CHAPTER XI
“Our New-England shall tell and boast of her Winthrop, a Law- giver as patient as Lycurgus, but not admitting any of his criminal disorders; as devout as Numa, but not liable to any of his heathenish madnesses; a Governor in whom the excellencies of Christianity made a most improving addition unto the virtues, wherein, even without those, he would have made a parallel for the great men of Greece or of Rome, which the pen of a Plutarch has eternized.” — Cotton Mather'
WE HOLD OURSELVES bound by all the laws of decorum, to give our readers a formal introduction to the government-mansion, and its inmates. The house stood in the main street, (Washington-street) on the ground now occupied by ‘Southrow.’ There was a little court in front of it: on one side, a fine garden; on the other, a beautiful lawn, or, as it was called, ‘green,’ extending to the corner on which the ‘Old South’ (church) now stands, and an ample yard and offices in the rear.
The mighty master of fiction has but to wave the wand of his office, to present the past to his readers, with all the vividness and distinctness of the present; but we, who follow him at an immeasurable distance — we who have no magician’s enchantments, wherewith we can imitate the miracles wrought by the rod of the prophet; we must betake ourselves to the compass’ and the rule, and set forth our description as minutely and exactly, as if we were making out an inventory for a salesman. In obedience to this necessity, we offer the following detailed description of the internal economy of a pilgrim mansion, not on any apocryphal authority, but quoted from an authentic record of the times.
“In the principal houses was a great hall, ornamented with pictures; a great lantern; velvet cushions in the window-seat to look into the garden; on either side, a great parlour, a little parlour or study, furnished with great looking-glasses, turkey carpets, window-curtains and valance, picture and a map, a brass clock, red leather back chairs, a great pair of brass andirons.
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The chambers well furnished with feather-beds, warming-pans, and every other elegance and comfort. The pantry well filled with substantial fare and dainties, Madeira wine, prunes, marmalade, silver-tankards and wine- cups, not uncommon.”
If any are incredulous as to the correctness of the above extract, we assure them that its truth is confirmed by the spaciousness of the pilgrim habitations still standing in Boston, and occupied by their descendants. These pilgrims were not needy adventurers, nor ruined exiles. Mr. Winthrop himself, had an estate in England, worth seven hundred pounds per annum. Some of his associates came from lordly halls, and many of them brought wealth, as well as virtue, to the colony.
The rigour of the climate, and the embarrassments incident to their condition, often reduced the pilgrims, in their earliest period, to the wants of extreme poverty; but their sufferings had the dignity and merit of being voluntary, and are now, as the tattered garments of the saints are to the faithful, sacred in the eyes of their posterity.
Our humble history has little to do with the public life of Governor Winthrop, which is so well known to have been illustrated by the rare virtue of disinterested patriotism, and by such even and paternal goodness, that a contemporary witty satirist could not find it in his heart to give him a harsher name than ‘Sir John Temperwell.’ His figure, (if we may believe the portrait that honourably decorates the wall of his lineal descendant) was tall and spare; his eye, dark blue, and mild in its expression: he had the upraised brow, which is said to be indicative of a religious disposition; his hair, and his beard which he wore long, were black. On the whole, we must confess, the external man presents the solemn and forbidding aspect of the times in which he flourished; though we know him to have been a model of private virtue, gracious and gentle in his manners, and exact in the obser- vance of all gentlemanly courtesy.
His wife was admirably qualified for the station she occupied. She recognised, and continually taught to matron and maiden, the duty of unqualified obedience from the wife to the husband, her appointed lord and master; a duty that it was left to modem heresy to dispute; and which bur pious fathers, or even mothers, were so far from questioning, that the onlv divine right to govern, which they acknowledged, was that vested in the husband over the wife. Madam Winthrop’s matrimonial virtue never
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degenerated into the slavishness of fear, or the obsequiousness of servility. If authorised and approved by principle, it was prompted by feeling; and, if we may be allowed a coarse comparison, like a horse easy on the bit, she was guided by the slightest intimation from him who held the rein; indeed — to pursue our humble illustration still farther — it sometimes appeared as if the reins were dropped, and the inferior animal were left to the guidance of her own sagacity.
Without ever overstepping the limits of feminine propriety, Madam Winthrop manifestly enjoyed the dignity of her official station, and felt that if the governor were the greater, she was the lesser light. There was a slight tinge of official importance in her manner of conferring her hospi- talities, and her counsel; but she seemed rather to intend to heighten the value of the gift, than the merit of the giver.
Governor Winthrop possessed the patriarchal blessing of a numer- ous offspring; but as they were in no way associated with the personages of our story, we have not thought fit to encumber it with any details concern- ing them.
We return from our long digression to the party we left in Governor Winthrop’s parlour.
The tables were arranged for dinner. Tables, we say, for a side-table was spread, but in a manner so inferior to the principal board, which was garnished with silver tankards, wine cups, and rich china, as to indicate that it was destined for inferior guests. This indication was soon verified, for on a servant being sent to announce dinner to Governor Winthrop, who was understood to be occupied with some of the natives on state business; that gentleman appeared attended by four Indians — Miantunnomoh , 2 the young and noble chief of the Narragansetts, two of his counsellors, and an interpreter. Hope turned to Everell to remark on the graceful gestures by which they expressed their salutations to the company — “Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “Everell, what ails you?” for she saw he was as pale as death.
“Nothing, nothing,” said Everell, wishing to avoid observation, and turning towards the window: he then added in explanation to Hope, who followed him, “these are the first Indians I have seen since my return, and they brought, too vividly to mind, my dear mother’s death.”
Governor Winthrop motioned to his Indian guests to take their seats at the side-table, and the rest of the company, including the elder Fletcher
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and Cradock, surrounded the dinner table, and serving-men and all, reverently folded their arms and bowed their heads, while the grace, or prefatory prayer, was pronouncing.
After all the rest had taken their seats, the Indians remained stand- ing;*^ and although the governor politely signified to the interpreter that their delay wronged the smoking viands, they remained motionless, the chief drawn aside from the rest, his eye cast down, his brow lowering, and his whole aspect expressive of proud displeasure.
The governor rose and demanded of the interpreter the meaning of their too evident dissatisfaction.
“My chief bids me say,” replied the savage, “that he expects such treatment from the English saggamore, as the English receive in the wigwam of the Narragansett chief. He says, that when the English stranger visits him, he sits on his mat, and eats from his dish.”
“Tell your chief,” replied the governor, who had urgent state reasons for conciliating Miantunnomoh, “that I pray him to overlook the wrong I have done him; he is right; he deserves the place of honour. I have heard of his hospitable deeds, and that he doth give more than even ground to his guests; for our friend, Roger Williams, informed us, that he hath known him, with his family, to sleep abroad to make room in his wigwam for English visitors.”
Governor Winthrop added the last circumstance, partly as a full confession of his fault, and partly as an apology to his help-mate, w ho looked a good deal disconcerted by the disarrangement of her dinner. However, she proceeded to give the necessary orders; the table was remodelled — a sufficient addition made, and the haughty chief, his coun- tenance relaxing to an expression of grave satisfaction, took his seat at the governor’s right hand. His associates being properly accommodated at the table, the rest of the company resumed their stations.
Everell cast his eye around on the various viands which covered the hospitable board. — “Times have mended,” he said to Madam Winthrop, “in my absence. 1 remember once sitting down with my father, to a good man’s table, on which w as nothing but a sorry dish of clams; but our host made up for the defect of his entertainment by the excess of his gratitude, for, as I remember, he gave thanks that ‘we w ere permitted to eat of the abundance of the seas, and of treasures hid in the sand.’”
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Hope Leslie understood so well the temper of the company she was in, that she instantly perceived a slight depression of their mercury at what appeared to them, a tone of levity in Everell. She interposed her shield. “What may we expect for the future,” she said, “if now it seems strange to us, that ten years ago, the best in the colony were reduced to living upon muscles, acorns, and ground nuts; and that our bountiful governor, having shared his flour and meat with the poorest in the land, had his last batch of bread in the oven, when the ship with succours arrived? the Lion, or the Blessing of the Bay — which was it, Master Cradock? for it was you who told me the story,” she added, bending towards Cradock, who sat oppo- site to her.
Cradock, who always felt, at the slightest notice from Hope, an emotion similar to that of a pious catholic, when he fancies the image of the saint he worships to bend propitiously towards him; Cradock dropped his knife and fork, and erecting his body with one of those sudden jerks characteristic of awkward men, he hit the elbow of a servant who was just placing a gravy-boat on the table, and brought the gravy down on his little brown wig, whence it found its way, in many a bubbling rill, over his face, neck, and shoulders.
A murmur of sympathy and suppressed laughter ran around the table; and while a servant, at his mistress’ bidding, was applying napkins to Cradock, he seemed only intent on replying to Miss Leslie. “It was the Lion, Miss Hope — ha — indeed — a wonderful memory — yes, yes — it was the Lion. The Blessing of the Bay was the governor’s own vessel.”
“That name,” said Sir Philip Gardiner, in a low tone to Hope Leslie, next whom he sat, “should, I think, have been reserved, where names are significant, for a more just appropriation.”
He spoke in a tone of confidential gallantry so discordant with his demeanor, that the fair listener lost the matter in the manner, and turning to him with one of those looks so confounding to a man who means to speak but to one ear in the company — “What did you say, sir?” she asked.
“He said, my dear,” said Mrs. Grafton, who sat at the knight’s left hand, and who would have considered it worse to suppress a compliment, than to conceal treason; “he said, my dear, that you should have been named, the Blessing of the Bay.”
Sir Philip recoiled a little at this flat version of his compliment; but he
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had other interests to sustain, more important than his knightly courtesy, and he was just contriving something to say, which might secure him a safe passage past Scylla and Charybdis, when Madam Winthrop, who was exclusively occupied with the duty of presiding, begged Sir Philip would change his plate, and take a piece of wild turkey, which she could recom- mend as savoury and tender; or, a piece of the venison — the venison, she said, was a present from the son of their good old friend and ally, Chica- tabot , 3 and she was sure it was of the best.
The knight declined the preferred delicacies, alleging he had alreadv been tempted to excess by the cod’s-head and shoulders — a rarity to a European.
“But,” said Miss Leslie, “you will not dine on fish alone, and on Friday too- — why we shall suspect you of being a Romanist.”
If there was any thing in the unwonted blush that deepened the knight’s complexion, which might lead an observer to suspect that an aimless dart had touched a vulnerable point, he adroitly averted suspicion by saying, “that he trusted temperance and self-denial were not confined to a corrupt and superstitious church, and that for himself, he found much use in voluntary mortifications of appetite.”
“Fastings oft,” said Cradock, who had been playing the part of a valiant trencherman, taking liberally of all of the various feast, “fastings oft are an excellent thing for those who have grace for them; and yours, Sir Philip, if one may judge from the ruddiness of your complexion, are wonderfully prospered.” The knight received the simple compliment with a silent bow.
Cradock turned to Miss Downing, who sat on his right — “Now, Miss Esther, you do wrong yourself; there is that pigeon’s wing, just as I gave it to you.”
Hope Leslie looked up with a deprecating glance, as if she w ould have said, ‘Heaven help my tutor! he never moves without treading on some- body’s toes.’
“Is not Miss Downing well?” asked the elder Fletcher, who now, for the first time, noticed that she looked unusually pale and pensive.
“Perfectly well,” said Esther.
“Indifferently well, my dear, you mean,” said Madam Winthrop.
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“Esther,” she added, “always feeds like a Canary bird; but I never despair of a young lady — they have all the cameleon gift of living upon air.”
“Will Miss Downing mend her appetite with wine,” asked young Fletcher, “and allow me the honour of taking it with her?”
“Everell!” exclaimed Hope, touching his elbow, but not in time to check him.
“My son!” said his father, in a voice of rebuke.
“Mr. Fletcher!” exclaimed Governor Winthrop, in a tone of surprise.
“What have 1 done now?” asked Everell of Hope Leslie; but Hope was too much diverted with his mistake and honest consternation to reply.
“You have done nothing inexcusable, my young friend,” said the governor; “for you probably did not know that the vain custom of drink- ing, one to another, has been disused, at my table, for ten years; and that our general court prohibited this ‘employment of the creature out of its natural use,’ by their order, in the year of our Lord, 1639, four years since; so that the custom hath become quite obsolete with us, though it may be still in practice among our laxer brethren of England.”
“With due deference 1 speak,” said Everell, “to my elders and superi- ors; but it really appears to me to border on the quixotism of fighting windmills, to make laws against so innocent a custom.”
“No vanity is innocent, Mr. Everell Fletcher,” replied the governor, “as you will, yourself, after proper consideration, confess. Tell me, when but now, you would have proffered wishes of health to my niece, Esther, was it not an empty compliment, and not meant by you for an argument of love, which should always be unfeigned?”
The governor’s proposition appeared to himself to be merely an abstract metaphysical truth; but to the younger part of his audience, at least, it conveyed much more than met the ear.
Miss Downing blushed deeply, and Everell attempted, in vain, to stammer a reply. Hope Leslie perceived the pit and essayed a safe passage over it. “Esther,” she said, “Everell shall not be our knight at tilt or tournament, if he cannot use the lance your uncle has dropped at his feet. Are there not always, Everell, in your heart, arguments of love unfeigned, when you drink to the health of a fair lady?”
Before Everell had time to reply, except by a sparkling glance, the
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governor said, “This is somewhat too light a discussion of a serious topic.”
This rebuke quenched, at once, the spark of gaiety Hope had kindled, and the dinner, never a prolonged meal in this pattern mansion, was finished without any other conversation than that exacted by the ordinary courtesies of the table.
After the repast was ended, the Indian chief took his leave with much fainter expressions of attachment than he had vouchsafed on a former visit, as the governor had afterwards occasion to remember.
The party dispersed in various directions, and the governor with- drew, with the elder Fletcher, to his study. When there, Governor Winthrop lighted his pipe, a luxury in which he sparingly indulged; and then, looking over a packet of letters, he selected one, and handed it to Mr. Fletcher, saying, “There is an epistle from brother Downing which your son has brought to me. Read it, yourself; you will perceive that he has stated his views on a certain subject, interesting to you, and to us all; and stated them directly, without any of the circumlocution and ambiguity, which a wordly-minded man would have employed on a like occasion.”
Mr. Downing introduced the important topic of his epistle, w hich Mr. Fletcher read with the deepest attention, by saying that “Fletcher, junior, returns to the colony, a fit instrument, as 1 trust, to promote its welfare and honour. He is gifted with divers and goodly talents, and graced with sufficient learning.
“I have often been sorely wounded at hearing the censures passed on our brother Fletcher, for having sent his son into the bosom of a prelatical family, but I confidently believe the youth returns to his owti country with his puritan principles uncorrupted; although, it is too true, as our stricter brethren often remark, that he has little of the outw ard man of a ‘pilgrim indeed.’
“He is, brother Winthrop, a high-metalled youth, and on this ac- count I feel, as you doubtless will, the urgency of coupling him with a member of the congregation, and one w ho may, in all likelihood, accom- plish for him that precious promise of the apostle, ‘the believing wife shall sanctify the unbelieving husband.’
“I have already taken the first step tow ards bringing about so desir- able an end, by inviting the young man to my house, where he spent two months of the summer. 1 then favoured his intimate intercourse with mv
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well-beloved daughter Esther, whose outward form, I may say without boasting, is a fit temple for the spirit within.”
Mr. Downing then proceeded to state some circumstances already known to the reader, and particularly dwelt on Everell’s remaining at his house during his daughter’s dangerous illness; touched lightly on their having had an interview, very affecting to both parties, and in regard to the particulars of which, both, with the shyness natural to youth, had been silent; and finally, set forth in strong terms, the concern evinced by Everell while Esther’s recovery was doubtful.
“Notwithstanding,” the letter proceeded to say, “these circum- stances are so favourable to my wishes, I have some apprehensions; and therefore, brother, 1 bespeak your immediate interposition in behalf of the future spiritual prosperity of this youth. He hath been assiduously courted by Miss Leslie’s paternal connexions, and I have reason to believe, they have solicted him to marry her, and bring her to England. But without such solicitation the marriage is a probable one. Miss Leslie is reported here, to be wanting in grace, a want that 1 fear would not impoverish her in young Fletcher’s estimation; and to be a maiden of rare comeliness, a thing precious in the eyes of youth — too apt to set a high price on that which is but dust and ashes. The young lady is of great estate too; but that I think will not weigh with the young man, for I discern a lofty spirit in him, that would spurn the yoke of mammon. Nor do I think, with some of our brethren, that ‘gold and grace did never yet agree.’ Yet there are some, who would make this alliance a ground of further scandal against our brother Fletcher. It is whispered that his worldly affairs are not so prosperous as we could wish. Mark me, brother — my confidence in him is unmoved, and 1 think, and am sure, that he would not permit his son to espouse this maiden, with the dowry of a queen, if thereby he endangered his spiritual welfare. But, brother, you in the new world, are as a city set on a hill. Many lie in wait for your halting, and all appearance of evil should be avoided. On this account and many others, brother Fletcher and all of us should duly prize that medium and safe condition for which Agur prayed.
“One more reason 1 would suggest, and then commend the business to thy guidance, who art justly termed by friend and foe — the Moses of God’s people in the wilderness.
“It seemeth to me, the motive of Miss Leslie’s mother, in going with her offspring to the colony, should be duly weighed and respected. Could her purpose, in any other way, be so certainly accomplished, as by unit- ing her daughter speedily with a godly and approved member of the congregation?”
Every sentence of this letter stung Mr. Fletcher. He repeatedly threw it down, rose from his seat, and after taking two or three turns across the study, screwed his courage to the sticking point, and returned to it again. Governor Winthrop’s attention appeared to be rivetted to a paper he was perusing, till he could no longer, from motives of delicacy to his friend, affect to abstract his attention from him. Mr. Fletcher finished the letter, and leaning over the table, covered his face with his hands. His emotion could not be hidden. The veins in his temples and forehead swelled almost to bursting, and his tears fell like rain-drops on the table. Governor Winthrop laid his hand on his friend’s arm, and by a gentle pressure, expressed a sympathy that it would have been difficult to embody in words.
After a few moments’ struggle with his feelings, Mr. Fletcher sub- dued his emotion, and turning to Governor Winthrop, he said, with dignity — “1 have betrayed before you a weakness that I have never ex- pressed, but in that gracious presence, where weakness is not degradation. Thus has it ever pleased Him, who knows the infirmity of my heart, to try me. From my youth, my path hath been hedged up with earthly affections. Is it that I have myself forged the fetters that bind me to the earth? Is it that I have given to the creature what I owed to the Creator, that one after another of my earthly delights is taken from me? that I am thus stripped bare? Oh! it has been the thought that came unbidden to mv nightly meditations, and my daily reveries, that I might live to see these children of two saints in heaven united. This sweet child is the image of her blessed mother. She was her precious legacy to me, and she hath been such a spirit of love and contentment in my lone dwelling, that she hath inwrought herself with every fibre of my heart.”
“This was natural,” said Governor Winthrop.
“Ay, my friend — and was it not inevitable? I did think,” he con- tinued, after a momentary pause, “that in their childhood, their affections, as if instinct with their parents’ feelings, mingled in natural union; if their hearts retain this bent, I think it were not right to put a force upon them."
“Certainly not,” replied his friend; “but the affections of youth are flexible, and may be turned from their natural bent by a skilful hand. It is our known duty to direct them heaven- ward. In taking care for the spiritual growth of our young people, who are soon to stand in their father’s places, we do, as we are bound, most assuredly build up the interests of our Zion. I should ill deserve the honourable name my brethren have given me, if I were not zealous over our youth. In fearing any opposition from the parties in question, I think, my worthy brother, you disquiet yourself in vain. It appeareth from Downing’s letter, that there have been tender passages between your son and his daughter Esther; and even if Hope Leslie hath fed her fancies with thoughts of Everell, yet I think she would be forward to advance her friend’s happiness, for, not- withstanding she doth so differ from her in her gay carriage, their hearts appear to be knit together.”
“You do my beloved child but justice; what is difficult duty to others, hath ever seemed impulse in her; and I have sometimes thought that the covenant of works was to her a hindrance to the covenant of grace; and that, perhaps, she would hate sin more for its unlawfulness, if she did not hate it so much for its ugliness.”
Governor Winthrop thought his friend went a little too far in magni- fying the virtue of his favourite. “Pardon,” he said, “the wounds inflicted by a friend — they are faithful. I have thought the child rests too much on performances; and you must allow, brother, that she hath not, I speak it tenderly, that passiveness, that, next to godliness, is a woman’s best virtue.”
“1 should scarcely account,” replied Mr. Fletcher, “a property of soulless matter, a virtue.” This was spoken in a tone of impatience that indicated truly that the speaker, like an over fond parent, could better endure any reproach cast on himself, than the slightest imputation on his favourite. Governor Winthrop was not a man to shrink from inflicting what he deemed a salutary pain, because his patient recoiled from his touch, he therefore proceeded in his admonition.
“Partiality is dangerous, as we see in the notable history of David and Absalom, and elsewhere; and perhaps it was your too great indulgence that emboldened the child to the daring deed of violating the law, by the secret release of the condemned.”“That violation rests on suspicion, not proof,” said Mr. Fletcher,
“And why,” replied Governor Winthrop, smiling, “is it permitted to rest on suspicion? from respect to our much suffering brother Fletcher, and consideration of the youth of the offender, we have winked at the offence. But we will pass that — I would be the last to lift the veil that hath fallen over it; I only alluded to it, to enforce the necessity of a stricter watch over this lawless girl. Would it not be wise and prudent to take mv brother’s counsel, and consign her to some one who should add to affection, the modest authority of a husband?”
Governor Winthrop paused for a reply, but receiving none, he proceeded — “One of our most promising youth hath this day discoursed to me of Hope Leslie, and expressed a matrimonial intent towards her.”
“And who is this?” demanded Mr. Fletcher.
“William Hubbard[^4]— the youth who hath come with so much credit from our prophets’ school at Cambridge. He is a discreet young man, steeped in learning, and of approved orthodoxy.”
“These be cardinal points with us,” replied Mr. Fletcher, calmly, “but they are not like to commend him to a maiden of Hope Leslie’s temper. She inclineth not to bookish men, and is apt to vent her childish gaiety upon the ungainly ways of scholars.”
Thus our heroine, by her peculiar taste, lost at least the golden opportunity of illustrating herself by a union with the future historian of New-England.
After a little consideration, the governor resumed the conversation. “It is difficult,” he said, “to suit a maiden who hath more whim, than reason — what think you of Sir Philip Gardiner?”
“Sir Philip Gardiner! a new-comer of today! and old enough to be the father of Hope Leslie!”
“The fitter guide for her youth. Besides, brother, you magnify his age — he is still on the best side of forty. He is a man of good family, who, after having fought on the side where his birth naturally cast him, hath been plucked, as a brand from the burning, by the preaching and exhorta- tion of the godly Mr. Wilkins; and feeling, as he declares, a pious horror at the thought of imbruing his hands any further in blood, he hath come to cast his lot among us, instead of joining our friends in England.”
“Hath he credentials to verify all these particulars?”
Governor Winthrop coloured, slightly, at an interrogatory that im- plied a deficiency of wariness on his part, and replied, “that he thought the gentleman scarcely needed other than he carried in his language and deportment, but that he had come furnished with a letter of introduction, satisfactory in all points.”
“From whom?” inquired Mr. Fletcher.
“From one Jeremy Austin — who expresseth himself as, and Sir Philip says is, a warm friend to us.”
“Is he known to you?”
“No — but I think I have heard him mentioned as a well-wilier to our colony.”
This was not perfectly satisfactory to Mr. Fletcher, but he forbore to press the point further, and turned his attack to that part of the suggestion that appeared most vulnerable. “Methinks,” he said, “you are over-hasty in proposing to match Hope Leslie with this stranger.”
“Nay, I meant not a formal proposition. I noted that Sir Philip was struck with Hope’s outward graces. He is an uncommon personable man, and hath that bearing that finds favour in maidens’ eyes, and the thought came to me, that he may have been sent here, in good time, to relieve all our perplexities; and to confess the truth, brother, if I may use the sporting language of our youth, I am impatient to put jesses on this wild bird of yours, while she is on our perch. But to be serious, and surely the subject doth enforce us to it, I am satisfied that you will not oppose any means that may offer to secure the lambs of our flock in the true fold.”
“I shall oppose nothing that will promote the spiritual prosperity of those dear to me as my own soul. I have no reason to doubt my son’s filial obedience; he hath never been wanting, and though both he and I have fallen under censure, I see not that I erred in sending him from me, since I but complied with the last request of his sainted mother, and that com- pliance deprived me of the only child left of my little flock. I speak not vauntingly; but let not those who have remained in Egypt, condemn him who has drank of the bitterest waters of the wilderness.” Mr. Fletcher, finding himself again yielding to irrepressible emotions, rose and hastily left his more equal-tempered and less interested friend.
Thus did these good men, not content with their magnanimous conflict with necessary evils, involve themselves in superfluous trials. Whatever gratified the natural desires of the heart was questionable, and almost every thing that was difficult and painful, assumed the form of duty. As if the benevolent Father of all had stretched over our heads a canopy of clouds, instead of the bright firmament, and its glorious host, and ever- changing beauty; and had spread under our feet a wilderness of bitter herbs, instead of every tree and plant yielding its good fruit. — But we would fix our eyes on the bright halo that encircled the pilgrims’ head; and not mark the dust that sometimes sullied his garments.