 | CHAPTER XI. Hope Leslie, or, Early times in the Massachusetts |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
“Our New-England shall tell and boast of her Winthrop,
a Lawgiver 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 `South-row.'
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
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. 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
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 observance of all gentlemanly
courtesy.
His wife was admirably qualified for the station
she occupied. She recognised, and continually
obedience from the wife to the husband,
her appointed lord and master; a duty that it
was left to modern heresy to dispute; and which
our pious fathers, or even mothers, were so far
from questioning, that the only divine right to
govern, which they acknowledged, was that vested
in the husband over the wife. Madam Winthrop's
matrimonial virtue never 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 hospitalities,
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 numerous offspring; but as they
were in no way associated with the personages of
with any details concerning 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, 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
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 standing; 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, who 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 countenance 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. I remember once sitting
down with my father, to a good man's table, on
which was 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 were permitted
to eat of the abundance of the seas, and of treasures
hid in the sand.' ”
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,
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 opposite 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 Lesile. “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
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 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 recommend
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,
Chicatabot, and she was sure it was of the best.
The knight declined the proffered delicacies,
alleging he had already 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 would have said, `Heaven help
my tutor! he never moves without treading on
somebody'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. “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 I 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 drinking,
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 I speak,” said Everell,
“to my elders and superiors; but it really appears
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 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
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 withdrew, 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 worldly-minded man would have employed
on a like occasion.”
Mr. Downing introduced the important topic of
his epistle, which Mr. Fletcher read with the deepest
attention, by saying that “Fletcher, junior, returns
to the colony, a fit instrument, as I 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
to his own country with his puritan principles uncorrupted;
although, it is too true, as our stricter
brethren often remark, that he has little of the
outward man of a `pilgrim indeed.'
“He is, brother Winthrop, a high-metalled
youth, and on this account I feel, as you doubtless
will, the urgency of coupling him with a member
of the congregation, and one who may, in all likelihood,
accomplish for him that precious promise
of the apostle, `the believing wife shall sanctify
the unbelieving husband.'
“I have already taken the first step towards
bringing about so desirable an end, by inviting
the young man to my house, where he spent two
months of the summer. I then favoured his intimate
intercourse with my 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 circumstances are so favourable to my
wishes, I have some apprehensions; and therefore,
brother, I 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 I 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 I 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
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 I 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 uniting 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
it would have been difficult to embody in words.
After a few moments' struggle with his feelings,
Mr. Fletcher subdued his emotion, and turning to
Governor Winthrop, he said, with dignity—“I
have betrayed before you a weakness that I have
never expressed, 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 my 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 continued, 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, notwithstanding
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 magnifying the virtue of his favourite.
“Pardon,” he said, “the wounds inflicted
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.”
“I 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, hastily.
“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
my 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—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 to-day!
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
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 exhortation
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 implied 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-willer 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 compliance 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,
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.
| CHAPTER XI. Hope Leslie, or, Early times in the Massachusetts | |