The Pilgrims of New England by Mrs. J. B. Webb (acx book reading .TXT) 📖

he offend to burn it if it had given offence at Boston. The subject was then dropped, and Williams returned to Plymouth, where he continued to reside for a considerable time.

During that period, he not only gained many friends among the inhabitants, but he also, by a constant intercourse with the Wampanoges and other neighboring tribes, obtained a considerable knowledge of their language and manners, and secured their veneration and love. This, as we shall have occasion to observe, proved afterwards of the greatest advantage to him.

But his own restless spirit was not satisfied with quietly discharging the duties of his office, and enjoying the society of his own countrymen and their Indian allies. Again he drew upon himself the wrath of the Boston Church, by openly stating his conviction that no civil government had a right to punish any individual for a breach of the Sabbath, or for any offence against either of the four commandments, or the first table. He maintained that these points should be left to the conscience alone; or, in the case of those who had agreed to a church covenant, to the authorities of the church. The civil magistrates he considered as only empowered to punish such violations of the law as interfered with the public peace. This unheard-of heresy against the principles by which the Bostoners were governed, was received with amazement and indignation: and, although they could not take any immediate measures to testify their displeasure, and to punish the offender, yet he thenceforth became the object of hatred and suspicion to the rulers, and they only waited for a fitting opportunity of openly manifesting it.

Williams was aware of the feeling entertained towards him by the government of Massachusetts, but he was not thereby deterred from expressing his opinions in New Plymouth; and so great was his attachment to the people of Salem, who had first afforded him a home, that he would again have ventured thither, had he not been detained by his new friends. They were both numerous and sincere: and, among them, none were more attached to him than the Maitland family, who agreed with him in most of his religious and political opinions, and valued his society on account of his unaffected piety, and the various powers and accomplishments of his mind. Possibly, it was the attraction that Roger Williams found in this family that caused him so long to turn a deaf ear to the repeated solicitations of his old friends at Salem, that he would again take up his abode among them. Certainly, it was not fear of the rulers of Boston that kept his undaunted spirit in a district over which they had no authority; neither was it altogether the harmony that subsisted between his views and those of the hospitable Plymouthers. On many points they agreed, but not on all; and those who differed from him feared that his continued residence among them might excite a party spirit, and mar that peace which had hitherto reigned in their community.

Still Roger Williams did continue to dwell at New Plymouth; and still his visits to the house of Maitland became more and more frequent.[*]

[Footnote: A few liberties are taken with the private life of this interesting character, in order to connect him more closely with the events of the narrative. But all the incidents which can be regarded as important are strictly historical, although the date and order of them may be slightly altered.]


CHAPTER XIX.

My child, my child, thou leav'st me!--I shall hear The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear With its first utterance I shall miss the sound Of thy light step, amidst the flowers around; And thy soft breathing hymn at twilight's close; And thy "good night," at parting for repose! ----Yet blessings with thee go! Love guard thee, gentlest! and the exile's woe From thy young heart be far!' HEMANS.

At the period when Roger Williams was induced to seek a home among the Pilgrim Fathers of New Plymouth, Edith Maitland had attained to womanhood. She was not beautiful, strictly speaking, but she was possessed of that 'something than beauty dearer,'--that nameless and indescribable charm that is sometimes seen to surround a person whose form and features would not satisfy the critical eye of an artist. It was Edith's character which looked out from her clear hazel eye, and won the interest and the affection of all who knew her. Gentle and affectionate in disposition, but at the same time, firm, enduring, and fall of energy, she combined the characteristic qualities of both her parents, and added to them an originality all her own. Her education, in the common acceptation of the term, had necessarily been both desultory and imperfect; and yet, under its influence, the mind and character of Edith had strengthened and matured in no common degree. The very circumstances by which she was surrounded had educated her; and sorrow--deep, abiding sorrow, for the loss of both her much-loved brothers--had taught her to look on life in a different point of view, and with different expectations from those with which it is usually regarded by the young. Her mother had watched her opening mind and disposition with much care and anxiety: but she had not sought to check its interesting peculiarity, or to control the wild exuberance of thought and feeling that were occasionally manifested by her intelligent and engaging child. As she grew older, she became more and more the companion of Helen, who studied her character attentively: and, if we be allowed such a figure of speech, wisely endeavored to train it in a right direction, rather than to prune it to any conventional form. Thus a perfect confidence was established, and ever subsisted between the mother and daughter; and the natural thoughtfulness of spirit, and energy of purpose, that belonged to Edith, were unchecked, and she was allowed to possess an individuality of character that is, unhappily, too often repressed and destroyed in these present days of high civilization and uniformity of education.

The courteous manners which both Helen and her husband had acquired in early life--when they dwelt in comparative affluence in England--were inherited by their daughter in full measure; and her whole manner and conduct were marked by a refinement and elegance that seemed little in keeping with the life of extreme simplicity, and even of hardship, that she had experienced from her early childhood. While her brothers were spared to her, she was their constant companion and playfellow; and except when her mother required her attendance, either as her pupil or her assistant in domestic occupations, she spent the greatest part of the day in rambling with them on the sea-shore, or through the adjacent woods, or else in the active and tasteful cultivation of their garden. And when successive calamities deprived her of these cherished objects of her early affection, she still continued to wander to the spots where they had played and conversed together, under the guardianship of the faithful Fingal; and, with no companion but the powerful and sagacious animal, she was even permitted to ramble through the woods as far as the Wampanoge village, and divert her sorrowful thoughts in the society of Apannow, and her lively little son Nepea.

But after the sad day when Edith wept on the lifeless body of her favorite Fingal, and saw him laid in the grave that was dug for him beneath the great tulip-tree, she seemed to concentrate her affections on the bower that Henrich had erected, and the plants that he and Ludovico had transplanted from the forest to cover its trellised walls, and to decorate the garden that surrounded it. Many of these were again removed, and planted on Fingal's grave; and there--on a seat that her brother had constructed--would Edith sit, hour after hour, either buried in contemplations of the past and the future, or else devouring with avidity the few books that her parents possessed, or that she could procure from their friends and neighbors. She formed no intimacy with any of her own young countrywomen. They were too unlike herself--they had generally known no sorrow: or, if it had fallen on them, its strokes had not made a like impression on their characters; and Edith could find no consolation or pleasure in their society. So she lived alone with her own spirit, and indulged her own high aspirations; and none but Helen was the confidant of any of her thoughts and imaginings. Many of them she kept within her own breast, for she felt that it would distress her mother to know how little charm remained to her in life, and how often she looked up into the blue depths of heaven, and wished that she had 'the wings of a dove, and could flee away' from this cold world, 'and be at rest' where Henrich and Ludovico dwelt. And yet Edith was not unhappy. As she grew up, and became a more equal and rational companion to her parents, the cares and business of life necessarily occupied more of her time and thoughts, and gave her less leisure for solitary meditation; and her daily increasing sense of the duties and responsibilities of a Christian, led her to regard as selfishness that indulgence of her own thoughts and feelings in which she had so much delighted. She was therefore cheerful, and even gay, at home; but she desired no pleasures beyond those that her home afforded, and that were perfectly consistent with the self denying views and principles of her Puritan fellow-countrymen.

In all the doctrines of her sect; Edith was thoroughly well-informed; and to all those that were really scriptural, she gave a sincere and heart-felt assent. But the stern severity of Puritan principles and Puritan bigotry found no response in her gentle nature, and the narrow- minded intolerance of the Boston Church aroused both her contempt and indignation. She was, therefore, quite prepared to regard with interest and favor the free-minded young minister who had made himself obnoxious to their laws end customs, and had sought a refuge among the more liberal and kindly Pilgrims of New Plymouth.

The acquaintance of Roger Williams was soon made by the Maitlands; and, once begun, it quickly ripened into intimacy and friendship. In Rodolph he found a sound and able adviser; in Helen, a kind friend and a well-informed companion; but in Edith he found a kindred spirit to his own--one who could understand and sympathize in his yearnings for freedom of thought and action, and in his strong sense of the injustice of his oppressors. In all their tastes and pursuits they were, likewise, as well agreed as in their religious and social opinions. Edith's passionate love of natural beauty was fully shared by the young refugee; and many an hour passed swiftly away while he instructed his quick and willing scholar in the mysteries of sketching, in which pleasant art he was himself a proficient. Edith loved music also, and frequently accompanied her own rich voice with the simple notes of the mandolin, while she sang the old songs of her fatherland.

Hitherto, her mother had been her only instructor in this most refined and refining of all human pleasures; but now she found an able and very ready teacher in Roger Williams: and it was a matter of astonishment to her father when he observed the rapid progress she made both in the science and the practice of music, from the time the interesting stranger undertook to give her lessons. His deep, manly voice harmonized perfectly with her sweet tones; and they often brought tears to the eyes of Helen, and called forth a sigh from the breast of Rodolph, as they sang together some ancient English ballad, or united their voices in