in the shadow of death; and so it remains, and will ever remain, a venerable manifestation of the power of spiritual truth and spiritual sympathy.

It is indeed strange that the language of a version of the Bible, made less than two hundred years ago, should now be utterly extinct. But the second edition of the Translation was the last, and the printer will never again be called to set types for those words so strange, nor will there in all after time, probably, be a person in the world who can read the book

Cotton Mather tells us that the anagram of Eliot's name was Toile, and the conceit has the merit of expressing truly one of the chief traits in the apostle's character. Beside the labours which we have mentioned, he translated Baxter's "Call to the Unconverted," Bayi y's "Practice of Piety," and "several of the composures" of Shepard, and others of his contemporaries, into the Indian language.

"His youth was innocent; his riper age

Mark'd with some act of goodness, every day;
And watch'd by eyes that loved him, calm and sage,
Faded his late declining years away.
Cheerful he gave his being up, and went

To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent."

MRS. BRADSTREET.

MRS. ANNE BRADSTREET, the mirror of her age, and glory of her sex," as she is styled by John Norton, of excellent memory, came to America with her husband, Simon Bradstreet, governor of the colony, in 1630, when she was but eighteen years of age. She was a daughter of Governor Dudley, a miserly, though a "virtuous and discreet gentleman," for whom Governor Belcher wrote the following epitaph:

"Here lies Thomas Dudley, that trusty old studA bargain's a bargain, and must be made good." Mrs. Bradstreet's verses were printed at Cambridge, in 1640. The volume was entitled, "Several Poems, compiled with great variety of wit and learning, full of delight; wherein especially is contained a compleat discourse and description of the four Elements, Constitutions, Ages of Man, and Seasons of the Year, together with an exact Epitome of the Three First Monarchies, viz: the Assyrian, Persian, Grecian; and Roman Commonwealth, from the beginning, to the end of the last King; with divers other Pleasant and Serious Poems." Norton declares her poetry so fine that, were Maro to hear it, he would condemn his own works to the fire; and in a poetical description of her character says

Her breast was a brave pallace, a broad street,
Where all heroic, ample thoughts did meet,
Where nature such a tenement had tane,
That other souls to hers dwelt in a lane!

The author of the Magnalia speaks of her poetry as a "monument for her memory beyond the stateliest marble;" and John Rogers, one of the Presidents of Harvard College, in some verses addressed to her, says

Your only hand these poesies did compose:

Your head the source, whence all those springs did flow:
Your voice, whence change's sweetest notes arose:
Your feet, that kept the dance alone, I trow:
Then veil your bonnets, poetasters all,
Strike, lower amain, and at these humbly fall,
And deem yourselves advanced to be her pedestal.
Should all with lowly congees laurels bring,
Waste Flora's magazine to find a wreath,

Or Pineus' banks, 't were too mean offering;
Your muse a fairer garland doth bequeath
To guard your fairer front; here 't is your name
Shall stand immarbled; this your little frame
Shall great Colossus be, to your eternal fame.

She died in September, 1672, and was greatly mourned." The following stanzas are from one of her minor pieces, entitled "Contemplations."

Under the cooling shadow of a stately elm
Close sate I by a goodly river's side;

Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm ;
A lonely place, with pleasures dignified.

I once that loved the shady woods so well,
Now thought the rivers did the trees excell,
And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell.
While on the stealing stream I fixt mine eye,
Which to the long'd-for ocean held its course,
I markt nor crooks, nor rubs that there did lye
Could hinder aught, but still augment its force:
O happy flood, quoth I, that holdst thy race
Till thou arrive at thy beloved place,

Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace.
Nor is 't enough, that thou alone may'st slide,
But hundred brooks in thy cleer waves do meet,
So hand in hand along with the they glide
To Thetis' house, where all embrace and greet:
Thou emblem true, of what I count the best,
O could I lead my rivulets to rest,

So may we press to that vast mansion, ever blest.
Ye fish, which in this liquid region 'bide,
That for each season, have your habitation,
Now salt, now fresh, where you think best to glide,
To unknown coasts to give a visitation,
In lakes and ponds, you leave your numerous fry,
So nature taught, and yet you know not why,
You watry folk that know not your felicity.
Look how the wantons frisk to taste the air,
Then to the colder bottome straight they dive,
Eftsoon to Neptune's glassie hall repair
To see what trade the great ones there do drive,
Who forrage o'er the spacious sea-green field,
And take the trembling prey before it yield,
Whose armour is their scales, their spreading fins their
shield.

While musing thus with contemplation fed,
And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain,
The sweet-tongued Philomel percht o'er my head,
And chanted forth a most melodious strain
Which rapt me so with wonder and delight,

I judg'd my hearing better than my sight,

And wisht me wings with her a while to take my flight.

O merry bird (said I) that fears no snares,
That neither toyles nor hoards up in thy barn,
Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares

To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm.
Thy cloaths ne'er wear, thy meat is every where,
Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water cleer,
Reminds not what is past, nor what 's to come dost fear,
The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent,
Setts hundred notes unto thy feather'd crew,
So each one tunes his pretty instrument,
And warbling out the old, begins anew,
And thus they pass their youth in summer season,
Then follow thee into a better region,
Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion.
Man's at the best a creature frail and vain,
In knowledge ignorant, in strength but weak:
Subject to sorrows, losses, sickness, pain,
Each storm his state, his mind, his body break:
From some of these he never finds cessation,
But day or night, within, without, vexation,
Troubles from foes, from friends, from dearest, near'st re-

* Anticipate.

[lation.

And ye; this sinfull creature, frail and vain,
This lump of wretchedness, of sin and sorrow,
This weather-beaten vessel wrackt with pain,
Joyes not in hope of an eternal morrow:
Nor all his losses, crosses, and vexation,
In weight, in frequency, and long duration,

Can make him deeply groan for that divine translation.
The mariner that on smooth waves doth glide,
Sings merrily, and steers his barque with ease,
As if he had command of wind and tide,
And had become great master of the seas;
But suddenly a storm spoils all the sport,

And makes him long for a more quiet port,
Which 'gainst all adverse winds may serve for fort.

So he that saileth in this world of pleasure,
Feeding on sweets, that never bit of th' sowre,
That's full of friends, of honour, and of treasure,
Fond fool, he takes this earth ev'n for heaven's bower
But sad affliction comes and makes him see

Here's neither honour, wealth nor safety;

ROGER WILLIAMS AND HIS CONTROVERSIES. ROGER WILLIAMS was on many accounts the most remarkable man among the Puritans. He was the first legislator who fully recognized the rights of conscience, and this of itself should make his name immortal. He was eccentric, in conduct as well as in opinion, but nevertheless a man of genius and virtue, of firmness, courage, disinterestedness and benevolence. The notice of Williams and his writings by Dr. Verplanck is so just and comprehensive that we quote it, without abridgment. He emigrated to New England from Wales in 1630. He was then, says Verplanck, a man of austere life and popular manners, full of reading, skilled in controversy, and gifted with a rapid, copious, and vehement eloquence. The writers of those days represent him as being full of turbulent and singular opinions, "and the whole country," saith the quaint Cotton Mather, “was soon like to be set on fire by the rapid motion of a windmill in the head of this one man. The heresy which appeared most grievous to his brethren, was his zeal for unqualified religious liberty. In the warmth of his charity, he contended for "freedom of conscience, even to Papists and Arminians, with security of civil peace to all,” a doctrine that filled the Massachusetts clergy with horror and alarm. "He violently urged," says Cotton Mather, "that the civil magistrate might not punish breaches of the first table of the commandments, which utterly took away from the authority all capacity to prevent the land which they had purchased on purpose for a recess from such things, from becoming such a sink of abominations as would have been the reproach and ruin of Christianity in these parts of the world."

In addition to these "most disturbant and offensive doctrines," Mather charges him with preaching against the Royal charter of the colony, "on an insignificant

Cotton Mather-Magnalia, book vii., in the chapter entitled "Little Foxes, or the spirit of Rigid Separation in one remarkable zealot," &c.

pretence of wrong therein done unto the Indians." To his fervent zeal for liberty of opinion, this singular man united an equal degree of tenacity to every article of his own narrow creed. He objected to the custom of returning thanks after meat, as, in some manner or other, involving a corruption of primitive and pure worship; he refused to join any of the churches in Boston, unless they would first make a public and solemn declaration of their repentance for having formerly communed with the church of England; and when his doctrines of religious liberty were condemned by the clergy, he wrote to his own church at Salem, "that if they would not separate as well from the churches of New England as of Old, he would separate from them."

All his peculiar opinions, whether true or erroneous, were alike offensive to his puritan brethren, and controversy soon waxed warm. Some logicians, more tolerant or politic than the rest, attempted to reconcile the disputants by a whimsical, and not very intelligible sophism. They approved not, said they, of persecuting men for conscience' sake, but solely for correcting them for sinning against conscience; and so not persecuting, but punishing heretics. Williams was not a man who could be imposed upon by words, or intimi dated by threats; and he accordingly persevered in in culcating his doctrines publicly and vehemently. The clergy, after having in vain endeavoured to shake him by argument and remonstrance, at last determined to call in the aid of the civil authority; and the General Court, after due consideration of the case, passed sentence of banishment upon him, or, as they phrased it, "ordered his removal out of the jurisdiction of the court." Some of the men in power had determined that he should be sent to England; but, when they sent to take him, they found that, with his usual spirit of resolute independence, he had already departed, no one knew whither, accompanied by a few of his people, who, to use their own language, had gone with their beloved pastor "to seek their providences." After some wanderings, he pitched his tent at a place to which he gave the name of Providence, and there be came the founder and legislator of the colony of Rhode Island. There he continued to rule, sometimes as the governor, and always as the guide and father of the settlement, for forty-eight years, employing himself in acts of kindness to his former enemies, affording relief to the distressed, and offering an asylum to the persecuted. The government of his colony was formed on his favourite principle, that in matters of faith and worship, every citizen should walk according to the light of his own conscience, without restraint or interference from the civil magistrate. During a visit which Williams made to England, in 1643, for the purpose of procuring a colonial charter, he published a formal and laboured vindication of this doctrine, under the title of "The Bloody Tenet, Or, a Dialogue between Truth and Peace." In this work, written with his usual boldness and decision, he anticipated most of the arguments which, fifty years after, attracted so much attention, when they were brought forward by Locke. His own conduct in power, was in perfect ac cordance with his speculative opinions; and when, it his old age, the order of his little community was dis turbed by an irruption of Quaker preachers, he combated them only in pamphlets and public disputations, and contented himself with overwhelming their doc

It should also be remembered, to the honour of Roger Williams, that no one of the early colonists, without excepting William Penn himself, equaled him in justice and benevolence towards the Indians. He laboured incessantly, and with much success, to enlighten and conciliate them, and by this means acquired a personal influence among them, which he had frequently the enviable satisfaction of exerting in behalf of those who had banished him. It is not the least remarkable or characteristic incident of his varied life, that within one year after his exile, and while he was yet hot with controversy, and indignant at his wrongs, his first interference with the affairs of his former colony was to protect its frontier settlements from an Indian massacre. From that time forward, though he was never permitted to return to Massachusetts, he was frequently employed by the government of that province in negotiations with the Indians, and on other business of the highest importance. Even Cotton Mather, in spite of his steadfast abhorrence of Williams's heresy, seems to have been touched with the magnanimity and kindness of the man; and after having stigmatized him as "the infamous Korah of New England," he confesses, a little reluctantly, that "for the forty years after his exile, he acquitted himself so laudably, that many judicious people judged him to have had the root of the matter in him, during the long

winter of his retirement."

WILLIAM PENN AND JOHN LOCKE.

WITH all his goodness and gentleness, the founder of Pennsylvania was not free from that spirit of bitter controversy which prevailed before his arrival in this country, in New England; and the titles of some of his aracts are as quaint and intemperate as those of Mather and Williams, as for example, "A Brief Reply to a Mere Rhapsody of Lies, Folly, and Slander," and "An Answer to a False and Foolish Libel," etc. The great name of Locke, says Verplanck, is associated with that of William Penn, by a double tie; by his celebrated constitution for the Carolinas, which enrols him among the earliest legislators of America, and by one of those anecdotes of private friendship and magnanimity, upon which the mind gladly reposes, after wandering among the cold and dreary generalities of history. During the short period of Penn's influence at the court of James II., he obtained from the king the promise of a pardon for Locke, who had fled to Holland from the persecution of the dominant party. Locke, though grateful to Penn for this unsolicited kindness, replied with a firmness worthy of the man who was destined to become the most formidable adversary of tyranny in all its shapes, "that he could not accept a pardon, when he had not been guilty of any crime." Three years after this occurrence, the Stuarts were driven from the throne of England; Locke then returned in triumph. At the same time, the champions of English liberty, to serve some party object, proclaimed Penn a traitor, without the slightest ground; and all his rights as an Englishman, and his chartered privileges, were shamelessly violated by the very statesmen who had drafted the Act of Toleration and the Bill of Rights. In this season of distress and deserThe title of one of his books against George Fox, and his follower, Burrowes, is "The Fox digged out of his BurTows."

remembrance of Locke, who now, in his turn, inter ceded to procure a pardon from the new sovereign. In the pride of slandered innocence, Penn answered, as Locke had formerly done, "that he had never been guilty of any crime, and could not, therefore, rest satisfied with a mode of liberation which would ever appear as a standing monument of his guilt." The genius of Locke has been described by Dr. Watts, with equal elegance and truth, as being “wide as the sea, calm as the night, bright as the day:" still his mind appears to have been deficient in that practical sagacity which so happily tempered the enthusiasm of William Penn. The code of government and laws which Locke formed for the Carolinas, contained many excellent provisions; but it was embarrassed by nume rous and discordant subdivisions of power, was perplexed by some impracticable refinements in the adKinistration of justice, and was, in all respects, unnecessarily artificial and complicated. Nevertheless, it is, remarks Verplanck, a legitimate subject of national pride that we can thus number this virtuous and pro found philosopher among those original legislators of this country, who gave to our political character its first impulse and direction.*

THE POETRY OF GOVERNOR WOLCOTT.

ROGER WOLCOTT, a major-general at the capture of Louisburg, and afterward governor of Connecticut, published a volume of "Poetical Meditations" at New London, in 1725. His principal work is "A Brief Account of the Agency of the Honourable John Win throp, Esquire, in the Court of King Charles the Se. cond, Anno Domini, 1662, when he obtained a Charter for the Colony of Connecticut." In this he describes a miracle by one of Winthrop's company, on the re turn voyage.

The winds awhile

Are courteous, and conduct them on their way,
To near the midst of the Atlantic sea,
When suddenly their pleasant gales they change
For dismal storms that o'er the ocean range.
For faithless Æolus, meditating harms,
Breaks up the peace, and priding much in arms,
Unbars the great artillery of heaven,
And at the fatal signal by him given,

The cloudy chariots threatening take the plains!
Drawn by wing'd steeds hard pressing on their reins.
These vast battalions, in dire aspect raised,
Start from the barriers-night with lightning blazed,
Whilst clashing wheels, resounding thunders crack,
Strike mortals deaf, and heavens astonish'd shake.
Here the ship captain, in the midnight watch,
Stamps on the deck, and thunders up the hatch;
And to the mariners aloud he cries,
"Now all from safe recumbency arise:
All hands aloft, and stand well to your tack,
Engendering storms have clothed the sky with black
Big tempests threaten to undo the world:
Down topsail, let the mainsail soon be furl'd:
Haste to the foresail, there take up a reef;
'Tis time, boys, now if ever, to be brief;
Aloof for life; let's try to stem the tide,
The ship's much water, thus we may not ride:
Stand roomer then, let's run before the sea,
That so the ship may feel her steerage way;
Steady at helm!" Swiftly along she scuds
Before the wind, and cuts the foaming suds.
Sometimes aloft she lifts her prow so high,
As if she'd run her bowsprit through the sky;

The leading and nearly all the practicable principles of Locke had been sometime familiar in New England.

Then from the summit ebbs and hurries down,
As if her way were to the centre shown.
Meanwhile our founders in the cabin sat,
Reflecting on their true and sad estate;
Whilst holy Warham's sacred lips did treat
About God's promises and mercies great.

Still more gigantic births spring from the clouds,
Which tore the tatter'd canvass from the shrouds,
And dreadful balls of lightning fill the air,
Shot from the hand of the great Thunderer.

And now a mighty sea the ship o'ertakes,
Which falling on the deck, the bulk-head breaks;
The sailors cling to ropes, and frightened cry,
"The ship is foundered, we die! we die!"

Those in the cabin heard the sailors screech;
All rise, and reverend Warham do beseech,
That he would now lift up to Heaven a cry
For preservation in extremity.

He with a faith sure bottom'd on the word
Of Him that is of sea and winds the Lord,
His eyes lifts up to Heaven, his hands extends,
And fervent prayers for deliverance sends.
The winds abate, the threatening waves appease,
And a sweet calm sits regent on the seas.
They bless the name of their deliverer,
Who now they found a God that heareth prayer.
Still further westward on they keep their way,
Ploughing the pavement of the briny sea,
Till the vast ocean they had overpast,
And in Connecticut their anchors cast.

In a speech to the king, descriptive of the valley of the Connecticut, Winthrop says—

The grassy banks are like a verdant bed,
With choicest flowers all enameled,
O'er which the winged choristers do fly,
And wound the air with wondrous melody.
Here Philomel, high perch'd upon a thorn,
Sings cheerful hymns to the approaching morn.
The song once set, each bird tunes up his ¡yre,
Responding heavenly music through the quire.
Each plain is bounded at its utmost edge
With a long chain of mountains in a ridge,
Whose azure tops advance themselves so high,
They seem like pendants hanging in the sky.

....

In an account of King Philip's wars, he tells how the soldier

met his amorous dame,

Whose eye had often set his heart in flame.
Urged with the motives of her love and fear,
She runs and clasps her arms about her dear,
Where, weeping on his bosom as she lies,
And languishing, on him she sets her eyes,
Till those bright lamps do with her life expire,
And leave him weltering in a double fire.

In the next page he describes the rising of the sun

By this Aurora doth with gold adorn
The ever beauteous eyelids of the morn;
And burning Titan his exhaustless rays,
Bright in the eastern horizon displays;
Then soon appearing in majestic awe,
Makes all the starry deities withdraw;
Veiling their faces in deep reverence,
Before the throne of his magnificence.

Wolcott retired from public life, after having held many honourable offices, in 1755, and died in May, 1767, in the eighty-ninth year of his age.

ALLEN'S POEM ON THE BOSTON MASSACRE. WE have a thin quarto entitled "The Poem which the Committee of the town of Boston had voted unanimously to be published with the late Oration: with

Observations relating thereto, together with some very pertinent Extracts from an Ingenious Composition never published." It was "printed by E. Russell, a his office near Doctor Gardiner's, in Marlborough street in 1772." The author, whose name was James Allen, appears to have been a Royalist, but on terms of intimacy with the leading Whigs of the city, whom he contrived to keep in ignorance of his real sentiments The poem was written at Dr. Warren's particular request, and when "old Sam Adams," as chairman of the publishing committee, carried to the printer the oration of the Fifth of March, he was instructed to have appear as an appendix to that performance this satire, which it is said was received in committee with great applause. When the proof-sheets were examined, however, one of the members perceived that they had been duped, that the poem "was all a bite"-that if the author was actuated by any principles, they were mischievous-in fine, that he was a strenuous Tory, and influenced alone by a desire to serve the royal cause, as a more close examination of the "ingenious and elegant composition" before them would show. Of course, the committee rescinded the vote to print it, and it was issued by Mr. Russell on his own account. It is in the heroic measure, and rather smoothly versified, but its irony is so apparent that it seems almost incredible that such men as Samuel Adams and Joseph Warren should not have perceived its object at a glance. We quote an apostrophe to the king, from the ninth page:

Stay. Pharaoh, stay, that impious hand forbear,
Nor tempt the genius of our souls too far;

How oft, Ungracious! in thy thankless stead

Mid scenes of death our generous youth have bled!
When the proud Gaul thy mightiest powers repell'd,

And drove thy legions trembling from the field,
We rent the laurel from the victor's brow,
And round thy temples taught the wreath to grow.
Say, when thy slaughter'd bands the desert dy'd,
Where the lone Ohiof rolls her gloomy tide,
Whose dreary banks their wasting bones inshrine,
What arm avenged them? Thankless! was it thine?
But generous Valour scorns a boasting word,
And conscious Virtue reaps her own reward!
Yet conscious Virtue bids thee now to speak,
Though guilty blushes kindle o'er thy cheek.
If wasting wars, and painful toils, at length,
Had drain'd our veins, and wither'd all our strength,
How couldst thou, cruel, form the base design,
And round our necks the wreath of bondage twine?
And if some lingering spirit roused to strife
Bid ruffian Murder drink the dregs of life,
Shall future ages e'er forget the deed?
And not for this imperious B.....n bleed?
When comes that period Heaven predestines must,
When Europe's glories shall be whelm'd in dust,
When our proud fleets the naval wreath shall wear,
Aud o'er her empires hurl the bolts of war,
Unnerved by Fate, the boldest heart shall fail,
And mid their guards auxiliar kings grow pale.
In vain shall B..... n lift her suppliant eye,
An alien'd offspring feels no filial tie;
Her tears in vain shall bathe the soldiers' feet-
Remember, INGRATE! B-st-n's crimson'd street!
Whole hecatombs of lives the deed shall pay,
And purge the murders of that guilty day.

Alluding to the taking of Louisburg, in 1745, by Gen. Pepperell, with the aid of a British squadron.

† From various metrical compositions written before the Revolution, it appears that the name Ohio was originally pronounced O-yo, as in the text.