University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

There is usually great haste, in this country, in getting
rid of the dead. In no other part of the world, with
which we are acquainted, are funerals so simple, or so
touching; placing the judgment and sins which lead to it,
in a far more conspicuous light than rank, or riches, or
personal merits. Scarfs and gloves are given in town, and
gloves in the country, though scarfs are rare; but, beyond
these, and the pall, and the hearse, and the weeping friends,
an American funeral is a very unpretending procession of
persons in their best attire; on foot, when the distance is
short; in carriages, in wagons, and on horseback, when
the grave is far from the dwelling. There is, however,
one feature connected with a death in this country, that
we could gladly see altered. It is the almost indecent
haste, which so generally prevails, to get rid of the dead.
Doubtless the climate has had an effect in establishing this
custom; but the climate, by no means, exacts the precipitancy
that is usually practised.

As there were so many friends from a distance present,
some of whom took the control of affairs, Mary shrinking
back into herself, with a timidity natural to her sex and
years, the moment her care could no longer serve her
uncle, the funeral of the deacon took place the day after
that of his death. It was the solemn and simple ceremony
of the country. The Rev. Mr. Whittle conceived that he
ought to preach a sermon on the occasion of the extinguishment
of this “bright and shining light,” and the body
was carried to the meeting-house, where the whole congre-gation
assembled, it being the Sabbath. We cannot say
much for the discourse, which had already served as eulo
giums on two or three other deacons, with a simple substi

tution of names. In few things are the credulous more
imposed on than in this article of sermons. A clergyman
shall preach the workings of other men's brains for years,
and not one of his hearers detect the imposition, purely on
account of the confiding credit it is customary to yield to
the pulpit. In this respect, preaching is very much like reviewing,—the
listener, or the reader, being too complaisant
to see through the great standing mystifications of either.
Yet preaching is a work of high importance to men, and
one that doubtless accomplishes great good, more especially
when the life of the preacher corresponds with his
doctrine; and even reviewing, though infinitely of less
moment, might be made a very useful art, in the hands of
upright, independent, intelligent, and learned men. But
nothing in this world is as it should be, and centuries will
probably roll over it ere the “good time” shall really
come!

The day of the funeral being the Sabbath, nothing that
touched on business was referred to. On the following
morning, however, “the friends” assembled early in the
parlour, and an excuse for being a little pressing was
made, on the ground that so many present had so far to
go. The deacon had probably made a remove much more
distant than any that awaited his relatives.

“It is right to look a little into the deacon's matters
before we separate,” said Mr. Job Pratt, who, if he had the
name, had not the patience of him of old, “in order to
save trouble and hard feelings. Among relatives and
friends there should be nothing but confidence and affection,
and I am sure I have no other sentiments toward any
here. I suppose”—all Mr. Job Pratt knew, was ever on a
supposition—“I suppose I am the proper person to administer
to the deacon's property, though I don't wish to
do it, if there's the least objection.”

Every one assented that he was the most proper person,
for all knew he was the individual the surrogate would be
the most likely to appoint.

“I have never set down the deacon's property as anything
like what common report makes it,” resumed Mr.
Job Pratt; “though I do suppose it will fully reach ten
thousand dollars.”

“La!” exclaimed a female cousin, and a widow, who
had expectations of her own, “I'd always thought Deacon
Pratt worth forty or fifty thousand dollars! Ten thousand
dollars won't make much for each of us, divided up among
so many folks!”

“The division will not be so very great, Mrs. Martin,”
returned Mr. Job, “as it will be confined to the next of
kin and their representatives. Unless a will should be
found — and, by all I can learn, there is none” — emphasizing
the last word with point — “unless a will be found,
the whole estate, real and personal, must be divided into
just five shares; which, accordin' to my calculation, would
make about two thousand dollars a share. No great fortin,
to be sure; though a comfortable addition to small means.
The deacon was cluss (Anglice, close); yes, he was cluss—
all the Pratts are a little given to be cluss; but I don't
know that they are any the worse for it. It is well to be
curful (careful) of one's means, which are a trust given to
us by Divine Providence.”

In this manner did Mr. Job Pratt often quiet his conscience
for being as “curful” of his own as of other person's
assets. Divine Providence, according to his morality,
made it as much a duty to transfer the dollar that was in
his neighbour's pocket to his own, as to watch it vigilantly
after the transposition has been effected.

“A body should be curful, as you say, sir,” returned
the Widow Martin; “and for that reason I should like to
know if there isn't a will. I know the deacon set store by
me, and I can hardly think he has departed for another
world without bethinking him of his cousin Jenny, and of
her widowhood.”

“I'm afraid he has, Mrs. Martin — really afraid he has.
I can hear of no will. The doctor says he doubts if the
deacon could ever muster courage to write anything about
his own death, and that he has never heard of any will.
I understand Mary, that she has no knowledge of any will;
and I do not know where else to turn, in order to inquire.
Rev. Mr. Whittle thinks there is a will, I ought to say.”

“There must be a will,” returned the parson, who was
on the ground again early, and on this very errand; “I
feel certain of that from the many conversations I have

held with the deceased. It is not a month since I spoke to
him of divers repairs that were necessary to each and all
of the parish buildings, including the parsonage. He agreed
to every word I said — admitted that we could not get on
another winter without a new horse-shed; and that the east
end of the parsonage ought to be shingled this coming
summer.”

“All of which may be very true, parson, without the
deacon's making a will,” quietly, and we may now add
patiently, observed Mr. Job.

“I don't think so,” returned the minister, with a warmth
that might have been deemed indiscreet, did it not relate
to the horse-shed, the parsonage, and the meeting-house,
all of which were public property, rather than to anything
in which he had a more direct legal interest. “A pious
member of the church would hardly hold out the hopes that
Deacon Pratt has held out to me, for more than two years,
without meaning to make his words good in the end. I
think all will agree with me in that opinion.”

“Did the deacon, then, go so far as to promise to do any
thing?” asked Mr. Job, a little timidly; for he was by no
means sure the answer might not be in the affirmative, in
which case he anticipated the worst.

“Perhaps not,” answered Minister Whittle, too conscientious
to tell a downright lie, though sorely tempted so
to do. “But a man may promise indirectly, as well as
directly. When I have a thing much at heart, and converse
often about it with a person who can grant all I wish,
and that person listens as attentively as I could wish him
to do, I regard that as a promise; and, in church matters,
one of a very solemn nature.”

All the Jesuits in the world do not get their educations
at Rome, or acknowledge Ignatius Loyola as the great
founder of their order. Some are to be found who have
never made a public profession of their faith and zeal, have
never assumed the tonsure, or taken the vows.

“That's as folks think,” quietly returned Mr. Job Pratt,
though he smiled in a manner so significant as to cause
Mrs. Martin a new qualm, as she grew more and more apprehensive
that the property was, after all, to go by the

distribution law. “Some folks think a promise ought to
be expressed, while others think it may be understood.
The law, I believe, commonly looks for the direct expression
of any binding promise; and, in matters of this sort,
one made in writing, too, and that under a seal, and before
three responsible witnesses.”

“I wish a full inquiry might be made, to ascertain if
there be no will;” put in the minister, anxiously.

“I'm quite willing so to do,” returned Mr. Job, whose
confidence and moral courage increased each instant.
“Quite willing; and am rather anxious for it, if I could
only see where to go to inquire.”

“Does no one present know of any will made by the deceased?”
demanded Minister Whittle, authoritatively.

A dead silence succeeded to the question. Eye met eye,
and there was great disappointment among the numerous
collaterals present, including all those who did not come in
as next of kin, or as their direct representatives. But the
Rev. Mr. Whittle had been too long and too keenly on the
scent of a legacy, to be thrown out of the hunt, just as he
believed the game was coming in sight.

“It might be well to question each near relative directly,”
he added. “Mr. Job Pratt, do you know nothing of
any will?”

“Nothing whatever. At one time I did think the deacon
meant to make his testament; but I conclude that he
must have changed his mind.”

“And you, Mrs. Thomas,” turning to the sister — “as
next of kin, I make the same inquiry of you!”

“I once talked with brother about it,” answered this relative,
who was working away in a rocking-chair as if she
thought the earth might stop in its orbit, if she herself
ceased to keep in motion; “but he gave me no satisfactory
answer — that is, nothin' that I call satisfactory. Had he
told me he had made a will, and given me a full shear,
(share), I should have been content; or, had he told me
that he had not made a will, and that the law would give
me a full shear, I should have been content. I look upon
myself as a person easily satisfied.”

This was being explicit, and left little more to be obtained
from the deacon's beloved and only surviving sister.

“And you, Mary; do you know anything of a will made
by your uncle?”

Mary shook her head; but there was no smile on her
features, for the scene was unpleasant to her.

“Then no one present knows of any paper that the deacon
left specially to be opened after his death?” demanded
Rev. Mr. Whittle, putting the general question pretty much
at random.

“A paper!” cried Mary, hastily. “Yes, I know something
of a paper—I thought you spoke of a will.”

“A will is commonly written on paper, now-a-days, Miss
Mary—but, you have a paper?”

“Uncle gave me a paper, and told me to keep till Roswell
Gardiner came back; and, if he himself should not
then be living, to give it to him”—The colour now mounted
to the very temples of the pretty girl, and she seemed to
speak with greater deliberation and care. “As I was to
give the paper to Roswell, I have always thought it related
to him. My uncle spoke of it to me as lately as the day
of his death.”

“That's the will, beyond a doubt!” cried Rev. Mr.
Whittle, with more exultation than became his profession
and professions — “Do you not think this may be Deacon
Pratt's will, Miss Mary?”

Now Mary had never thought any such thing. She knew
that her uncle much wished her to marry Roswell, and had
all along fancied that the paper she held, which indeed was
contained in an envelop addressed to her lover, contained
some expression of his wishes on this to her the most interesting
of all subjects, and nothing else. Mary Pratt
thought very little of her uncle's property, and still less of
its future disposition, while she thought a great deal of
Roswell Gardiner and of his suit. It was, consequently,
the most natural thing in the world that she should have
fallen into some such error as this. But, now that the
subject was brought to her mind in this new light, she
arose, went to her own room, and soon re-appeared with
the paper in her hand. Both Mr. Job Pratt and Rev. Mr.
Whittle offered to relieve her of the burthen; and the former,
by a pretty decided movement, did actually succeed
in getting possession of the documents. The papers were

done up in the form of a large business letter, was duly
sealed with wax, and was addressed to “Mr. Roswell Gardiner,
Master of the Schooner Sea Lion, now absent on a
voyage.” The superscription was read aloud, a little under
the influence of surprise; notwithstanding which, Mr. Job
Pratt was very coolly proceeding to open the packet, precisely
as if it had been addressed to himself. In this decided
step, Mrs. Martin, and Mrs. Thomas, and Rev. Mr.
Whittle, might be set down as accessories before the act;
for each approached; and so eager were the two women,
that they actually assisted in breaking the seal.

“If that letter is addressed to me,” said Roswell Gardiner,
with firmness and authority, “I claim the right to
open it myself. It is unusual for those to whom a letter is
not addressed to assume this office.”

“But, it comes from Deacon Pratt,” cried the widow
Martin, “and may contain his will.”

“In which case, a body would think I have some rights
concerned,” said Mr. Job Pratt, a little more coolly, but
with manifest doubts.

“Sartain!” put in Mrs. Thomas. “Brothers and sisters,
and even cousins, come before strangers, any day. Here
we are, a brother and sister of the deacon, and we ought
to have a right to read his letters.”

All this time Roswell had stood with an extended arm,
and an eye that caused Mr. Job Pratt to control his impatience.
Mary advanced close to his side, as if to sustain
him, but she said nothing.

“There is a law, with severe penalties, against knowingly
opening a letter addressed to another,” resumed Roswell,
steadily; “and it shall be enforced against any one
who shall presume to open one of mine. If that letter has
my address, sir, I demand it; and I will have it, at every
hazard.”

Roswell advanced a step nearer Mr. Job Pratt, and the
letter was reluctantly yielded; though not until the widow
Martin had made a nervous but abortive snatch at it.

“At any rate, it ought to be opened in our presence,”
put in this woman, “that we may see what is in it.”

“And by what right, ma'am? Have I not the privilege
of others, to read my own letters when and where I please?

If the contents of this, however, do really relate to the late
Deacon Pratt's property, I am quite willing they should
be made known. There is nothing on this superscription
to tell me to open the packet in the presence of witnesses;
but, under all the circumstances, I prefer it should be
done.”

Hereupon Roswell proceeded deliberately to look into
the package. The seal was already broken, and he exhibited
it in that state to all in the room, with a meaning
smile, after which he brought to light and opened some
written instrument, that was engrossed on a single sheet
of foolscap, and had the names of several witnesses at its
bottom.

“Ay, ay, that's it,” said Baiting Joe, for the room was
crowded with all sorts of people; “that's the dockerment.
I know'd it as soon as I laid eyes on it!”

“And what do you know about it, Josy?” demanded the
widow, eagerly. “Cousin Job, this man may turn out a
most important and considerable witness!”

“What do I know, Mrs. Martin? Why I seed the
deacon sign for the seals, and exercute. As soon as I
heard Squire Craft, who was down here from Riverhead
on that 'ere very business, talk so much about seals, I
know'd Captain Gar'ner must have suthin' to do with the
matter. The deacon's very heart was in the schooner and
her v'y'ge, and I think it was the craft that finished him,
in the end.”

“Won't that set aside a codicil, cousin Job, if so be the
deacon has r'ally codicilled off Captain Gar'ner and Mary?”

“We shall see, we shall see. So you was present, Josy,
at the making of a will?”

“Sartain—and was a witness to the insterment, as the
squire called it. I s'pose he sent for me to be a witness,
as I am some acquainted with the sealin' business, having
made two v'y'ges out of Stunnin'tun, many years since.
Ay, ay; that's the insterment, and pretty well frightened
was the deacon when he put his name to it, I can tell
you!”

“Frightened!” echoed the brother—“that's ag'in law,
at any rate. The instrument that a man signs because
he's frightened, is no instrument at all, in law. As respects

a will, it is what we justices of the peace call `dies non,'
or, don't die; that is, in law.”

“Can that be so, squire Job?” asked the sister, who
had said but little hitherto, but had thought all the more.

“Yes, that's Latin, I s'pose, and good Latin, too, they
tell me. A man may be dead in the flesh, but living in
law.”

“La! how cur'ous! Law is a wonderful thing, to them
that understands it.”

The worthy Mrs. Thomas expressed a much more profound
sentiment than that of which she was probably aware,
herself. Law is a wonderful thing, and most wonderful is
he who can tell what it is to-day, or is likely to be to-morrow.
The law of testamentary devises, in particular, has
more than the usual uncertainty, the great interest that is
taken by the community in the large estates of certain individuals
who are placed without the ordinary social categories
by the magnitude of their fortunes, preventing anything
from becoming absolutely settled, as respects them.
In Turkey, and in America, the possession of great wealth
is very apt to ruin their possessors; proscription, in some
form or other, being pretty certain to be the consequences.
In Turkey, such has long and openly been the fact, the
bow-string usually lying at the side of the strong box; but,
in this country, the system is in its infancy, though advancing
towards maturity with giant strides. Twenty years
more, resembling the twenty that are just past, in which
the seed recently sown broadcast shall have time to reach
maturity, and, in our poor opinion, the great work of demoralization,
in this important particular, will be achieved.
We are much afraid that the boasted progress, of which
we hear so much, will resemble the act of the man who
fancied he could teach his horse to live without food—just
as he believed the poor beast was perfect, it died of
inanition!

Roswell read Baiting Joe's `insterment' twice, and then
he placed it, with manly tenderness, in the hands of Mary.
The girl read the document, too, tears starting to her eyes;
but, a bright blush suffused her face, as she returned the
will to her lover.

“Ah! do not read it now, Roswell,” she said, in an

under tone; but the stillness and expectation were so profound,
that every syllable she uttered was heard by all in
the room.

“And why not read it now, Miss Mary!” cried the
Widow Martin. “Methinks now is the proper time to read
it. If I'm to be codicilled out of that will, I want to know
it.”

“It is better, in every respect, that the company present
should know all that is to be known, at once,” observed
Mr. Job Pratt. “Before the will is read, if that be the
will, Captain Gar'ner—”

“It is the will of the late Deacon Pratt, duly signed,
sealed, and witnessed, I believe, sir.”

“One word more, then, before it is read. I think you
said, Josy, that the deceased was frightened when he signed
that will? I do not express any opinion until I hear the
will; perhaps a'ter it is read, I shall think or say nothin'
about this fright; though the instrument that a man signs
because he is frightened, if the fright be what I call a legal
fright, is no instrument at all.”

“But such was not the deacon's case, Squire Job,” put
in Baiting Joe, at once. “He did not sign the insterment
because he was frightened, but was frightened because he
signed the insterment. Let the boat go right eend foremost,
squire.”

“Read the will, Captain Gar'ner, if you have it,” said
Mr. Job Pratt, with decision. “It is proper that we should
know who is executor. Friends, will you be silent for a
moment?”

Amid a death-like stillness, Roswell Gardiner now read
as follows:—

“In the name of God, amen. I, Ichabod Pratt, of the
town of Southold, and county of Suffolk, and state of New
York, being of failing bodily health, but of sound mind, do
make and declare this to be my last will and testament.

“I bequeath to my niece, Mary Pratt, only child of my
late brother, Israel Pratt, all my real estate, whatsoever it
may be, and wheresoever situate, to be held by her, her heirs
and assigns, for ever, in fee.

“I bequeath to my brother, Job Pratt, any horse of
which I shall die possessed, to be chosen by himself, as a

compensation for the injury inflicted on a horse of his,
while in my use.

“I bequeath to my sister, Jane Thomas, the large looking-glass
that is hanging up in the east bed-room of my
house, and which was once the property of our beloved
mother.

“I bequeath to the widow Catherine Martin, my cousin,
the big pin-cushion in the said east chamber, which she
used so much to praise and admire.

“I bequeath to my said niece, Mary Pratt, the only child
of my late brother, Israel Pratt, aforesaid, all of my personal
estate, whether in possession or existing in equity,
including money at use, vessels, stock on farm, all other
sorts of stock, furniture, wearing apparel, book-debts,
money in hand, and all sorts of personal property whatever.

“I nominate and appoint Roswell Gardiner, now absent
on a sealing voyage, in my employment, as the sole executor
of this my last will, provided he return home within six
months of my decease; and should he not return home
within the said six months, then I appoint my above-mentioned
niece and heiress, Mary Pratt, the sole executrix of
this my will.

“I earnestly advise my said niece, Mary Pratt, to marry
the said Roswell Gardiner; but I annex no conditions whatever
to this advice, wishing to leave my adopted daughter
free to do as she may think best.”

The instrument was, in all respects, duly executed, and
there could not be a doubt of its entire validity. Mary felt
a little bewildered, as well as greatly embarrassed. So
perfectly disinterested had been all her care of her uncle,
and so humble her wishes, that she did not for some time
regard herself as the owner of a property that she had all
her life been accustomed to consider as a part of her late
uncle. The heirs expectant, “a'ter reading the insterment,”
as Baiting Joe told his cronies, when he related
the circumstances over a mug of cider that evening, “fore
and aft, and overhauling it from truck to keelson, give the
matter up, as a bad job. They couldn't make nawthin' out
of oppersition,” continued Joe, “and so they tuck the
horse, and the looking-glass, and the pin-cushion, and

cleared out with their cargo. You could n't get one of
that breed to leave as much as a pin behind, to which he
thought the law would give him a right. Squire Job went
off very unwillingly; for so strong was his belief in his
claim, that he had made up his mind, as he told me himself,
to break up the north meadow, and put it in corn this
coming season.”

“They say that Minister Whittle took it very hard that
nawthin' was said about him, or about meetin', in the deacon's
will,” observed Jake Davis, one of Baiting Joe's
cronies.

“That he did; and he tuck it so hard that everybody
allows the two sermons he preached the next Sabba' day to
be the very two worst he ever did preach.”

“They must have been pretty bad, then,” quaintly observed
Davis; “I've long set down Minister Whittle's discourses
as being a leetle the worst going, when you give
him a chance.”

It is unnecessary to relate any more of this dialogue, nor
should we have given the little we have, did it not virtually
explain what actually occurred on the publication of the
contents of the will. Roswell met with no opposition in
proving the instrument, and the day after he was admitted
to act as executor he was married to Mary Pratt, and became
tenant, by the courtesy, to all her real estate; such
being the law then, though it is so no longer. Now, a man
and his wife may have a very pretty family quarrel about
the ownership of a dozen tea-spoons, and the last, so far
as we can see, may order the first out of one of her rocking
chairs, if she see fit! Surely domestic peace is not so
trifling a matter that the law should seek to add new subjects
of strife to the many that seem to be nearly inseparable
from the married state.

Let this be as it may, no such law existed when Roswell
Gardiner and Mary Pratt became man and wife. One of
the first acts of the happy young couple, after they were
united, was to make a suitable disposition of the money
found buried at the foot of the tree, on the so-much-talked-of
key. Its amount was a little more than 2000 dollars,
the pirate who made the revelation to Daggett having, in
all probability, been ignorant himself of the real sum that

had been thus secreted. By a specific bargain with the
crew, all this money belonged to the deacon; and, consequently,
it had descended to his niece, and through her
was now legally the property of Roswell. The young man
was not altogether free from scruples about using money
that had been originally taken as booty by pirates, and his
conscientious wife had still greater objections. After conferring
together on the subject, however, and seeing the
impossibility of restoring the gold to those from whom it
had been forced in the first place, the doubloons were distributed
among the families of those who had lost their
lives at Sealer's Land. The shares did not amount to
much, it is true; but they did good, and cheered the hearts
of two or three widows and dependent sisters.

Nor did Roswell Gardiner's care for their welfare stop
here. He had the Sea Lion put in good order, removed
her decks, raised upon her, and put her in her original
condition, and sent her to Sealer's Land, again, under the
orders of Hazard, who was instructed to take in all the oil
and skins that had been left behind, and to fill up, if he
could, without risking too much by delay. All this was
successfully done, the schooner coming back, after a very
short voyage, and quite full. The money made by this
highly successful adventure, had the effect to console
several of those who had great cause to regret their previous
losses.

As to Roswell and Mary, they had much reason to be
content-with their lot. The deacon's means were found
to be much more considerable than had been supposed.
When all was brought into a snug state, Roswell found
that his wife was worth more than thirty thousand dollars,
a sum which constituted wealth on Oyster Pond, in that
day. We have, however, already hinted that the simplicity,
and we fear with it the happiness, of the place has departed.
A railroad terminates within a short distance of
the deacon's old residence, bringing with it the clatter,
ambition, and rivalry, of such a mode of travelling. What
is even worse, the venerable and expressive name of “Oys-ter
Pond,” one that conveys in its very sound the idea of
savoury dishes, and an abundance of a certain and a very
agreeable sort, has been changed to “Orient,” Heaven

save the mark! Long Island has, hitherto, been famous,
in the history of New York, for the homely piquancy of
its names, which usually conveyed a graphic idea of the
place indicated. It is true, “Jerusalem” cannot boast of
its Solomon's Temple, nor “Babylon” of its Hanging Gardens;
but, by common consent, it is understood that these
two names, and some half-a-dozen more of the same
quality, are to be taken by their opposites.

Roswell Gardiner did not let Stimson pass out of his
sight, as is customary with seamen when they quit a vessel.
He made him master of a sloop that plied between New
York and Southold, in which employment the good old
man fulfilled his time, leaving to a widowed sister who
dwelt with him, the means of a comfortable livelihood, for
life.

The only bit of management of which Mary could be
accused, was practised by her shortly after Stimson's death,
and some six or eight years after her own marriage. One
of her school friends, and a relative, had married a person
who dwelt `west of the bridge,' as it is the custom to say
of all the counties that lie west of Cayuga Lake. This
person, whose name was Hight, had mills, and made large
quantities of that excellent flour, that is getting to enjoy
its merited reputation even in the old world. He was disposed
to form a partnership with Roswell, who sold his
property, and migrated to the great west, as the country
`west of the bridge' was then termed, though it is now
necessary to go a thousand miles farther, in order to reach
what is termed “the western country.” Mary had an important
agency in bringing about this migration. She had
seen certain longings after the ocean, and seals, and whales,
in her husband; and did not consider him safe, as long as
he could scent the odours of a salt marsh. There is a delight
in this fragrance that none can appreciate as thoroughly
as those who have enjoyed it in youth; it remains
as long as human senses retain their faculties. An
increasing family, however, and el dorado of the west,
which, in that day, produced wheat, were inducements for
a removal there, and, aided by Mary's gentle management,
produced the desired effect; and for more than twenty years
Roswell Gardiner has been a very successful miller, on a

large scale, in one of the western counties of what is called
“the Empire State.” We do not think the sobriquets of
this country very happy, in general, but shall quarrel less
with this, than with the phrase of “commercial emporium,”
which is much as if one should say “a townish town.”

Roswell Gardiner has never wavered in his faith, from
the time when his feelings were awakened by the just view
of his own insignificance, as compared to the power of
God! He then learned the first, great lesson in religious
belief, that of humility; without which no man can be truly
penitent, or truly a Christian. He no longer thought of
measuring the Deity with his narrow faculties, or of setting
up his blind conclusions, in the face of positive revelations.
He saw that all must be accepted, or none; and there was
too much evidence, too much inherent truth, a morality
too divine, to allow a mind like his to reject the gospel
altogether. With Mary at his side, he has continued to
worship the Trinity, accepting its mysteries in an humble
reliance on the words of inspired men.