Come down, come down; for thatwhich is to be known of God is manifested within. " Returning home, hewent soon after to the parish meeting-house, and, entering with his haton, the priest noticed him, and, stopping short in his discourse, declared that he could not go on while one of the congregation wore hishat. He was thereupon led out of the house, and a rude fellow, stealingup behind, struck him on the back with a heavy stone. "Take that forGod's sake, " said the ruffian. "So I do, " answered Roberts, withoutlooking back to see his assailant, who the next day came and asked hisforgiveness for the injury, as he could not sleep in consequence of it. 

We next find him attending the Quarter Sessions, where three "Friends"were arraigned for entering Cirencester Church with their hats on. Venturing to utter a word of remonstrance against the summary proceedingsof the Court, Justice Stephens demanded his name, and, on being told, exclaimed, in the very tone and temper of Jeffreys:

I 've heard of you. I'm glad I have you here. You deserve a stonedoublet. There's many an honester man than you hanged. "

"It may be so, " said Roberts, "but what becomes of such as hang honestmen?"

The Justice snatched a ball of wax and hurled it at the quiet questioner. "I 'll send you to prison, " said he; "and if any insurrection or tumultoccurs, I 'll come and cut your throat with my own sword. " A warrant wasmade out, and he was forthwith sent to the jail. In the evening, JusticeSollis, his uncle, released him, on condition of his promise to appear atthe next Sessions. He returned to his home, but in the night followingbe was impressed with a belief that it was his duty to visit JusticeStephens. Early in the morning, with a heavy heart, without eating ordrinking, he mounted his horse and rode towards the residence of hisenemy. When he came in sight of the house, he felt strong misgivingsthat his uncle, Justice Sollis, who had so kindly released him, and hisneighbors generally, would condemn him for voluntarily running intodanger, and drawing down trouble upon himself and family. He alightedfrom his horse, and sat on the ground in great doubt and sorrow, when avoice seemed to speak within him, "Go, and I will go with thee. " TheJustice met him at the door. "I am come, " said Roberts, "in the fearand dread of Heaven, to warn thee to repent of thy wickedness with speed, lest the Lord send thee to the pit that is bottomless!" This terriblesummons awed the Justice; he made Roberts sit down on his couch besidehim, declaring that he received the message from God, and askedforgiveness for the wrong he had done him. 

The parish vicar of Siddington at this time was George Bull, afterwardsBishop of St. David's, whom Macaulay speaks of as the only rural parishpriest who, during the latter part of the seventeenth century, was notedas a theologian, or Who possessed a respectable library. Roberts refusedto pay the vicar his tithes, and the vicar sent him to prison. It wasthe priest's "Short Method with Dissenters. " While the sturdy Non-conformist lay in prison, he was visited by the great woman of theneighborhood, Lady Dunch, of Down Amney. "What do you lie in jail for?"inquired the lady. Roberts replied that it was because he could not putbread into the mouth of a hireling priest. The lady suggested that hemight let somebody else satisfy the demands of the priest; and that shehad a mind to do this herself, as she wished to talk with him onreligious subjects. To this Roberts objected; there were poor people whoneeded her charities, which would be wasted on such devourers as thepriests, who, like Pharaoh's lean kine, were eating up the fat and thegoodly, without looking a whit the better. But the lady, who seems tohave been pleased and amused by the obstinate prisoner, paid the titheand the jail fees, and set him at liberty, making him fix a day when hewould visit her. At the time appointed he went to Down Amney, and wasovertaken on the way by the priest of Cirencester, who had been sent forto meet the Quaker. They found the lady ill in bed; but she had thembrought to her chamber, being determined not to lose the amusement ofhearing a theological discussion, to which she at once urged them, declaring that it would divert her and do her good. The parson began byaccusing the Quakers of holding Popish doctrines. The Quaker retortedby telling him that if he would prove the Quakers like the Papists in onething, by the help of God, he would prove him like them in ten. After abrief and sharp dispute, the priest, finding his adversary's wit too keenfor his comfort, hastily took his leave. 

The next we hear of Roberts he is in Gloucester Castle, subjected to thebrutal usage of a jailer, who took a malicious satisfaction in thrustingdecent and respectable Dissenters, imprisoned for matters of conscience, among felons and thieves. A poor vagabond tinker was hired to play atnight on his hautboy, and prevent their sleeping; but Roberts spoke tohim in such a manner that the instrument fell from his hand; and he toldthe jailer that he would play no more, though he should hang him up atthe door for it. 

How he was released from jail does not appear; but the narrative tells usthat some time after an apparitor came to cite him to the Bishop's Courtat Gloucester. When he was brought before the Court, Bishop Nicholson, akind-hearted and easy-natured prelate, asked him the number of hischildren, and how many of them had been _bishoped_?

"None, that I know of, " said Roberts. 

"What reason, " asked the Bishop, "do you give for this?"

"A very good one, " said the Quaker: "most of my children were born inOliver's days, when Bishops were out of fashion. "

The Bishop and the Court laughed at this sally, and proceeded to questionhim touching his views of baptism. Roberts admitted that John had aDivine commission to baptize with water, but that he never heard ofanybody else that had. The Bishop reminded him that Christ's disciplesbaptized. "What 's that to me?" responded Roberts. "Paul says he wasnot sent to baptize, but to preach the Gospel. And if he was not sent, who required it at his hands? Perhaps he had as little thanks for hislabor as thou hast for thine; and I would willingly know who sent thee tobaptize?"

The Bishop evaded this home question, and told him he was there to answerfor not coming to church. Roberts denied the charge; sometimes he wentto church, and sometimes it came to him. "I don't call that a churchwhich you do, which is made of wood and stone. "

"What do you call it?" asked the Bishop. 

"It might be properly called a mass-house, " was the reply; "for it wasbuilt for that purpose. " The Bishop here told him he might go for thepresent; he would take another opportunity to convince him of his errors. 

The next person called was a Baptist minister, who, seeing that Robertsrefused to put off his hat, kept on his also. The Bishop sternlyreminded him that he stood before the King's Court, and therepresentative of the majesty of England; and that, while some regardmight be had to the scruples of men who made a conscience of putting offthe hat, such contempt could not be tolerated on the part of one whocould put it off to every mechanic be met. The Baptist pulled off hishat, and apologized, on the ground of illness. 

We find Roberts next following George Fox on a visit to Bristol. On hisreturn, reaching his house late in the evening, he saw a man standing inthe moonlight at his door, and knew him to be a bailiff. 

"Hast thou anything against me?" asked Roberts. 

"No, " said the bailiff, "I've wronged you enough, God forgive me! Thosewho lie in wait for you are my Lord Bishop's bailiffs; they are mercilessrogues. Ever, my master, while you live, please a knave, for an honestman won't hurt you. "

The next morning, having, as he thought, been warned by a dream to do so, he went to the Bishop's house at Cleave, near Gloucester. Confrontingthe Bishop in his own hall, he told him that he had come to know why hewas hunting after him with his bailiffs, and why he was his adversary. "The King is your adversary, " said the Bishop; "you have broken theKing's law. " Roberts ventured to deny the justice of the law. "What!"cried the Bishop, "do such men as you find fault with the laws?" "Yes, "replied the other, stoutly; "and I tell thee plainly to thy face, it ishigh time wiser men were chosen, to make better laws. "

The discourse turning upon the Book of Common Prayer, Roberts asked theBishop if the sin of idolatry did not consist in worshipping the work ofmen's hands. The Bishop admitted it, as in the case of Nebuchadnezzar'simage. 

"Then, " said Roberts, "whose hands made your Prayer Book? It could notmake itself. "

"Do you compare our Prayer Book to Nebuchadnezzar's image?" cried theBishop. 

"Yes, " returned Roberts, "that was his image; this is thine. I no moredare bow to thy Common-Prayer Book than the Three Children toNebuchadnezzar's image. "

"Yours is a strange upstart religion, " said the Bishop. 

Roberts told him it was older than his by several hundred years. At thisclaim of antiquity the prelate was greatly amused, and told Roberts thatif he would make out his case, he should speed the better for it. 

"Let me ask thee, " said Roberts, "where thy religion was in Oliver'sdays, when thy Common-Prayer Book was as little regarded as an oldalmanac, and your priests, with a few honest exceptions, turned with thetide, and if Oliver had put mass in their mouths would have conformed toit for the sake of their bellies. "

"What would you have us do?" asked the Bishop. "Would you have hadOliver cut our throats?"

"No, " said Roberts; "but what sort of religion was that which you wereafraid to venture your throats for?"

The Bishop interrupted him to say, that in Oliver's days he had neverowned any other religion than his own, although he did not dare to openlymaintain it as he then did. 

"Well, " continued Roberts, "if thou didst not think thy religion worthventuring thy throat for then, I desire thee to consider that it is notworth the cutting of other men's throats now for not conforming to it. "

"You are right, " responded the frank Bishop. "I hope we shall have acare how we cut men's throats. "

The following colloquy throws some light on the condition and characterof the rural clergy at this period, and goes far to confirm thestatements of Macaulay, which many have supposed exaggerated. Baxter'searly religious teachers were more exceptionable than even the maudlinmummer whom Roberts speaks of, one of them being "the excellentest stage-player in all the country, and a good gamester and goodfellow, who, having received Holy Orders, forged the like for a neighbor's son, who onthe strength of that title officiated at the desk and altar; and afterhim came an attorney's clerk, who had tippled himself into so greatpoverty that he had no other way to live than to preach. "

J. ROBERTS. I was bred up under a Common-Prayer Priest; and a poordrunken old Man he was. Sometimes he was so drunk he could not say hisPrayers, and at best he could but say them; though I think he was by fara better Man than he that is Priest there now. 

BISHOP. Who is your Minister now?

J. ROBERTS. My Minister is Christ Jesus, the Minister of the everlastingCovenant; but the present Priest of the Parish is George Bull. 

BISHOP. Do you say that drunken old Man was better than Mr. Bull? Itell you, I account Mr. Bull as sound, able, and orthodox a Divine as anywe have among us. 

J. ROBERT. I am sorry for that; for if he be one of the best of you, Ibelieve the Lord will not suffer you long; for he is a proud, ambitious, ungodly Man: he hath often sued me at Law, and brought his Servants toswear against me wrongfully. His Servants themselves have confessed tomy Servants, that I might have their Ears; for their Master made themdrunk, and then told them they were set down in the List as Witnessesagainst me, and they must swear to it: And so they did, and broughttreble Damages. They likewise owned they took Tithes from my Servants, threshed them out, and sold them for their Master. They have alsoseveral Times took my Cattle out of my Grounds, drove them to Fairs andMarkets, and sold them, without giving me any Account. 

BISHOP. I do assure you I will inform Mr. Bull of what you say. 

J. ROBERTS. Very well. And if thou pleasest to send for me to face him, I shall make much more appear to his Face than I'll say behind his Back. 

After much more discourse, Roberts told the Bishop that if it would dohim any good to have him in jail, he would voluntarily go and deliverhimself up to the keeper of Gloucester Castle. The good-natured prelaterelented at this, and said he should not be molested or injured, andfurther manifested his good will by ordering refreshments. One of theBishop's friends who was present was highly offended by the freedom ofRoberts with his Lordship, and undertook to rebuke him, but was soreadily answered that he flew into a rage. "If all the Quakers inEngland, " said he, "are not hanged in a month's time, I 'll be hanged forthem. " "Prithee, friend, " quoth Roberts, "remember and be as good as thyword!"

Good old Bishop Nicholson, it would seem, really liked his incorrigibleQuaker neighbor, and could enjoy heartily his wit and humor, even whenexercised at the expense of his own ecclesiastical dignity. He admiredhis blunt honesty and courage. Surrounded by flatterers and self-seekers, he found satisfaction in the company and conversation of onewho, setting aside all conventionalisms, saw only in my Lord Bishop apoor fellow-probationer, and addressed him on terms of consciousequality. The indulgence which he extended to him naturally enoughprovoked many of the inferior clergy, who had been sorely annoyed by thesturdy Dissenter's irreverent witticisms and unsparing ridicule. VicarBull, of Siddington, and Priest Careless, of Cirencester, in particular, urged the Bishop to deal sharply with him. The former accused him ofdealing in the Black Art, and filled the Bishop's ear with certainmarvellous stories of his preternatural sagacity and discernment indiscovering cattle which were lost. The Bishop took occasion to inquireinto these stories; and was told by Roberts that, except in a singleinstance, the discoveries were the result of his acquaintance with thehabits of animals and his knowledge of the localities where they werelost. The circumstance alluded to, as an exception, will be best relatedin his own words. 

"I had a poor Neighbor, who had a Wife and six Children, and whom thechief men about us permitted to keep six or seven Cows upon the Waste, which were the principal Support of the Family, and preserved them frombecoming chargeable to the Parish. One very stormy night the Cattle wereleft in the Yard as usual, but could not be found in the morning. TheMan and his Sons had sought them to no purpose; and, after they had beenlost four days, his Wife came to me, and, in a great deal of grief, cried, 'O Lord! Master Hayward, we are undone! My Husband and I must goa begging in our old age! We have lost all our Cows. My Husband and theBoys have been round the country, and can hear nothing of them. I'lldown on my bare knees, if you'll stand our Friend!' I desired she wouldnot be in such an agony, and told her she should not down on her knees tome; but I would gladly help them in what I could. 'I know, ' said she, 'you are a good Man, and God will hear your Prayers. ' I desire thee, said I, to be still and quiet in thy mind; perhaps thy Husband or Sonsmay hear of them to-day; if not, let thy Husband get a horse, and come tome to-morrow morning as soon as he will; and I think, if it please God, to go with him to seek then. The Woman seemed transported with joy, crying, 'Then we shall have our Cows again. ' Her Faith being so strong, brought the greater Exercise on me, with strong cries to the Lord, thathe would be pleased to make me instrumental in his Hand, for the help ofthe poor Family. In the Morning early comes the old Man. In the Name ofGod, says he, which way shall we go to seek them? I, being deeplyconcerned in my Mind, did not answer him till he had thrice repeated it;and then I answered, In the Name of God, I would go to seek them; andsaid (before I was well aware) we will go to Malmsbury, and at the Horse-Fair we shall find them. When I had spoken the Words, I was muchtroubled lest they should not prove true. It was very early, and thefirst Man we saw, I asked him if he had seen any stray Milch Cowsthereabouts. What manner of Cattle are they? said he. And the old Mandescribing their Mark and Number, he told us there were some stoodchewing their Cuds in the Horse-Fair; but thinking they belonged to somein the Neighborhood, he did not take particular Notice of them. When wecame to the Place, the old Man found them to be his; but suffered hisTransports of Joy to rise so high, that I was ashamed of his behavior;for he fell a hallooing, and threw up his Montier Cap in the Air severaltimes, till he raised the Neighbors out of their Beds to see what was theMatter. 'O!' said he, 'I had lost my Cows four or five days ago, andthought I should never see them again; and this honest Neighbor of minetold me this Morning, by his own Fire's Side, nine Miles off, that hereI should find them, and here I have them!' Then up goes his Cap again. I begged of the poor Man to be quiet, and take his Cows home, and bethankful; as indeed I was, being reverently bowed in my Spirit before theLord, in that he was pleased to put the words of Truth into my mouth. And the Man drove his Cattle home, to the great Joy of his Family. "

Not long after the interview with the Bishop at his own palace, which hasbeen related, that dignitary, with the Lord Chancellor, in their coaches, and about twenty clergymen on horseback, made a call at the humbledwelling of Roberts, on their way to Tedbury, where the Bishop was tohold a Visitation. "I could not go out of the country without seeingyou, " said the prelate, as the farmer came to his coach door and pressedhim to alight. 

"John, " asked Priest Evans, the Bishop's kinsman, "is your house free toentertain such men as we are?"

"Yes, George, " said Roberts; "I entertain honest men, and sometimesothers. "

"My Lord, " said Evans, turning to the Bishop, "John's friends are thehonest men, and we are the others. "

The Bishop told Roberts that they could not then alight, but would gladlydrink with him; whereupon the good wife brought out her best beer. "I commend you, John, " quoth the Bishop, as he paused from his heartydraught; "you keep a cup of good beer in your house. I have not drankany that has pleased me better since I left home. " The cup passed nextto the Chancellor, and finally came to Priest Bull, who thrust it aside, declaring that it was full of hops and heresy. As to hops, Robertsreplied, he could not say, but as for heresy, he bade the priest takenote that the Lord Bishop had drank of it, and had found no heresy in thecup. 

The Bishop leaned over his coach door and whispered: "John, I advise youto take care you don't offend against the higher Powers. I have heardgreat complaints against you, that you are the Ringleader of the Quakersin this Country; and that, if you are not suppressed, all will signifynothing. Therefore, pray, John, take care, for the future, you don'toffend any more. "

"I like thy Counsel very well, " answered Roberts, "and intend to take it. But thou knowest God is the higher Power; and you mortal Men, howeveradvanced in this World, are but the lower Power; and it is only because Iendeavor to be obedient to the will of the higher Powers, that the lowerPowers are angry with me. But I hope, with the assistance of God, totake thy Counsel, and be subject to the higher Powers, let the lowerPowers do with me as it may please God to suffer them. "

The Bishop then said he would like to talk with him further, andrequested him to meet him at Tedbury the next day. At the timeappointed, Roberts went to the inn where the Bishop lodged, and wasinvited to dine with him. After dinner was over, the prelate told himthat he must go to church, and leave off holding conventicles at hishouse, of which great complaint was made. This he flatly refused to do;and the Bishop, losing patience, ordered the constable to be sent for. Roberts told him that if, after coming to his house under the guise offriendship, he should betray him and send him to prison, he, who hadhitherto commended him for his moderation, would put his name in print, and cause it to stink before all sober people. It was the priests, hetold him, who set him on; but, instead of hearkening to them, he shouldcommend them to some honest vocation, and not suffer them to rob theirhonest neighbors, and feed on the fruits of other men's toil, likecaterpillars. 

"Whom do you call caterpillars?" cried Priest Rich, of North Surrey. 

"We farmers, " said Roberts, "call those so who live on other men'sfields, and by the sweat of other men's brows; and if thou dost so, thoumayst be one of them. "

This reply so enraged the Bishop's attendants that they could only beappeased by an order for the constable to take him to jail. In fact, there was some ground for complaint of a lack of courtesy on the part ofthe blunt farmer; and the Christian virtue of forbearance, even inBishops, has its limits. 

The constable, obeying the summons, came to the inn, at the door of whichthe landlady met him. "What do you here!" cried the good woman, "whenhonest John is going to be sent to prison? Here, come along with me. "The constable, nothing loath, followed her into a private room, where sheconcealed him. Word was sent to the Bishop, that the constable was notto be found; and the prelate, telling Roberts he could send him to jailin the afternoon, dismissed him until evening. At the hour appointed, the latter waited upon the Bishop, and found with him only one priest anda lay gentleman. The priest begged the Bishop to be allowed to discoursewith the prisoner; and, leave being granted, he began by telling Robertsthat the knowledge of the Scriptures had made him mad, and that it was agreat pity he had ever seen them. 

"Thou art an unworthy man, " said the Quaker, "and I 'll not dispute withthee. If the knowledge of the Scriptures has made me mad, the knowledgeof the sack-pot hath almost made thee mad; and if we two madmen shoulddispute about religion, we should make mad work of it. "

"An 't please you, my Lord, " said the scandalized priest, "he says I 'mdrunk. "

The Bishop asked Roberts to repeat his words; and, instead ofreprimanding him, as the priest expected, was so much amused that he heldup his hands and laughed; whereupon the offended inferior took a hastyleave. The Bishop, who was evidently glad to be rid of him, now turnedto Roberts, and complained that he had dealt hardly with him, in tellinghim, before so many gentlemen, that he had sought to betray him byprofessions of friendship, in order to send him to prison; and that, if he had not done as he did, people would have reported him as anencourager of the Quakers. "But now, John, " said the good prelate, "I'llburn the warrant against you before your face. " "You know, Mr. Burnet, "he continued, addressing his attendant, "that a Ring of Bells may be madeof excellent metal, but they may be out of tune; so we may say of John:he is a man of as good metal as I ever met with, but quite out of tune. "

"Thou mayst well say so, " quoth Roberts, "for I can't tune after thypipe. "

The inferior clergy were by no means so lenient as the Bishop. Theyregarded Roberts as the ringleader of Dissent, an impracticable, obstinate, contumacious heretic, not only refusing to pay them titheshimself, but encouraging others to the same course. Hence, they thoughtit necessary to visit upon him the full rigor of the law. His crops weretaken from his field, and his cattle from his yard. He was oftencommitted to the jail, where, on one occasion, he was kept, with manyothers, for a long time, through the malice of the jailer, who refused toput the names of his prisoners in the Calendar, that they might have ahearing. But the spirit of the old Commonwealth's man remainedsteadfast. When Justice George, at the Ram in Cirencester, told him hemust conform, and go to church, or suffer the penalty of the law, hereplied that he had heard indeed that some were formerly whipped out ofthe Temple, but he had never heard of any being whipped in. The Justice, pointing, through the open window of the inn, at the church tower, askedhim what that was. "Thou mayst call it a daw-house, " answered theincorrigible Quaker. "Dost thou not see how the jackdaws flock aboutit?"

Sometimes it happened that the clergyman was also a magistrate, andunited in his own person the authority of the State and the zeal of theChurch. Justice Parsons, of Gloucester, was a functionary of this sort. He wielded the sword of the Spirit on the Sabbath against Dissenters, andon week days belabored them with the arm of flesh and the constable'sstaff. At one time he had between forty and fifty of them locked up inGloucester Castle, among them Roberts and his sons, on the charge ofattending conventicles. But the troublesome prisoners baffled hisvigilance, and turned their prison into a meeting-house, and held theirconventicles in defiance of him. The Reverend Justice pounced upon themon one occasion, with his attendants. An old, gray-haired man, formerlya strolling fencing-master, was preaching when he came in. The Justicelaid hold of him by his white locks, and strove to pull him down, but thetall fencing-raster stood firm and spoke on; he then tried to gag him, but failed in that also. He demanded the names of the prisoners, but noone answered him. A voice (we fancy it was that of our old friendRoberts) called out: "The Devil must be hard put to it to have hisdrudgery done, when the Priests must leave their pulpits to turninformers against poor prisoners. " The Justice obtained a list of thenames of the prisoners, made out on their commitment, and, taking it forgranted that all were still present, issued warrants for the collectionof fines by levies upon their estates. Among the names was that of apoor widow, who had been discharged, and was living, at the time theclerical magistrate swore she was at the meeting, twenty miles distantfrom the prison. 

Soon after this event, our old friend fell sick. He had been dischargedfrom prison, but his sons were still confined. The eldest had leave, however, to attend him in his illness, and he bears his testimony thatthe Lord was pleased to favor his father with His living presence in hislast moments. In keeping with the sturdy Non-conformist's life, he wasinterred at the foot of his own orchard, in Siddington, a spot he hadselected for a burial-ground long before, where neither the foot of apriest nor the shadow of a steeple-house could rest upon his grave. 

In closing our notice of this pleasant old narrative, we may remark thatthe light it sheds upon the antagonistic religious parties of the time iscalculated to dissipate prejudices and correct misapprehensions, commonalike to Churchmen and Dissenters. The genial humor, sound sense, andsterling virtues of the Quaker farmer should teach the one class thatpoor James Nayler, in his craziness and folly, was not a fairrepresentative of his sect; while the kind nature, the heartyappreciation of goodness, and the generosity and candor of BishopNicholson should convince the other class that a prelate is notnecessarily, and by virtue of his mitre, a Laud or a Bonner. TheDissenters of the seventeenth century may well be forgiven for theasperity of their language; men whose ears had been cropped because theywould not recognize Charles I. As a blessed martyr, and his scandalousson as the head of the Church, could scarcely be expected to makediscriminations, or suggest palliating circumstances, favorable to anyclass of their adversaries. To use the homely but apt simile ofMcFingal, "The will's confirmed by treatment horrid, As hides grow harder when they're curried. "

They were wronged, and they told the world of it. Unlike Shakespeare'scardinal, they did not die without a sign. They branded, by their fierceepithets, the foreheads of their persecutors more deeply than thesheriff's hot iron did their own. If they lost their ears, they enjoyedthe satisfaction of making those of their oppressors tingle. Knowingtheir persecutors to be in the wrong, they did not always inquire whetherthey themselves had been entirely right, and had done no unrequired worksof supererogation by the way of "testimony" against their neighbors' modecf worship. And so from pillory and whipping-post, from prison andscaffold, they sent forth their wail and execration, their miserere andanathema, and the sound thereof has reached down to our day. May itnever wholly die away until, the world over, the forcing of conscience isregarded as a crime against humanity and a usurpation of God'sprerogative. But abhorring, as we must, persecution under whateverpretext it is employed, we are not, therefore, to conclude that allpersecutors were bad and unfeeling men. Many of their severities, uponwhich we now look back with horror, were, beyond a question, the resultof an intense anxiety for the well-being of immortal souls, endangered bythe poison which, in their view, heresy was casting into the waters oflife. Coleridge, in one of the moods of a mind which traversed inimagination the vast circle of human experience, reaches this point inhis Table-Talk. "It would require, " says he, "stronger arguments thanany I have seen to convince me that men in authority have not a right, involved in an imperative duty, to deter those under their control fromteaching or countenancing doctrines which they believe to be damnable, and even to punish with death those who violate such prohibition. " Itwould not be very difficult for us to imagine a tender-hearted Inquisitorof this stamp, stifling his weak compassion for the shrieking wretchunder bodily torment by his strong pity for souls in danger of perditionfrom the sufferer's heresy. We all know with what satisfaction thegentle-spirited Melanethon heard of the burning of Servetus, and withwhat zeal he defended it. The truth is, the notion that an intellectualrecognition of certain dogmas is the essential condition of salvationlies at the bottom of all intolerance in matters of religion. Under thisimpression, men are too apt to forget that the great end of Christianityis love, and that charity is its crowning virtue; they overlook thebeautiful significance of the parable of the heretic Samaritan and theorthodox Pharisee: and thus, by suffering their speculative opinions ofthe next world to make them uncharitable and cruel in this, they arereally the worse for them, even admitting them to be true. 

 SAMUEL HOPKINS. 

Three quarters of a century ago, the name of Samuel Hopkins was asfamiliar as a household word throughout New England. It was a spellwherewith to raise at once a storm of theological controversy. Thevenerable minister who bore it had his thousands of ardent youngdisciples, as well as defenders and followers of mature age andacknowledged talent; a hundred pulpits propagated the dogmas which he hadengrafted on the stock of Calvinism. Nor did he lack numerous andpowerful antagonists. The sledge ecclesiastic, with more or less effect, was unceasingly plied upon the strong-linked chain of argument which heslowly and painfully elaborated in the seclusion of his parish. Thepress groaned under large volumes of theological, metaphysical, andpsychological disquisition, the very thought of which is now "a wearinessto the flesh;" in rapid succession pamphlet encountered pamphlet, horned, beaked, and sharp of talon, grappling with each other in mid-air, likeMilton's angels. That loud controversy, the sound whereof went overChristendom, awakening responses from beyond the Atlantic, has now diedaway; its watchwords no longer stir the blood of belligerent sermonizers;its very terms and definitions have well-nigh become obsolete andunintelligible. The hands which wrote and the tongues which spoke inthat day are now all cold and silent; even Emmons, the brave oldintellectual athlete of Franklin, now sleeps with his fathers, --the lastof the giants. Their fame is still in all the churches; effeminateclerical dandyism still affects to do homage to their memories; theearnest young theologian, exploring with awe the mountainous debris oftheir controversial lore, ponders over the colossal thoughts entombedtherein, as he would over the gigantic fossils of an early creation, andendeavors in vain to recall to the skeleton abstractions before him thewarm and vigorous life wherewith they were once clothed; butHopkinsianism, as a distinct and living school of philosophy, theology, and metaphysics, no longer exists. It has no living oracles left; andits memory survives only in the doctrinal treatises of the elder andyounger Edwards, Hopkins, Bellamy, and Emmons. 

It is no part of our present purpose to discuss the merits of the systemin question. Indeed, looking at the great controversy which divided NewEngland Calvinism in the eighteenth century, from a point of view whichsecures our impartiality and freedom from prejudice, we find itexceedingly difficult to get a precise idea of what was actually atissue. To our poor comprehension, much of the dispute hinges upon namesrather than things; on the manner of reaching conclusions quite as muchas upon the conclusions themselves. Its origin may be traced to thegreat religious awakening of the middle of the past century, when thedogmas of the Calvinistic faith were subjected to the inquiry of acuteand earnest minds, roused up from the incurious ease and passiveindifference of nominal orthodoxy. Without intending it, it broke downsome of the barriers which separated Arminianism and Calvinism; itsproduct, Hopkinsianism, while it pushed the doctrine of the Genevanreformer on the subject of the Divine decrees and agency to that extremepoint where it well-nigh loses itself in Pantheism, held at the same timethat guilt could not be hereditary; that man, being responsible for hissinful acts, and not for his sinful nature, can only be justified by apersonal holiness, consisting not so much in legal obedience as in thatdisinterested benevolence which prefers the glory of God and the welfareof universal being above the happiness of self. It had the merit, whatever it may be, of reducing the doctrines of the Reformation to aningenious and scholastic form of theology; of bringing them boldly to thetest of reason and philosophy. Its leading advocates were not mereheartless reasoners and closet speculators. They taught that sin wasselfishness, and holiness self-denying benevolence, and they endeavoredto practise accordingly. Their lives recommended their doctrines. Theywere bold and faithful in the discharge of what they regarded as duty. In the midst of slave-holders, and in an age of comparative darkness onthe subject of human rights, Hopkins and the younger Edwards lifted uptheir voices for the slave. And twelve years ago, when Abolitionism waseverywhere spoken against, and the whole land was convulsed with mobs tosuppress it, the venerable Emmons, burdened with the weight of ninetyyears, made a journey to New York, to attend a meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society. Let those who condemn the creed of these men see toit that they do not fall behind them in practical righteousness andfaithfulness to the convictions of duty. 

Samuel Hopkins, who gave his name to the religious system in question, was born in Waterbury, Connecticut, in 1721. In his fifteenth year hewas placed under the care of a neighboring clergyman, preparatory forcollege, which he entered about a year after. In 1740, the celebratedWhitefield visited New Haven, and awakened there, as elsewhere, seriousinquiry on religious subjects. He was followed the succeeding spring byGilbert Tennent, the New Jersey revivalist, a stirring and powerfulpreacher. A great change took place in the college. All the phenomenawhich President Edwards has described in his account of the Northamptonawakening were reproduced among the students. The excellent DavidBrainard, then a member of the college, visited Hopkins in his apartment, and, by a few plain and earnest words, convinced him that he was astranger to vital Christianity. In his autobiographical sketch, hedescribes in simple and affecting language the dark and desolate state ofhis mind at this period, and the particular exercise which finallyafforded him some degree of relief, and which he afterwards appears tohave regarded as his conversion from spiritual death to life. When hefirst heard Tennent, regarding him as the greatest as well as the best ofmen, he made up his mind to study theology with him; but just before thecommencement at which he was to take his degree, the elder Edwardspreached at New Haven. Struck by the power of the great theologian, heat once resolved to make him his spiritual father. In the winterfollowing, he left his father's house on horseback, on a journey ofeighty miles to Northampton. Arriving at the house of President Edwards, he was disappointed by hearing that he was absent on a preaching tour. But he was kindly received by the gifted and accomplished lady of themansion, and encouraged to remain during the winter. Still doubtful inrespect to his own spiritual state, he was, he says, "very gloomy, andretired most of the time in his chamber. " The kind heart of his amiablehostess was touched by his evident affliction. After some days she cameto his chamber, and, with the gentleness and delicacy of a true woman, inquired into the cause of his unhappiness. The young student disclosedto her, without reserve, the state of his feelings and the extent of hisfears. "She told me, " says the Doctor, "that she had had peculiarexercises respecting me since I had been in the family; that she trustedI should receive light and comfort, and doubted not that God intended yetto do great things by me. "

After pursuing his studies for some months with the Puritan philosopher, young Hopkins commenced preaching, and, in 1743, was ordained atSheffield, (now Great Barrington') in the western part of Massachusetts. There were at the time only about thirty families in the town. He saysit was a matter of great regret to him to be obliged to settle so farfrom his spiritual guide and tutor but seven years after he was relievedand gratified by the removal of Edwards to Stockbridge, as the Indianmissionary at that station, seven miles only from his own residence; andfor several years the great metaphysician and his favorite pupil enjoyedthe privilege of familiar intercourse with each other. The removal ofthe former in 1758 to Princeton, New Jersey, and his death, which soonfollowed, are mentioned in the diary of Hopkins as sore trials andafflictive dispensations. 

Obtaining a dismissal from his society in Great Barrington in 1769, he was installed at Newport the next year, as minister of the firstCongregational church in that place. Newport, at this period, was, insize, wealth, and commercial importance, the second town in New England. It was the great slave mart of the North. Vessels loaded with stolen menand women and children, consigned to its merchant princes, lay at itswharves; immortal beings were sold daily in its market, like cattle at afair. The soul of Hopkins was moved by the appalling spectacle. Astrong conviction of the great wrong of slavery, and of its utterincompatibility with the Christian profession, seized upon his mind. While at Great Barrington, he had himself owned a slave, whom he had soldon leaving the place, without compunction or suspicion in regard to therightfulness of the transaction. He now saw the origin of the system inits true light; he heard the seamen engaged in the African trade tell ofthe horrible scenes of fire and blood which they had witnessed, and inwhich they had been actors; he saw the half-suffocated wretches broughtup from their noisome and narrow prison, their squalid countenances andskeleton forms bearing fearful evidence of the suffering attendant uponthe transportation from their native homes. The demoralizing effects ofslaveholding everywhere forced themselves upon his attention, for theevil had struck its roots deeply in the community, and there were fewfamilies into which it had not penetrated. The right to deal in slaves, and use them as articles of property, was questioned by no one; men ofall professions, clergymen and church-members, consulted only theirinterest and convenience as to their purchase or sale. The magnitude ofthe evil at first appalled him; he felt it to be his duty to condemn it, but for a time even his strong spirit faltered and turned pale incontemplation of the consequences to be apprehended from an attack uponit. Slavery and slave-trading were at that time the principal source ofwealth to the island; his own church and congregation were personallyinterested in the traffic; all were implicated in its guilt. He stoodalone, as it were, in its condemnation; with here and there an exception, all Christendom maintained the rightfulness of slavery. No movement hadyet been made in England against the slave-trade; the decision ofGranville Sharp's Somerset case had not yet taken place. The Quakers, even, had not at that time redeemed themselves from the opprobrium. Under these circumstances, after a thorough examination of the subject, he resolved, in the strength of the Lord, to take his stand openly anddecidedly on the side of humanity. He prepared a sermon for the purpose, and for the first time from a pulpit of New England was heard an emphatictestimony against the sin of slavery. In contrast with the unselfish anddisinterested benevolence which formed in his mind the essential elementof Christian holiness, he held up the act of reducing human beings to thecondition of brutes, to minister to the convenience, the luxury, andlusts of the owner. He had expected bitter complaint and opposition fromhis hearers, but was agreeably surprised to find that in most cases hissermon only excited astonishment in their minds that they themselves hadnever before looked at the subject in the light in which he presented it. Steadily and faithfully pursuing the matter, he had the satisfaction tocarry with him his church, and obtain from it, in the midst of aslaveholding and slavetrading community, a resolution every way worthy ofnote in this day of cowardly compromise with the evil on the part of ourleading ecclesiastical bodies:--

"Resolved, That the slave-trade and the slavery of the Africans, as ithas existed among us, is a gross violation of the righteousness andbenevolence which are so much inculcated in the Gospel, and therefore wewill not tolerate it in this church. "

There are few instances on record of moral heroism superior to that ofSamuel Hopkins, in thus rebuking slavery in the time and place of itspower. Honor to the true man ever, who takes his life in his hands, and, at all hazards, speaks the word which is given him to utter, whether menwill hear or forbear, whether the end thereof is to be praise or censure, gratitude or hatred. It well may be doubted whether on that Sabbath daythe angels of God, in their wide survey of His universe, looked upon anobler spectacle than that of the minister of Newport, rising up beforehis slaveholding congregation, and demanding, in the name of the Highest, the "deliverance of the captive, and the opening of prison doors to themthat were bound. "

Dr. Hopkins did not confine his attention solely to slaveholding in hisown church and congregation. He entered into correspondence with theearly Abolitionists of Europe as well as his own country. He laboredwith his brethren in the ministry to bring then to his own view of thegreat wrong of holding men as slaves. In a visit to his early friend, Dr. Bellamy, at Bethlehem, who was the owner of a slave, he pressed thesubject kindly but earnestly upon his attention. Dr. Eellamy urged theusual arguments in favor of slavery. Dr. Hopkins refuted them in themost successful manner, and called upon his friend to do an act of simplejustice, in giving immediate freedom to his slave. Dr. Bellamy, thushardly pressed, said that the slave was a most judicious and faithfulfellow; that, in the management of his farm, he could trust everything tohis discretion; that he treated him well, and he was so happy in hisservice that he would refuse his freedom if it were offered him. 

"Will you, " said Hopkins, "consent to his liberation, if he reallydesires it?"

"Yes, certainly, " said Dr. Bellamy. 

"Then let us try him, " said his guest. 

The slave was at work in an adjoining field, and at the call of hismaster came promptly to receive his commands. 

"Have you a good master?" inquired Hopkins. 

"O yes; massa, he berry good. "

"But are you happy in your present condition?" queried the Doctor. 

"O yes, massa; berry happy. "

Dr. Bellamy here could scarcely suppress his exultation at what hesupposed was a complete triumph over his anti-slavery brother. But thepertinacious guest continued his queries. 

"Would you not be more happy if you were free?"

"O yes, massa, " exclaimed the negro, his dark face glowing with new life;"berry much more happy!"

To the honor of Dr. Bellamy, he did not hesitate. 

"You have your wish, " he said to his servant. "From this moment you arefree. "

Dr. Hopkins was a poor man, but one of his first acts, after becomingconvinced of the wrongfulness of slavery, was to appropriate the very sumwhich, in the days of his ignorance, he had obtained as the price of hisslave to the benevolent purpose of educating some pious colored men inthe town of Newport, who were desirous of returning to their nativecountry as missionaries. In one instance he borrowed, on his ownresponsibility, the sum requisite to secure the freedom of a slave inwhom be became interested. One of his theological pupils was NewportGardner, who, twenty years after the death of his kind patron, leftBoston as a missionary to Africa. He was a native African, and was heldby Captain Gardner, of Newport, who allowed him to labor for his ownbenefit, whenever by extra diligence he could gain a little time for thatpurpose. The poor fellow was in the habit of laying up his smallearnings on these occasions, in the faint hope of one day obtainingthereby the freedom of himself and his family. But time passed on, andthe hoard of purchase-money still looked sadly small. He concluded totry the efficacy of praying. Having gained a day for himself, by severelabor, and communicating his plan only to Dr. Hopkins and two or threeother Christian friends, he shut himself up in his humble dwelling, andspent the time in prayer for freedom. Towards the close of the day, hismaster sent for him. He was told that this was his gained time, and thathe was engaged for himself. "No matter, " returned the master, "I mustsee him. " Poor Newport reluctantly abandoned his supplications, and cameat his master's bidding, when, to his astonishment, instead of areprimand, he received a paper, signed by his master, declaring him andhis family from thenceforth free. He justly attributed this signalblessing to the all-wise Disposer, who turns the hearts of men as therivers of water are turned; but it cannot be doubted that the labors andarguments of Dr. Hopkins with his master were the human instrumentalityin effecting it. 

In the year 1773, in connection with Dr. Ezra Stiles, he issued an appealto the Christian community in behalf of a society which he had beeninstrumental in forming, for the purpose of educating missionaries forAfrica. In the desolate and benighted condition of that unhappycontinent he had become painfully interested, by conversing with theslaves brought into Newport. Another appeal was made on the subject in1776. 

The war of the Revolution interrupted, for a time, the philanthropicplans of Dr. Hopkins. The beautiful island on which he lived was at anearly period exposed to the exactions and devastations of the enemy. Allwho could do so left it for the mainland. Its wharves were no longerthronged with merchandise; its principal dwellings stood empty; the verymeeting houses were in a great measure abandoned. Dr. Hopkins, who hadtaken the precaution, at the commencement of hostilities, to remove hisfamily to Great Barrington, remained himself until the year 1776, whenthe British took possession of the island. During the period of itsoccupation, he was employed in preaching to destitute congregations. He spent the summer of 1777 at Newburyport, where his memory is stillcherished by the few of his hearers who survive. In the spring of 1780, he returned to Newport. Everything had undergone a melancholy change. The garden of New England lay desolate. His once prosperous and wealthychurch and congregation were now poor, dispirited, and, worst of all, demoralized. His meeting-house had been used as a barrack for soldiers;pulpit and pews had been destroyed; the very bell had been stolen. Refusing, with his characteristic denial of self, a call to settle in amore advantageous position, he sat himself down once more in the midst ofhis reduced and impoverished parishioners, and, with no regular salary, dependent entirely on such free-will offerings as from time to time weremade him, he remained with them until his death. 

In 1776, Dr. Hopkins published his celebrated "Dialogue concerning theSlavery of the Africans; showing it to be the Duty and Interest of theAmerican States to Emancipate all their Slaves. " This he dedicated tothe Continental Congress, the Signers of the Declaration of Independence. It was republished in 1785, by the New York Abolition Society, and waswidely circulated. A few years after, on coming unexpectedly intopossession of a few hundred dollars, be devoted immediately one hundredof it to the society for ameliorating the condition of the Africans. 

He continued to preach until he had reached his eighty-third year. Hislast sermon was delivered on the 16th of the tenth month, 1803, and hisdeath took place in the twelfth month following. He died calmly, in thesteady faith of one who had long trusted all things in the hand of God. "The language of my heart is, " said he, "let God be glorified by allthings, and the best interest of His kingdom promoted, whatever becomesof me or my interest. " To a young friend, who visited him three daysbefore his death, he said, "I am feeble and cannot say much. I have saidall I can say. With my last words, I tell you, religion is the one thingneedful. " "And now, " he continued, affectionately pressing the hand ofhis friend, "I am going to die, and I am glad of it. " Many years before, an agreement had been made between Dr. Hopkins and his old and triedfriend, Dr. Hart, of Connecticut, that when either was called home, thesurvivor should preach the funeral sermon of the deceased. The venerableDr. Hart accordingly came, true to his promise, preaching at the funeralfrom the words of Elisha, "My father, my father; the chariots of Israel, and the horsemen thereof. " In the burial-ground adjoining his meeting-house lies all that was mortal of Samuel Hopkins. 

One of Dr. Hopkins's habitual hearers, and who has borne gratefultestimony to the beauty and holiness of his life and conversation, wasWilliam Ellery Channing. Widely as he afterwards diverged from the creedof his early teacher, it contained at least one doctrine to the influenceof which the philanthropic devotion of his own life to the welfare of manbears witness. He says, himself, that there always seemed to himsomething very noble in the doctrine of disinterested benevolence, thecasting of self aside, and doing good, irrespective of personalconsequences, in this world or another, upon which Dr. Hopkins sostrongly insisted, as the all-essential condition of holiness. 

How widely apart, as mere theologians, stood Hopkins and Channing! Yethow harmonious their lives and practice! Both could forget the poorinterests of self, in view of eternal right and universal humanity. Bothcould appreciate the saving truth, that love to God and His creation isthe fulfilling of the divine law. The idea of unselfish benevolence, which they held in common, clothed with sweetness and beauty the sternand repulsive features of the theology of Hopkins, and infused a sublimespirit of self-sacrifice and a glowing humanity into the indecisive andless robust faith of Charming. What is the lesson of this but thatChristianity consists rather in the affections than in the intellect;that it is a life rather than a creed; and that they who diverge thewidest from each other in speculation upon its doctrines may, after all, be found working side by side on the common ground of its practice. 

We have chosen to speak of Dr. Hopkins as a philanthropist rather than asa theologian. Let those who prefer to contemplate the narrow sectarianrather than the universal man dwell upon his controversial works, andextol the ingenuity and logical acumen with which he defended his owndogmas and assailed those of others. We honor him, not as the founder ofa new sect, but as the friend of all mankind, --the generous defender ofthe poor and oppressed. Great as unquestionably were his powers ofargument, his learning, and skill in the use of the weapons of theologicwarfare, these by no means constitute his highest title to respect andreverence. As the product of an honest and earnest mind, his doctrinaldissertations have at least the merit of sincerity. They were put forthin behalf of what he regarded as truth; and the success which they metwith, while it called into exercise his profoundest gratitude, onlyserved to deepen the humility and self-abasement of their author. As theutterance of what a good man believed and felt, as a part of the historyof a life remarkable for its consecration to apprehended duty, thesewritings cannot be without interest even to those who dissent from theirarguments and deny their assumptions; but in the time now, we trust, nearat hand, when distracted and divided Christendom shall unite in a newEvangelical union, in which orthodoxy in life and practice shall beestimated above orthodoxy in theory, he will be honored as a good man, rather than as a successful creed-maker; as a friend of the oppressed andthe fearless rebuker of popular sin rather than as the champion of aprotracted sectarian war. Even now his writings, so popular in theirday, are little known. The time may come when no pilgrim of sectarianismshall visit his grave. But his memory shall live in the hearts of thegood and generous; the emancipated slave shall kneel over his ashes, andbless God for the gift to humanity of a life so devoted to its welfare. To him may be applied the language of one who, on the spot where helabored and lay down to rest, while rejecting the doctrinal views of thetheologian, still cherishes the philanthropic spirit of the man:--

 "He is not lost, --he hath not passed away Clouds, earths, may pass, but stars shine calmly on; And he who doth the will of God, for aye Abideth, when the earth and heaven are gone. 

 "Alas that such a heart is in the grave!' Thanks for the life that now shall never end! Weep, and rejoice, thou terror-hunted slave, That hast both lost and found so great a friend!"

 RICHARD BAXTER. 

The picture drawn by a late English historian of the infamous Jeffreys inhis judicial robes, sitting in judgment upon the venerable RichardBaxter, brought before him to answer to an indictment, setting; forththat the said "Richardus Baxter, persona seditiosa et factiosa pravaementis, impiae, inquietae, turbulent disposition et conversation; falsoillicte, injuste nequit factiose seditiose, et irreligiose, fecit, composuit, scripsit quendam falsum, seditiosum, libellosum, factiosum etirreligiosum librum, " is so remarkable that the attention of the mostcareless reader is at once arrested. Who was that old man, wasted withdisease and ghastly with the pallor of imprisonment, upon whom the foul-mouthed buffoon in ermine exhausted his vocabulary of abuse and ridicule?Who was Richardus Baxter?

The author of works so elaborate and profound as to frighten by theirvery titles and ponderous folios the modern ecclesiastical student fromtheir perusal, his hold upon the present generation is limited to a fewpractical treatises, which, from their very nature, can never becomeobsolete. The _Call to the Unconverted_ and the _Saints' EverlastingRest_ belong to no time or sect. They speak the universal language ofthe wants and desires of the human soul. They take hold of the awfulverities of life and death, righteousness and judgment to come. Throughthem the suffering and hunted minister of Kidderminster has spoken inwarning, entreaty, and rebuke, or in tones of tenderest love and pity, tothe hearts of the generations which have succeeded him. Hiscontroversial works, his confessions of faith, his learned disputations, and his profound doctrinal treatises are no longer read. Their authorhimself, towards the close of his life, anticipated, in respect to thesefavorite productions, the children of his early zeal, labor, andsuffering, the judgment of posterity. "I perceive, " he says, "that mostof the doctrinal controversies among Protestants are far more aboutequivocal words than matter. Experience since the year 1643 to this year1675 hath loudly called me to repent of my own prejudices, sidings, andcensurings of causes and persons not understood, and of all themiscarriages of my ministry and life which have been thereby caused; andto make it my chief work to call men that are within my bearing to morepeaceable thoughts, affections, and practices. "

Richard Baxter was born at the village of Eton Constantine, in 1615. Hereceived from officiating curates of the little church such literaryinstruction as could be given by men who had left the farmer's flail, thetailor's thimble, and the service of strolling stage-players, to performchurch drudgery under the parish incumbent, who was old and well-nighblind. At the age of sixteen, he was sent to a school at Wroxeter, wherehe spent three years, to little purpose, so far as a scientific educationwas concerned. His teacher left him to himself mainly, and following thebent of his mind, even at that early period, he abandoned the exactsciences for the perusal of such controversial and metaphysical writingsof the schoolmen as his master's library afforded. The smattering ofLatin which he acquired only served in after years to deform histreatises with barbarous, ill-adapted, and erroneous citations. "As tomyself, " said he, in his letter written in old age to Anthony Wood, whohad inquired whether he was an Oxonian graduate, "my faults are nodisgrace to a university, for I was of none; I have but little but what Ihad out of books and inconsiderable help of country divines. Weaknessand pain helped me to study how to die; that set me a-studying how tolive; and that on studying the doctrine from which I must fetch mymotives and comforts; beginning with necessities, I proceeded by degrees, and am now going to see that for which I have lived and studied. "

Of the first essays of the young theologian as a preacher of theEstablished Church, his early sufferings from that complication ofdiseases with which his whole life was tormented, of the still keenerafflictions of a mind whose entire outlook upon life and nature wasdiscolored and darkened by its disordered bodily medium, and of thestruggles between his Puritan temperament and his reverence for Episcopalformulas, much might be profitably said, did the limits we have assignedourselves admit. Nor can we do more than briefly allude to the religiousdoubts and difficulties which darkened and troubled his mind at an earlyperiod. 

He tells us at length in his Life how he struggled with these spiritualinfirmities and temptations. The future life, the immortality of thesoul, and the truth of the Scriptures were by turns questioned. "Inever, " says he in a letter to Dr. More, inserted in the _SadducisimusTriumphatus_, "had so much ado to overcome a temptation as that to theopinion of Averroes, that, as extinguished candles go all out in anilluminated air, so separated souls go all into one common anima mundi, and lose their individuation. " With these and similar "temptations"Baxter struggled long, earnestly, and in the end triumphantly. Hisfaith, when once established, remained unshaken to the last; and althoughalways solemn, reverential, and deeply serious, he was never the subjectof religious melancholy, or of that mournful depression of soul whicharises from despair of an interest in the mercy and paternal love of ourcommon Father. 

The Great Revolution found him settled as a minister in Kidderminster, under the sanction of a drunken vicar, who, yielding to the clamor of hismore sober parishioners, and his fear of their appeal to the LongParliament, then busy in its task of abating church nuisances, had agreedto give him sixty pounds per year, in the place of a poor tipplingcurate, notorious as a common railer and pothouse encumbrance. 

As might have been expected, the sharp contrast which the earnest, devotional spirit and painful strictness of Baxter presented to theirreverent license and careless good humor of his predecessor by no meanscommended him to the favor of a large class of his parishioners. Sabbathmerry-makers missed the rubicund face and maudlin jollity of their oldvicar; the ignorant and vicious disliked the new preacher's rigidmorality; the better informed revolted at his harsh doctrines, austerelife, and grave manner. Intense earnestness characterized all hisefforts. Contrasting human nature with the Infinite Purity and Holiness, he was oppressed with the sense of the loathsomeness and deformity ofsin, and afflicted by the misery of his fellow-creatures separated fromthe divine harmony. He tells us that at this period he preached theterrors of the Law and the necessity of repentance, rather than the joysand consolations of the Gospel, upon which he so loved to dwell in hislast years. He seems to have felt a necessity laid upon him to startlemen from false hope and security, and to call for holiness of life andconformity to the divine will as the only ground of safety. Powerful andimpressive as are the appeals and expostulations contained in his writtenworks, they probably convey but a faint idea of the force and earnestnessof those which he poured forth from his pulpit. As he advanced in years, these appeals were less frequently addressed to the fears of hisauditors, for he had learned to value a calm and consistent life ofpractical goodness beyond any passionate exhibition of terrors, fervors, and transports. Having witnessed, in an age of remarkable enthusiasm andspiritual awakening, the ill effects of passional excitements andreligious melancholy, he endeavored to present cheerful views ofChristian life and duty, and made it a special object to repress morbidimaginations and heal diseased consciences. Thus it came to pass that noman of his day was more often applied to for counsel and relief bypersons laboring under mental depression than himself. He has leftbehind him a very curious and not uninstructive discourse, which heentitled The Cure of Melancholy, by Faith and Physick, in which he showsa great degree of skill in his morbid mental anatomy. He had studiedmedicine to some extent for the benefit of the poor of his parish, andknew something of the intimate relations and sympathy of the body andmind; he therefore did not hesitate to ascribe many of the spiritualcomplaints of his applicants to disordered bodily functions, nor toprescribe pills and powders in the place of Scripture texts. More thanthirty years after the commencement of his labors at Kidderminster hethus writes: "I was troubled this year with multitudes of melancholypersons from several places of the land; some of high quality, some oflow, some exquisitely learned, and some unlearned. I know not how itcame to pass, but if men fell melancholy I must hear from them or seethem, more than any physician I knew. " He cautions against ascribingmelancholy phantasms and passions to the Holy Spirit, warns the youngagainst licentious imaginations and excitements, and ends by advising allto take heed how they make of religion a matter of "fears, tears, andscruples. " "True religion, " he remarks, "doth principally consist inobedience, love, and joy. "

At this early period of his ministry, however, he had all of Whitefield'sintensity and fervor, added to reasoning powers greatly transcendingthose of the revivalist of the next century. Young in years, he was eventhen old in bodily infirmity and mental experience. Believing himselfthe victim of a mortal disease, he lived and preached in the constantprospect of death. His memento mori was in his bed-chamber, and sat byhim at his frugal meal. The glory of the world was stained to hisvision. He was blind to the beauty of all its "pleasant pictures. " Nomonk of Mount Athos or silent Chartreuse, no anchorite of Indiansuperstition, ever more completely mortified the flesh, or turned hisback more decidedly upon the "good things" of this life. A solemn andfuneral atmosphere surrounded him. He walked in the shadows of thecypress, and literally "dwelt among the tombs. " Tortured by incessantpain, be wrestled against its attendant languor and debility, as a sinfulwasting of inestimable time; goaded himself to constant toil anddevotional exercise, and, to use his own words, "stirred up his sluggishsoul to speak to sinners with compassion, as a dying man to dying men. "

Such entire consecration could not long be without its effect, even uponthe "vicious rabble, " as Baxter calls them. His extraordinaryearnestness, self-forgetting concern for the spiritual welfare of others, his rigid life of denial and sacrifice, if they failed of bringing men tohis feet as penitents, could not but awaken a feeling of reverence andawe. In Kidderminster, as in most other parishes of the kingdom, therewere at this period pious, sober, prayerful people, diligent readers ofthe Scriptures, who were derided by their neighbors as Puritans, precisians, and hypocrites. These were naturally drawn towards the newpreacher, and he as naturally recognized them as "honest seekers of theword and way of God. " Intercourse with such men, and the perusal of thewritings of certain eminent Non-conformists, had the effect to abate, insome degree, his strong attachment to the Episcopal formula and polity. He began to doubt the rightfulness of making the sign of the cross inbaptism, and to hesitate about administering the sacrament to profaneswearers and tipplers. 

But while Baxter, in the seclusion of his parish, was painfully weighingthe arguments for and against the wearing of surplices, the use ofmarriage rings, and the prescribed gestures and genuflections of hisorder, tithing with more or less scruple of conscience the mint and aniseand cummin of pulpit ceremonials, the weightier matters of the law, freedom, justice, and truth were claiming the attention of Pym andHampden, Brook and Vane, in the Parliament House. The controversybetween King and Commons had reached the point where it could only bedecided by the dread arbitrament of battle. The somewhat equivocalposition of the Kidderminster preacher exposed him to the suspicion ofthe adherents of the King and Bishops. The rabble, at that periodsympathizing with the party of license in morals and strictness inceremonials, insulted and mocked him, and finally drove him from hisparish. 

On the memorable 23d of tenth month, 1642, he was invited to occupy afriend's pulpit at Alcester. 

While preaching, a low, dull, jarring roll, as of continuous thunder, sounded in his ears. It was the cannon-fire of Edgehill, the prelude tothe stern battle-piece of revolution. On the morrow, Baxter hurried tothe scene of action. "I was desirous, " he says, "to see the field. Ifound the Earl of Essex keeping the ground, and the King's army facingthem on a hill about a mile off. There were about a thousand dead bodiesin the field between them. " Turning from this ghastly survey, thepreacher mingled with the Parliamentary army, when, finding the surgeonsbusy with the wounded, he very naturally sought occasion for the exerciseof his own vocation as a spiritual practitioner. He attached himself tothe army. So far as we can gather from his own memoirs and the testimonyof his contemporaries, he was not influenced to this step by any of thepolitical motives which actuated the Parliamentary leaders. He was norevolutionist. He was as blind and unquestioning in his reverence forthe King's person and divine right, and as hearty in his hatred ofreligious toleration and civil equality, as any of his clerical brethrenwho officiated in a similar capacity in the ranks of Goring and PrinceRupert. He seems only to have looked upon the soldiers as a new set ofparishioners, whom Providence had thrown in his way. The circumstancesof his situation left him little choice in the matter. "I had, " he says, "neither money nor friends. I knew not who would receive me in a placeof safety, nor had I anything to satisfy them for diet andentertainment. " He accepted an offer to live in the Governor's house atCoventry, and preach to the soldiers of the garrison. Here his skill inpolemics was called into requisition, in an encounter with two NewEngland Antinomians, and a certain Anabaptist tailor who was making morerents in the garrison's orthodoxy than he mended in their doublets andbreeches. Coventry seems at this time to have been the rendezvous of alarge body of clergymen, who, as Baxter says, were "for King andParliament, "--men who, in their desire for a more spiritual worship, mostunwillingly found themselves classed with the sentries whom they regardedas troublers and heretics, not to be tolerated; who thought the King hadfallen into the hands of the Papists, and that Essex and Cromwell werefighting to restore him; and who followed the Parliamentary forces to seeto it that they were kept sound in faith, and free from the heresy ofwhich the Court News-Book accused them. Of doing anything to overturnthe order of Church and State, or of promoting any radical change in thesocial and political condition of the people, they had no intentionwhatever. They looked at the events of the time, and upon their dutiesin respect to them, not as politicians or reformers, but simply asecclesiastics and spiritual teachers, responsible to God for thereligious beliefs and practices of the people, rather than for theirtemporal welfare and happiness. They were not the men who struck downthe solemn and imposing prelacy of England, and vindicated the divineright of men to freedom by tossing the head of an anointed tyrant fromthe scaffold at Whitehall. It was the so-called sebismatics, ranters, and levellers, the disputatious corporals and Anabaptist musketeers, thedread and abhorrence alike of prelate and presbyter, who, under the leadof Cromwell, "Ruined the great work of time, And cast the kingdoms old Into another mould. "

The Commonwealth was the work of the laity, the sturdy yeomanry and God-fearing commoners of England. 

The news of the fight of Naseby reaching Coventry, Baxter, who hadfriends in the Parliamentary forces, wishing, as he says, to be assuredof their safety, passed over to the stricken field, and spent a nightwith them. He was afflicted and confounded by the information which theygave him, that the victorious army was full of hot-headed schemers andlevellers, who were against King and Church, prelacy and ritual, and whowere for a free Commonwealth and freedom of religious belief and worship. He was appalled to find that the heresies of the Antinomians, Arminians, and Anabaptists had made sadder breaches in the ranks of Cromwell thanthe pikes of Jacob Astley, or the daggers of the roysterers who followedthe mad charge of Rupert. Hastening back to Coventry, he called togetherhis clerical brethren, and told them "the sad news of the corruption ofthe army. " After much painful consideration of the matter, it was deemedbest for Baxter to enter Cromwell's army, nominally as its chaplain, butreally as the special representative of orthodoxy in politics andreligion, against the democratic weavers and prophesying tailors whotroubled it. He joined Whalley's regiment, and followed it through manya hot skirmish and siege. Personal fear was by no means one of Baxter'scharacteristics, and he bore himself through all with the coolness of anold campaigner. Intent upon his single object, he sat unmoved under thehail of cannon-shot from the walls of Bristol, confronted the well-pliedculverins of Sherburne, charged side by side with Harrison upon Goring'smusketeers at Langford, and heard the exulting thanksgiving of that grimenthusiast, when "with a loud voice he broke forth in praises of God, asone in rapture;" and marched, Bible in hand, with Cromwell himself, tothe storming of Basing-House, so desperately defended by the Marquis ofWinchester. In truth, these storms of outward conflict were to him ofsmall moment. He was engaged in a sterner battle with spiritualprincipalities and powers, struggling with Satan himself in the guise ofpolitical levellers and Antinomian sowers of heresy. No antagonist wastoo high and none too low for him. Distrusting Cromwell, he sought toengage him in a discussion of certain points of abstract theology, wherein his soundness seemed questionable; but the wary chief baffled offthe young disputant by tedious, unanswerable discourses about free grace, which Baxter admits were not unsavory to others, although the speakerhimself had little understanding of the matter. At other times, herepelled his sad-visaged chaplain with unwelcome jests and rough, soldierly merriment; for he had "a vivacity, hilarity, and alacrity asanother man hath when he hath taken a cup too much. " Baxter says of him, complainingly, "he would not dispute with me at all. " But, in the midstof such an army, he could not lack abundant opportunity for the exerciseof his peculiar powers of argumentation. At Amersham, he had a sort ofpitched battle with the contumacious soldiers. "When the public talkingday came, " says he, "I took the reading-pew, and Pitchford's cornet andtroopers took the gallery. There did the leader of the Chesham menbegin, and afterwards Pitchford's soldiers set in; and I alone disputedwith them from morning until almost night; for I knew their trick, thatif I had gone out first, they would have prated what boasting words theylisted, and made the people believe that they had baffled me, or got thebest; therefore I stayed it out till they first rose and went away. " Asusual in such cases, both parties claimed the victory. Baxter got thanksonly from the King's adherents; "Pitchford's troops and the leader of theChesham men" retired from their hard day's work, to enjoy the countenanceand favor of Cromwell, as men after his own heart, faithful to the Housesand the Word, against kingcraft and prelacy. 

Laughed at and held at arm's length by Cromwell, shunned by Harrison andBerry and other chief officers, opposed on all points by shrewd, earnestmen, as ready for polemic controversy as for battle with the King'smalignants, and who set off against his theological and metaphysicaldistinctions their own personal experiences and spiritual exercises, hehad little to encourage him in his arduous labors. Alone in such amultitude, flushed with victory and glowing with religious enthusiasm, he earnestly begged his brother ministers to come to his aid. "If thearmy, " said he, "had only ministers enough, who could have done suchlittle as I did, all their plot might have been broken, and King, Parliament, and Religion might have been preserved. " But no onevolunteered to assist him, and the "plot" of revolution went on. 

After Worcester fight he returned to Coventry, to make his report to theministers assembled there. He told them of his labors and trials, of thegrowth of heresy and levelling principles in the army, and of the evidentdesign of its leaders to pull down Church, King, and Ministers. Heassured them that the day was at hand when all who were true to the King, Parliament, and Religion should come forth to oppose these leaders, anddraw away their soldiers from them. For himself, he was willing to goback to the army, and labor there until the crisis of which he spoke hadarrived. "Whereupon, " says he, "they all voted me to go yet longer. "

Fortunately for the cause of civil and religious freedom, the great bodyof the ministers, who disapproved of the ultraism of the victorious army, and sympathized with the defeated King, lacked the courage anddevotedness of Baxter. Had they promptly seconded his efforts, althoughthe restoration of the King might have been impossible at that lateperiod, the horrors of civil war must have been greatly protracted. Asit was, they preferred to remain at home, and let Baxter have the benefitof their prayers and good wishes. He returned to the army with thesettled purpose, of causing its defection from Cromwell; but, by one ofthose dispensations which the latter used to call "births of Providence, "he was stricken down with severe sickness. Baxter's own comments uponthis passage in his life are not without interest. He says, Godprevented his purposes in his last and chiefest opposition to the army;that he intended to take off or seduce from their officers the regimentwith which he was connected, and then to have tried his persuasion uponthe others. He says he afterwards found that his sickness was a mercy tohimself, "for they were so strong and active, and I had been likely tohave had small success in the attempt, and to have lost my life amongthem in their fury. " He was right in this last conjecture; OliverCromwell would have had no scruples in making an example of a plottingpriest; and "Pitchford's soldiers" might have been called upon tosilence, with their muskets, the tough disputant who was proof againsttheir tongues. 

After a long and dubious illness, Baxter was so far restored as to beable to go back to his old parish at Kidderminster. Here, under theProtectorate of Cromwell, he remained in the full enjoyment of thatreligious liberty which he still stoutly condemned in its application toothers. 

He afterwards candidly admits, that, under the "Usurper, " as he stylesCromwell, "he had such liberty and advantage to preach the Gospel withsuccess, as he could not have under a King, to whom he had sworn andperformed true subjection and obedience. " Yet this did not prevent himfrom preaching and printing, "seasonably and moderately, " against theProtector. "I declared, " said he, "Cromwell and his adherents to beguilty of treason and rebellion, aggravated by perfidiousness andhypocrisy. But yet I did not think it my duty to rave against him in thepulpit, or to do this so unseasonably and imprudently as might irritatehim to mischief. And the rather, because, as he kept up his approbationof a godly life in general, and of all that was good, except that whichthe interest of his sinful cause engaged him to be against. So Iperceived that it was his design to do good in the main, and to promotethe Gospel and the interests of godliness more than any had done beforehim. "

Cromwell, if he heard of his diatribes against him, appears to have caredlittle for them. Lords Warwick and Broghill, on one occasion, broughthim to preach before the Lord Protector. He seized the occasion topreach against the sentries, to condemn all who countenanced them, and toadvocate the unity of the Church. Soon after, he was sent for byCromwell, who made "a long and tedious speech" in the presence of threeof his chief men, (one of whom, General Lambert, fell asleep the while, )asserting that God had owned his government in a signal manner. Baxterboldly replied to him, that he and his friends regarded the ancientmonarchy as a blessing, and not an evil, and begged to know how thatblessing was forfeited to England, and to whom that forfeiture was made. Cromwell, with some heat, made answer that it was no forfeiture, but thatGod had made the change. They afterwards held a long conference withrespect to freedom of conscience, Cromwell defending his liberal policy, and Baxter opposing it. No one can read Baxter's own account of theseinterviews, without being deeply impressed with the generous andmagnanimous spirit of the Lord Protector in tolerating the utmost freedomof speech on the part of one who openly denounced him as a traitor andusurper. Real greatness of mind could alone have risen above personalresentment under such circumstances of peculiar aggravation. 

In the death of the Protector, the treachery of Monk, and the restorationof the King, Baxter and his Presbyterian friends believed that they sawthe hand of a merciful Providence preparing the way for the best good ofEngland and the Church. Always royalists, they had acted with the partyopposed to the King from necessity rather than choice. Considering allthat followed, one can scarcely avoid smiling over the extravagantjubilations of the Presbyterian divines, on the return of the royaldebauchee to Whitehall. They hurried up to London with congratulationsof formidable length and papers of solemn advice and counsel, to allwhich the careless monarch listened, with what patience he was master of. Baxter was one of the first to present himself at Court, and it iscreditable to his heart rather than his judgment and discrimination thathe seized the occasion to offer a long address to the King, expressive ofhis expectation that his Majesty would discountenance all sin and promotegodliness, support the true exercise of Church discipline and cherish andhold up the hands of the faithful ministers of the Church. To all whichCharles II. "made as gracious an answer as we could expect, " says Baxter, "insomuch that old Mr. Ash burst out into tears of joy. " Who doubts thatthe profligate King avenged himself as soon as the backs of his unwelcomevisitors were fairly turned, by coarse jests and ribaldry, directedagainst a class of men whom he despised and hated, but towards whomreasons of policy dictated a show of civility and kindness?

There is reason to believe that Charles II. , had he been able to effecthis purpose, would have gone beyond Cromwell himself in the matter ofreligious toleration; in other words, he would have taken, in the outsetof his reign, the very steps which cost his successor his crown, andprocured the toleration of Catholics by a declaration of universalfreedom in religion. But he was not in a situation to brave theopposition alike of Prelacy and Presbyterianism, and foiled in a schemeto which he was prompted by that vague, superstitious predilection forthe Roman Catholic religion which at times struggled with his habitualscepticism, his next object was to rid himself of the importunities ofsentries and the trouble of religious controversies by reestablishing theliturgy, and bribing or enforcing conformity to it on the part of thePresbyterians. The history of the successful execution of this purposeis familiar to all the readers of the plausible pages of Clarendon on theone side, or the complaining treatises of Neal and Calamy on the other. 

Charles and his advisers triumphed, not so much through their own art, dissimulation, and bad faith as through the blind bigotry, dividedcounsels, and self-seeking of the Nonconformists. Seduction on one handand threats on the other, the bribe of bishoprics, hatred of Independentsand Quakers, and the terror of penal laws, broke the strength ofPresbyterianism. 

Baxter's whole conduct, on this occasion, bears testimony to his honestyand sincerity, while it shows him to have been too intolerant to securehis own religious freedom at the price of toleration for Catholics, Quakers, and Anabaptists; and too blind in his loyalty to perceive thatpure and undefiled Christianity had nothing to hope for from a scandalousand depraved King, surrounded by scoffing, licentious courtiers and ahaughty, revengeful prelacy. To secure his influence, the Court offeredhim the bishopric of Hereford. Superior to personal considerations, hedeclined the honor; but somewhat inconsistently, in his zeal for theinterests of his party, he urged the elevation of at least three of hisPresbyterian friends to the Episcopal bench, to enforce that very liturgywhich they condemned. He was the chief speaker for the Presbyterians atthe famous Savoy Conference, summoned to advise and consult upon the Bookof Common Prayer. His antagonist was Dr. Gunning, ready, fluent, andimpassioned. "They spent, " as Gilbert Burnet says, "several days inlogical arguing, to the diversion of the town, who looked upon them as acouple of fencers, engaged in a discussion which could not be brought toan end. " In themselves considered, many of the points at issue seemaltogether too trivial for the zeal with which Baxter contested them, --the form of a surplice, the wording of a prayer, kneeling at sacrament, the sign of the cross, etc. With him, however, they were of momentousinterest and importance, as things unlawful in the worship of God. Hestruggled desperately, but unavailingly. Presbyterianism, in itseagerness for peace and union and a due share of State support, hadalready made fatal concessions, and it was too late to stand upon non-essentials. Baxter retired from the conference baffled and defeated, amidst murmurs and jests. "If you had only been as fat as Dr. Manton, "said Clarendon to him, "you would have done well. "

The Act of Conformity, in which Charles II. And his counsellors gave thelie to the liberal declarations of Breda and Whitehall, drove Baxter fromhis sorrowing parishioners of Kidderminster, and added the evils ofpoverty and persecution to the painful bodily infirmities under which hewas already bowed down. Yet his cup was not one of unalloyed bitterness, and loving lips were prepared to drink it with him. 

Among Baxter's old parishioners of Kidderminster was a widowed lady ofgentle birth, named Charlton, who, with her daughter Margaret, occupied ahouse in his neighborhood. The daughter was a brilliant girl, of"strangely vivid wit, " and "in early youth, " he tells us, "pride, andromances, and company suitable thereunto, did take her up. " But erelong, Baxter, who acted in the double capacity of spiritual and temporalphysician, was sent for to visit her, on an occasion of sickness. Heministered to her bodily and mental sufferings, and thus secured hergratitude and confidence. On her recovery, under the influence of hiswarnings and admonitions, the gay young girl became thoughtful andserious, abandoned her light books and companions, and devoted herself tothe duties of a Christian profession. Baxter was her counsellor andconfidant. She disclosed to him all her doubts, trials, and temptations, and he, in return, wrote her long letters of sympathy, consolation, andencouragement. He began to feel such an unwonted interest in the moraland spiritual growth of his young disciple, that, in his daily walksamong his parishioners, he found himself inevitably drawn towards hermother's dwelling. In her presence, the habitual austerity of his mannerwas softened; his cold, close heart warmed and expanded. He began torepay her confidence with his own, disclosing to her all his plans ofbenevolence, soliciting her services, and waiting, with deference, forher judgment upon them. A change came over his habits of thought and hisliterary tastes; the harsh, rude disputant, the tough, dry logician, found himself addressing to his young friend epistles in verse ondoctrinal points and matters of casuistry; Westminster Catechism inrhyme; the Solemn League and Covenant set to music. A miracle alonecould have made Baxter a poet; the cold, clear light of reason "paled theineffectual fires" of his imagination; all things presented themselves tohis vision "with hard outlines, colorless, and with no surroundingatmosphere. " That he did, nevertheless, write verses, so creditable asto justify a judicious modern critic in their citation and approval, canperhaps be accounted for only as one of the phenomena of that subtle andtransforming influence to which even his stern nature was unconsciouslyyielding. Baxter was in love. 

Never did the blind god try his archery on a more unpromising subject. Baxter was nearly fifty years of age, and looked still older. His lifehad been one long fast and penance. Even in youth he had never known aschoolboy's love for cousin or playmate. He had resolutely closed up hisheart against emotions which he regarded as the allurements of time andsense. He had made a merit of celibacy, and written and publishedagainst the entanglement of godly ministers in matrimonial engagementsand family cares. It is questionable whether he now understood his owncase, or attributed to its right cause the peculiar interest which hefelt in Margaret Charlton. Left to himself, it is more than probablethat he might never have discovered the true nature of that interest, orconjectured that anything whatever of earthly passion or sublunaryemotion had mingled with his spiritual Platonism. Commissioned and setapart to preach repentance to dying men, penniless and homeless, wornwith bodily pain and mental toil, and treading, as he believed, on thevery margin of his grave, what had he to do with love? What power had heto inspire that tender sentiment, the appropriate offspring only ofyouth, and health, and beauty?

 "Could any Beatrice see A lover in such anchorite!"

But in the mean time a reciprocal feeling was gaining strength in theheart of Margaret. To her grateful appreciation of the condescension ofa great and good man--grave, learned, and renowned--to her youth andweakness, and to her enthusiastic admiration of his intellectual powers, devoted to the highest and holiest objects, succeeded naturally enoughthe tenderly suggestive pity of her woman's heart, as she thought of hislonely home, his unshared sorrows, his lack of those sympathies andkindnesses which make tolerable the hard journey of life. Did she notowe to him, under God, the salvation of body and mind? Was he not hertruest and most faithful friend, entering with lively interest into allher joys and sorrows? Had she not seen the cloud of his habitual sadnessbroken by gleams of sunny warmth and cheerfulness, as they conversedtogether? Could she do better than devote herself to the pleasing taskof making his life happier, of comforting him in seasons of pain andweariness, encouraging him in his vast labors, and throwing over the coldand hard austerities of his nature the warmth and light of domesticaffection? Pity, reverence, gratitude, and womanly tenderness, herfervid imagination and the sympathies of a deeply religious nature, combined to influence her decision. Disparity of age and conditionrendered it improbable that Baxter would ever venture to address her inany other capacity than that of a friend and teacher; and it was left toherself to give the first intimation of the possibility of a moreintimate relation. 

It is easy to imagine with what mixed feelings of joy, surprise, andperplexity Baxter must have received the delicate avowal. There was muchin the circumstances of the case to justify doubt, misgiving, and closesearchings of heart. He must have felt the painful contrast which thatfair girl in the bloom of her youth presented to the worn man of middleyears, whose very breath was suffering, and over whom death seemed alwaysimpending. Keenly conscious of his infirmities of temper, he must havefeared for the happiness of a loving, gentle being, daily exposed totheir manifestations. From his well-known habit of consulting what heregarded as the divine will in every important step of his life, therecan be no doubt that his decision was the result quite as much of aprayerful and patient consideration of duty as of the promptings of hisheart. Richard Baxter was no impassioned Abelard; his pupil in theschool of his severe and self-denying piety was no Heloise; but whattheir union lacked in romantic interest was compensated by its purity anddisinterestedness, and its sanction by all that can hallow human passion, and harmonize the love of the created with the love and service of theCreator. 

Although summoned by a power which it would have been folly to resist, the tough theologian did not surrender at discretion. "From the firstthoughts yet many changes and stoppages intervened, and long delays, " hetells us. The terms upon which he finally capitulated are perfectly inkeeping with his character. "She consented, " he says, "to threeconditions of our marriage. 1st. That I should have nothing that beforeour marriage was hers; that I, who wanted no earthly supplies, might notseem to marry her from selfishness. 2d. That she would so alter heraffairs that I might be entangled in no lawsuits. 3d. That she shouldexpect none of my time which my ministerial work should require. "

As was natural, the wits of the Court had their jokes upon this singularmarriage; and many of his best friends regretted it, when they called tomind what he had written in favor of ministerial celibacy, at a timewhen, as he says, "he thought to live and die a bachelor. " But Baxterhad no reason to regret the inconsistency of his precept and example. How much of the happiness of the next twenty years of his life resultedfrom his union with a kind and affectionate woman he has himselftestified, in his simple and touching Breviate of the Life of the lateMrs. Baxter. Her affections were so ardent that her husband confesseshis fear that he was unable to make an adequate return, and that she musthave been disappointed in him in consequence. He extols her pleasantconversation, her active benevolence, her disposition to aid him in allhis labors, and her noble forgetfulness of self, in ministering to hiscomfort, in sickness and imprisonment. "She was the meetest helper Icould have had in the world, " is his language. "If I spoke harshly orsharply, it offended her. If I carried it (as I am apt) with too muchnegligence of ceremony or humble compliment to any, she would modestlytell me of it. If my looks seemed not pleasant, she would have me amendthem (which my weak, pained state of body indisposed me to do). " Headmits she had her failings, but, taken as a whole, the Breviate is anexalted eulogy. 

His history from this time is marked by few incidents of a publiccharacter. During that most disgraceful period in the annals of England, the reign of the second Charles, his peculiar position exposed him to thepersecutions of prelacy and the taunts and abuse of the sentries, standing as he did between these extremes, and pleading for a moderateEpiscopacy. He was between the upper millstone of High Church and thenether one of Dissent. To use his own simile, he was like one who seeksto fill with his hand a cleft in a log, and feels both sides close uponhim with pain. All parties and sects had, as they thought, grounds ofcomplaint against him. There was in him an almost childish simplicity ofpurpose, a headlong earnestness and eagerness, which did not allow him toconsider how far a present act or opinion harmonized with what he hadalready done or written. His greatest admirers admit his lack ofjudgment, his inaptitude for the management of practical matters. Hisutter incapacity to comprehend rightly the public men and measures of hisday is abundantly apparent; and the inconsistencies of his conduct andhis writings are too marked to need comment. He suffered persecution fornot conforming to some trifling matters of Church usage, while headvocated the doctrine of passive obedience to the King or ruling power, and the right of that power to enforce conformity. He wrote againstconformity while himself conforming; seceded from the Church, and yetheld stated communion with it; begged for the curacy of Kidderminster, and declined the bishopric of Hereford. His writings were many of themdirectly calculated to make Dissenters from the Establishment, but he wasinvariably offended to find others practically influenced by them, andquarrelled with his own converts to Dissent. The High Churchmen ofOxford burned his Holy Commonwealth as seditious and revolutionary; whileHarrington and the republican club of Miles's Coffee House condemned itfor its hostility to democracy and its servile doctrine of obedience tokings. He made noble pleas for liberty of conscience and bitterlycomplained of his own suffering from Church courts, yet maintained thenecessity of enforcing conformity, and stoutly opposed the tolerantdoctrines of Penn and Milton. Never did a great and good man so entanglehimself with contradictions and inconsistencies. The witty and wickedSir Roger L'Estrange compiled from the irreconcilable portions of hisworks a laughable Dialogue between Richard and Baxter. The Antinomiansfound him guilty of Socinianism; and one noted controversialist undertookto show, not without some degree of plausibility, that he was by turns aQuaker and a Papist!

Although able to suspend his judgment and carefully weigh evidence, uponmatters which he regarded as proper subjects of debate and scrutiny, hepossessed the power to shut out and banish at will all doubt andmisgiving in respect to whatever tended to prove, illustrate, or enforcehis settled opinions and cherished doctrines. His credulity at timesseems boundless. Hating the Quakers, and prepared to believe all mannerof evil of them, be readily came to the conclusion that their leaderswere disguised Papists. He maintained that Lauderdale was a good andpious man, in spite of atrocities in Scotland which entitle him to aplace with Claverhouse; and indorsed the character of the infamousDangerfield, the inventor of the Meal-tub Plot, as a worthy convert frompopish errors. To prove the existence of devils and spirits, hecollected the most absurd stories and old-wives' fables, of soldiersscared from their posts at night by headless bears, of a young witchpulling the hooks out of Mr. Emlen's breeches and swallowing them, of Mr. Beacham's locomotive tobacco-pipe, and the Rev. Mr. Munn's jumping Bible, and of a drunken man punished for his intemperance by being lifted offhis legs by an invisible hand! Cotton Mather's marvellous account of hiswitch experiments in New England delighted him. He had it republished, declaring that "he must be an obstinate Sadducee who doubted it. "

The married life of Baxter, as might be inferred from the state of thetimes, was an unsettled one. He first took a house at Moorfields, thenremoved to Acton, where he enjoyed the conversation of his neighbor, SirMatthew Hale; from thence he found refuge in Rickmansworth, and afterthat in divers other places. "The women have most of this trouble, " heremarks, "but my wife easily bore it all. " When unable to preach, hisrapid pen was always busy. Huge folios of controversial and doctrinallore followed each other in quick succession. He assailed Popery and theEstablishment, Anabaptists, ultra Calvinists, Antinomians, Fifth Monarchymen, and Quakers. His hatred of the latter was only modified by hiscontempt. He railed rather than argued against the "miserablecreatures, " as he styled them. They in turn answered him in like manner. "The Quakers, " he says, "in their shops, when I go along London streets, say, 'Alas' poor man, thou art yet in darkness. ' They have oft come tothe congregation, when I had liberty to preach Christ's Gospel, and criedout against me as a deceiver of the people. They have followed me home, crying out in the streets, 'The day of the Lord is coming, and thou shaltperish as a deceiver. ' They have stood in the market-place, and under mywindow, year after year, crying to the people, 'Take heed of yourpriests, they deceive your souls;' and if any one wore a lace or neatclothing, they cried out to me, 'These are the fruits of your ministry. '"

At Rickmansworth, he found himself a neighbor of William Penn, whom hecalls "the captain of the Quakers. " Ever ready for battle, Baxterencountered him in a public discussion, with such fierceness andbitterness as to force from that mild and amiable civilian the remark, that he would rather be Socrates at the final judgment than RichardBaxter. Both lived to know each other better, and to entertainsentiments of mutual esteem. Baxter himself admits that the Quakers, bytheir perseverance in holding their religious meetings in defiance ofpenal laws, took upon themselves the burden of persecution which wouldotherwise have fallen upon himself and his friends; and makes specialmention of the noble and successful plea of Penn before the Recorder'sCourt in London, based on the fundamental liberties of Englishmen and therights of the Great Charter. 

The intolerance of Baxter towards the Separatists was turned against himwhenever he appealed to the King and Parliament against the proscriptionof himself and his friends. "They gathered, " he complains, "out of mineand other men's books all that we had said against liberty for Popery andQuakers railing against ministers in open congregation, and applied it asagainst the toleration of ourselves. " It was in vain that he explainedthat he was only in favor of a gentle coercion of dissent, a moderateenforcement of conformity. His plan for dealing with sentries remindsone of old Isaak Walton's direction to his piscatorial readers, to impalethe frog on the hook as gently as if they loved him. 

While at Acton, he was complained of by Dr. Ryves, the rector, one of theKing's chaplains in ordinary, for holding religious services in hisfamily with more than five strangers present. He was cast intoClerkenwell jail, whither his faithful wife followed him. On hisdischarge, he sought refuge in the hamlet of Totteridge, where he wroteand published that Paraphrase on the New Testament which was made theground of his prosecution and trial before Jeffreys. 

On the 14th of the sixth month, 1681, he was called to endure thegreatest affliction of his life. His wife died on that day, after abrief illness. She who had been his faithful friend, companion, andnurse for twenty years was called away from him in the time of hisgreatest need of her ministrations. He found consolation in dwelling onher virtues and excellences in the Breviate of her life; "a papermonument, " he says, "erected by one who is following her even at the doorin some passion indeed of love and grief. " In the preface to hispoetical pieces he alludes to her in terms of touching simplicity andtenderness: "As these pieces were mostly written in various passions, sopassion hath now thrust them out into the world. God having taken awaythe dear companion of the last nineteen years of my life, as her sorrowsand sufferings long ago gave being to some of these poems, for reasons, which the world is not concerned to know; so my grief for her removal, and the revival of the sense of former things, have prevailed upon me tobe passionate in the sight of all. "

The circumstances of his trial before the judicial monster, Jeffreys, aretoo well known to justify their detail in this sketch. He was sentencedto pay a fine of five hundred marks. Seventy years of age, and reducedto poverty by former persecutions, he was conveyed to the King's Benchprison. Here for two years he lay a victim to intense bodily suffering. When, through the influence of his old antagonist, Penn, he was restoredto freedom, he was already a dying man. But he came forth from prison ashe entered it, unsubdued in spirit. 

Urged to sign a declaration of thanks to James II. , his soul put on theathletic habits of youth, and he stoutly refused to commend an act oftoleration which had given freedom not to himself alone, but to Papistsand sentries. Shaking off the dust of the Court from his feet, heretired to a dwelling in Charter-House Square, near his friendSylvester's, and patiently awaited his deliverance. His death was quietand peaceful. "I have pain, " he said to his friend Mather; "there is noarguing against sense; but I have peace. I have peace. " On being askedhow he did, he answered, in memorable words, "Almost well!"

He was buried in Christ Church, where the remains of his wife and hermother had been placed. An immense concourse attended his funeral, ofall ranks and parties. Conformist and Non-conformist forgot thebitterness of the controversialist, and remembered only the virtues andthe piety of the man. Looking back on his life of self-denial andfaithfulness to apprehended duty, the men who had persecuted him whileliving wept over his grave. During the last few years of his life, theseverity of his controversial tone had been greatly softened; he lamentedhis former lack of charity, the circle of his sympathies widened, hissocial affections grew stronger with age, and love for his fellow-menuniversally, and irrespective of religious differences, increased withinhim. In his Narrative, written in the long, cool shadows of the eveningof life, he acknowledges with extraordinary candor this change in hisviews and feelings. He confesses his imperfections as a writer andpublic teacher. 

"I wish, " he says, "all over-sharp passages were expunged from mywritings, and I ask forgiveness of God and man. " He tells us thatmankind appear more equal to him; the good are not so good as he oncethought, nor the bad so evil; and that in all there is more for grace tomake advantage of, and more to testify for God and holiness, than he oncebelieved. "I less admire, " he continues, "gifts of utterance, and thebare profession of religion, than I once did, and have now much morecharity for those who, by want of gifts, do make an obscurer profession. "

He laments the effects of his constitutional irritability and impatienceupon his social intercourse and his domestic relations, and that hisbodily infirmities did not allow him a free expression of the tendernessand love of his heart. Who does not feel the pathos and inconsolableregret which dictated the following paragraph?

"When God forgiveth me, I cannot forgive myself, especially for my rashwords and deeds by which I have seemed injurious and less tender and kindthan I should have been to my near and dear relations, whose loveabundantly obliged me. When such are dead, though we never differed inpoint of interest or any other matter, every sour or cross or provokingword which I gave them maketh me almost irreconcilable to myself, andtells me how repentance brought some of old to pray to the dead whom theyhad wronged to forgive them, in the hurry of their passion. "

His pride as a logician and skilful disputant abated in the latter andbetter portion of his life he had more deference to the judgment ofothers, and more distrust of his own. "You admire, " said he to acorrespondent who had lauded his character, "one you do not know;knowledge will cure your error. " In his Narrative he writes: "I am muchmore sensible than heretofore of the breadth and length and depth of theradical, universal, odious sin of selfishness, and therefore have writtenso much against it; and of the excellency and necessity of self-denialand of a public mind, and of loving our neighbors as ourselves. " Againstmany difficulties and discouragements, both within himself and in hisoutward circumstances, he strove to make his life and conversation anexpression of that Christian love whose root, as he has said with equaltruth and beauty, "is set

 In humble self-denial, undertrod, While flower and fruit are growing up to God. "

Of the great mass of his writings, more voluminous than those of anyauthor of his time, it would ill become us to speak with confidence. Weare familiar only with some of the best of his practical works, and ourestimate of the vast and appalling series of his doctrinal, metaphysicaland controversial publications would be entitled to small weight, as theresult of very cursory examination. Many of them relate to obsoletequestions and issues, monumental of controversies long dead, and ofdisputatious doctors otherwise forgotten. Yet, in respect to even these, we feel justified in assenting to the opinion of one abundantly capableof appreciating the character of Baxter as a writer. "What works of Mr. Baxter shall I read?" asked Boswell of Dr. Johnson. "Read any of them, "was the answer, "for they are all good. " He has left upon all theimpress of his genius. Many of them contain sentiments which happilyfind favor with few in our time: philosophical and psychologicaldisquisitions, which look oddly enough in the light of the intellectualprogress of nearly two centuries; dissertations upon evil spirits, ghosts, and witches, which provoke smiles at the good man's credulity;but everywhere we find unmistakable evidences of his sincerity andearnest love of truth. He wrote under a solemn impression of duty, allowing neither pain, nor weakness, nor the claims of friendship, northe social enjoyments of domestic affection, to interfere with hissleepless intensity of purpose. He stipulated with his wife, beforemarriage, that she should not expect him to relax, even for her society, the severity of his labors. He could ill brook interruption, anddisliked the importunity of visitors. "We are afraid, sir, we break inupon your time, " said some of his callers to him upon one occasion. "Tobe sure you do, " was his answer. His seriousness seldom forsook him;there is scarce a gleam of gayety in all his one hundred and sixty-eightvolumes. He seems to have relished, however, the wit of others, especially when directed against what he looked upon as error. Marvell'sinimitable reply to the High-Church pretensions of Parker fairly overcamehis habitual gravity, and he several times alludes to it with markedsatisfaction; but, for himself, he had no heart for pleasentry. Hiswritings, like his sermons, were the earnest expostulations of a dyingman with dying men. He tells us of no other amusement or relaxation thanthe singing of psalms. "Harmony and melody, " said he, "are the pleasureand elevation of my soul. It was not the least comfort that I had in theconverse of my late dear wife, that our first act in the morning and lastin bed at night was a psalm of praise. "

It has been fashionable to speak of Baxter as a champion of civil andreligious freedom. He has little claim to such a reputation. He was thestanch advocate of monarchy, and of the right and duty of the State toenforce conformity to what he regarded as the essentials of religiousbelief and practice. No one regards the prelates who went to the Tower, under James II. , on the ground of conscientious scruples against readingthe King's declaration of toleration to Dissenters, as martyrs in thecause of universal religious freedom. Nor can Baxter, although he wrotemuch against the coercion and silencing of godly ministers, and sufferedimprisonment himself for the sake of a good conscience, be looked upon inthe light of an intelligent and consistent confessor of liberty. He didnot deny the abstract right of ecclesiastical coercion, but complained ofits exercise upon himself and his friends as unwarranted and unjust. 

One of the warmest admirers and ablest commentators of Baxter designatesthe leading and peculiar trait of his character as unearthliness. In ourview, this was its radical defect. He had too little of humanity, hefelt too little of the attraction of this world, and lived tooexclusively in the spiritual and the unearthly, for a full and healthfuldevelopment of his nature as a man, or of the graces, charities, andloves of the Christian. He undervalued the common blessings and joys oflife, and closed his eyes and ears against the beauty and harmony ofoutward nature. Humanity, in itself considered, seemed of small momentto him; "passing away" was written alike on its wrongs and its rights, its pleasures and its pains; death would soon level all distinctions; andthe sorrows or the joys, the poverty or the riches, the slavery or theliberty, of the brief day of its probation seemed of too littleconsequence to engage his attention and sympathies. Hence, while he wasalways ready to minister to temporal suffering wherever it came to hisnotice, he made no efforts to remove its political or social causes. In this respect he differed widely from some of his illustriouscontemporaries. Penn, while preaching up and down the land, and writingtheological folios and pamphlets, could yet urge the political rights ofEnglishmen, mount the hustings for Algernon Sydney, and plead forunlimited religious liberty; and Vane, while dreaming of a comingmillennium and reign of the saints, and busily occupied in defending hisAntinomian doctrines, could at the same time vindicate, with tongue andpen, the cause of civil and religious freedom. But Baxter overlooked theevils and oppressions which were around him, and forgot the necessitiesand duties of the world of time and sense in his earnest aspirationstowards the world of spirits. It is by no means an uninstructive fact, that with the lapse of years his zeal for proselytism, doctrinaldisputations, and the preaching of threats and terrors visibly declined, while love for his fellow-men and catholic charity greatly increased, andhe was blessed with a clearer perception of the truth that God is bestserved through His suffering children, and that love and reverence forvisible humanity is an indispensable condition of the appropriate worshipof the Unseen God. 

But, in taking leave of Richard Baxter, our last words must not be thoseof censure. Admiration and reverence become us rather. He was an honestman. So far as we can judge, his motives were the highest and best whichcan influence human action. He had faults and weaknesses, and committedgrave errors, but we are constrained to believe that the prayer withwhich he closes his Saints' Rest and which we have chosen as the fittingtermination of our article, was the earnest aspiration of his life:--

"O merciful Father of Spirits! suffer not the soul of thy unworthyservant to be a stranger to the joys which he describes to others, butkeep me while I remain on earth in daily breathing after thee, and in abelieving affectionate walking with thee! Let those who shall read thesepages not merely read the fruits of my studies, but the breathing of myactive hope and love; that if my heart were open to their view, theymight there read thy love most deeply engraven upon it with a beam fromthe face of the Son of God; and not find vanity or lust or pride withinwhere the words of life appear without, that so these lines may notwitness against me, but, proceeding from the heart of the writer, beeffectual through thy grace upon the heart of the reader, and so be thesavor of life to both. "

 WILLIAM LEGGETT

 "O Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses, gushing from the cap With which the Roman master crowned his slave, When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee; They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. " BRYANT. 

WHEN the noblest woman in all France stood on the scaffold, just beforeher execution, she is said to have turned towards the statue of Liberty, --which, strangely enough, had been placed near the guillotine, as itspatron saint, --with the exclamation, "O Liberty! what crimes have beencommitted in thy name!" It is with a feeling akin to that which promptedthis memorable exclamation of Madame Roland that the sincere lover ofhuman freedom and progress is often compelled to regard Americandemocracy. 

For democracy, pure and impartial, --the self-government of the whole;equal rights and privileges, irrespective of birth or complexion; themorality of the Gospel of Christ applied to legislation; Christianityreduced to practice, and showering the blessings of its impartial loveand equal protection upon all, like the rain and dews of heaven, --we havethe sincerest love and reverence. So far as our own governmentapproaches this standard--and, with all its faults, we believe it does somore nearly than any other--it has our hearty and steadfast allegiance. We complain of and protest against it only where, in its originalframework or actual administration, it departs from the democraticprinciple. Holding, with Novalis, that the Christian religion is theroot of all democracy and the highest fact in the rights of man, weregard the New Testament as the true political text-book; and believethat, just in proportion as mankind receive its doctrines and precepts, not merely as matters of faith and relating to another state of being, but as practical rules, designed for the regulation of the present lifeas well as the future, their institutions, social arrangements, and formsof government will approximate to the democratic model. We believe inthe ultimate complete accomplishment of the mission of Him who came "topreach deliverance to the captive, and the opening of prison doors tothem that are bound. " We look forward to the universal dominion of Hisbenign humanity; and, turning from the strife and blood, the slavery, andsocial and political wrongs of the past and present, anticipate therealization in the distant future of that state when the song of theangels at His advent shall be no longer a prophecy, but the jubilantexpression of a glorious reality, --"Glory to God in the highest! Peaceon earth, and good will to man!"

For the party in this country which has assumed the name of Democracy, asa party, we have had, we confess, for some years past, very littlerespect. It has advocated many salutary measures, tending to equalize theadvantages of trade and remove the evils of special legislation. But ifit has occasionally lopped some of the branches of the evil tree ofoppression, so far from striking at its root, it has suffered itself tobe made the instrument of nourishing and protecting it. It has alloweditself to be called, by its Southern flatterers, "the natural ally ofslavery. " It has spurned the petitions of the people in behalf offreedom under its feet, in Congress and State legislatures. Nominallythe advocate of universal suffrage, it has wrested from the coloredcitizens of Pennsylvania that right of citizenship which they had enjoyedunder a Constitution framed by Franklin and Rush. Perhaps the mostshameful exhibition of its spirit was made in the late Rhode Islandstruggle, when the free suffrage convention, solemnly calling heaven andearth to witness its readiness to encounter all the horrors of civil war, in defence of the holy principle of equal and universal suffrage, deliberately excluded colored Rhode Islanders from the privilege ofvoting. In the Constitutional Conventions of Michigan and Iowa, the sameparty declared all men equal, and then provided an exception to this rulein the case of the colored inhabitants. Its course on the question ofexcluding slavery from Texas is a matter of history, known and read ofall. 

After such exhibitions of its practice, its professions have lost theirpower. The cant of democracy upon the lips of men who are living downits principles is, to an earnest mind, well nigh insufferable. Pertinentwere the queries of Eliphaz the Temanite, "Shall a man utter vainknowledge, and fill his belly with the east wind? Shall he reason withunprofitable talk, or with speeches wherewith he can do no good?" Enoughof wearisome talk we have had about "progress, " the rights of "themasses, " the "dignity of labor, " and "extending the area of freedom"!"Clear your mind of cant, sir, " said Johnson to Boswell; and no betteradvice could be now given to a class of our democratic politicians. Workout your democracy; translate your words into deeds; away with yoursentimental generalizations, and come down to the practical details ofyour duty as men and Christians. What avail your abstract theories, yourhopeless virginity of democracy, sacred from the violence of meanings?A democracy which professes to hold, as by divine right, the doctrine ofhuman equality in its special keeping, and which at the same time givesits direct countenance and support to the vilest system of oppression onwhich the sun of heaven looks, has no better title to the name itdisgraces than the apostate Son of the Morning has to his old place inheaven. We are using strong language, for we feel strongly on thissubject. Let those whose hypocrisy we condemn, and whose sins againsthumanity we expose, remember that they are the publishers of their ownshame, and that they have gloried in their apostasy. There is a cuttingseverity in the answer which Sophocles puts in the mouth of Electra, injustification of her indignant rebuke of her wicked mother:--

 "'Tis you that say it, not I You do the unholy deeds which find rue words. "

Yet in that party calling itself democratic we rejoice to recognize true, generous, and thoroughly sincere men, --lovers of the word of democracy, and doers of it also, honest and hearty in their worship of liberty, whoare still hoping that the antagonism which slavery presents to democracywill be perceived by the people, in spite of the sophistry and appeals toprejudice by which interested partisans have hitherto succeeded indeceiving them. We believe with such that the mass of the democraticvoters of the free States are in reality friends of freedom, and hateslavery in all its forms; and that, with a full understanding of thematter, they could never consent to be sold to presidential aspirants, bypolitical speculators, in lots to suit purchasers, and warranted to beuseful in putting down free discussion, perpetuating oppression, andstrengthening the hands of modern feudalism. They are beginning alreadyto see that, under the process whereby men of easy virtue obtain officesfrom the general government, as the reward of treachery to freeprinciples, the strength and vitality of the party are rapidly declining. To them, at least, democracy means something more than collectorships, consulates, and governmental contracts. For the sake of securing amonopoly of these to a few selfish and heartless party managers, they arenot prepared to give up the distinctive principles of democracy, andsubstitute in their place the doctrines of the Satanic school ofpolitics. They will not much longer consent to stand before the world asthe slavery party of the United States, especially when policy andexpediency, as well as principle, unite in recommending a position morecongenial to the purposes of their organization, the principles of thefathers of their political faith, the spirit of the age, and theobligations of Christianity. 

The death-blow of slavery in this country will be given by the very powerupon which it has hitherto relied with so much confidence. Abused andinsulted Democracy will, erelong, shake off the loathsome burden underwhich it is now staggering. In the language of the late TheodoreSedgwiek, of Massachusetts, a consistent democrat of the old school:"Slavery, in all its forms, is anti-democratic, --an old poison left inthe veins, fostering the worst principles of aristocracy, pride, andaversion to labor; the natural enemy of the poor man, the laboring man, the oppressed man. The question is, whether absolute dominion over anycreature in the image of man be a wholesome power in a free country;whether this is a school in which to train the young republican mind;whether slave blood and free blood can course healthily together in thesame body politic. Whatever may be present appearances, and by whatevername party may choose to call things, this question must finally besettled by the democracy of the country. "

This prediction was made eight years ago, at a time when all the facts inthe case seemed against the probability of its truth, and when only hereand there the voice of an indignant freeman protested against theexulting claims of the slave power upon the democracy as its "naturalally. " The signs of the times now warrant the hope of its fulfilment. Over the hills of the East, and over the broad territory of the EmpireState, a new spirit is moving. Democracy, like Balaam upon Zophim, hasfelt the divine _afflatus_, and is blessing that which it was summoned tocurse. 

The present hopeful state of things is owing, in no slight degree, to theself-sacrificing exertions of a few faithful and clear-sighted men, foremost among whom was the late William Leggett; than whom no one haslabored more perseveringly, or, in the end, more successfully, to bringthe practice of American democracy into conformity with its professions. 

William Leggett! Let our right hand forget its cunning, when that nameshall fail to awaken generous emotions and aspirations for a higher andworthier manhood! True man and true democrat; faithful always toLiberty, following wherever she led, whether the storm beat in his faceor on his back; unhesitatingly counting her enemies his own, whether inthe guise of Whig monopoly and selfish expediency, or democraticservility north of Mason and Dixon's line towards democratic slaveholdingsouth of it; poor, yet incorruptible; dependent upon party favor, as aparty editor, yet risking all in condemnation of that party, when in thewrong; a man of the people, yet never stooping to flatter the people'sprejudices, --he is the politician, of all others, whom we would hold upto the admiration and imitation of the young men of our country. WhatFletcher of Saltoun is to Scotland, and the brave spirits of the oldCommonwealth time--

 "Hands that penned And tongues that uttered wisdom, better none The later Sydney, Marvell, Harrington, Young Vane, and others, who called Milton friend--"

are to England, should Leggett be to America. His character was formedon these sturdy democratic models. Had he lived in their day, he wouldhave scraped with old Andrew Marvell the bare blade-bone of poverty, oreven laid his head on the block with Vane, rather than forego hisindependent thought and speech. 

Of the early life of William Leggett we have no very definite knowledge. Born in moderate circumstances; at first a woodsman in the Westernwilderness, then a midshipman in the navy, then a denizen of New York;exposed to sore hardships and perilous temptations, he worked his way bythe force of his genius to the honorable position of associate editor ofthe Evening Post, the leading democratic journal of our great commercialmetropolis. Here he became early distinguished for his ultraism indemocracy. His whole soul revolted against oppression. He was forliberty everywhere and in all things, in thought, in speech, in vote, inreligion, in government, and in trade; he was for throwing off allrestraints upon the right of suffrage; regarding all men as brethren, helooked with disapprobation upon attempts to exclude foreigners from therights of citizenship; he was for entire freedom of commerce; hedenounced a national bank; he took the lead in opposition to the monopolyof incorporated banks; he argued in favor of direct taxation, andadvocated a free post-office, or a system by which letters should betransported, as goods and passengers now are, by private enterprise. Inall this he was thoroughly in earnest. That he often erred throughpassion and prejudice cannot be doubted; but in no instance was he foundturning aside from the path which he believed to be the true one, frommerely selfish considerations. He was honest alike to himself and thepublic. Every question which was thrown up before him by the waves ofpolitical or moral agitation he measured by his standard of right andtruth, and condemned or advocated it in utter disregard of prevailingopinions, of its effect upon his pecuniary interest, or of his standingwith his party. The vehemence of his passions sometimes betrayed himinto violence of language and injustice to his opponents; but he had thatrare and manly trait which enables its possessor, whenever he becomesconvinced of error, to make a prompt acknowledgment of the conviction. 

In the summer of 1834, a series of mobs, directed against theAbolitionists, who had organized a national society, with the city of NewYork as its central point, followed each other in rapid succession. Thehouses of the leading men in the society were sacked and pillaged;meeting-houses broken into and defaced; and the unoffending coloredinhabitants of the city treated with the grossest indignity, andsubjected, in some instances, to shameful personal outrage. It wasemphatically a "Reign of Terror. " The press of both political partiesand of the leading religious sects, by appeals to prejudice and passion, and by studied misrepresentation of the designs and measures of theAbolitionists, fanned the flame of excitement, until the fury of demonspossessed the misguided populace. To advocate emancipation, or defendthose who did so, in New York, at that period, was like preachingdemocracy in Constantinople or religious toleration in Paris on the eveof St. Bartholomew. Law was prostrated in the dust; to be suspected ofabolitionism was to incur a liability to an indefinite degree of insultand indignity; and the few and hunted friends of the slave who in thosenights of terror laid their heads upon the pillow did so with the prayerof the Psalmist on their lips, "Defend me from them that rise up againstme; save me from bloody men. "

At this period the New York Evening Post spoke out strongly incondemnation of the mob. William Leggett was not then an Abolitionist;he had known nothing of the proscribed class, save through the cruelmisrepresentations of their enemies; but, true to his democratic faith, he maintained the right to discuss the question of slavery. Theinfection of cowardly fear, which at that time sealed the lips ofmultitudes who deplored the excesses of the mob and sympathized with itsvictims, never reached him. Boldly, indignantly, he demanded that themob should be put down at once by the civil authorities. He declared theAbolitionists, even if guilty of all that had been charged upon them, fully entitled to the privileges and immunities of American citizens. Hesternly reprimanded the board of aldermen of the city for rejecting withcontempt the memorial of the Abolitionists to that body, explanatory oftheir principles and the measures by which they had sought to disseminatethem. Referring to the determination, expressed by the memorialists inthe rejected document, not to recant or relinquish any principle whichthey had adopted, but to live and die by their faith, he said: "In this, however mistaken, however mad, we may consider their opinions in relationto the blacks, what honest, independent mind can blame them? Where isthe man so poor of soul, so white-livered, so base, that he would do lessin relation to any important doctrine in which he religiously believed?Where is the man who would have his tenets drubbed into him by the clubsof ruffians, or hold his conscience at the dictation of a mob?"

In the summer of 1835, a mob of excited citizens broke open the post-office at Charleston, South Carolina, and burnt in the street such papersand pamphlets as they judged to be "incendiary;" in other words, such asadvocated the application of the democratic principle to the condition ofthe slaves of the South. These papers were addressed, not to the slave, but to the master. They contained nothing which had not been said andwritten by Southern men themselves, the Pinkneys, Jeffersons, Henrys, andMartins, of Maryland and Virginia. The example set at Charleston did notlack imitators. Every petty postmaster south of Mason and Dixon's linebecame ex officio a censor of the press. The Postmaster-General, writingto his subordinate at Charleston, after stating that the post-officedepartment had "no legal right to exclude newspapers from the mail, orprohibit their carriage or delivery, on account of their character ortendency, real or supposed, " declared that he would, nevertheless, giveno aid, directly or indirectly, in circulating publications of anincendiary or inflammatory character; and assured the perjuredfunctionary, who had violated his oath of office, that, while he couldnot sanction, he would not condemn his conduct. Against this virtualencouragement of a flagrant infringement of a constitutional right, thislicensing of thousands of petty government officials to sit in their mailoffices--to use the figure of Milton--cross-legged, like so many enviousJunos, in judgment upon the daily offspring of the press, taking counselof passion, prejudice, and popular excitement as to what was "incendiary"or "inflammatory, " the Evening Post spoke in tones of manly protest. 

While almost all the editors of his party throughout the country eitheropenly approved of the conduct of the Postmaster-General or silentlyacquiesced in it, William Leggett, who, in the absence of his colleague, was at that time sole editor of the Post, and who had everything to lose, in a worldly point of view, by assailing a leading functionary of thegovernment, who was a favorite of the President and a sharer of hispopularity, did not hesitate as to the course which consistency and dutyrequired at his hands. He took his stand for unpopular truth, at a timewhen a different course on his part could not have failed to secure himthe favor and patronage of his party. In the great struggle with theBank of the United States, his services had not been unappreciated by thePresident and his friends. Without directly approving the course of theadministration on the question of the rights of the Abolitionists, byremaining silent in respect to it, he might have avoided all suspicion ofmental and moral independence incompatible with party allegiance. Theimpracticable honesty of Leggett, never bending from the erectness oftruth for the sake of that "thrift which follows fawning, " dictated amost severe and scorching review of the letter of the Postmaster-General. "More monstrous, more detestable doctrines we have never heardpromulgated, " he exclaimed in one of his leading editorials. "With whatface, after this, can the Postmaster-General punish a postmaster for anyexercise of the fearfully dangerous power of stopping and destroying anyportion of the mails?" "The Abolitionists do not deserve to be placed onthe same footing with a, foreign enemy, nor their publications as thesecret despatches of a spy. They are American citizens, in the exerciseof their undoubted right of citizenship; and however erroneous theirviews, however fanatic their conduct, while they act within the limits ofthe law, what official functionary, be he merely a subordinate or thehead of the post-office department, shall dare to abridge them of theirrights as citizens, and deny them those facilities of intercourse whichwere instituted for the equal accommodation of all? If the Americanpeople will submit to this, let us expunge all written codes, and resolvesociety into its original elements, where the might of the strong isbetter than the right of the weak. "

A few days after the publication of this manly rebuke, he wrote anindignantly sarcastic article upon the mobs which were at this timeeverywhere summoned to "put down the Abolitionists. " The next day, the4th of the ninth month, 1835, he received a copy of the Address of theAmerican Anti-Slavery Society to the public, containing a full andexplicit avowal of all the principles and designs of the association. Hegave it a candid perusal, weighed its arguments, compared its doctrineswith those at the foundation of his own political faith, and rose up fromits examination an Abolitionist. He saw that he himself, misled by thepopular clamor, had done injustice to benevolent and self-sacrificingmen; and he took the earliest occasion, in an article of great power andeloquence, to make the amplest atonement. He declared his entireconcurrence with the views of the American Anti-Slavery Society, with thesingle exception of a doubt which rested, on his mind as to the abolitionof slavery in the District of Columbia. We quote from the concludingparagraph of this article:--

"We assert without hesitation, that, if we possessed the right, we shouldnot scruple to exercise it for the speedy annihilation of servitude andchains. The impression made in boyhood by the glorious exclamation ofCato, "'A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty Is worth a whole eternity of bondage!'

has been worn deeper, not effaced, by time; and we eagerly and ardentlytrust that the day will yet arrive when the clank of the bondman'sfetters will form no part of the multitudinous sounds which our countrysends up to Heaven, mingling, as it were, into a song of praise for ournational prosperity. We yearn with strong desire for the day whenfreedom shall no longer wave

 "Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves. '"

A few days after, in reply to the assaults made upon him from allquarters, he calmly and firmly reiterated his determination to maintainthe right of free discussion of the subject of slavery. 

"The course we are pursuing, " said he, "is one which we entered upon aftermature deliberation, and we are not to be turned from it by a species ofopposition, the inefficacy of which we have seen displayed in so manyformer instances. It is Philip Van Artevelde who says:--

 "'All my life long, I have beheld with most respect the man Who knew himself, and knew the ways before him; And from among them chose considerately, With a clear foresight, not a blindfold courage; And, having chosen, with a steadfast mind. Pursued his purpose. '

"This is the sort of character we emulate. If to believe slavery adeplorable evil and curse, in whatever light it is viewed; if to yearnfor the day which shall break the fetters of three millions of humanbeings, and restore to them their birthright of equal freedom; if to bewilling, in season and out of season, to do all in our power to promoteso desirable a result, by all means not inconsistent with higher duty: ifthese sentiments constitute us Abolitionists, then are we such, and gloryin the name. "

"The senseless cry of 'Abolitionist' shall never deter us, nor the moresenseless attempt of puny prints to read us out of the democratic party. The often-quoted and beautiful saying of the Latin historian, Homo sum:humani nihil a me alienum puto, we apply to the poor slave as well as hismaster, and shall endeavor to fulfil towards both the obligations of anequal humanity. "

The generation which, since the period of which we are speaking, haverisen into active life can have but a faint conception of the boldness ofthis movement on the part of William Leggett. To be an Abolitionist thenwas to abandon all hope of political preferment or party favor; to bemarked and branded as a social outlaw, under good society's interdict offood and fire; to hold property, liberty, and life itself at the mercy oflawless mobs. All this William Leggett clearly saw. He knew how ruggedand thorny was the path upon which, impelled by his love of truth and theobligations of humanity, he was entering. From hunted and proscribedAbolitionists and oppressed and spirit-broken colored men, the Pariahs ofAmerican democracy, he could alone expect sympathy. The Whig journals, with a few honorable exceptions, exulted over what they regarded as thefall of a formidable opponent; and after painting his abolitionism in themost hideous colors, held him up to their Southern allies as a specimenof the radical disorganizers and democratic levellers of the North. Hisown party, in consequence, made haste to proscribe him. Governmentadvertising was promptly withdrawn from his paper. The official journalsof Washington and Albany read him out of the pale of democracy. FatherRitchie scolded and threatened. The democratic committee issued its bullagainst him from Tammany Hall. The resolutions of that committee werelaid before him when he was sinking under a severe illness. Rallying hisenergies, he dictated from his sick-bed an answer marked by all hisaccustomed vigor and boldness. Its tone was calm, manly, self-relying;the language of one who, having planted his feet hard down on the rock ofprinciple, stood there like Luther at Worms, because he "could nototherwise. " Exhausted nature sunk under the effort. A weary sickness ofnearly a year's duration followed. In this sore affliction, deserted ashe was by most of his old political friends, we have reason to know thathe was cheered by the gratitude of those in whose behalf he had well-nighmade a martyr's sacrifice; and that from the humble hearths of his poorcolored fellow-citizens fervent prayers went up for his restoration. 

His work was not yet done. Purified by trial, he was to stand forth oncemore in vindication of the truths of freedom. As soon as his health wassufficiently reestablished, he commenced the publication of anindependent political and literary journal, under the expressive title ofThe Plaindealer. In his first number he stated, that, claiming the rightof absolute freedom of discussion, he should exercise it with no otherlimitations than those of his own judgment. A poor man, he admitted thathe established the paper in the expectation of deriving from it alivelihood, but that even for that object he could not trim its sails tosuit the varying breeze of popular prejudice. "If, " said he, "a paperwhich makes the Right, and not the Expedient, its cardinal object, willnot yield its conductor a support, there are honest vocations that will, and better the humblest of them than to be seated at the head of aninfluential press, if its influence is not exerted to promote the causeof truth. " He was true to his promise. The free soul of a free, strongman spoke out in his paper. How refreshing was it, after listening tothe inanities, the dull, witless vulgarity, the wearisome commonplace ofjournalists, who had no higher aim than to echo, with parrot-likeexactness, current prejudices and falsehoods, to turn to the great andgenerous thoughts, the chaste and vigorous diction, of the Plaindealer!No man ever had a clearer idea of the duties and responsibilities of aconductor of the public press than William Leggett, and few have evercombined so many of the qualifications for their perfect discharge: anice sense of justice, a warm benevolence, inflexible truth, honestydefying temptation, a mind stored with learning, and having at commandthe treasures of the best thoughts of the best authors. As was said ofFletcher of Saltoun, he was "a gentleman steady in his principles; ofnice honor, abundance of learning; bold as a lion; a sure friend; a manwho would lose his life to serve his country, and would not do a basething to save it. "

He had his faults: his positive convictions sometimes took the shapeof a proud and obstinate dogmatism; he who could so well appeal to thejudgment and the reason of his readers too often only roused theirpassions by invective and vehement declamation. Moderate men werestartled and pained by the fierce energy of his language; and he notunfrequently made implacable enemies of opponents whom he might haveconciliated and won over by mild expostulation and patient explanation. It must be urged in extenuation, that, as the champion of unpopulartruths, he was assailed unfairly on all sides, and indecentlymisrepresented and calumniated to a degree, as his friend Sedgwick justlyremarks, unprecedented even in the annals of the American press; and thathis errors in this respect were, in the main, errors of retaliation. 

In the Plaindealer, in common with the leading moral and politicalsubjects of the day, that of slavery was freely discussed in all itsbearings. It is difficult, in a single extract, to convey an adequateidea of the character of the editorial columns of a paper, where terseand concentrated irony and sarcasm alternate with eloquent appeal anddiffuse commentary and labored argument. We can only offer at random thefollowing passages from a long review of a speech of John C. Calhoun, inwhich that extraordinary man, whose giant intellect has been shut out ofits appropriate field of exercise by the very slavery of which he is thechampion, undertook to maintain, in reply to a Virginia senator, thatchattel slavery was not an evil, but "a great good. "

"We have Mr. Calhoun's own warrant for attacking his position with allthe fervor which a high sense of duty can give, for we do hold, from thebottom of our soul, that slavery is an evil, --a deep, detestable, damnable evil; evil in all its aspects to the blacks, and a greater evilto the whites; an evil moral, social, and political; an evil which showsitself in the languishing condition of agriculture where it exists, inparalyzed commerce, and in the prostration of the mechanic arts; an evilwhich stares you in the face from uncultivated fields, and howls in yourears through tangled swamps and morasses. Slavery is such an evil thatit withers what it touches. Where it is once securely established theland becomes desolate, as the tree inevitably perishes which the sea-hawkchooses for its nest; while freedom, on the contrary, flourishes like thetannen, 'on the loftiest and least sheltered rocks, ' and clothes with itsrefreshing verdure what, without it, would frown in naked and incurablesterility. 

"If any one desires an illustration of the opposite influences of slaveryand freedom, let him look at the two sister States of Kentucky and Ohio. Alike in soil and climate, and divided only by a river, whose translucentwaters reveal, through nearly the whole breadth, the sandy bottom overwhich they sparkle, how different are they in all the respects over whichman has control! On the one hand the air is vocal with the mingledtumult of a vast and prosperous population. Every hillside smiles withan abundant harvest, every valley shelters a thriving village, the clickof a busy mill drowns the prattle of every rivulet, and all themultitudinous sounds of business denote happy activity in every branchof social occupation. 

"This is the State which, but a few years ago, slept in the unbrokensolitude of nature. The forest spread an interminable canopy of shadeover the dark soil on which the fat and useless vegetation rotted atease, and through the dusky vistas of the wood only savage beasts andmore savage men prowled in quest of prey. The whole land now blossomslike a garden. The tall and interlacing trees have unlocked their hold, and bowed before the woodman's axe. The soil is disencumbered of themossy trunks which had reposed upon it for ages. The rivers flash in thesunlight, and the fields smile with waving harvests. This is Ohio, andthis is what freedom has done for it. 

"Now, let us turn to Kentucky, and note the opposite influences ofslavery. A narrow and unfrequented path through the close and sultrycanebrake conducts us to a wretched hovel. It stands in the midst of anunweeded field, whose dilapidated enclosure scarcely protects it from thelowing and hungry kine. Children half clad and squalid, and destitute ofthe buoyancy natural to their age, lounge in the sunshine, while theirparent saunters apart, to watch his languid slaves drive the ill-appointed team afield. This is not a fancy picture. It is a true copyof one of the features which make up the aspect 'of the State, and ofevery State where the moral leprosy of slavery covers the people with itsnoisome scales; a deadening lethargy benumbs the limbs of the bodypolitic; a stupor settles on the arts of life; agriculture reluctantlydrags the plough and harrow to the field, only when scourged bynecessity; the axe drops from the woodman's nerveless hand the moment hisfire is scantily supplied with fuel; and the fen, undrained, sends up itsnoxious exhalations, to rack with cramps and agues the frame already toomuch enervated by a moral epidemic to creep beyond the sphere of thematerial miasm. "

The Plaindealer was uniformly conducted with eminent ability; but itseditor was too far in advance of his contemporaries to find generalacceptance, or even toleration. In addition to pecuniary embarrassments, his health once more failed, and in the autumn of 1837 he was compelledto suspend the publication of his paper. One of the last articles whichhe wrote for it shows the extent to which he was sometimes carried by theintensity and depth of his abhorrence of oppression, and the fervency ofhis adoration of liberty. Speaking of the liability of being called uponto aid the master in the subjection of revolted slaves, and in replacingtheir cast-off fetters, he thus expresses himself: "Would we comply withsuch a requisition? No! Rather would we see our right arm lopped fromour body, and the mutilated trunk itself gored with mortal wounds, thanraise a finger in opposition to men struggling in the holy cause offreedom. The obligations of citizenship are strong, but those ofjustice, humanity, and religion, stronger. We earnestly trust that thegreat contest of opinion which is now going on in this country mayterminate in the enfranchisement of the slaves, without recourse to thestrife of blood; but should the oppressed bondmen, impatient of the tardyprogress of truth, urged only in discussion, attempt to burst theirchains by a more violent and shorter process, they should never encounterour arm nor hear our voice in the ranks of their opponents. We shouldstand a sad spectator of the conflict; and, whatever commiseration wemight feel for the discomfiture of the oppressors, we should pray thatthe battle might end in giving freedom to the oppressed. "

With the Plain dealer, his connection with the public, in a greatmeasure, ceased. His steady and intimate friend, personal as well aspolitical, Theodore Sedgwick, Jun. , a gentleman who has, on manyoccasions, proved himself worthy of his liberty-loving ancestry, thusspeaks of him in his private life at this period: "Amid the reverses offortune, harassed by pecuniary embarrassments, during the tortures of adisease which tore away his life piecemeal, hee ever maintained the samemanly and unaltered front, the same cheerfulness of disposition, the samedignity of conduct. No humiliating solicitation, no weak complaint, escaped him. " At the election in the fall of 1838, the noble-spiriteddemocrat was not wholly forgotten. A strenuous effort, which was well-nigh successful, was made to secure his nomination as a candidate forCongress. It was at this juncture that he wrote to a friend in the city, from his residence at New Rochelle, one of the noblest letters everpenned by a candidate for popular favor. The following extracts willshow how a true man can meet the temptations of political life:--

"What I am most afraid of is, that some of my friends, in their tooearnest zeal, will place me in a false position on the subject ofslavery. I am an Abolitionist. I hate slavery in all its forms, degrees, and influences; and I deem myself bound, by the highest moraland political obligations, not to let that sentiment of hate lie dormantand smouldering in my own breast, but to give it free vent, and let itblaze forth, that it may kindle equal ardor through the whole sphere ofmy influence. I would not have this fact disguised or mystified for anyoffice the people have it in their power to give. Rather, a thousandtimes rather, would I again meet the denunciations of Tammany Hall, andbe stigmatized with all the foul epithets with which the anti-abolitionvocabulary abounds, than recall or deny one tittle of my creed. Abolition is, in my sense, a necessary and a glorious part of democracy;and I hold the right and duty to discuss the subject of slavery, and toexpose its hideous evils in all their bearings, --moral, social, andpolitical, --as of infinitely higher importance than to carry fifty sub-treasury bills. That I should discharge this duty temperately; that Ishould not let it come in collision with other duties; that I should notlet my hatred of slavery transcend the express obligations of theConstitution, or violate its clear spirit, I hope and trust you thinksufficiently well of me to believe. But what I fear is, (not from you, however, ) that some of my advocates and champions will seek to recommendme to popular support by representing me as not an Abolitionist, which isfalse. All that I have written gives the lie to it. All I shall writewill give the lie to it. 

"And here, let me add, (apart from any consideration already advertedto, ) that, as a matter of mere policy, I would not, if I could, have myname disjoined from abolitionism. To be an Abolitionist now is to be anincendiary; as, three years ago, to be an anti-monopolist was to be aleveller and a Jack Cade. See what three short years have done ineffecting the anti-monopoly reform; and depend upon it that the nextthree years, or, if not three, say three times three, if you please, willwork a greater revolution on the slavery question. The stream of publicopinion now sets against us; but it is about to turn, and theregurgitation will be tremendous. Proud in that day may well be the manwho can float in triumph on the first refluent wave, swept onward by thedeluge which he himself, in advance of his fellows, has largely shared inoccasioning. Such be my fate; and, living or dead, it will, in somemeasure, be mine! I have written my name in ineffaceable letters on theabolition record; and whether the reward ultimately come in the shape ofhonors to the living man, or a tribute to the memory of a departed one, Iwould not forfeit my right to it for as many offices as has in his gift, if each of them was greater than his own. "

After mentioning that he had understood that some of his friends hadendeavored to propitiate popular prejudice by representing him as noAbolitionist, he says:--

"Keep them, for God's sake, from committing any such fooleries for thesake of getting me into Congress. Let others twist themselves into whatshapes they please, to gratify the present taste of the people; as forme, I am not formed of such pliant materials, and choose to retain, undisturbed, the image of my God! I do not wish to cheat the people oftheir votes. I would not get their support, any more than their money, under false pretences. I am what I am; and if that does not suit them, I am content to stay at home. "

God be praised for affording us, even in these latter days, the sight ofan honest man! Amidst the heartlessness, the double-dealing, theevasions, the prevarications, the shameful treachery and falsehood, ofpolitical men of both parties, in respect to the question of slavery, howrefreshing is it to listen to words like these! They renew our failingfaith in human nature. They reprove our weak misgivings. We rise upfrom their perusal stronger and healthier. With something of the spiritwhich dictated them, we renew our vows to freedom, and, with manlierenergy, gird up our souls for the stern struggle before us. 

As might have been expected, and as he himself predicted, the efforts ofhis friends to procure his nomination failed; but the same generousappreciators of his rare worth were soon after more successful in theirexertions in his behalf. He received from President Van Buren theappointment of the mission to Guatemala, --an appointment which, inaddition to honorable employment in the service of his country, promisedhim the advantages of a sea voyage and a change of climate, for therestoration of his health. The course of Martin Van Buren on the subjectof slavery in the District of Columbia forms, in the estimation of manyof his best friends, by no means the most creditable portion of hispolitical history; but it certainly argues well for his magnanimity andfreedom from merely personal resentment that he gave this appointment tothe man who had animadverted upon that course with the greatest freedom, and whose rebuke of the veto pledge, severe in its truth and justice, formed the only discord in the paean of partisan flattery which greetedhis inaugural. But, however well intended, it came too late. In themidst of the congratulations of his friends on the brightening prospectbefore him, the still hopeful and vigorous spirit of William Leggett wassummoned away by death. Universal regret was awakened. Admiration ofhis intellectual power, and that generous and full appreciation of hishigh moral worth which had been in too many instances withheld from theliving man by party policy and prejudice, were now freely accorded to thedead. The presses of both political parties vied with each other inexpressions of sorrow at the loss of a great and true man. TheDemocracy, through all its organs, hastened to canonize him as one of thesaints of its calendar. The general committee, in New York, expungedtheir resolutions of censure. The Democratic Review, at that period themost respectable mouthpiece of the democratic party, made him the subjectof exalted eulogy. His early friend and co-editor, William CullenBryant, laid upon his grave the following tribute, alike beautiful andtrue:--

 "The earth may ring, from shore to shore, With echoes of a glorious name, But he whose loss our tears deplore Has left behind him more than fame. 

 "For when the death-frost came to lie On Leggett's warm and mighty heart, And quenched his bold and friendly eye, His spirit did not all depart. 

 "The words of fire that from his pen He flung upon the lucid page Still move, still shake the hearts of men, Amid a cold and coward age. 

 "His love of Truth, too warm, too strong, For Hope or Fear to chain or chill, His hate of tyranny and wrong, Burn in the breasts they kindled still. "

So lived and died William Leggett. What a rebuke of party perfidy, ofpolitical meanness, of the common arts and stratagems of demagogues, comes up from his grave! How the cheek of mercenary selfishness crimsonsat the thought of his incorruptible integrity! How heartless and hollowpretenders, who offer lip service to freedom, while they give their handsto whatever work their slaveholding managers may assign them; who sit inchains round the crib of governmental patronage, putting on the spaniel, and putting off the man, and making their whole lives a miserable lie, shrink back from a contrast with the proud and austere dignity of hischaracter! What a comment on their own condition is the memory of a manwho could calmly endure the loss of party favor, the reproaches of hisfriends, the malignant assaults of his enemies, and the fretting evils ofpoverty, in the hope of bequeathing, like the dying testator of Ford, "A fame by scandal untouched, To Memory and Time's old daughter, Truth. "

The praises which such men are now constrained to bestow upon him aretheir own condemnation. Every stone which they pile upon his grave iswritten over with the record of their hypocrisy. 

We have written rather for the living than the dead. As one of thatproscribed and hunted band of Abolitionists, whose rights were so bravelydefended by William Leggett, we should, indeed, be wanting in ordinarygratitude not to do honor to his memory; but we have been actuated at thepresent time mainly by a hope that the character, the lineaments of whichwe have so imperfectly sketched, may awaken a generous emulation in thehearts of the young democracy of our country. Democracy such as WilliamLeggett believed and practised, democracy in its full and all-comprehensive significance, is destined to be the settled political faithof this republic. Because the despotism of slavery has usurped its name, and offered the strange incense of human tears and blood on its profanedaltars, shall we, therefore, abandon the only political faith whichcoincides with the Gospel of Jesus, and meets the aspirations and wantsof humanity? No. The duty of the present generation in the UnitedStates is to reduce this faith to practice, to make the beautiful ideal afact. 

"Every American, " says Leggett, "who in any way countenances slavery isderelict to his duty, as a Christian, a patriot, a man; and every onedoes countenance and authorize it who suffers any opportunity ofexpressing his deep abhorrence of its manifold abominations to passunimproved. " The whole world has an interest in this matter. Theinfluence of our democratic despotism is exerted against the liberties ofEurope. Political reformers in the Old World, who have testified totheir love of freedom by serious sacrifices, hold but one language onthis point. They tell us that American slavery furnishes kings andaristocracies with their most potent arguments; that it is a perpetualdrag on the wheel of political progress. 

We have before us, at this time, a letter from Seidensticker, one of theleaders of the patriotic movement in behalf of German liberty in 1831. It was written from the prison of Celle, where he had been confined foreight years. The writer expresses his indignant astonishment at thespeeches of John C. Calhoun, and others in Congress, on the slaveryquestion, and deplores the disastrous influence of our greatinconsistency upon the cause of freedom throughout the world, --aninfluence which paralyzes the hands of the patriotic reformer, while itstrengthens those of his oppressor, and deepens around the living martyrsand confessors of European democracy the cold shadow of their prisons. 

Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, the President of the British Free SuffrageUnion, and whose philanthropy and democracy have been vouched for by theDemocratic Review in this country, has the following passage in anaddress to the citizens of the United States: "Although an admirer of theinstitutions of your country, and deeply lamenting the evils of my owngovernment, I find it difficult to reply to those who are opposed to anyextension of the political rights of Englishmen, when they point toAmerica, and say that where all have a control over the legislation butthose who are guilty of a dark skin, slavery and the slave trade remain, not only unmitigated, but continue to extend; and that while there is anonward movement in favor of its extinction, not only in England andFrance, but in Cuba and Brazil, American legislators cling to thisenormous evil, without attempting to relax or mitigate its horrors. "

How long shall such appeals, from such sources, be wasted upon us? Shallour baleful example enslave the world? Shall the tree of democracy, which our fathers intended for "the healing of the nations, " be to themlike the fabled upas, blighting all around it?

The men of the North, the pioneers of the free West, and the non-slaveholders of the South must answer these questions. It is for them tosay whether the present wellnigh intolerable evil shall continue toincrease its boundaries, and strengthen its hold upon the government, thepolitical parties, and the religious sects of our country. Interest andhonor, present possession and future hope, the memory of fathers, theprospects of children, gratitude, affection, the still call of the dead, the cry of oppressed nations looking hitherward for the result of alltheir hopes, the voice of God in the soul, in revelation, and in Hisprovidence, all appeal to them for a speedy and righteous decision. Atthis moment, on the floor of Congress, Democracy and Slavery have met ina death-grapple. The South stands firm; it allows no party division onthe slave question. One of its members has declared that "the slaveStates have no traitors. " Can the same be said of the free? Now, as inthe time of the fatal Missouri Compromise, there are, it is to be feared, political peddlers among our representatives, whose souls are in themarket, and whose consciences are vendible commodities. Through theirmeans, the slave power may gain a temporary triumph; but may not the verybaseness of the treachery arouse the Northern heart? By driving the freeStates to the wall, may it not compel them to turn and take an aggressiveattitude, clasp hands over the altar of their common freedom, and sweareternal hostility to slavery?

Be the issue of the present contest what it may, those who are faithfulto freedom should allow no temporary reverse to shake their confidence inthe ultimate triumph of the right. The slave will be free. Democracy inAmerica will yet be a glorious reality; and when the topstone of thattemple of freedom which our fathers left unfinished shall be broughtforth with shoutings and cries of grace unto it, when our now drooping-Liberty lifts up her head and prospers, happy will be he who can say, with John Milton, "Among those who have something more than wished herwelfare, I too have my charter and freehold of rejoicing to me and myheirs. "

NATHANIEL PEABODY ROGERS. 

"And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his kindly hearth. "

So, in one of the sweetest and most pathetic of his poems touching theloss of his literary friends, sang Wordsworth. We well remember withwhat freshness and vividness these simple lines came before us, onhearing, last autumn, of the death of the warm-hearted and gifted friendwhose name heads this article; for there was much in his character andgenius to remind us of the gentle author of Elia. He had the latter'sgenial humor and quaintness; his nice and delicate perception of thebeautiful and poetic; his happy, easy diction, not the result, as in thecase of that of the English essayist, of slow and careful elaboration, but the natural, spontaneous language in which his conceptions at onceembodied themselves, apparently without any consciousness of effort. AsMark Antony talked, he wrote, "right on, " telling his readers often what"they themselves did know, " yet imparting to the simplest commonplaces oflife interest and significance, and throwing a golden haze of poetry overthe rough and thorny pathways of every-day duty. Like Lamb, he loved hisfriends without stint or limit. The "old familiar faces" haunted him. Lamb loved the streets and lanes of London--the places where he oftenestcame in contact with the warm, genial heart of humanity--better than thecountry. Rogers loved the wild and lonely hills and valleys of NewHampshire none the less that he was fully alive to the enjoyments ofsociety, and could enter with the heartiest sympathy into all the joysand sorrows of his friends and neighbors. 

In another point of view, he was not unlike Elia. He had the same loveof home, and home friends, and familiar objects; the same fondness forcommon sights and sounds; the same dread of change; the same shrinkingfrom the unknown and the dark. Like him, he clung with a child's love tothe living present, and recoiled from a contemplation of the great changewhich awaits us. Like him, he was content with the goodly green earthand human countenances, and would fain set up his tabernacle here. Hehad less of what might be termed self-indulgence in this feeling thanLamb. He had higher views; he loved this world not only for its ownsake, but for the opportunities it afforded of doing good. Like thePersian seer, he beheld the legions of Ormuzd and Ahriman, of Light andDarkness, contending for mastery over the earth, as the sunshine andshadow of a gusty, half-cloudy day struggled on the green slopes of hisnative mountains; and, mingled with the bright host, he would fain havefought on until its banners waved in eternal sunshine over the lasthiding-place of darkness. He entered into the work of reform with theenthusiasm and chivalry of a knight of the crusades. He had faith inhuman progress, --in the ultimate triumph of the good; millennial lightsbeaconed up all along his horizon. In the philanthropic movements of theday; in the efforts to remove the evils of slavery, war, intemperance, and sanguinary laws; in the humane and generous spirit of much of ourmodern poetry and literature; in the growing demand of the religiouscommunity, of all sects, for the preaching of the gospel of love andhumanity, he heard the low and tremulous prelude of the great anthem ofuniversal harmony. "The world, " said he, in a notice of the music of theHutchinson family, "is out of tune now. But it will be tuned again, andall will become harmony. " In this faith he lived and acted; working, notalways, as it seemed to some of his friends, wisely, but bravely, truthfully, earnestly, cheering on his fellow-laborers, and imparting tothe dullest and most earthward looking of them something of his own zealand loftiness of purpose. 

"Who was he?" does the reader ask? Naturally enough, too, for his namehas never found its way into fashionable reviews; it has never beenassociated with tale, or essay, or poem, to our knowledge. Our friendGriswold, who, like another Noah, has launched some hundreds of Americanpoets and prose writers on the tide of immortality in his two huge arksof rhyme and reason, has either overlooked his name, or deemed itunworthy of preservation. Then, too, he was known mainly as the editorof a proscribed and everywhere-spoken-against anti-slavery paper. It hadfew readers of literary taste and discrimination; plain, earnest men andwomen, intent only upon the thought itself, and caring little for theclothing of it, loved the _Herald of Freedom_ for its honestness andearnestness, and its bold rebukes of the wrong, its all-surrenderinghomage to what its editor believed to be right. But the literary worldof authors and critics saw and heard little or nothing of him or hiswritings. "I once had a bit of scholar-craft, " he says of himself on oneoccasion, "and had I attempted it in some pitiful sectarian or party orliterary sheet, I should have stood a chance to get quoted into theperiodicals. Now, who dares quote from the _Herald of Freedom_?" Hewrote for humanity, as his biographer justly says, not for fame. "Hewrote because he had something to say, and true to nature, for to himnature was truth; he spoke right on, with the artlessness and simplicityof a child. "

He was born in Plymouth, New Hampshire, in the sixth month of 1794, --a lineal descendant from John Rogers, of martyr-memory. Educated atDartmouth College, he studied law with Hon. Richard Fletcher, ofSalisbury, New Hampshire, now of Boston, and commenced the practice of itin 1819, in his native village. He was diligent and successful in hisprofession, although seldom known as a pleader. About the year 1833, hebecame interested in the anti-slavery movement. His was one of the fewvoices of encouragement and sympathy which greeted the author of thissketch on the publication of a pamphlet in favor of immediateemancipation. He gave us a kind word of approval, and invited us to hismountain home, on the banks of the Pemigewasset, --an invitation which, two years afterwards, we accepted. In the early autumn, in company withGeorge Thompson, (the eloquent reformer, who has since been elected amember of the British Parliament from the Tower Hamlets, ) we drove up thebeautiful valley of the White Mountain tributary of the Merrimac, and, just as a glorious sunset was steeping river, valley, and mountain in itshues of heaven, were welcomed to the pleasant home and family circle ofour friend Rogers. We spent two delightful evenings with him. Hiscordiality, his warm-hearted sympathy in our object, his keen wit, inimitable humor, and childlike and simple mirthfulness, his fullappreciation of the beautiful in art and nature, impressed us with theconviction that we were the guests of no ordinary man; that we werecommuning with unmistakable genius, such an one as might have added tothe wit and eloquence of Ben Jonson's famous club at the _Mermaid_, orthat which Lamb and Coleridge and Southey frequented at the _Salutationand Cat_, of Smithfield. "The most brilliant man I have met in America!"said George Thompson, as we left the hospitable door of our friend. 

In 1838, he gave up his law practice, left his fine outlook at Plymouthupon the mountains of the North, Moosehillock and the Haystacks, and tookup his residence at Concord, for the purpose of editing the _Herald ofFreedom_, an anti-slavery paper which had been started some three or fouryears before. John Pierpont, than whom there could not be a morecompetent witness, in his brief and beautiful sketch of the life andwritings of Rogers, does not overestimate the ability with which theHerald was conducted, when he says of its editor: "As a newspaper writer, we think him unequalled by any living man; and in the general strength, clearness, and quickness of his intellect, we think all who knew him wellwill agree with us that he was not excelled by any editor in thecountry. " He was not a profound reasoner: his imagination and brilliantfancy played the wildest tricks with his logic; yet, considering the wayby which he reached them, it is remarkable that his conclusions were sooften correct. The tendency of his mind was to extremes. A zealousCalvinistic church-member, he became an equally zealous opponent ofchurches and priests; a warm politician, he became an ultra non-resistantand no-government man. In all this, his sincerity was manifest. If, inthe indulgence of his remarkable powers of sarcasm, in the free antics ofa humorous fancy, upon whose graceful neck he had flung loose the reins, he sometimes did injustice to individuals, and touched, in irreverentsport, the hem of sacred garments, it had the excuse, at least, of agenerous and honest motive. If he sometimes exaggerated, those who best, knew him can testify that he "set down naught in malice. "

We have before us a printed collection of his writings, --hastyeditorials, flung off without care or revision, the offspring of suddenimpulse frequently; always free, artless, unstudied; the languagetransparent as air, exactly expressing the thought. He loved the common, simple dialect of the people, --the "beautiful strong old Saxon, --the talkwords. " He had an especial dislike of learned and "dictionary words. "He used to recommend Cobbett's Works to "every young man and woman whohas been hurt in his or her talk and writing by going to school. "

Our limits will not admit of such extracts from the Collection of hiswritings as would convey to our readers an adequate idea of his thoughtand manner. His descriptions of natural scenery glow with life. One canalmost see the sunset light flooding the Franconia Notch, and glorifyingthe peaks of Moosehillock, and hear the murmur of the west wind in thepines, and the light, liquid voice of Pemigewasset sounding up from itsrocky channel, through its green hem of maples, while reading them. Wegive a brief extract from an editorial account of an autumnal trip toVermont:

"We have recently journeyed through a portion of this, free State; and itis not all imagination in us that sees, in its bold scenery, itsuninfected inland position, its mountainous but fertile and verdantsurface, the secret of the noble predisposition of its people. They arelocated for freedom. Liberty's home is on their Green Mountains. Theirfarmer republic nowhere touches the ocean, the highway of the world'scrimes, as well as its nations. It has no seaport for the importation ofslavery, or the exportation of its own highland republicanism. Shouldslavery ever prevail over this nation, to its utter subjugation, the lastlingering footsteps of retiring Liberty will be seen, not, as DanielWebster said, in the proud old Commonwealth of Massachusetts, aboutBunker Hill and Faneuil Hall; but she will be found wailing, likeJephthah's daughter, among the 'hollows' and along the sides of the GreenMountains. 

"Vermont shows gloriously at this autumn season. Frost has gently laidhands on her exuberant vegetation, tinging her rock-maple woods withoutabating the deep verdure of her herbage. Everywhere along her peopledhollows and her bold hillslopes and summits the earth is alive withgreen, while her endless hard-wood forests are uniformed with all thehues of early fall, richer than the regimentals of the kings thatglittered in the train of Napoleon on the confines of Poland, when helingered there, on the last outposts of summer, before plunging into thesnow-drifts of the North; more gorgeous than the array of Saladin's life-guard in the wars of the Crusaders, or of 'Solomon in all his glory, 'decked in, all colors and hues, but still the hues of life. Vegetationtouched, but not dead, or, if killed, not bereft yet of 'signs of life. ''Decay's effacing fingers' had not yet 'swept the hills' 'where beautylingers. ' All looked fresh as growing foliage. Vermont frosts don't seemto be 'killing frosts. ' They only change aspects of beauty. The mountainpastures, verdant to the peaks, and over the peaks of the high, steephills, were covered with the amplest feed, and clothed with countlesssheep; the hay-fields heavy with second crop, in some partly cut andabandoned, as if in very weariness and satiety, blooming withhoneysuckle, contrasting strangely with the colors on the woods; the fatcattle and the long-tailed colts and close-built Morgans wallowing in itup to the eyes, or the cattle down to rest, with full bellies, by ten inthe morning. Fine but narrow roads wound along among the hills, freealmost entirely of stone, and so smooth as to be safe for the most rapiddriving, made of their rich, dark, powder-looking soil. Beautifulvillages or scattered settlements breaking upon the delighted view, onthe meandering way, making the ride a continued scene of excitement andadmiration. The air fresh, free, and wholesome; the road almost deadlevel for miles and miles, among mountains that lay over the land likethe great swells of the sea, and looking in the prospect as though therecould be no passage. "

To this autumnal limning, the following spring picture may be a fittingaccompaniment:--

"At last Spring is here in full flush. Winter held on tenaciously andmercilessly, but it has let go. The great sun is high on his northernjourney, and the vegetation, and the bird-singing, and the loud frog-chorus, the tree budding and blowing, are all upon us; and the gloriousgrass--super-best of earth's garniture--with its ever-satisfying green. The king-birds have come, and the corn-planter, the scolding bob-o-link. 'Plant your corn, plant your corn, ' says he, as he scurries athwart theploughed ground, hardly lifting his crank wings to a level with his back, so self-important is he in his admonitions. The earlier birds have goneto housekeeping, and have disappeared from the spray. There has beenbrief period for them, this spring, for scarcely has the deep snow gone, but the dark-green grass has come, and first we shall know, the groundwill be yellow with dandelions. 

"I incline to thank Heaven this glorious morning of May 16th for thepleasant home from which we can greet the Spring. Hitherto we have hadto await it amid a thicket of village houses, low down, close together, and awfully white. For a prospect, we had the hinder part of an uglymeeting-house, which an enterprising neighbor relieved us of by plantinga dwelling-house, right before our eyes, (on his own land, and he had aright to, ) which relieved us also of all prospect whatever. And therevival spirit of habitation which has come over Concord is clapping up ahouse between every two in the already crowded town; and the prospect is, it will be soon all buildings. They are constructing, in quite goodtaste though, small, trim, cottage-like. But I had rather be where I canbreathe air, and see beyond my own features, than be smothered among theprettiest houses ever built. We are on the slope of a hill; it is allsand, be sure, on all four sides of us, but the air is free, (and thesand, too, at times, ) and our water, there is danger of hard drinking tolive by it. Air and water, the two necessaries of life, and high, freeplay-ground for the small ones. There is a sand precipice hard by, highenough, were it only rock and overlooked the ocean, to be as sublime asany of the Nahant cliffs. As it is, it is altogether a safer haunt fordaring childhood, which could hardly break its neck by a descent of somehundreds of feet. 

"A low flat lies between us and the town, with its State-house, and body-guard of well-proportioned steeples standing round. It was marshy andwet, but is almost all redeemed by the translation into it of the highhills of sand. It must have been a terrible place for frogs, judgingfrom what remains of it. Bits of water from the springs hard by lay hereand there about the low ground, which are peopled as full of singers asever the gallery of the old North Meeting-house was, and quite asmelodious ones. Such performers I never heard, in marsh or pool. Theyare not the great, stagnant, bull-paddocks, fat and coarse-noted likeParson, but clear-water frogs, green, lively, and sweet-voiced. Ipassed their orchestra going home the other evening, with a small lad, and they were at it, all parts, ten thousand peeps, shrill, ear-piercing, and incessant, coining up from every quarter, accompanied by a second, from some larger swimmer with his trombone, and broken in upon, every nowand then, but not discordantly, with the loud, quick hallo, thatresembles the cry of the tree-toad. 'There are the Hutchinsons, ' criedthe lad. 'The Rainers, ' responded I, glad to remember enough of myancient Latin to know that Rana, or some such sounding word, stood forfrog. But it was a 'band of music, ' as the Miller friends say. Likeother singers, (all but the Hutchinsons, ) these are apt to sing too much, all the time they are awake, constituting really too much of a goodthing. I have wondered if the little reptiles were singing in concert, or whether every one peeped on his own hook, their neighbor hood onlymaking it a chorus. I incline to the opinion that they are performingtogether, that they know the tune, and each carries his part, self-selected, in free meeting, and therefore never discordant. The hour ruleof Congress might be useful, though far less needed among the frogs thanamong the profane croakers of the fens at Washington. "

Here is a sketch of the mountain scenery of New Hampshire, as seen fromthe Holderness Mountain, or North Hill, during a visit which he made tohis native valley in the autumn of 1841:--

"The earth sphered up all around us, in every quarter of the horizon, like the crater of a vast volcano, and the great hollow within themountain circle was as smoky as Vesuvius or Etna in their recess oferuption. The little village of Plymouth lay right at our feet, with itsbeautiful expanse of intervale opening on the eye like a lake among thewoods and hills, and the Pemigewasset, bordered along its crooked waywith rows of maples, meandering from upland to upland through themeadows. Our young footsteps had wandered over these localities. Timehad cast it all far back that Pemigewasset, with its meadows and bordertrees; that little village whitening in the margin of its inter vale; andthat one house which we could distinguish, where the mother that watchedover and endured our wayward childhood totters at fourscore!

"To the south stretched a broken, swelling upland country, but champaignfrom the top of North Hill, patched all over with grain-fields and greenwood-lots, the roofs of the farm-houses shining in the sun. Southwest, the Cardigan Mountain showed its bald forehead among the smokes of athousand fires, kindled in the woods in the long drought. Westward, Moosehillock heaved up its long back, black as a whale; and turning theeye on northward, glancing down the while on the Baker's River valley, dotted over with human dwellings like shingle-bunches for size, youbehold the great Franconia Range, its Notch and its Haystacks, theElephant Mountain on the left, and Lafayette (Great Haystack) on theright, shooting its peak in solemn loneliness high up into the desertsky, and overtopping all the neighboring Alps but Mount Washingtonitself. The prospect of these is most impressive and satisfactory. Wedon't believe the earth presents a finer mountain display. The Haystacksstand there like the Pyramids on the wall of mountains. One of thememinently has this Egyptian shape. It is as accurate a pyramid to theeye as any in the old valley of the Nile, and a good deal bigger than anyof those hoary monuments of human presumption, of the impious tyranny ofmonarchs and priests, and of the appalling servility of the erectingmultitude. Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh does not more finely resemble asleeping lion than the huge mountain on the left of the Notch does anelephant, with his great, overgrown rump turned uncivilly toward the gapwhere the people have to pass. Following round the panorama, you come tothe Ossipees and the Sandwich Mountains, peaks innumerable and nameless, and of every variety of fantastic shape. Down their vast sides aredisplayed the melancholy-looking slides, contrasting with the fathomlesswoods. 

"But the lakes, --you see lakes, as well as woods and mountains, from thetop of North Hill. Newfound Lake in Hebron, only eight miles distant, you can't see; it lies too deep among the hills. Ponds show their smallblue mirrors from various quarters of the great picture. Worthen's Mill-Pond and the Hardhack, where we used to fish for trout in truant, barefooted days, Blair's Mill-Pond, White Oak Pond, and Long Pond, andthe Little Squam, a beautiful dark sheet of deep, blue water, about twomiles long, stretched an id the green hills and woods, with a charminglittle beach at its eastern end, and without an island. And then theGreat Squam, connected with it on the east by a short, narrow stream, thevery queen of ponds, with its fleet of islands, surpassing in beauty allthe foreign waters we have seen, in Scotland or elsewhere, --the islandscovered with evergreens, which impart their hue to the mass of the lake, as it stretches seven miles on east from its smaller sister, towards thepeerless Winnipesaukee. Great Squam is as beautiful as water and islandcan be. But Winnipesaukee, it is the very 'Smile of the Great Spirit. 'It looks as if it had a thousand islands; some of them large enough forlittle towns, and others not bigger than a swan or a wild duck swimmingon its surface of glass. "

His wit and sarcasm were generally too good-natured to provoke even theirunfortunate objects, playing all over his editorials like the thunderlesslightnings which quiver along the horizon of a night of summer calmness;but at times his indignation launched them like bolts from heaven. Takethe following as a specimen. He is speaking of the gag rule of Congress, and commending Southern representatives for their skilful selection of aproper person to do their work:--

"They have a quick eye at the South to the character, or, as they wouldsay, the points of a slave. They look into him shrewdly, as an oldjockey does into a horse. They will pick him out, at rifle-shotdistance, among a thousand freemen. They have a nice eye to detectshades of vassalage. They saw in the aristocratic popinjay strut of acounterfeit Democrat an itching aspiration to play the slaveholder. Theybeheld it in 'the cut of his jib, ' and his extreme Northern position madehim the very tool for their purpose. The little creature has struck atthe right of petition. A paltrier hand never struck at a noble right. The Eagle Right of Petition, so loftily sacred in the eyes of theConstitution that Congress can't begin to 'abridge' it, in its pride ofplace, is hawked at by this crested jay-bird. A 'mousing owl' would haveseen better at midnoon than to have done it. It is an idiot blue-jay, such as you see fooling about among the shrub oaks and dwarf pitch pinesin the winter. What an ignominious death to the lofty right, were it todie by such a hand; but it does not die. It is impalpable to the'malicious mockery' of such vain blows. ' We are glad it is done--done bythe South--done proudly, and in slaveholding style, by the hand of avassal. What a man does by another he does by himself, says the maxim. But they will disown the honor of it, and cast it on the despised 'freenigger' North. "

Or this description--not very flattering to the "Old Commonwealth"--ofthe treatment of the agent of Massachusetts in South Carolina:--

"Slavery may perpetrate anything, and New England can't see it. It canhorsewhip the old Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and spit in hergovernmental face, and she will not recognize it as an offence. She senther agent to Charleston on a State embassy. Slavery caught him, and senthim ignominiously home. The solemn great man came back in a hurry. Hereturned in a most undignified trot. He ran; he scampered, --the statelyofficial. The Old Bay State actually pulled foot, cleared, dug, as theysay, like any scamp with a hue and cry after him. Her grave old Senator, who no more thought of having to break his stately walk than he had ofbeing flogged at school for stealing apples, came back from Carolina uponthe full run, out of breath and out of dignity. Well, what's the result?Why, nothing. She no more thinks of showing resentment about it than shewould if lightning had struck him. He was sent back 'by the visitationof God;' and if they had lynched him to death, and stained the streets ofCharleston with his blood, a Boston jury, if they could have held inquestover him, would have found that he 'died by the visitation of God. ' Andit would have been crowner's quest law, Slavery's crowners. "

Here is a specimen of his graceful blending of irony and humor. He isexpostulating with his neighbor of the New Hampshire Patriot, assuringhim that he cannot endure the ponderous weight of his arguments, beggingfor a little respite, and, as a means of obtaining it, urging the editorto travel. He advises him to go South, to the White Sulphur Springs, andthinks that, despite of his dark complexion, he would be safe there frombeing sold for jail fees, as his pro-slavery merits would more thancounterbalance his colored liabilities, which, after all, were only primafacie evidence against him. He suggests Texas, also, as a place where"patriots" of a certain class "most do congregate, " and continues asfollows:--

"There is Arkansas, too, all glorious in new-born liberty, fresh andunsullied, like Venus out of the ocean, --that newly discovered star, inthe firmament banner of this Republic. Sister Arkansas, with her bowie-knife graceful at her side, like the huntress Diana with her silver bow, --oh it would be refreshing and recruiting to an exhausted patriot to goand replenish his soul at her fountains. The newly evacuated lands ofthe Cherokee, too, a sweet place now for a lover of his country to visit, to renew his self-complacency by wandering among the quenched hearths ofthe expatriated Indians; a land all smoking with the red man's departingcurse, --a malediction that went to the centre. Yes, and Florida, --blossoming and leafy Florida, yet warm with the life-blood of Osceola andhis warriors, shed gloriously under flag of truce. Why should a patriotof such a fancy for nature immure himself in the cells of the city, andforego such an inviting and so broad a landscape? Ite viator. Go forth, traveller, and leave this mouldy editing to less elastic fancies. Wewould respectfully invite our Colonel to travel. What signifies?Journey--wander--go forth--itinerate--exercise--perambulate--roam. "

He gives the following ludicrous definition of Congress:--

"But what is Congress? It is the echo of the country at home, --theweathercock, that denotes and answers the shifting wind, --a thing oftail, nearly all tail, moved by the tail and by the wind, with smallheading, and that corresponding implicitly in movement with the broadsail-like stern, which widens out behind to catch the rum-fraught breathof 'the Brotherhood. ' As that turns, it turns; when that stops, it stops;and in calmish weather looks as steadfast and firm as though it wasriveted to the centre. The wind blows, and the little popularity-huntinghead dodges this way and that, in endless fluctuation. Such is Congress, or a great portion of it. It will point to the northwest heavens ofLiberty, whenever the breezes bear down irresistibly upon it, from theregions of political fair weather. It will abolish slavery at theCapitol, when it has already been doomed to abolition and deatheverywhere else in the country. 'It will be in at the death. '"

Replying to the charge that the Abolitionists of the North were "secret"in their movements and designs, he says:--

"'In secret!' Why, our movements have been as prominent and open as thehouse-tops from the beginning. We have striven from the outset to writethe whole matter cloud-high in the heavens, that the utmost South mightread it. We have cast an arc upon the horizon, like the semicircle ofthe polar lights, and upon it have bent our motto, 'ImmediateEmancipation, ' glorious as the rainbow. We have engraven it there, onthe blue table of the cold vault, in letters tall enough for the readingof the nations. And why has the far South not read and believed beforethis? Because a steam has gone up--a fog--from New England's pulpit andher degenerate press, and hidden the beaming revelation from its vision. The Northern hierarchy and aristocracy have cheated the South. "

He spoke at times with severity of slaveholders, but far oftener of thosewho, without the excuse of education and habit, and prompted only by aselfish consideration of political or sectarian advantage, apologized forthe wrong, and discountenanced the anti-slavery movement. "We havenothing to say, " said he, "to the slave. He is no party to his ownenslavement, --he is none to his disenthralment. We have nothing to sayto the South. The real holder of slaves is not there. He is in theNorth, the free North. The South alone has not the power to hold theslave. It is the character of the nation that binds and holds him. Itis the Republic that does it, the efficient force of which is north ofMason and Dixon's line. By virtue of the majority of Northern hearts andvoices, slavery lives in the South!"

In 1840, he spent a few weeks in England, Ireland, and Scotland. He hasleft behind a few beautiful memorials of his tour. His Ride over theBorder, Ride into Edinburgh, Wincobank hall, Ailsa Craig, gave his paperan interest in the eyes of many who had no sympathy with his politicaland religious views. 

Scattered all over his editorials, like gems, are to be found beautifulimages, sweet touches of heartfelt pathos, --thoughts which the readerpauses over with surprise and delight. We subjoin a few specimens, takenalmost at random from the book before us:--

"A thunder-storm, --what can match it for eloquence and poetry? That rushfrom heaven of the big drops, in what multitude and succession, and howthey sound as they strike! How they play on the old home roof and thethick tree-tops! What music to go to sleep by, to the tired boy, as helies under the naked roof! And the great, low bass thunder, as it rollsoff over the hills, and settles down behind them to the very centre, andyou can feel the old earth jar under your feet!"

"There was no oratory in the speech of the _Learned Blacksmith_, in theordinary sense of that word, no grace of elocution, but mighty thoughtsradiating off from his heated mind, like sparks from the glowing steel ofhis own anvil. "

"The hard hands of Irish labor, with nothing in them, --they ring likeslabs of marble together, in response to the wild appeals of O'Connell, and the British stand conquered before them, with shouldered arms. Ireland is on her feet, with nothing in her hands, impregnable, unassailable, in utter defencelessness, --the first time that ever anation sprung to its feet unarmed. The veterans of England behold them, and forbear to fire. They see no mark. It will not do to fire upon men;it will do only to fire upon soldiers. They are the proper mark of themurderous gun, but men cannot be shot. "

"It is coming to that [abolition of war] the world over; and when it doescome to it, oh what a long breath of relief the tired world will draw, asit stretches itself for the first time out upon earth's greensward, andlearns the meaning of repose and peaceful sleep!"

"He who vests his labor in the faithful ground is dealing directly withGod; human fraud or weakness do not intervene between him and hisrequital. No mechanic has a set of customers so trustworthy as God andthe elements. No savings bank is so sure as the old earth. "

"Literature is the luxury of words. It originates nothing, it doesnothing. It talks hard words about the labor of others, and is reckonedmore meritorious for it than genius and labor for doing what learning canonly descant upon. It trades on the capital of unlettered minds. Itstruts in stolen plumage, and it is mere plumage. A learned manresembles an owl in more respects than the matter of wisdom. Like thatsolemn bird, he is about all feathers. "

"Our Second Advent friends contemplate a grand conflagration about thefirst of April next. I should be willing there should be one, if itcould be confined to the productions of the press, with which the earthis absolutely smothered. Humanity wants precious few books to read, butthe great living, breathing, immortal volume of Providence. Life, --reallife, --how to live, how to treat one another, and how to trust God inmatters beyond our ken and occasion, --these are the lessons to learn, andyou find little of them in libraries. "

"That accursed drum and fife! How they have maddened mankind! And thedeep bass boom of the cannon, chiming in in the chorus of battle, thattrumpet and wild charging bugle, --how they set the military devil in aman, and make him into a soldier! Think of the human family falling uponone another at the inspiration of music! How must God feel at it, to seethose harp-strings he meant should be waked to a love bordering ondivine, strung and swept to mortal hate and butchery!"

"Leave off being Jews, " (he is addressing Major Noah with regard to hisappeal to his brethren to return to Judaea, ) "and turn mankind. Therocks and sands of Palestine have been worshipped long enough. Connecticut River or the Merrimac are as good rivers as any Jordan thatever run into a dead or live sea, and as holy, for that matter. InHumanity, as in Christ Jesus, as Paul says, 'there is neither Jew norGreek. ' And there ought to be none. Let Humanity be reverenced with thetenderest devotion; suffering, discouraged, down-trodden, hard-handed, haggard-eyed, care-worn mankind! Let these be regarded a little. Wouldto God I could alleviate all their sorrows, and leave them a chance tolaugh! They are, miserable now. They might be as happy as the blackbirdon the spray, and as full of melody. "

"I am sick as death at this miserable struggle among mankind for aliving. Poor devils! were they born to run such a gauntlet after themeans of life? Look about you, and see your squirming neighbors, writhing and twisting like so many angleworms in a fisher's bait-box, orthe wriggling animalculae seen in the vinegar drop held to the sun. Howthey look, how they feel, how base it makes them all!"

"Every human being is entitled to the means of life, as the trout is tohis brook or the lark to the blue sky. Is it well to put a human 'youngone' here to die of hunger, thirst, and nakedness, or else be preservedas a pauper? Is this fair earth but a poor-house by creation and intent?Was it made for that?--and these other round things we see dancing inthe firmament to the music of the spheres, are they all great shiningpoor-houses?"

"The divines always admit things after the age has adopted them. Theyare as careful of the age as the weathercock is of the wind. You mightas well catch an old experienced weathercock, on some ancient Orthodoxsteeple, standing all day with its tail east in a strong out wind, as thedivines at odds with the age. "

But we must cease quoting. The admirers of Jean Paul Richter might findmuch of the charm and variety of the "Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces" inthis newspaper collection. They may see, perhaps, as we do, some thingswhich they cannot approve of, the tendency of which, however intended, isvery questionable. But, with us, they will pardon something to thespirit of liberty, much to that of love and humanity which breathesthrough all. 

Disgusted and heart-sick at the general indifference of Church and clergyto the temporal condition of the people, --at their apologies for anddefences of slavery, war, and capital punishment, --Rogers turnedProtestant, in the full sense of the term. He spoke of priests and"pulpit wizards" as freely as John Milton did two centuries ago, although with far less bitterness and rasping satire. He could notendure to see Christianity and Humanity divorced. He longed to see thebeautiful life of Jesus--his sweet humanities, his brotherly love, hisabounding sympathies--made the example of all men. Thoroughlydemocratic, in his view all men were equal. Priests, stripped of theirsacerdotal tailoring, were in his view but men, after all. He pitiedthem, he said, for they were in a wrong position, --above life's comfortsand sympathies, --"up in the unnatural cold, they had better come downamong men, and endure and enjoy with them. " "Mankind, " said he, "wantthe healing influences of humanity. They must love one another more. Disinterested good will make the world as it should be. "

His last visit to his native valley was in the autumn of 1845. In afamiliar letter to a friend, he thus describes his farewell view of themountain glories of his childhood's home:--

"I went a jaunt, Thursday last, about twenty miles north of this valley, into the mountain region, where what I beheld, if I could tell it as Isaw it, would make your outlawed sheet sought after wherever our Anglo-Saxon tongue is spoken in the wide world. I have been many a time amongthose Alps, and never without a kindling of wildest enthusiasm in mywoodland blood. But I never saw them till last Thursday. They neverloomed distinctly to my eye before, and the sun never shone on them fromheaven till then. They were so near me, I could seem to hear the voiceof their cataracts, as I could count their great slides, streaming adowntheir lone and desolate sides, --old slides, some of them overgrown withyoung woods, like half-healed scars on the breast of a giant. The greatrains had clothed the valleys of the upper Pemigewasset in the darkestand deepest green. The meadows were richer and more glorious in theirthick 'fall feed' than Queen Anne's Garden, as I saw it from the windowsof Windsor Castle. And the dark hemlock and hackmatack woods were yetdarker after the wet season, as they lay, in a hundred wildernesses, inthe mighty recesses of the mountains. But the peaks, --the eternal, thesolitary, the beautiful, the glorious and dear mountain peaks, my ownMoosehillock and my native Haystacks, --these were the things on which eyeand heart gazed and lingered, and I seemed to see them for the last time. It was on my way back that I halted and turned to look at them from ahigh point on the Thornton road. It was about four in the afternoon. Ithad rained among the hills about the Notch, and cleared off. The sun, there sombred at that early hour, as towards his setting, was pouring hismost glorious light upon the naked peaks, and they casting their mightyshadows far down among the inaccessible woods that darken the hollowsthat stretch between their bases. A cloud was creeping up to perch andrest awhile on the highest top of Great Haystack. Vulgar folks havecalled it Mount Lafayette, since the visit of that brave old Frenchman in1825 or 1826. If they had asked his opinion, he would have told them thenames of mountains couldn't be altered, and especially names like that, so appropriate, so descriptive, and so picturesque. A little hard whitecloud, that looked like a hundred fleeces of wool rolled into one, wasclimbing rapidly along up the northwestern ridge, that ascended to thelonely top of Great Haystack. All the others were bare. Four or five ofthem, --as distinct and shapely as so many pyramids; some topped out withnaked cliff, on which the sun lay in melancholy glory; others clothedthick all the way up with the old New Hampshire hemlock or the daringhackmatack, --Pierpont's hackmatack. You could see their shadowsstretching many and many a mile, over Grant and Location, away beyond theinvading foot of Incorporation, --where the timber-hunter has scarcelyexplored, and where the moose browses now, I suppose, as undisturbed ashe did before the settlement of the State. I wish our young friend andgenius, Harrison Eastman, had been with me, to see the sunlight as itglared on the tops of those woods, and to see the purple of themountains. I looked at it myself almost with the eye of a painter. If apainter looked with mine, though, he never could look off upon his canvaslong enough to make a picture; he would gaze forever at the original. 

"But I had to leave it, and to say in my heart, Farewell! And as Itravelled on down, and the sun sunk lower and lower towards the summit ofthe western ridge, the clouds came up and formed an Alpine range in theevening heavens above it, --like other Haystacks and Moosehillocks, --sodark and dense that fancy could easily mistake them for a higher Alps. There were the peaks and the great passes; the Franconia Notches amongthe cloudy cliffs, and the great White Mountain Gap. "

His health, never robust, had been gradually failing for some timeprevious to his death. He needed more repose and quiet than his dutiesas an editor left him; and to this end he purchased a small and pleasantfarm in his loved Pennigewasset valley, in the hope that he might thererecruit his wasted energies. In the sixth month of the year of hisdeath, in a letter to us, he spoke of his prospects in language whicheven then brought moisture to our eyes:--

"I am striving to get me an asylum of a farm. I have a wife and sevenchildren, every one of them with a whole spirit. I don't want to beseparated from any of them, only with a view to come together again. Ihave a beautiful little retreat in prospect, forty odd miles north, whereI imagine I can get potatoes and repose, --a sort of haven or port. I amamong the breakers, and 'mad for land. ' If I get this home, --it is a mileor two in among the hills from the pretty domicil once visited byyourself and glorious Thompson, --I am this moment indulging the fancythat I may see you at it before we die. Why can't I have you come andsee me? You see, dear W. , I don't want to send you anything short of afull epistle. Let me end as I begun, with the proffer of my hand ingrasp of yours extended. My heart I do not proffer, --it was yoursbefore, --it shall be yours while I am N. P. ROGERS. "

Alas! the haven of a deeper repose than he had dreamed of was close athand. He lingered until the middle of the tenth month, suffering much, yet calm and sensible to the last. Just before his death, he desired hischildren to sing at his bedside that touching song of Lover's, _TheAngel's Whisper_. Turning his eyes towards the open window, throughwhich the leafy glory of the season he most loved was visible, helistened to the sweet melody. In the words of his friend Pierpont, --

 "The angel's whisper stole in song upon his closing ear; From his own daughter's lips it came, so musical and clear, That scarcely knew the dying man what melody was there-- The last of earth's or first of heaven's pervading all the air. "

He sleeps in the Concord burial-ground, under the shadow of oaks; thevery spot he would have chosen, for he looked upon trees with somethingakin to human affection. "They are, " he said, "the beautiful handiworkand architecture of God, on which the eye never tires. Every one isa feather in the earth's cap, a plume in her bonnet, a tress on herforehead, --a comfort, a refreshing, and an ornament to her. " Spring hashung over him her buds, and opened beside him her violets. Summer haslaid her green oaken garland on his grave, and now the frost-blooms ofautumn drop upon it. Shall man cast a nettle on that mound? He lovedhumanity, --shall it be less kind to him than Nature? Shall the bigotryof sect, and creed, and profession, drive its condemnatory stake into hisgrave? God forbid. The doubts which he sometimes unguardedly expressedhad relation, we are constrained to believe, to the glosses ofcommentators and creed-makers and the inconsistency of professors, ratherthan to those facts and precepts of Christianity to which he gave theconstant assent of his practice. He sought not his own. His heartyearned with pity and brotherly affection for all the poor and sufferingin the universe. Of him, the angel of Leigh Hunt's beautiful allegorymight have written, in the golden book of remembrance, as he did of thegood Abou Ben Adhem, "He loved his fellow-men. "

ROBERT DINSMORE. 

The great charm of Scottish poetry consists in its simplicity, andgenuine, unaffected sympathy with the common joys and sorrows of dailylife. It is a home-taught, household melody. It calls to mind thepastoral bleat on the hillsides, the kirkbells of a summer Sabbath, thesong of the lark in the sunrise, the cry of the quail in the corn-land, the low of cattle, and the blithe carol of milkmaids "when the kye comehame" at gloaming. Meetings at fair and market, blushing betrothments, merry weddings, the joy of young maternity, the lights and shades ofdomestic life, its bereavements and partings, its chances and changes, its holy death-beds, and funerals solemnly beautiful in quiet kirkyards, --these furnish the hints of the immortal melodies of Burns, the sweetballads of the Ettrick Shepherd and Allan Cunningham, and the rusticdrama of Ramsay. It is the poetry of home, of nature, and theaffections. 

All this is sadly wanting in our young literature. We have no songs;American domestic life has never been hallowed and beautified by thesweet and graceful and tender associations of poetry. We have no Yankeepastorals. Our rivers and streams turn mills and float rafts, and areotherwise as commendably useful as those of Scotland; but no quaintballad or simple song reminds us that men and women have loved, met, andparted on their banks, or that beneath each roof within their valleys thetragedy and comedy of life have been enacted. Our poetry is cold andimitative; it seems more the product of over-strained intellects than thespontaneous outgushing of hearts warm with love, and stronglysympathizing with human nature as it actually exists about us, with thejoys and griefs of the men and women whom we meet daily. Unhappily, theopinion prevails that a poet must be also a philosopher, and hence it isthat much of our poetry is as indefinable in its mysticism as an IndianBrahmin's commentary on his sacred books, or German metaphysics subjectedto homeopathic dilution. It assumes to be prophetical, and itsutterances are oracular. It tells of strange, vague emotions andyearnings, painfully suggestive of spiritual "groanings which cannot beuttered. " If it "babbles o' green fields" and the common sights andsounds of nature, it is only for the purpose of finding some vagueanalogy between them and its internal experiences and longings. Itleaves the warm and comfortable fireside of actual knowledge and humancomprehension, and goes wailing and gibbering like a ghost about theimpassable doors of mystery:--

 "It fain would be resolved How things are done, And who the tailor is That works for the man I' the sun. "

How shall we account for this marked tendency in the literature of ashrewd, practical people? Is it that real life in New England lacksthose conditions of poetry and romance which age, reverence, andsuperstition have gathered about it in the Old World? Is it that

 "Ours are not Tempe's nor Arcadia's vales, "

but are more famous for growing Indian corn and potatoes, and themanufacture of wooden ware and pedler notions, than for romanticassociations and legendary interest? That our huge, unshapely shinglestructures, blistering in the sun and glaring with windows, wereevidently never reared by the spell of pastoral harmonies, as the wallsof Thebes rose at the sound of the lyre of Amphion? That the habits ofour people are too cool, cautious, undemonstrative, to furnish the warpand woof of song and pastoral, and that their dialect and figures ofspeech, however richly significant and expressive in the autobiography ofSam Slick, or the satire of Hosea Biglow and Ethan Spike, form a veryawkward medium of sentiment and pathos? All this may be true. But theYankee, after all, is a man, and as such his history, could it be got at, must have more or less of poetic material in it; moreover, whetherconscious of it or not, he also stands relieved against the background ofNature's beauty or sublimity. There is a poetical side to thecommonplace of his incomings and outgoings; study him well, and you mayframe an idyl of some sort from his apparently prosaic existence. Ourpoets, we must needs think, are deficient in that shiftiness, readyadaptation to circumstances, and ability of making the most of things, for which, as a people, we are proverbial. Can they make nothing of ourThanksgiving, that annual gathering of long-severed friends? Do theyfind nothing to their purpose in our apple-bees, buskings, berry-pickings, summer picnics, and winter sleigh-rides? Is there nothingavailable in our peculiarities of climate, scenery, customs, andpolitical institutions? Does the Yankee leap into life, shrewd, hard, and speculating, armed, like Pallas, for a struggle with fortune? Arethere not boys and girls, school loves and friendship, courtings andmatch-makings, hope and fear, and all the varied play of human passions, --the keen struggles of gain, the mad grasping of ambition, --sin andremorse, tearful repentance and holy aspirations? Who shall say that wehave not all the essentials of the poetry of human life and simplenature, of the hearth and the farm-field? Here, then, is a mineunworked, a harvest ungathered. Who shall sink the shaft and thrust inthe sickle?

And here let us say that the mere dilettante and the amateur ruralist mayas well keep their hands off. The prize is not for them. He who wouldsuccessfully strive for it must be himself what he sings, --part andparcel of the rural life of New England, --one who has grown strong amidstits healthful influences, familiar with all its details, and capable ofdetecting whatever of beauty, humor, or pathos pertain to it, --one whohas added to his book-lore the large experience of an activeparticipation in the rugged toil, the hearty amusements, the trials, andthe pleasures he describes. 

We have been led to these reflections by an incident which has called upbefore us the homespun figure of an old friend of our boyhood, who hadthe good sense to discover that the poetic element existed in the simplehome life of a country farmer, although himself unable to give a verycreditable expression of it. He had the "vision, " indeed, but the"faculty divine" was wanting; or, if he possessed it in any degree, asThersites says of the wit of Ajax, "it would not out, but lay coldly inhim like fire in the flint. "

While engaged this morning in looking over a large exchange list ofnewspapers, a few stanzas of poetry in the Scottish dialect attracted ourattention. As we read them, like a wizard's rhyme they seemed to havethe power of bearing us back to the past. They had long ago graced thecolumns of that solitary sheet which once a week diffused happiness overour fireside circle, making us acquainted, in our lonely nook, with thegoings-on of the great world. The verses, we are now constrained toadmit, are not remarkable in themselves, truth and simple nature only;yet how our young hearts responded to them! Twenty years ago there werefewer verse-makers than at present; and as our whole stock of lightliterature consisted of Ellwood's _Davideis_ and the selections of_Lindley Murray's English Reader_, it is not improbable that we were in acondition to overestimate the contributions to the poet's corner of ourvillage newspaper. Be that as it may, we welcome them as we would theface of an old friend, for they somehow remind us of the scent ofhaymows, the breath of cattle, the fresh greenery by the brookside, themoist earth broken by the coulter and turned up to the sun and winds ofMay. This particular piece, which follows, is entitled _The Sparrow_, and was occasioned by the crushing of a bird's-nest by the author whileploughing among his corn. It has something of the simple tenderness ofBurns. 

 "Poor innocent and hapless Sparrow Why should my mould-board gie thee sorrow! This day thou'll chirp and mourn the morrow Wi' anxious breast; The plough has turned the mould'ring furrow Deep o'er thy nest!

 "Just I' the middle o' the hill Thy nest was placed wi' curious skill; There I espied thy little bill Beneath the shade. In that sweet bower, secure frae ill, Thine eggs were laid. 

 "Five corns o' maize had there been drappit, An' through the stalks thy head was pappit, The drawing nowt could na be stappit I quickly foun'; Syne frae thy cozie nest thou happit, Wild fluttering roun'. 

 "The sklentin stane beguiled the sheer, In vain I tried the plough to steer; A wee bit stumpie I' the rear Cam' 'tween my legs, An' to the jee-side gart me veer An' crush thine eggs. 

 "Alas! alas! my bonnie birdie! Thy faithful mate flits round to guard thee. Connubial love!--a pattern worthy The pious priest! What savage heart could be sae hardy As wound thy breast?

 "Ah me! it was nae fau't o' mine; It gars me greet to see thee pine. It may be serves His great design Who governs all; Omniscience tents wi' eyes divine The Sparrow's fall!

 "How much like thine are human dools, Their sweet wee bairns laid I' the mools? The Sovereign Power who nature rules Hath said so be it But poor blip' mortals are sic fools They canna see it. 

 "Nae doubt that He who first did mate us Has fixed our lot as sure as fate is, An' when He wounds He disna hate us, But anely this, He'll gar the ills which here await us Yield lastin' bliss. "

In the early part of the eighteenth century a considerable number ofPresbyterians of Scotch descent, from the north of Ireland, emigrated tothe New World. In the spring of 1719, the inhabitants of Haverhill, onthe Merrimac, saw them passing up the river in several canoes, one ofwhich unfortunately upset in the rapids above the village. The followingfragment of a ballad celebrating this event has been handed down to thepresent time, and may serve to show the feelings even then of the oldEnglish settlers towards the Irish emigrants:--

 "They began to scream and bawl, As out they tumbled one and all, And, if the Devil had spread his net, He could have made a glorious haul!"

The new-comers proceeded up the river, and, landing opposite to theUncanoonuc Hills, on the present site of Manchester, proceeded inland toBeaver Pond. Charmed with the appearance of the country, they resolvedhere to terminate their wanderings. Under a venerable oak on the marginof the little lake, they knelt down with their minister, Jamie McGregore, and laid, in prayer and thanksgiving, the foundation of their settlement. In a few years they had cleared large fields, built substantial stone andframe dwellings and a large and commodious meeting-house; wealth hadaccumulated around them, and they had everywhere the reputation of ashrewd and thriving community. They were the first in New England tocultivate the potato, which their neighbors for a long time regarded as apernicious root, altogether unfit for a Christian stomach. Every loverof that invaluable esculent has reason to remember with gratitude thesettlers of Londonderry. 

Their moral acclimation in Ireland had not been without its effect upontheir character. Side by side with a Presbyterianism as austere as thatof John Knox had grown up something of the wild Milesian humor, love ofconvivial excitement and merry-making. Their long prayers and fiercezeal in behalf of orthodox tenets only served, in the eyes of theirPuritan neighbors, to make more glaring still the scandal of their markedsocial irregularities. It became a common saying in the region roundabout that "the Derry Presbyterians would never give up a pint ofdoctrine or a pint of rum. " Their second minister was an old scarredfighter, who had signalized himself in the stout defence of Londonderry, when James II. And his Papists were thundering at its gates. Agreeablyto his death-bed directions, his old fellow-soldiers, in their leatherndoublets and battered steel caps, bore him to his grave, firing over himthe same rusty muskets which had swept down rank after rank of the men ofAmalek at the Derry siege. 

Erelong the celebrated Derry fair was established, in imitation of thosewith which they had been familiar in Ireland. Thither annually came allmanner of horse-jockeys and pedlers, gentlemen and beggars, fortune-tellers, wrestlers, dancers and fiddlers, gay young farmers and buxommaidens. Strong drink abounded. They who had good-naturedly wrestledand joked together in the morning not unfrequently closed the day with afight, until, like the revellers of Donnybrook, "Their hearts were soft with whiskey, And their heads were soft with blows. "

A wild, frolicking, drinking, fiddling, courting, horse-racing, riotousmerry-making, --a sort of Protestant carnival, relaxing the grimness ofPuritanism for leagues around it. 

In the midst of such a community, and partaking of all its influences, Robert Dinsmore, the author of the poem I have quoted, was born, aboutthe middle of the last century. His paternal ancestor, John, younger sonof a Laird of Achenmead, who left the banks of the Tweed for the greenfertility of Northern Ireland, had emigrated to New England some fortyyears before, and, after a rough experience of Indian captivity in thewild woods of Maine, had settled down among his old neighbors inLondonderry. Until nine years of age, Robert never saw a school. He wasa short time under the tuition of an old British soldier, who had strayedinto the settlement after the French war, "at which time, " he says in aletter to a friend, "I learned to repeat the shorter and largercatechisms. These, with the Scripture proofs annexed to them, confirmedme in the orthodoxy of my forefathers, and I hope I shall ever remain anevidence of the truth of what the wise man said, 'Train up a child in theway he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. '" Heafterwards took lessons with one Master McKeen, who used to spend much ofhis time in hunting squirrels with his pupils. He learned to read andwrite; and the old man always insisted that he should have done well atciphering also, had he not fallen in love with Molly Park. At the age ofeighteen he enlisted in the Revolutionary army, and was at the battle ofSaratoga. On his return he married his fair Molly, settled down as afarmer in Windham, formerly a part of Londonderry, and before he wasthirty years of age became an elder in the church, of the creed andobservances of which he was always a zealous and resolute defender. Fromoccasional passages in his poems, it is evident that the instructionswhich he derived from the pulpit were not unlike those which Burnssuggested as needful for the unlucky lad whom he was commending to hisfriend Hamilton:--

 "Ye 'll catechise him ilka quirk, An' shore him weel wi' hell. "

In a humorous poem, entitled Spring's Lament, he thus describes theconsternation produced in the meeting-house at sermon time by a dog, who, in search of his mistress, rattled and scraped at the "west porchdoor:"--

 "The vera priest was scared himsel', His sermon he could hardly spell; Auld carlins fancied they could smell The brimstone matches; They thought he was some imp o' hell, In quest o' wretches. "

He lived to a good old age, a home-loving, unpretending farmer, cultivating his acres with his own horny hands, and cheering the longrainy days and winter evenings with homely rhyme. Most of his pieceswere written in the dialect of his ancestors, which was well understoodby his neighbors and friends, the only audience upon which he couldventure to calculate. He loved all old things, old language, oldcustoms, old theology. In a rhyming letter to his cousin Silas, he says:--

 "Though Death our ancestors has cleekit, An' under clods then closely steekit, We'll mark the place their chimneys reekit, Their native tongue we yet wad speak it, Wi' accent glib. "

He wrote sometimes to amuse his neighbors, often to soothe their sorrowunder domestic calamity, or to give expression to his own. With littleof that delicacy of taste which results from the attrition of fastidiousand refined society, and altogether too truthful and matter-of-fact tocall in the aid of imagination, he describes in the simplest and mostdirect terms the circumstances in which he found himself, and theimpressions which these circumstances had made on his own mind. He callsthings by their right names; no euphuism or transcendentalism, --theplainer and commoner the better. He tells us of his farm life, itsjoys and sorrows, its mirth and care, with no embellishment, with noconcealment of repulsive and ungraceful features. Never having seen anightingale, he makes no attempt to describe the fowl; but he has seenthe night-hawk, at sunset, cutting the air above him, and he tells of it. Side by side with his waving corn-fields and orchard-blooms we have thebarn-yard and pigsty. Nothing which was necessary to the comfort andhappiness of his home and avocation was to him "common or unclean. "Take, for instance, the following, from a poem written at the close ofautumn, after the death of his wife:--

 "No more may I the Spring Brook trace, No more with sorrow view the place Where Mary's wash-tub stood; No more may wander there alone, And lean upon the mossy stone Where once she piled her wood. 'T was there she bleached her linen cloth, By yonder bass-wood tree From that sweet stream she made her broth, Her pudding and her tea. That stream, whose waters running, O'er mossy root and stone, Made ringing and singing, Her voice could match alone. "

We envy not the man who can sneer at this simple picture. It is honestas Nature herself. An old and lonely man looks back upon the young yearsof his wedded life. Can we not look with him? The sunlight of a summermorning is weaving itself with the leafy shadows of the bass-tree, beneath which a fair and ruddy-checked young woman, with her full, rounded arms bared to the elbow, bends not ungracefully to her task, pausing ever and anon to play with the bright-eyed child beside her, andmingling her songs with the pleasant murmurings of gliding water! Alas!as the old man looks, he hears that voice, which perpetually sounds to usall from the past--no more!

Let us look at him in his more genial mood. Take the opening lines ofhis Thanksgiving Day. What a plain, hearty picture of substantialcomfort!

 "When corn is in the garret stored, And sauce in cellar well secured; When good fat beef we can afford, And things that 're dainty, With good sweet cider on our board, And pudding plenty;

 "When stock, well housed, may chew the cud, And at my door a pile of wood, A rousing fire to warm my blood, Blest sight to see! It puts my rustic muse in mood To sing for thee. "

If he needs a simile, he takes the nearest at hand. In a letter to hisdaughter he says:--

 "That mine is not a longer letter, The cause is not the want of matter, -- Of that there's plenty, worse or better; But like a mill Whose stream beats back with surplus water, The wheel stands still. "

Something of the humor of Burns gleams out occasionally from the soberdecorum of his verses. In an epistle to his friend Betton, high sheriffof the county, who had sent to him for a peck of seed corn, he says:--

 "Soon plantin' time will come again, Syne may the heavens gie us rain, An' shining heat to bless ilk plain An' fertile hill, An' gar the loads o' yellow grain, Our garrets fill. 

 "As long as I has food and clothing, An' still am hale and fier and breathing, Ye 's get the corn--and may be aething Ye'll do for me; (Though God forbid)--hang me for naething An' lose your fee. "

And on receiving a copy of some verses written by a lady, he talks in asad way for a Presbyterian deacon:--

 "Were she some Aborigine squaw, Wha sings so sweet by nature's law, I'd meet her in a hazle shaw, Or some green loany, And make her tawny phiz and 'a My welcome crony. "

The practical philosophy of the stout, jovial rhymer was but littleaffected by the sour-featured asceticism of the elder. He says:--

 "We'll eat and drink, and cheerful take Our portions for the Donor's sake, For thus the Word of Wisdom spake-- Man can't do better; Nor can we by our labors make The Lord our debtor!"

A quaintly characteristic correspondence in rhyme between the Deacon andParson McGregore, evidently "birds o' ane feather, " is still inexistence. The minister, in acknowledging the epistle of his old friend, commences his reply as follows:--

 "Did e'er a cuif tak' up a quill, Wha ne'er did aught that he did well, To gar the muses rant and reel, An' flaunt and swagger, Nae doubt ye 'll say 't is that daft chiel Old Dite McGregore!"

The reply is in the same strain, and may serve to give the reader someidea of the old gentleman as a religious controversialist:--

 "My reverend friend and kind McGregore, Although thou ne'er was ca'd a bragger, Thy muse I'm sure nave e'er was glegger Thy Scottish lays Might gar Socinians fa' or stagger, E'en in their ways. 

 "When Unitarian champions dare thee, Goliah like, and think to scare thee, Dear Davie, fear not, they'll ne'er waur thee; But draw thy sling, Weel loaded frae the Gospel quarry, An' gie 't a fling. "

The last time I saw him, he was chaffering in the market-place of mynative village, swapping potatoes and onions and pumpkins for tea, coffee, molasses, and, if the truth be told, New England rum. Threescoreyears and ten, to use his own words, "Hung o'er his back, And bent him like a muckle pack, "

yet he still stood stoutly and sturdily in his thick shoes of cowhide, like one accustomed to tread independently the soil of his own acres, --his broad, honest face seamed by care and darkened by exposure to "allthe airts that blow, " and his white hair flowing in patriarchal glorybeneath his felt hat. A genial, jovial, large-hearted old man, simple asa child, and betraying, neither in look nor manner, that he wasaccustomed to

 "Feed on thoughts which voluntary move Harmonious numbers. "

Peace to him! A score of modern dandies and sentimentalists could illsupply the place of this one honest man. In the ancient burial-ground ofWindham, by the side of his "beloved Molly, " and in view of the oldmeeting-house, there is a mound of earth, where, every spring, greengrasses tremble in the wind and the warm sunshine calls out the flowers. There, gathered like one of his own ripe sheaves, the farmer poet sleepswith his fathers. 

PLACIDO, THE SLAVE POET. 

[1845. ]

I have been greatly interested in the fate of Juan Placido, the blackrevolutionist of Cuba, who was executed in Havana, as the allegedinstigator and leader of an attempted revolt on the part of the slaves inthat city and its neighborhood. 

Juan Placido was born a slave on the estate of Don Terribio de Castro. His father was an African, his mother a mulatto. His mistress treatedhim with great kindness, and taught him to read. When he was twelveyears of age she died, and he fell into other and less compassionatehands. At the age of eighteen, on seeing his mother struck with a heavywhip, he for the first time turned upon his tormentors. To use his ownwords, "I felt the blow in my heart. To utter a loud cry, and from adowncast boy, with the timidity of one weak as a lamb, to become all atoffice like a raging lion, was a thing of a moment. " He was, however, subdued, and the next morning, together with his mother, a tenderlynurtured and delicate woman, severely scourged. On seeing his motherrudely stripped and thrown down upon the ground, he at first with tearsimplored the overseer to spare her; but at the sound of the first blow, as it cut into her naked flesh, he sprang once more upon the ruffian, who, having superior strength, beat him until he was nearer dead thanalive. 

After suffering all the vicissitudes of slavery, --hunger, nakedness, stripes; after bravely and nobly bearing up against that slow, dreadfulprocess which reduces the man to a thing, the image of God to a piece ofmerchandise, until he had reached his thirty-eighth year, he wasunexpectedly released from his bonds. Some literary gentlemen in Havana, into whose hands two or three pieces of his composition had fallen, struck with the vigor, spirit, and natural grace which they manifested, sought out the author, and raised a subscription to purchase his freedom. He came to Havana, and maintained himself by house-painting, and suchother employments as his ingenuity and talents placed within his reach. He wrote several poems, which have been published in Spanish at Havana, and translated by Dr. Madden, under the title of _Poems by a Slave_. 

It is not too much to say of these poems that they will bear a comparisonwith most of the productions of modern Spanish literature. The style isbold, free, energetic. Some of the pieces are sportive and graceful;such is the address to _The Cucuya_, or Cuban firefly. This beautifulinsect is sometimes fastened in tiny nets to the light dresses of theCuban ladies, a custom to which the writer gallantly alludes in thefollowing lines:--

 "Ah!--still as one looks on such brightness and bloom, On such beauty as hers, one might envy the doom Of a captive Cucuya that's destined, like this, To be touched by her hand and revived by her kiss! In the cage which her delicate hand has prepared, The beautiful prisoner nestles unscared, O'er her fair forehead shining serenely and bright, In beauty's own bondage revealing its light! And when the light dance and the revel are done, She bears it away to her alcove alone, Where, fed by her hand from the cane that's most choice, In secret it gleans at the sound of her voice! O beautiful maiden! may Heaven accord Thy care of the captive a fitting reward, And never may fortune the fetters remove Of a heart that is thine in the bondage of love!"

In his Dream, a fragment of some length, Placido dwells in a touchingmanner upon the scenes of his early years. It is addressed to hisbrother Florence, who was a slave near Matanzas, while the author was inthe same condition at Havana. There is a plaintive and melancholysweetness in these lines, a natural pathos, which finds its way to theheart:--

 "Thou knowest, dear Florence, my sufferings of old, The struggles maintained with oppression for years; We shared them together, and each was consoled With the love which was nurtured by sorrow and tears. 

 "But now far apart, the sad pleasure is gone, We mingle our sighs and our sorrows no more; The course is a new one which each has to run, And dreary for each is the pathway before. 

 "But in slumber our spirits at least shall commune, We will meet as of old in the visions of sleep, In dreams which call back early days, when at noon We stole to the shade of the palm-tree to weep!

 "For solitude pining, in anguish of late The heights of Quintana I sought for repose; And there, in the cool and the silence, the weight Of my cares was forgotten, I felt not any woes. 

 "Exhausted and weary, the spell of the place Sank down on my eyelids, and soft slumber stole So sweetly upon me, it left not a trace Of sorrow o'ercasting the light of the soul. "

The writer then imagines himself borne lightly through the air to theplace of his birth. The valley of Matanzas lies beneath him, hallowed bythe graves of his parents. He proceeds:--

 "I gazed on that spot where together we played, Our innocent pastimes came fresh to my mind, Our mother's caress, and the fondness displayed In each word and each look of a parent so kind. 

 "I looked on the mountain, whose fastnesses wild The fugitives seek from the rifle and hound; Below were the fields where they suffered and toiled, And there the low graves of their comrades are found. 

 "The mill-house was there, and the turmoil of old; But sick of these scenes, for too well were they known, I looked for the stream where in childhood I strolled When a moment of quiet and peace was my own. 

 "With mingled emotions of pleasure and pain, Dear Florence, I sighed to behold thee once more; I sought thee, my brother, embraced thee again, But I found thee a slave as I left thee before!"

Some of his devotional pieces evince the fervor and true feeling of theChristian poet. His _Ode to Religion_ contains many admirable lines. Speaking of the martyrs of the early days of Christianity, he saysfinely:--

 "Still in that cradle, purpled with their blood, The infant Faith waxed stronger day by day. "

I cannot forbear quoting the last stanza of this poem:--

 "O God of mercy, throned in glory high, On earth and all its misery look down: Behold the wretched, hear the captive's cry, And call Thy exiled children round Thy throne! There would I fain in contemplation gaze On Thy eternal beauty, and would make Of love one lasting canticle of praise, And every theme but Thee henceforth forsake!"

His best and noblest production is an ode _To Cuba_, written on theoccasion of Dr. Madden's departure from the island, and presented to thatgentleman. It was never published in Cuba, as its sentiments would havesubjected the author to persecution. It breathes a lofty spirit ofpatriotism, and an indignant sense of the wrongs inflicted upon his race. Withal, it has something of the grandeur and stateliness of the oldSpanish muse. 

 "Cuba!--of what avail that thou art fair, Pearl of the Seas, the pride of the Antilles, If thy poor sons have still to see thee share The pangs of bondage and its thousand ills? Of what avail the verdure of thy hills, The purple bloom thy coffee-plain displays; The cane's luxuriant growth, whose culture fills More graves than famine, or the sword finds ways To glut with victims calmly as it slays?

 "Of what avail that thy clear streams abound With precious ore, if wealth there's, none to buy Thy children's rights, and not one grain is found For Learning's shrine, or for the altar nigh Of poor, forsaken, downcast Liberty? Of what avail the riches of thy port, Forests of masts and ships from every sea, If Trade alone is free, and man, the sport And spoil of Trade, bears wrongs of every sort?

 "Cuba! O Cuba!---when men call thee fair, And rich, and beautiful, the Queen of Isles, Star of the West, and Ocean's gem most rare, Oh, say to those who mock thee with such wiles: Take off these flowers; and view the lifeless spoils Which wait the worm; behold their hues beneath The pale, cold cheek; and seek for living smiles Where Beauty lies not in the arms of Death, And Bondage taints not with its poison breath!"

The disastrous result of the last rising of the slaves--in Cuba is wellknown. Betrayed, and driven into premature collision with theiroppressors, the insurrectionists were speedily crushed into subjection. Placido was arrested, and after a long hearing was condemned to beexecuted, and consigned to the Chapel of the Condemned. 

How far he was implicated in the insurrectionary movement it is nowperhaps impossible to ascertain. The popular voice at Havana pronouncedhim its leader and projector, and as such he was condemned. His ownbitter wrongs; the terrible recollections of his life of servitude; thesad condition of his relatives and race, exposed to scorn, contumely, andthe heavy hand of violence; the impunity with which the most dreadfuloutrages upon the persons of slaves were inflicted, --acting upon a mindfully capable of appreciating the beauty and dignity of freedom, --furnished abundant incentives to an effort for the redemption of his raceand the humiliation of his oppressors. The Heraldo, of Madrid speaks ofhim as "the celebrated poet, a man of great natural genius, and belovedand appreciated by the most respectable young men of Havana. " It accuseshim of wild and ambitious projects, and states that he was intended to bethe chief of the black race after they had thrown off the yoke ofbondage. 

He was executed at Havana in the seventh month, 1844. According to thecustom in Cuba with condemned criminals, he was conducted from prison tothe Chapel of the Doomed. He passed thither with singular composure, amidst a great concourse of people, gracefully saluting his numerousacquaintances. The chapel was hung with black cloth, and dimly lighted. He was seated beside his coffin. Priests in long black robes stoodaround him, chanting in sepulchral voices the service of the dead. It isan ordeal under which the stoutest-hearted and most resolute have beenfound to sink. After enduring it for twenty-four hours he was led out toexecution. He came forth calm and undismayed; holding a crucifix in hishand, he recited in a loud, clear voice a solemn prayer in verse, whichhe had composed amidst the horrors of the Chapel. The following is animperfect rendering of a poem which thrilled the hearts of all who heardit:--

 "God of unbounded love and power eternal, To Thee I turn in darkness and despair! Stretch forth Thine arm, and from the brow infernal Of Calumny the veil of Justice tear; And from the forehead of my honest fame Pluck the world's brand of infamy and shame!

 "O King of kings!--my fathers' God!--who only Art strong to save, by whom is all controlled, Who givest the sea its waves, the dark and lonely Abyss of heaven its light, the North its cold, The air its currents, the warm sun its beams, Life to the flowers, and motion to the streams!

 "All things obey Thee, dying or reviving As thou commandest; all, apart from Thee, From Thee alone their life and power deriving, Sink and are lost in vast eternity! Yet doth the void obey Thee; since from naught This marvellous being by Thy hand was wrought. 

 "O merciful God! I cannot shun Thy presence, For through its veil of flesh Thy piercing eye Looketh upon my spirit's unsoiled essence, As through the pure transparence of the sky; Let not the oppressor clap his bloody hands, As o'er my prostrate innocence he stands!

 "But if, alas, it seemeth good to Thee That I should perish as the guilty dies, And that in death my foes should gaze on me With hateful malice and exulting eyes, Speak Thou the word, and bid them shed my blood, Fully in me Thy will be done, O God!"

On arriving at the fatal spot, he sat down as ordered, on a bench, withhis back to the soldiers. The multitude recollected that in someaffecting lines, written by the conspirator in prison, he had said thatit would be useless to seek to kill him by shooting his body, --that hisheart must be pierced ere it would cease its throbbings. At the lastmoment, just as the soldiers were about to fire, he rose up and gazed foran instant around and above him on the beautiful capital of his nativeland and its sail-flecked bay, on the dense crowds about him, the bluemountains in the distance, and the sky glorious with summer sunshine. "Adios, mundo!" (Farewell, world!) he said calmly, and sat down. Theword was given, and five balls entered his body. Then it was that, amidst the groans and murmurs of the horror-stricken spectators, he roseup once more, and turned his head to the shuddering soldiers, his facewearing an expression of superhuman courage. "Will no one pity me?" hesaid, laying his hand over his heart. "Here, fire here!" While he yetspake, two balls entered his heart, and he fell dead. 

Thus perished the hero poet of Cuba. He has not fallen in vain. Hisgenius and his heroic death will doubtless be regarded by his race asprecious legacies. To the great names of L'Ouverture and Petion thecolored man can now add that of Juan Placido.