An aged friend, years ago deceased, who had seen much of the world, once
observed to me, that he had never seen a more "scrupulous people," to use
his expression, than our Presbyterian congregation. The clergy of the
town were always distinguished, at a period when to be a clergyman was to
be much more an object of reverence than in these latter days, and when a
boy in the street would scarcely venture to pass one, on the opposite
sidewalk, without pulling off his cap. But they set their people an
excellent example, though they did not always escape the censure of the
over "scrupulous." For instance, Mr. Murray, the accomplished scholar and
divine to whom reference has already been made, was known to take no
dinner in the interval of public worship, substituting for that repast a
slice or two of bread and a few glasses of wine. Why such a fact, when
everybody drank more or less wine, or something stronger, every day of
the week, should have alarmed the conscience of Miss Betty Timmins, a
maiden lady of a certain age, it seems difficult to conjecture.
Nevertheless, she made a solemn call, one day, upon her pastor, and with
such apology as she could muster for impertinence--at length out with it:
"I must tell you, reverend sir, they do say you drink." "Drink! Miss
Timmins," said Mr. Murray; "to be sure I do, don't you? How can anybody
live without drinking?" and the discomfited spinster retreated. Mr.
Murray had a fund of humor. The parsonage was close by the house of his
parishioner, the sheriff, and the adjoining jail and whipping-post in the
charge of that officer, and in the last illness of the minister the
official was in the habit of taking him to a drive. Once, as he was
getting into the chaise, a friend passed by and he called out, "If you
see any one inquiring for me, tell him the last you saw of me I was in
the hands of the sheriff." But after his time, and at the period of which
I am writing, we had no less than three English ministers settled in the
town, all educated upon the foundation of the celebrated Countess of
Huntington. I recall, with vivid recollection, the figure of one of these
worthies who called himself an "Independent," as he proceeded to meeting
on a Sunday: his high cocked hat, his flowing, black curled locks,--more
in the cavalier than the Puritan fashion; his long blue cloak over his
clerical gown, his bands, his knee-breeches,--objected to by a fastidious
young lady, as "short pantaloons,"--his square shoe-buckles, and his
ponderous cane. His person was somewhat short and thick, whence "lewd
fellows of the baser sort" sometimes irreverently called him the "The
Jack of Clubs." But he was a really good man, with the most powerful
voice I remember to have heard, and he preached, always an unwritten
sermon, but with heads set down, anything but smooth things to his
numerous congregation. Towards the close of his life he used to remark,
that when he first came to this country, the topic of sermons was "Jesus
Christ and Him crucified; now it was nothing but niggers and rum." He was
good at retort. Early one Monday morning he was going home from the
market, with some mackerel which he had just purchased strung upon his
cane. "Mr. Milton," said some passer-by, "them mackerel was caught
Sunday." "Well," was the reply, "that ain't the fishes' fault."
One burden of this worthy minister's Sunday prayer, during the sessions
of Congress and of the State legislature, was, "Counsel our councillors,
and teach our senators wisdom." By many of the stronger faith of an elder
day, his fervent supplications were believed to exercise a specific
influence upon the atmosphere, particularly in bringing needed rain at a
dry time. I have often heard it said, after the drought had continued a
good while,--"Well, Milton has prayed for rain and now we shall have it."
This reminds me of an anecdote appropriate to the topic, in that very
entertaining book, Dean Ramsay's "Reminiscences of Scottish Life and
Character." At one time when the crops were much laid by continuous
rains, and wind was earnestly desired in order to restore them to a
condition fit for the sickle,--"A minister," he says, "in his Sabbath
services expressed their wants in prayer, as follows: 'O Lord, we pray
thee to send us wind, no a rantin' tantin,' tearin' wind, but a noohin',
(noughin?) soughin', winnin' wind.'" In like manner, I have heard of a
prayer preferred by a somewhat simple New Englander, who was overheard
offering his petition behind a clump of bushes in a field: "O Lord, I
want a new coat--good cloth--none of your coarse, flimsy, slimsy, sleazy
kind of stuff, but a good piece of thick, warm, comfortable
broadcloth--such as Bill Hale wears."
It must be admitted that the reverend person was rather rough in manner;
but he had a truly kind heart. Like John Wesley, he was unfortunate in
his domestic relations; a circumstance which doubtless tended somewhat to
lessen the amiability of an originally good disposition. But,
notwithstanding his various trials and we fear conflicts at home, no one
questioned his piety. Indeed, one well acquainted with his character and
experiences, when his death was announced, at once exclaimed,--"What a
change! From pitching skillets, to handling harps!" There could be no
greater contrast than in the person and character of our long and
well-beloved Presbyterian minister, graceful in person, courteous and
affable in demeanor, accomplished in ancient learning and in that
portion of English literature which is styled classical; a devoted and
affectionate pastor, a most able and persuasive preacher; of whom
President Dwight, of Yale, is reported to have said, that there had been
scarcely such a writer of pure English since Addison. With the exception
of some failure of physical powers, towards the close of his life, he
retained these admirable characteristics and accomplishments to the end
of his more than ninety years. He always preached in gown and bands, with
black gloves upon his hands, his nether limbs encased in small-clothes
and silk stockings, until in later life he adopted the prevailing mode.
We always knew when he intended to preach, because through several
intervening yards and gardens we could see from our house the light in
his study, at a distance, of a Saturday night. His morning discourses
were usually admirable expositions of Scripture delivered without notes;
his afternoon sermons were written exercises, and we so depended upon
both, that it was a disappointment when we discovered that he was to
exchange, by the absence of the usual light. He would descend from the
contemplation of the highest themes, which address themselves to human
reason and imagination, and from the relaxation of reading "Tully," or
Horace, or Pope, who was a special favorite with him, to the preparation
of his fire-wood for domestic use, and doubtless this accustomed
saw-horse practice tended very much to the promotion and continuance both
of his bodily and mental health. In my childhood, he taught me and other,
I fear, reluctant pupils all we were capable of learning of the
Westminster Assembly's Shorter Catechism, contained, at that time, in a
small but miscellaneous volume called the Primer. He was a great lover of
the writings of Cowper, which name, in the English manner, he always
pronounced Cooper, and of the Psalms and Hymns and the lyrical
productions, in general, of Dr. Watts; and long after I had grown up, he
pointed out to me a verse in one of those Hymns, remarking upon a point
which I do not remember to have seen noticed elsewhere, that it presented
the finest specimen of alliteration in the language, as follows:--
"How vain are all things here below,
How false and yet how fair!
Each pleasure hath its poison too,
And every sweet a snare."
The eventual condition and standing of our Episcopal Church may be
inferred from the fact, that its Rector, in early times, was chosen
Bishop of the diocese, a dignity which he long piously and humbly
enjoyed. Along the beautiful street on which St. Paul's stood, and in its
immediate neighborhood, were some of the more elegant residences of the
town, and an air of superior gentility seemed to pervade the precinct, so
that some caviller saw fit to call it St. James's, in allusion to the
Christian name of the excellent Rector who succeeded the venerable
Bishop. He was, indeed, a most devoted churchman, looking upon all
persons outside of his communion as sheep wandering from the fold, and
used to say, that he considered the whole town as really belonging to his
parish. He was a person very highly esteemed for his piety and sincerity,
and as evidence of this repute, and of liberality on both sides, he
preached, by invitation, and read the service in the Presbyterian
meeting-house, on one occasion, at least, when our minister was absent
and his own pulpit was supplied. We were then under another pastor; but
some years before this manifestation of truly Christian toleration a
controversy arose between the Rector and our Presbyterian clergyman, in
regard to the obligatory observance of Christmas. It was conducted in the
newspaper of the town, then published only on two days of the week, and
to the multitude of readers appeared more spirited than edifying, as is
the case with most polemical disputes. The worthy Episcopal Doctor had
asserted on Christmas Day, that the observance of that festival was of
universal Christian obligation. The Presbyterian Doctor took up the
cudgels to demonstrate, that, although it was proper and reasonable
enough to keep the day, as a matter of religious edification, like a
lecture-day, for example, by those who saw fit to do so, yet there was no
authority, in this respect, binding upon the consciences of those who
chose to disregard it. Both of the disputants were acknowledged gentlemen
and scholars; but after much argument and learning wasted upon the
subject, it is to be feared that the controversy, through the medium of a
public journal, between two such highly respected controversialists, on a
topic of religious practice, only gave too much occasion to the scoffer.
Indeed, Johnnie Favor, the Episcopal sexton's helper, one of those
persons, reputed half-witted, who sometimes make very apposite remarks,
observed,--"Well--Christmas here, or Christmas there, I'm not so
narrer-contracted as to like to see the surplices of two such good men as
your Doctor and my Doctor draggled in the dirt."
Certainly, a tone of unusual refinement pervaded the better educated
class of the community in the old town, at the period of this relation,
and not a little stateliness of manner was kept up by some of the older
families. Indeed, I think they would compare very favorably in point of
intelligence and manners, with persons of a similar class, as described
by the great authorities heretofore referred to, and others, who have
given us vivid pictures of social life in the Scottish capital. To be
sure, the colonial days of distinct social rank had long gone by. But,
half a generation before, the town had been one of the most flourishing
and wealthy in New England, and to the counting-houses of its principal
merchants young men resorted, even from the capital of the State, to
learn the art and practice of business. Those who filled the several
learned professions were persons of the highest eminence in their several
callings,--drawing pupils around them who afterwards, and on wider fields
of action, attained great names and some of whom occupied the loftiest
civil positions in the land.
Among the students, for example, in the office of that great lawyer and
judge, Chief Justice Parsons, while he practised at the Bar, and who
subsequently attained eminence, were John Quincy Adams, afterwards
President of the United States, and Rufus King, afterwards Senator in
Congress from the State of New York, and twice Minister Plenipotentiary
to Great Britain; and Robert Treat Paine, so celebrated in his day, as
an orator and poet.[10] Of one of these eminent persons I heard a
story, formerly, from a friend of very high character as a man and a
lawyer, the late Hon. William Baylies, of West Bridgewater,
Massachusetts. It seems that while Mr. King, then a young man, was in the
practice of his profession in Boston he was detained in attendance upon
court at Plymouth, until late on Saturday evening. It was necessary for
him to be at home seasonably on Monday morning, and accordingly he
mounted his horse early on Sunday, the ordinary mode of travel, in those
days, and proceeded leisurely on his way. It was summer time; and in
passing through the township of Hanover, in Plymouth County, he
approached a plain wooden structure by the roadside, in which, as he
could see by the assemblage within, the door and windows being open, that
it was a time of religious service. Alighting, out of deference to the
character of the day, he hitched his horse and quietly entered the
building. It proved to be a Quaker meeting, and perfect silence
prevailed. At length tiring of this state of things, Mr. King arose and
began to address the assembly upon topics suitable to the day. He was an
uncommonly handsome young man, and then and ever afterwards distinguished
for extraordinary powers of eloquence. The Quakers listened with mute
amazement and admiration to the discourse of some twenty minutes'
duration, when the speaker slipped out, remounted, and proceeded on his
journey. The incident was the occasion of great and mysterious interest,
for a long time afterwards, in the quiet country neighborhood. No
imagination could conceive who the wonderful speaker might be, and many
insisted it must have been, indeed, "an angel from heaven." Some years
afterwards, at the session of a Constitutional Convention in
Massachusetts, Mr. King rose to make a motion. He had no sooner begun,
than a Quaker member started up from a back seat, and, carried away by
the first glimpse at solution of the long-standing mystery, cried out,
"That's the man that spoke in our meetin'."
Provision for the instruction of youth was liberal, and not long
previously the most famous, and I believe the longest established
academy of the day, flourished in the immediate neighborhood, in all
its glory. Of the school-books then in use, I cannot but think that
one in particular, Murray's English Reader, was a better manual than any
other which has since been produced. For it was mainly made up of extracts
from the writings of the best authors, in the best age of English
literature, and I can answer that its lessons were calculated to make
impressions on the youthful mind, never to be forgotten. But the
prevalent idea, of late years, seems to have been to nationalize
school-books, so as to narrow their teachings, and thus to make our
future fellow-citizens partisans instead of men. But literature and
learning are confined to no age or nation; and meaning in no sense to
say a word which could abate the ardor of manly patriotism in any
bosom, it is certain that much is to be learned from the history of
other people beside our own; and I suppose there are standards of high
intellectual attainment in the past,--in poetry and eloquence, and
various ranges of thought and expression,--which never have been and
are not likely to be surpassed. The deluge of modern transitory
literature had not then begun to flow. But, to say nothing of the
"Scottish Chiefs," and "Thaddeus of Warsaw," over the pages of which,
doubtless, millions of youthful eyes have formerly shed copious tears,
we had Miss Edgeworth's writings, those of Mrs. Grant, of Laggan, the
novels of Charlotte Smith, the Memoirs of Baron Trenck, and, perused a
little stealthily, Peregrine Pickle and Roderick Random; and in poetry
Henry Kirke White and Montgomery were favorites; nor am I ashamed to say,
that Cottle's "Alfred" was read aloud at our fireside of evenings, with
an interest due to the story, perhaps, as much as to its poetical
ability. Original American productions were few; the importation of
new works from abroad was not large, and the demand for reprints a
good deal limited. But we had the well-known books of sterling value at
command, and our publishers occasionally favored us with new editions.
One of my early studies was Guthrie's Grammar of Geography, a
ponderous volume of English manufacture, which belonged in our family;
and I was fascinated with Pope at almost as early an age as that in
which he first "lisped in numbers." I see, by the way, that Forster, in
his Life of Dickens, quotes from a letter of Scott, in which he refers
to the scarcity of books at Edinburgh in his time.
In connection with this reference to our means of intellectual
cultivation, I am reminded of an incident illustrative of a faculty
commonly attributed to Yankees, that is New Englanders, though there is
reason to believe that some other parts of the country are quite as
liberally gifted with the qualities of "Yorkshire." It affords a striking
instance of shrewdness on the one side, and of lamentable deficiency of
it on the other. This was before the town had exchanged its original
simpler mode of regulating its municipal affairs for the form of a city
government. On a certain occasion the School Committee became
dissatisfied with the master of one of the higher schools, after a brief
trial of his qualities, and, as delicately as the subject permitted,
requested him to resign his place. The master was not a native of the
town, or of the "region round about," so that it was a mere question of
qualifications, real or otherwise, between himself and his employers. He
demurred, unless his salary were paid him for the unexpired considerable
part of the year for which he alleged himself to have been engaged; but
finally consented, if the chairman of the committee would only furnish
him with a certificate of honorable discharge. The chairman, at this easy
rate of saving the town's money, wrote it, without suspicion of its
effect. Thereupon, the master read it, put it into his pocket, and by
virtue of the document, demanded payment of the sum in question. It was
paid; and the triumphant master forthwith proceeded--
"To fresh woods and pastures new."
The state of things, in regard to our reading resources, was before the
modern facilities for gadding about existed; and while those who find
time lying heavy on their hands can now steam it a hundred miles to make
a morning-call, journeying was then both more tedious and more expensive,
seldom undertaken except as an affair of business, or with the deliberate
purpose of a long-concerted visit; and a good part of the day was
consumed in travelling half that distance by public conveyance. The
consequence was, that people's pleasures, with their duties, laid mostly
at home, or near at hand. Hence family and friendly ties were more
closely drawn. The better feelings of our nature were, I think, deeper,
than when scattered over a wide but thin social surface; just as the
water in a well is more concentrated, than if diffused in the basin of a
pond. To some extent, therefore, wholesomely isolated, besides the
ordinary round of not very formal visiting parties, there were reading
circles, for those who were prompted by intellectual yearnings,
frequented by young ladies and gentlemen, married or single, at which
passages from the better class of books were read aloud by such of the
male members as felt competent to the exercise, by turns. In fact, taking
into view the intelligence, the inexpensive accomplishments, and the
unaffected manners of the fairly educated among us, it has not fallen to
the lot of most persons to meet with any society more really agreeable.
St. James's, however, and the congregation of the successors of those who
founded the First Church, who had at length become what was called
"liberal," in contrast with the orthodoxy of the rest of the town,
aspired to a higher degree of gentility and accomplishment than the
commonalty; and, in evidence that we were not bigoted, my mother would
sometimes allow me, when a boy, and desirous of some change, to attend
service of an afternoon, at the latter place of public worship with some
friends of the family who waited upon its ministrations. Of the
diversions of the common people I particularly remember one under the
curious name of a "Joppa Jine" (join); to which I allude from the oddity
of its name, derived from a part of the town so called by the river-side,
when several families of neighbors and friends contributed their
respective quota of a common feast, and repaired to the island at the
mouth of the river to enjoy a day of leisure and merriment.
In a certain class, the ancient pronunciation of many English words was
maintained, doubtless brought by the ancestors of New England families
from "home," and transmitted to their descendants; such as _airth_ for
earth, _fairm_ for firm, _sartain_ for certain, _pint_ for point, en_vy_
for envy, _ax_ with the broad _â_ for ask, _housen_ for houses, _his'n_
and _her'n_ for his and hers, _rare_ for rear; as, for instance, the
horse _rares_ up; and sounding the _l_ in would. Common enough names,
too, were clipped or contracted in English fashion. Thus, the names of
Norwood and Harwood became Norrod in sound and Harrod in spelling; and
the name of Currier, whether with any reference or not to the French
_Cuir_, for leather, was not long since uniformly pronounced _Kiah_, with
the long _[=i]_; Thurlow was strangely transformed into _Thurrill_; and
Pierpont, often formerly spelled Pierpoint, with entire neglect of its
derivation, was pronounced _Pearpint_, by old-fashioned people, the first
syllable approximating to the original formation of _pierre_.
In connection with this modification of language, I observe in a daily
paper how much a worthy old lady puzzled her minister, for a moment, by
inquiring the meaning of "silver shiners for Diana," in the Bible; but a
good deacon, at an evening meeting in the chapel of their house of
worship, in our town, sadly disturbed the gravity of the religious
assembly, by reading it _silver shins for Dinah_!
-----
[10] The late Mr. Edward Everett is authority (with me) for
the story, that on the occasion of the visit of
Washington to New England, in 1789, Parsons was
appointed to deliver the address of welcome, on the part
of the town, and said to his students, "Well, boys, I am
to make this address. Now, go to work and write it, and
I will deliver the best." He chose the one prepared by
Adams.