CHAPTER XIX.

THE PLACE OF PURITANISM IN HISTORY.

YET the Puritans of New England perceived that their security rested on the personal character of the protector, and that other revolutions were ripening; they, therefore, never allowed their vigilance to be lulled. With the influence of the elders, the spirit of independence was confirmed; but the evils ensued that are in some measure inseparable from a religious establishment; the severity of the laws was sharpened against infidelity and against dissent.

Saltonstall wrote from Europe that, but for their severities, the people of Massachusetts would have been "the eyes of God's people in England." Sir Henry Vane, in 1651, had urged that "the oppugners of the Congregational way should not, from its own principles and practice, be taught to root it out." "It were better," he added, "not to censure any persons for matters of a religious concernment." The elder Winthrop relented before his death, and professed himself weary of banishing heretics; the younger Winthrop never harbored a thought of intolerant cruelty; but the rugged Dudley was not mellowed by old age. "God forbid," said he, "our love for the truth should be grown so cold that we should tolerate errors. I die no libertine." "Better tolerate hypocrites and tares than thorns and briers," affirmed Cotton. "Polypiety," echoed Ward, "is the greatest impiety in the world. To say that men ought to have liberty of conscience is impious ignorance." "Religion," said the melancholic Norton, "admits of no eccentric motions." But Massachusetts was in the state of transition when expiring bigotry exhibited its worst aspect.

In 1651, John Clarke, the tolerant Baptist of Rhode Island,

one of the purest and most disinterested patriots, as he began to preach to a small audience in Lynn, was seized by the civil officers. Being compelled to attend public worship with the congregation of the town, he expressed his aversion by an indecorum, which would have been without excuse had his presence been voluntary. He and his companions were tried, and condemned to pay fines of twenty or thirty pounds; one of them, who refused to pay, was whipped unmercifully.

Since a particular form of worship had become a part of the civil establishment, irreligion was a civil offence. Treason against the civil government was treason against Christ; and reciprocally, as the gospel had the right paramount, blasphemy, or what a jury should call blasphemy, was the highest offence in the catalogue of crimes. To deny any book of the Old or New Testament to be the written and infallible word of God was punishable by fine or by stripes, and, in case of obstinacy, by exile or death. Absence from "the ministry of the word" was punished by a fine.

By degrees the spirit of the establishment began to subvert the fundamental principles of independency. The liberty of prophesying was refused, except the approbation of four elders, or of a county court, had been obtained. The union of church and state was fast corrupting both. In 1658, the general court claimed for itself, for the council, and for any two organic churches, the right of silencing any person who was not as yet ordained. The uncompromising Congregationalists of Massachusetts indulged the passions of their English perse

cutors.

The early Quakers in New England appeared like a motley tribe of persons-half fanatic, half insane, and without definite purposes. Persecution called them forth to show what intensity of will can dwell in the depths of the human heart.

In the month of July, 1656, Mary Fisher and Ann Austin arrived in the road before Boston. There was as yet no stat ute respecting Quakers; but, on the general law against heresy, their trunks were searched and their books burnt by the hangman; "though no token could be found on them but of innocence," their persons were examined in search of signs of

witchcraft; and, after five weeks' close imprisonment, they were thrust out of the jurisdiction. During the year, eight others were sent back to England. Mary Fisher repaired alone to Adrianople, and delivered a message to the Grand Sultan. The Turks thought her crazed, and she passed through their army "without hurt or scoff."

The next year, although a special law had prohibited the introduction of Quakers, Mary Dyar, an Antinomian exile, and Ann Burden, came into the colony; the former was claimed by her husband, and taken to Rhode Island; the latter was sent to England. A woman who had come all the way from London to warn the magistrates against persecution, was whipped with twenty stripes. Some, who had been banished, came a second time; they were imprisoned, whipped, and once more sent away, under penalty of further punishment if they returned again. A fine was imposed on such as should entertain any "of the accursed sect." A payment of ten shillings was the penalty for being present at a Quaker meeting, of five pounds for speaking at such a meeting. In the execution of the laws, the pride of consistency involved the magistrates in acts of extreme cruelty. But Quakers swarmed where they were feared. They came expressly because they were not welcome, and threats were construed as invitations.

In 1658, the government of Massachusetts resolved to follow the advice of the commissioners for the United Colonies, from which the younger Winthrop alone had dissented. Willing that the Quakers should live in peace in any other part of the wide world, yet desiring effectually to deter them from coming within its jurisdiction, the general court, after much resistance, and by a majority of but a single vote, banished. them on pain of death. "For the security of the flock," said Norton, "we pen up the wolf; but a door is purposely left open whereby he may depart at his pleasure." Vain legisla tion! and frivolous apology! The soul, by its freedom and immortality, preserves its convictions or its frenzies amidst the threat of death.

It is true that some of the Quakers were extravagant and foolish; they cried out from the windows at the magistrates

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and ministers that passed by, and mocked the civil and religious institutions of the country. They riotously interrupted public worship; and women, forgetting the decorum of their sex, and claiming a scriptural precedent for their caprices, smeared their faces, and even went naked through the streets.

Prohibiting the coming of Quakers was not persecution; and banishment is a term hardly to be used of one who has not acquired a home. The magistrates of Massachusetts left all in peace but the noisy brawlers, and left to them the opportunity of escape. The four, of whose death New England was guilty, fell victims rather to the contest of will than to the opinion that Quakerism was a capital crime.

In September, 1659, of four persons ordered to depart the jurisdiction on pain of death, Mary Dyar, a firm disciple of Anne Hutchinson whose exile she had shared, and Nicholas Davis, obeyed. Marmaduke Stephenson and William Robinson had come on purpose to offer their lives; instead of departing, they went from place to place "to build up their friends in the faith." In October, Mary Dyar returned. These three persons were arraigned on the sanguinary law. Robinson pleaded in his defence the special message and command of God. "Blessed be God, who calls me to testify against wicked and unjust men." Stephenson refused to speak till sentence had been pronounced; and then he imprecated a curse on his judges. Mary Dyar exclaimed: "The will of the Lord be done;" and returned to the prison "full of joy." From the jail she wrote a remonstrance. "Were ever such laws heard of among a people that profess Christ come in the flesh? Have you no other weapons but such laws to fight against spiritual wickedness withal, as you call it?" The three were led forth to execution. "I die for Christ," said Robinson. "We suffer not as evil-doers, but for conscience' sake," were the last words of his companion. Mary Dyar was reprieved; yet not till the rope had been fastened round her neck, and she had prepared herself for death. Transported with enthusiasm, she exclaimed: "Let me suffer as my brethren, unless you annul your wicked law." She was conveyed out of the colony; but, soon returning, she was hanged on Boston common.

Yet William While the trial

These cruelties excited great discontent. Leddra was arraigned for the same causes. was proceeding, Wenlock Christison, already banished on pain of death, entered the court, and struck dismay into the judges, who found their severities ineffectual. Leddra was desired to accept his life, on condition of promising to come no more within the jurisdiction. He refused, and was hanged.

Christison met his persecutors with undaunted courage. "By what law," he demanded, "will ye put me to death?" "We have a law," it was answered, "and by it you are to die." "So said the Jews to Christ. But who empowered you to make that law?" "We have a patent, and may make our own laws." "Can you make laws repugnant to those of England?" "No." "Then you are gone beyond your bounds. Your heart is as rotten toward the king as toward God. I demand to be tried by the laws of England, and there is no law there to hang Quakers." "The English banish Jesuits on pain of death; and with equal justice we may banish Quakers." The jury returned a verdict of guilty. The magistrates were divided in pronouncing sentence; the vote was put a second time, and there appeared a majority for the doom of death. "What do you gain," cried Christison, "by taking Quakers' lives? For the last man that ye put to death, here are five come in his room. If ye have power to take my life, God can raise up ten of his servants in my stead."

The people were averse to taking Quakers' lives; the magistrates, infatuated for a season, became convinced of their error; Christison, with twenty-seven of his friends, was discharged from prison; and the doctrine of toleration, with pledges of peace, was soon to be received.

The victims of intolerance met death bravely; they would be entitled to perpetual honor were it not that their own mad extravagances occasioned the foul enactment, to repeal which they laid down their lives. Causes were already in action which were fast substituting the charity of intelligence for bigotry. It was ever the custom, and, in 1642, it became the law, in Puritan New England, that "none of the brethren shall suffer so much barbarism in their families as not to teach their children and apprentices so much learning as may enable