It was a frosty and dark evening, early in the following February, when
Walter and Lyford went into Boston, to meet a party of friends at the
house of Mr. Elliott, a gentleman who had recently come from Europe,
and whose commercial operations were, in future, to be conducted with
England and her American colonies. Mr. Elliott was wealthy, intelligent
and highly respected by all classes. It was deemed a high privilege
among the young gentlemen of the town, to be on visiting terms with
his family. His son, James, was amiable and agreeable, and Miss
Margaret Elliott was a decided belle. The good people of those days
were sometimes annoyed by the style of her dress, which was somewhat
in advance of the prevalent fashions, and was always formed upon the
best London or Paris models, though greatly modified and adapted to
the New England taste. Among the younger maidens, she would frequently
encounter looks of admiration or envy, according to the taste or temper
of the parties. But Miss Elliott insisted she could accommodate herself
no further to the prevalent scruples concerning dress, and as she was
a most amiable girl, condescending and affable to all, her imagined
vanity and love of fashion was generally forgiven.
The large hall of Mr. Elliott's house was brilliantly lighted, and at
seven o'clock the company began to assemble. They were received at the
door by a servant, and the ladies and gentlemen conducted to different
rooms, where the servants assisted in the arrangement of their dresses.
On entering the hall, they were received by Mr. Elliott, who presented
each to Mrs. Elliott, according to the etiquette of the day, and the
parties then dispersed themselves about the room.
When the young gentlemen from Cambridge arrived, the spacious rooms
were nearly filled with guests: the beauty and pride of the town were
present, members of the learned professions, several clergymen with
their families, Governor Stoughton, Judge Sewall and other eminent men
of the day, to whom these hours of recreation were among the greenest
spots in their lives of professional labor and care; but for the
youthful part of the company, these occasions possessed the highest
charm. The morning of life, as yet unclouded by care, and spreading
its pictures of joy on every hill, and crowning even the distant and
snow-clad steeps of old age with a visionary green, was too balmy
and bright to be false, too serene and beautiful to be deformed by
sudden tempest or a threatening sky. So reasons the mind in its early
views of life; such were the hopes and expectations of these young
men and maidens, as they looked through the vista of time. Yet was
there nothing in the nature of these social enjoyments which might not
challenge the scrutiny of even the most rigid and severe. There were no
card tables, no merry dances, nor frivolous games; yet conversation was
sprightly, good humored, and sometimes gay; the interchange of social
courtesies was cordial and sincere, and the mirth of the occasion, if
it might be called such, was neither excessive nor unbecoming.
'You can boast the belle of the flowers to-night,' said James Elliott
to his cousin, Miss Hallam; 'it seems like a rare exotic, and is a
perfect novelty to me; pray tell me where you obtained it.'
'I had it, James,' said Caroline, 'from one of the mountains of the
moon. You know our own supply of flowers in winter is very small.'
'You are dealing in riddles, Miss Hallam. Pray explain: I would like to
know where more might be had.'
'I have told you, James, already: will you never believe me?'
'Hardly ever, Caroline. You are always shutting the door and leaving me
in the dark. It would be civil to give me a lamp, that I might find my
way out.'
'You must get out by moon-light, James. I have you told a plain story,
and if you will not believe me, why, let it go. You believe, every day,
things much less credible.'
At that moment, Miss Graham joined the circle, and James, appealing to
her, said he hoped Miss Hallam would give her the explanation she had
refused to him.
'Why, you must study your map, Mr. Elliott,' said Mary; 'I suppose the
flower, or the plant that produced it, came from Africa.'
'There, James,' said Caroline, 'see how little wit you have! Would you
not thank me, now, to shut you up in the dark, to hide your blushes?'
'No, Caroline, for then I could not see you, and as to the blushes you
speak of, they will help my looks, which are none of the best. Miss
Graham, you have given this little vixen the best of the game: I shall
pay up hereafter.'
So saying, James moved off in tolerable humor, and glad to make
his retreat. He soon joined another group of ladies, and as his
conversation was very agreeable, he seldom found himself without
willing auditors. Moreover, he felt that, on the present occasion, the
honors of his father's house were in a measure confided to him, and the
slight confusion of the incident soon passed away.
The two young ladies he left were joined by another young gentleman
from Cambridge, named Trellison. He had graduated the preceding autumn
with some reputation; his manners were polished; and, except an
occasional harshness of expression, his face was not disagreeable. He
made high professions of religion, and there was a seeming modesty and
sobriety, in his deportment; yet to a practiced eye, he displayed the
tokens of fanaticism and hypocrisy rather than the unequivocal signs
of frankness and sincerity in his religious faith.
'I believe you always worship at the South church, when you are in
town,' said Mr. Trellison, addressing Miss Graham. 'I have never seen
you at the North. Will you go with me to hear Mr. Mather next Sabbath,
by way of variety?'
'My friends,' returned Miss Graham, 'worship at the South church, and
in truth I prefer Mr. Willard's preaching to that of Mr. Mather. He is
a man of singular candor, and his calm and benevolent temper has so
gained my esteem and confidence, that I think his preaching more useful
to me than any other.'
'All this is true of him, and much more; but he is a man who never
believes more than he can help, and is very slow to give credit to
matters of fact. I think this a serious blemish in his character.'
'Some men,' returned Mary, 'believe a great deal too much. Coolness and
caution in all matters of belief are essential to a well balanced mind.
If this be a fault in Mr. Willard, it is certainly a very amiable one.'
'This coolness you speak of, Miss Graham, is a great enemy to prompt
action. I go for energy and decision; without these features the mind
is comparatively powerless, and its great purposes perish in the moment
of their birth.'
'You cannot say this of Mr. Willard,' said Mary; 'his caution tempers
his zeal, but does not suppress it; his piety is not the less ardent
because it is cheerful and unobtrusive.'
'You are quite his eulogist, Miss Graham. I am more inclined to the
fervid zeal of the Mathers, than to the quiet course of Mr. Willard.
Nevertheless, I esteem him highly. But I believe in the power of mighty
impulses to renovate the heart and subdue the evil principle in man.
The heart of man is like a wasted garden, full of unsightly plants
and noxious weeds, and dry and barren trees. When these are burnt up
by the terrors of the Lord, the Sun of righteousness covers it with a
beautiful verdure, and it brings forth the fruits of holiness.'
'I believe, as you do, in a supernatural change of heart,' said Mary;
'but I consider a holy life and a willing obedience to the commands
of God, as the best evidence of his presence and power in the heart;
nor am I sure, that a soil, from which the noxious weed and barren
tree have been rooted out, may not as well bring forth the fruits of
holiness, when the seed are implanted by a divine hand, as if it were
burned over with fire. Nevertheless, there is beauty and truth in your
figure, and it is doubtless a consolation to the true believer, to have
a vivid remembrance of the work of the law on his heart.'
'Those are certainly the most active Christians,' replied Trellison,
'who see the depths of ruin, from which they have been rescued. They
have a clearer view of the danger of their fellow men, and are excited
to greater efforts in their behalf. It appears to me the special design
and tendency of Mr. Mather's preaching is, to awaken this solicitude
and excite to such efforts.'
'The minds of individuals,' returned Miss Graham, 'are affected by
such modes of address, as are best adapted to their peculiar habits
and tempers. Some men are more readily moved by terror, others by the
winning persuasions of the gospel. But in the remarks I have made, do
not, I pray you, think me the enemy of Mr. Mather. I am not, and if I
had not heard him preach, it is quite probable I should go with you
next Sabbath. I admire his talents, and his literary character is
deservedly high. Moreover, he is very agreeable in conversation, and
has entertained me much this very evening.'
At this moment, the summons to the evening's entertainment prevented
the reply of Trellison. In a large room, adjoining the hall, a range of
tables had been laid, and were covered with a rich variety of foreign
luxuries as well as the more substantial products of New England. The
hospitality of those days was not marked by all those nice refinements,
which so often embarrass the social life of the present times; but
it was liberal to profusion, and, though simple in its forms, was
not deficient in a just regard to the proprieties and restraints of
elegant society. Yet there was one feature in the social life of New
England, which constituted its principal charm, and gave it a direction
to the highest and noblest objects of human pursuit. It was a devout
recognition of Providence, at every social meeting, an unembarrassed
and grateful thanksgiving, always expected and offered with becoming
reverence and a grateful sense of obligation.
This interesting service was performed on the present occasion by Mr.
Willard, the accomplished pastor of the South church, and a more
pleasing spectacle is seldom witnessed. Around the tables were the
fathers of the colony, men eminent for learning, for mental vigor, and
above all, for distinguished, consistent and exemplary piety. Mingled
among them, in different groups, were fifty young men and maidens,
blooming in youth, the flower of the province, the first in rank and
manners in the land, all bowing their heads in reverence, while the
evening thanksgiving went up to the Giver of all good and the source of
every blessing. This was a part of that education which has made New
England the glory of all lands. But this glory has passed away from the
brilliant circles of its now splendid metropolis; gifts are received
with no audible response to the Giver; and Religion is too often deemed
a graceless intruder in the walks of wealth and fashion.
The conversation, which had occupied Trellison and Mary, had not
escaped the notice of Strale. From some cause, these two young
gentlemen were not often pleased with each other. The young ladies
insisted that Trellison considered Strale as a rival who could
not easily be supplanted. It was plain that Miss Graham was, in
some measure, the cause of this dislike; yet apart from this, the
characters of the two were so exceedingly different, that little
harmony of feeling could be expected between them. Strale was always
pleasing. Distinguished for frankness and simplicity, his conversation
was vigorous, playful and strongly marked with the characters of truth
and propriety. Trellison was cautious, frequently reserved, with good
manners; but an expression of cunning, and even malignity, would often
cross his countenance, and give to his features, which, in general,
were pleasing, a harsh and disagreeable aspect. He was selfish and
very suspicious of the motives and doings of others, and his bad
temper towards Strale was often manifested by an ambiguous politeness,
throwing off sarcasms, mingled with civility enough to show his own
dexterity, and conceal, in part, the bitter hatred which prompted him.
At the supper table Walter found means to join Miss Graham, and the
conversation, as usual, soon became playful and animated. Several
young ladies gathered round and formed a circle of attraction, which,
wherever it moved, was sure to carry its satellites with it, and
keep up its brilliancy. Trellison who had made unusual efforts to be
agreeable, finding himself unable to break the circle by starting
new topics and diverting the current in his own favor, at last joined
it himself. Soon after, as Walter was passing a glass of wine to
Miss Graham, Trellison's arm, either by design or a sudden change of
position, struck the hand of Strale and overturned the wine upon the
dress of Miss Graham. Trellison stooped to take up the broken pieces,
remarking:
'How unfortunate! what was the matter, Mr. Strale?'
'I ask pardon, Miss Graham,' said Strale; 'wine, they say, is a mocker;
but I would rather its color might grace your cheek than stain your
dress; my hand is not usually unsteady. Perhaps Mr. Trellison can
explain why it is so to-night.'
'I am sorry you think any explanation due from me: what possible
connection could I have with the accident? Mr. Strale, your imputation
is rude and unjust.'
'I know not how it is, Mr. Trellison: some person's arm struck my
hand abruptly, as it seemed to me. I thought it was yours: but if you
disclaim it, I am willing to take back the suspicion, and think it an
accident.'
'Your apology is hardly in season,' said Trellison; 'you had no right
to suppose any one in this room would willingly help you stain a lady's
dress; still less, to point out an individual, in a manner so invidious
and selfish.'
The young ladies, who had been engaged in assisting Miss Graham, now
returned, and before Walter had opportunity to reply, Miss Hallam
remarked to Trellison, that he was a very careless gentleman to molest
a lady's cup-bearer. Strale looked at Trellison, who bore this rebuke
unabashed; but he instantly replied: 'I am sorry you think me so
careless, Miss Hallam; but indeed, I was not aware of any agency in the
matter.'
'It may not have been intentional,' said Miss Hallam: 'it could not
have been, and perhaps I was deceived in supposing it to be you;
nevertheless, I thought it was.'
The conversation was getting a little too grave, and a movement
towards the hall was readily seconded by some of the young ladies, and
the company adjourned to the other room. The impressions which this
conversation made were not of the most agreeable kind; but they soon
passed away, and other topics and amusements restored, at least in
appearance, the harmony which had been so rudely disturbed.
The festivities of an evening party were always closed, in those
days, by devotional exercises; and on the present occasion, they were
performed by the younger Mather, who was now in his early manhood,
and whose vigorous, yet credulous and superstitious mind was destined
to exert a powerful, and we must add, a baleful influence upon the
social condition of the colony. It happened that, as he was about to
read the evening hymn which preceded the closing prayer, the shock of
an earthquake was slightly felt by the company. It was immediately
followed by a rapid and tumultuous sound, like the rattling of heavy
wheels over the pavement. Another shock succeeded, and the house,
for an instant, rocked, as if a sudden whirlwind had passed by. In
a moment, all was hushed, and the awe-stricken party stood like
motionless statues, wrapped in amazement and terror.
The silence, which lasted a moment or two, was broken by Mr. Mather,
who remarked that the providence of God had furnished a theme for
reflection, which was fitted to impress the mind with the instability
of earth and all earthly things. It was a voice of admonition which
could not be disregarded. When pestilence and famine were abroad in
the land, the means of at least temporary relief were possessed. But
when the pillars of the world were moved and its foundations upheaved
by unseen and terrible agents; it was then every earthly refuge was
vain. 'But,' he continued, 'there is one hiding place which, in the
midst of every convulsion, is safe for the believer. Time has not
reached it with his consuming hand; tempests have beat upon it in
vain; pestilence, famine or earthquake can never waste its strength;
it shall survive the ruin of earth, the wreck of planets, and a
dissolving universe. This refuge is the 'Rock of ages;' here are towers
of strength and palaces of hope, built on foundations which rest on
the throne of God. The voice we have just heard is the voice of a
father telling us to hide in these chambers of his grace, 'until the
indignation be overpast;' it is but a louder echo of his mercy, warning
us that earth must pass away with a great noise, and the elements melt
with fervent heat; and, at the same time, assuring us that, though the
mountains depart and the hills be removed, his loving kindness shall
not depart from his people.'
Such was a part of the extempore address, which the interesting
circumstances of the evening called forth. It was followed by a fervent
prayer, and a train of salutary reflections occupied the minds of the
party, as they dispersed to their several homes.