Aje< ( fy^c
~r
SKETCH
OF
FORTY YEARS SINCE.
** Land of my sires ! What mortal hand
Can e er untie tke filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand ?"
SCOTT
HARTFORD :
OLIVER D. COOKE & SON 8.
1824.
DISTRICT OF CONNECTICUT, as.
BE IT REMEMBERED That on the 30th day of April,
L. <S. in the forty-eighth year of the the independence of the
United States of America, OLIVER D. COOKE & Sews,
of the said district, have deposited in this office the title of a
Book, the right whreof they claim as proprietors, in th words
following, to wit :
" Sketch of Connecticut, Forty Years Since.
" Land of my Sires ! What mortal hand
Can e er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand."
Scott.
In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States,
entitled, " An act for the encouragement of learning, by secur-
; ing the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the authors aod
proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned,"
CHARLES A. INGERSOLL,
Clerk of the District of Connecticut.
\ true copy of Record, examined and sealed by me,
CHARLES A. INGERSOLL,
Clerk of the District of Connecticut
Roberts &. Burr, Printers.
SKETCH
OF
CONNECTICUT,
FORTY YEARS SINCE.
CHAPTER I.
August she trod, yet gentle was her air,
Serene her eye, hut darting heavenly fire,
Her brow encircled with its silver hair
More mild appear d ; yet such as might inspire
Pleasure corrected with an awful fear,
Majestically sweet, and amiably severe."
Bishop Lowth.
NOT far from where the southern limits of Connecticut
meet the waters of the sea, the town of N is situated.
As you approach from the west, it exhibits a rural aspect,
of meadows intersected by streams, and houses over
shadowed with trees. Viewed from the eastern acclivity,
it seems like a citadel guarded by parapets of rock, and
embosomed in an ampitheatre of hills, whose summits
mark the horizon with a waving line of dark forest green.
Entering at this avenue, you perceive that its habitations
bear few marks of splendour, but many of them, retiring-
2 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
behind the shelter of lofty elms, exhibit the appearance
of comfort and respectability. Travelling south ward about
two miles, through the principal road, the rural features
of the landscape are lost, in the throng of houses, and
bustle of men. The junction of two considerable streams
here forms a beautiful river, which, receiving the tides of
th sea, rushes with a short course into its bosom.
Masts peer over ware-houses, and streets rise above
streets, with such irregularity that* the base of one line
of buildings sometimes overlooks the roofs of another.
Here Man, incessantly combating the obstacles of Na
ture, is content to hang his dwelling upon her rocks, if
he may but gather the treasures of her streams. Yet spots
of brightness, and of beauty occur amid these eagle-nests
upon the cliff ; gardens of flowers ; bold and romantic
shores ; pure, broad, sparkling waters ; white sails dancing
at the will of the breeze ; boats gliding beneath bridges,
or between islands of verdure, with sportive and graceful
motion, like the slight gossamer in the sun-beam.
Between these two sections of the town, which, though
sisters, bear no family resemblance, is a landscape, which
some writer of romance might be pleased to describe. It
is about a mile from the mouth of the smallest of the two
streams just mentioned, which, winding its way through
green meadows with a mild course, is fringed with the
willow, and many aquatic shrubs, bending their drooping
branches to kiss its noiseless tide. Suddenly it assumes
the form of a cataract. Dashing tumulluously from rock
FORTY YEARS SINCE.
to rock, it sends forth from their excavations, deep, hollow
sounds ; as if thunders were born in those unvisited cav
erns. Tossing and foaming over the masses that obstruct
its channel, it becomes compressed within narrow limits
by two lofty precipices. One, rises frowning and per
pendicular like the walls of a castle. A few hardy ever
greens cling to its crown, and mark the spot whence the
hunted Pequots were forced, by their conquerors the
Mohegans, to their fatal plunge from time into eternity.
Fancy, awakened by tradition, sometimes paints their
forms mingling with the dark, slow waters that circle the
base of that fearful cliff; or hears their spirits shrieking
amid the clamour of the cataract. The opposite rampart
presents a chain of rocks, of less towering height, inter
spersed with lofty trees, displaying the names of many
who have visited and admired this wild and picturesque
scenery. The enthusiast of Nature, who should conquer
its precipitous descent, and stand upon the margin of the
flood which creeps in death-like stillness through this
guarded defile, might see on his right, the foam, the va
pour, the tossing of a tempestuous conflict ; on his left,
a broad chrystal mirror, studded with emerald islets,
and bounded by romantic shores, where peaceful man-
tons, embosomed in graceful shades, are seen through
vistas of green. Beneath, the black and almost motion
less waters seem, to him who gazes intensely, like the
river of forgetfulness, annihilating the traces of a passing
world. Above, the proud cliff rears its waving helmet,
4 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
a if in defiance of the bowing cloud. To hear the voice
of Nature in passionate strife, and at the same moment to
gaze upon her slumbering calmness ; to be lost in con
templation upon the moral contrast, then startled into
awe by her strong features of majesty ; leave the mind
uncertain whether, in this secluded temple, beauty ought
most to charm, or awe to enchain it, or devotion to
absorb all other sensations in reverence to the invisible
God.
Retracing our steps to the northern division of N
we find a society remarkable for the preservation of pri
mitive habits. There, was exhibited the singular exam
ple of an aristocracy, less intent upon family aggrandize
ment, than upon becoming illustrious in virtue ; and of a
community where industry and economy almost banished
want. Do mestic subordination taught the young to hon
our the old, while the temperance and regularity which
prevailed gave to age both contentment and health. The
forty years, which have elapsed since the period of this
sketch, have wrought many changes ; but some features
of similarity remain. That luxury which enervates cha
racter, and undermines the simple principles of justicej
and charity, has found its ravages circumscribed by the
example of those to whom wealth gave influence. An
unusual number of individuals, whose first steps were in
humble life, have risen to the possession of riches, not by
fortunate accidents, or profuse gains, by lotteries or by
war. bwt through an industry which impoverished none.
FORTY YEARS SINCE. U
and a prudence which as resolutely frowned upon waste
of time, as waste of money. It has been thought that the
advantages, arising from a favourable situation for com
merce, and from a surrounding country eminently agricul
tural, languished for want of vigorous enterprize. Yet a
source of wealth still less fluctuating has been discovered,
in lessening the number of factitious wants, and pruning
the excrescences of fashion and of folly. A more moral
stale of society can scarcely be imagined, than that which
existed within the bosom of these rocks. Almost it might
seem as if their rude summits, pointing in every direc
tion, had been commissioned to repel the intrusion of
vice. In this department of the town w r as the mansion oi
Madam L . It raised its broad, dignified front, with
out other decorations than the white rose, and the sweet
brier, rearing their columns of beauty and fragrance,
quite to the projection of the roof. In front, was a court
of shorn turf, like the richest velvet, intersected by two
paved avenues to the principal entrances, and enclosed
by a white fence, resting upon a foundation of hewn stone.
On each side of the antiquated gate waved the boughs
of a spruce, intermingling their foliage, and defying-, in
(heir evergreen garb, the changes of climate. The habi
tation, which faced the rising sun, had on its left, and in
the rear of its long range of offices, two large gardens for
vegetables and fruit. A third, which had a southern ex
posure, and lay beneath the windows of the parlour, was
partially devoted to flowers. There, in quadrangles, tri-
6 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
angles, and parallelograms, beds of mould were thrown
up, and regularly arranged, according to what the florists
of that age denominated " a knot." There, in the centre,
the flaunting peony reared its head like a queen upon her
throne, surrounded by a guard of tulips, arrayed as
eourtiers in every hue, deep crimson, buflf streaked with
vermillion, and pure white mantled with a blush of car
mine. In the borders, the purple clusters of the lilac,
mingled with the feathery orb of the snow-ball, and the
pure petals of the graceful lily. Interspersed were vari
ous species of the rose, overshadowing snow-drops, and
daffodils the earliest heralds of Spring the violet, whose
purple eye seems half to beam with intelligence. the
hyacinth, the blue-bell, and the guinea-hen in its mot
tled robe.
There were also the personified flowers gaudy soldiers
in green the tawdry ragged lady the variegated batch-
elor the sad mourning bride and the monk in his som
bre hood. The larkspur mingled with the sweet pea, and
the humble fumatory grew at the foot of the proud crown
imperial, which lifted its cluster of flowers, and crest oi
leaves, with patrician haughtiness. A broad walk divided
this garden into nearly equal compartments. The west
ern part, covered with rich turf, and interspersed with
fruit trees, displayed at its extremity a summer-house,
encircled by a luxuriant vine, and offering a delightful
retreat from a fervid sun. Seated beneath the canopy oi
fragrant clusters, you might see the velvet-coated peach,
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 7
the rich plum with its purple, or emerald robe, and the
orange-coloured pear bruising itself in its fall. Raspber
ries, supporting themselves by the fence, interwove their
branches with the bushes that lined it, as if ambitious
to form an impervious hedge ; while at their feet, the red
and white strawberry offered its treasures. Near the same
region was a small nurseiy of medicinal plants ; for the
mind which had grouped so many pleasures for the eye
and the taste of man, had not put out of sight his infirmi
ties, or forgotten where it was written, " in the garden
was a sepulchre." There, arose the rough leafed sage,
with its spiry efflorescence, the hoarhound foe of consump
tion, the aperient cumphrey, the aromatic tansy, and the
bitter rue and wormwood. There, also, the healing balm
was permitted to flourish, and the pungent peppermint for
distillation. Large poppies, scattered here and there, per
fected their latent anodyne, and hop-vines, clasping the
accustomed arches, disclosed from their aromatic clus
ters some portion of their sedative powers. Through
these scenes of odoriferous wildness Madam L often
wandered, and like our first mother, amused herself by
removing whatever marred its beauty, and cherishing all
that heightened its excellence.
Her alert step, and animated aspect would scarcely
permit the beholder to believe that the weight of almost
seventy years oppressed her ; though the spectacles, that
aided her in distinguishing weeds from plants, proved that
time had not spared to levy some tribute upon his favour-
8 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
ite. Her fair, open forehead, clear expressive blue eye,
and finely shaped countenance displayed that combination
of intellect with sensibility, which marked her character.
A tall and graceful persoi, whose symmetry age had res
pected, gave dignity to a deportment which the sorrows
of life had softened. A vein of playful humour had been
natural to her youth, and might still occasionally be de
tected in her quick smile, and kindling eye. Yet this
was divested of every semblance of asperity by the spirit
of a religion, breathing love to all mankind. Her voice
had that peculiar and exquisite tone, which seems an echo
of the soul s harmony. Her brow was circled with thin
folds of the purest cambrick, whose whiteness was con
trasted with the broad, black ribband which compressed
them, and the kerchief of the same colour, pinned in quaint
and quaker-like neatness over her bosom. Her counte
nance in its silence spoke the language of peace within,
good will to all around, and the sublimated joy of one.
whose " kingdom is not of this world." Her liberality
was proverbial. She loved the poor and the sick, as if
they were unfortunate members of her own family. To I
afford them relief, was not a deed of ostentation, but a
source of heartfelt delight. She considered herself as
the obliged party, when an opportunity was presented of
distributing His bounty, who by entrusting her with riches
had constituted her his almoner, and would at length re
quire an account of her stewardship. Her piety was not
a strife about doctrines, though the articles of her belief
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 9
were by no means indifferent to her. She thought the
spirit of controversy should be held in subjection to that,
tvhich moveth to Jove and to good works.
She disclaimed that bigotry which desires to extinguish
every light which its own hand has not kindled. She
looked upon the varying sects of Christians, as trav
ellers pursuing different roads to the same eternal city.
This liberality of sentiment was deserving of more
praise, forty years since than in our times, when supe
rior illumination bears with stronger influence upon the
mists of prejudice. Educated in the metropolis of the
state, the daughter of its first magistrate, born of a family
of high respectability, introduced by marriage into the
aristocracy of N , conscious that her excellencies were
so appreciated by those around her, that she was consid
ered almost as a being of an higher order, it would not
have been wonderful if some haughtiness had marked her
exterior, at a period when those distinctions signified more
than they do at present. But that self-complacency,
which is the spontaneons growth of the unrenovated heart,
was early checked by a religion which taught her "not
to glory save in the cross of Christ." Afflictions also
humbled the hopes which might have unwisely aspired,
or laboured to lay too deep a foundation on the earth. She
had borne the yoke in her youth. The early death of her
parents was strong discipline for a tender spirt. Her hus
band was endued by nature with every excellence to awak
en her attachment and confidence. His mind, enlarged
10 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
by the best education which this country afforded, had
pursued its scientific researches in Europe, and become
exalted both by extensive knowledge, and rational piety.
It was his pleasure to employ his wealth in the relief of
indigence, and the encouragement of enterprise. He was
early revered as the patron of merit in obscurity, and his
name is still enrolled by the grateful town which gave
him birth, as first in the list of its benefactors. United
in the warmth of his earliest affections to a kindred spirit,
they shared all the blessings of a perfect union of hearts.
Many years of conjugal felicity had been their portion.
But she was at length appointed to watch the progress
of a protracted and fatal disease, and to mark with still
keener anguish the mental decay of him who had been her
instructer and counsellor. " I have seen an end of all
perfection," she said, as his strong and brilliant pow
ers yielded to the sway of sickness and when she bent in
agony over his grave, she put her trust in the widow s
God. The earlier part of their union had seen three
sons rising like olive-plants around their table. The eldest
exhibited at the age of seven a precocity of intellect, and i
maturity of character, which at once astonished and de
lighted the beholder. To store his memory with moral
and sublime passages, to sit a solitary student over his
book, to request explanations of subjects beyond his rea
son, were his pleasures. The sports of his cotemporaries
were emptiness to him, and while he forebore to censure,
he withdrew himself from them. Within his reflecting
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 11
mind, was a desire to render himself acceptable to his
Maker. Though younger than the Jewish king, who, at
the age of eight years, separated himself for the search
of wisdom, he began like him to " seek the God of his
Fathers." When he requested from his parents their
nightly blessing to hallow his repose, he often inquired,
with an interesting solemnity, " Do you think that my
Father in Heaven will be pleased with me this day ?
To a soul thus embued with the principles of religion, it
was sufficient to point out that the path of duty was illu
mined with the smile of the Almighty, and to deter from
the courses of evil, by the assurance of his displeasure.
The second had a form of graceful symmetry, and a
complexion of feminine delicacy. The tones of his voice
promised to attain the melting richness of his mother s, as
a bud resembles the perfect flower. He possessed that
rapid perception, and tremulous sensibility, which betok
en genius. His character, even in infancy, displayed
those delicate involutions, and keen vibrations of feeling,
which mark the most poignant susceptibility of pleasure
or of pain. His was the spirit on which the unfeeling
world delights to wreak her tyranny ; as the harsh hand
shivers the harp-strings which it has not skill to controul.
The youngest, just completing his third year, was the
picture of health, vigour and joy. His golden curls cluster
ed round a bold forehead which spoke the language of
command, like some infant warrior. His erect head, and
prominent chest, evinced uncommon strength, and so full
12 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT.
of glee was this happy and beautiful being, that the
mansion or its precincts rang, from morning till night,
with the clamour of his sports, or the shouts of his laughter.
Active, unwearied, and intelligent, he seemed to bear,
within his breast, and upon his brow, the consciousness
that he was one of the lords of creation.
On these three objects the affection and solicitude of
the parents centered. Often they spake to each other of
their differing lineaments of character, consulted on the
methods of eradicating what was defective, or confirming
what was lovely, and often contemplated the part they
might hereafter act in life, with a thrilling mixture of fear
and of hope. But for this anxiety it had been written, in
the infinite councils, that there was no need. In one week,
all these beloved beings were laid in the grave. In one
weck, and the arms of the mourning parents remained
forever vacant. Death, whose " shadow is without or
der, respected in this awful instance the claims of priori
ty. He first smote the eldest at his studies. His languishing
was short. " I go to my Father in Heaven," he said, and
without a struggle ceased to breathe. His disease was
so infectious, that it was necessary to commit him im
mediately to the earth.
As the bereaved parents returned from his grave, of
whom they had said, " this same shall comfort us concern
ing all our toil," they found the second, bowing, like a
pale flowret upon its broken stem. Pain fed upon his fraii
frame, " as a moth fretting a garment." Anguish visit-
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 13
ed, and tried every nerve, yet, if he might but lay his
head upon his mother s bosom, he would endure without
repining. Tears quivered in his soft, blue eyes, like dew
in the bell of the hyacinth, if she were no longer visible.
Yet, when in a moment she returned, a smile of the spirit
would beam through, and rule the convulsions of physical
agony. "My son," said his father, "let us be willing that you
should go to your Saviour, and to your brother in heaven."
But the suffering child, who could imagine no heaven
brighter than the indulgence of his own young affections,
sighed incessantly as death approached. Yet his convuls
ed brow resumed partial tranquillity, when his mother s
voice poured forth, in trembling, agonizing harmony, the
sacred music of the hymn he loved. It was then that he
breathed away his spirit, fancying that angels hastened
him to rise, and learn their celestial melodies. But, ere
his heart ceased to throb, the destroyer had laid his hand
upon the youngest, " the beautiful, the brave." Uncon
sciousness miserably changed a countenance, which was
ever lighted by the glow of intelligence, or the gladness of
mirth. Unbroken sleep seemed settling without resist
ance upon him, who had never been willing even for a
moment to be at rest. Yet nature on the eve of dissolu
tion aroused to an afflicting contest with her conqueror.
Cries and struggles were long and violent, and now and
then a reproachful glance would be bent upon his parents,
as if the victim wondered they should lend no aid to his
conflict.
H SKETCH OP CONNECTICUT,
Cold, big drops started thick upon his temples, and his
golden hair streamed with the dews of pain. It was a fear
ful sight to see a child so struggle with the king of terrors.
\t length with one long sob he yielded, and moaning sank
to rest.
The little white monument still marks the couch of the
three brothers. Its silence is eloquent on the uncertainty
of the hopes of man on the bitterness that tinges the
brightest fountains of his joy.
Such were the adversities to which the heart of Madam
L had been subjected. Her blossoms had been riven
from her, as a fig-tree shaketh its untimely figs before the
blast. An affecting memorial of her feelings, at this peri
od, is still preserved, where, in a poetical form, she pours
out her sorrows before Him who had afflicted her, and
urges with the most afflicting earnestness, that her spirit
may not lose the benefits of his discipline. After the calm
ness of resignation had soothed the tumult of woe, she
seldom spoke of her griefs. She kept them sacred for the
communication of her soul with its Maker. \ r et they dif
fused over her cheerful and faithful discharge of duty, ;
a softness, a sympathy with those who mourned, a serene
detachment of confidence from terrestrial things, which
realized the tender description of a recent, moral poet :
u \\ r hen the wounds of woe are healing,
" When the heart is all resign d,
Tis the solemn feast of feeling, A^ .
Tisthe Sabbath of the mind.
CHAPTER II.
; * The toil-worn Cotter from his labour goes
This night his weekly moil is at an end ;
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend ;
And weary o er the moor his course doth homeward bend."
Burns 1 Colter s Saturday Night.
OUR sketch, commences at the opening of the year
1784. Winter had subtracted from the charms of the
landscape, by substituting for its variegated garniture a
robe of uniform hue. It had, like the envious brethren
of Joseph, " rent the coat of many colours." Still, the
brightness of the pure white surface, the conical mounds
which attested the play of the elements, the incrustations
clinging in every fanciful form to boughs sparkling with
the beams of morning, gave brilliancy to scenery, which
more favouring seasons had forsaken.
The war of revolution, which for a long period had
drained the resources of the country, had been termina
ted for a space of somewhat more than two years. The
British Colonies of America were numbered among the
nations. The first tumults of joy subsiding, discovered a
government not organized, and resting upon insecure
foundations. Gold might be discerned among the mate
rials of the future temple, but the hand of a refiner was
needed, " to purge the dross, and to take away all the
16 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
tin." Light had sprung from chaos ; but the voice of the
Architect, had not yet caused " the day-spring to know
his place."
In Connecticut, the agitation, which pervaded the gen
eral council of the nation, was unknown. The body of the
people trusted in the wisdom of those heroes and sages of
whom they had furnished their proportion. They believ
ed that the hands, which had been strengthened to lay the
foundation of their liberty, amid the tempest of war, would
be enabled to complete the fabric, beneath the smiles of
peace. In gratitude, and quietness of spirit, they rested
beneath the shadow of their own vine ; and had they pos
sessed " no law, would have been a law unto them
selves."
We return to N , which might be considered, at
this period, the stronghold of" steady habits," and mod
erated desires. The family of Madam L was usually
enlivened by the residence of some of her relations. The
daughter of a beloved sister had been adopted by her,
soon after the death of her three sons. She had taken
a maternal pleasure in superintending the unfolding of
i
a character, whose maturity afforded her the consolations
of an endearing intercourse. A heart of sensibility a
rapid and strong intellectsuperiority in those attain
ments of her sex, which give comfort and elegance to the
domestic department a liberal soul, indignant at mean
ness and oppression, and imbued with deep reverence to
wards God, were the characteristics of this object of her
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 1?
affections. She depended much upon this g entle and zeal
ous companion, during the mental decay of her husband ;
but, soon after his decease, shuddered as she remarked
the pale cheek and hollow eye of this dear friend, whose
delicate frame was gradually resigning the elasticity of
health.
All the powers of medicine were exerted to mitigate
the sufferings of a long, nervous consumption ; until at
tenuated like a shadow, her mind still gathering bright
ness amid the wasting of its tabernacle, her spirit was
" exhal d, and went to heaven." This bereavement was
recent, and the heart of the aged mourner felt a deep
void, whenever her eye rested upon the places usually
occupied by this daughter and friend.
She was now soothed by the society of a son of her
husband s only sister, who, since the death of his uncle,
had made her house his home, except during an interval
of absence in England and France. His accurate mind,
stored with knowledge, which a wide sphere of observa
tion had given him the means of acquiring, rendered him
both an interesting and instructive companion. Nor did
he forget to profit from those treasures of wisdom, which
he daily beheld falling from the lips of age. He was par
ticularly fond of the science of Natural History, and of
exploring those labyrinths in which nature delights to in
volve her operations, where she has made man, both the
habitant of a region of wonders, and a link in their mys
terious chain. His aged relative, whom he revered as a
2*
18 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
parent, and by whom his attachment was reciprocated,
used familiarly to style him her "philosophical nephew. ?>
By the light-minded, he was considered reserved, and by
the ignorant, haughty ; but those, who were worthy to
comprehend him, discovered a heart, alive to the impul
ses of friendship and affection, and a mind, occupied in 3
tissue of thought too intricate for vulgar comprehension :
or balancing the delicate and almost imperceptible points
of moral principle.
Besides this nephew^ the family of Madam L
comprised, at the present time, only herself, and two do
mestics. These were blacks, and descendants of ances
tors who had originally been slaves, before the voice of a
wise and free people decreed the abolition of slavery.
Several Africans had been owned by the father of her hus
band, in whose family she had become an inmate at the
time of her marriage. His death took place, at the advanc
ed age of ninety-two, while his frame still possessed vigour,
and his unimpaired mind expatiated freely upon the past,
and looked undaunted toward the future. Temperance
had guarded his health, and economy the fortune, which
his industry had acquired. Religion had been his anchor
from his youth, sure and stedfast ; arid, with the dignity
of a patriarch, he descended to the tomb, illustrious at
once, by the good name he bequeathed to his offspring,
and by the lustre which their virtues in turn, reflected
upon him. He lived at a time, when to hold in servitude
<he children of Africa, had not been set in a true light by
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 19
the eloquence and humanity of a more favoured age.
Clarkson, and Wilberforce had not then arisen to unlock
" indignantly the secrets of their prison-house," nor Cow-
per, to bid the eye of sensibility weep over their wrongs.
In the community, where the lot of this venerable patri
arch had been cast, they were found in the families of a
few men of wealth, nurtured as dependants, but never op
pressed as slaves. Under his roof they were treated with
uniform kindness, and after the accession of his son to the
paternal estate, received their freedom.
Two descendants of these " servants born in the house,"
still continued with Madam L , one as a hireling, the
other for the sake of his clothing, board and education,
until his minority should cease. Beulah, who had reach-
her twenty-second winter, was an athletic, industrious fe
male, grave in her deportment, and ofstrict honesty. Cuff,
herbrother, was her junior by six years, active, and of an
affectionate disposition, with some mixture of African hu
mour. Both were attached to their mistress, like the
vassals of feudal times, regarding her as " but a little
lower than the angels." She cherished their unaffected
regard, by a sway of equanimity, and gentleness, profes
sing herself to be, like the V r icar of Wakefield, an " ad
mirer of happy human faces."
It was now Saturday night, and the setting sun ushered
in that stillness which used to mark its return, forty years
since, in Connecticut. Every ware-house, and shop was
ihut, and man, like the creation around him, seemed
20 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT.
relapsing into quietness and repose. There was some
thing both soothing and dignified in the solemnity with
which this period was then observed. Labour and revelry
were alike laid aside, and a pause of silence announced
the approach of that day, which the Creator consecrated.
It seemed like the deference of a reflecting spirit, con
scious that its habitual vocations were earthly, and un
willing, without purifying itself from their defilement, tc
rush into those services, which, to be acceptable, are
required to be holy. It was like the change of garments
of the Levitical priesthood, ere they entered the Sanctua
ry. Our puritanic fathers then said to their worldly cares,
as Abraham to his servants at the base of Mount Moriah,
" abide ye here, while I go yonder and worship."
They maintained that, if according to scripture, the
evening and the morning constituted the first day, the
Sabbath embraced the preceding evening within its ap
pointed limits. So strictly did they enjoin the sanctifi-
cation of Saturday night, that it might be said of them in
that season, as it was of the Egyptians during their tem
pest of hail, " he who feared the word of the Lord, made
his servants, and his cattle flee into their house." The
penal laws, which guarded the observance of the Sabbath
among our ancestors at the first settlement of this country,
had relaxed in their severity. Still, to travel on that day
was considered an offence, meriting close examination
from those vested with authority and ending in restraint,
unless the sickness or distress of distant relations sanction-
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 2
ed the measure. " Sunday airings, "were then unknown,
and would have been deemed an " iniquity to be punish
ed by the judges." So fully had the saint-like simplicity
of our predecessors embued Saturday eve with the sanctity
of the subsequent morn, that seldom were the wheels of
the traveller, or his voice, asking admission at the inns,
known to disturb the silence of this hallowed period. La
bourers restored to their places the instruments of their
weekly toil ; mechanics the implements of their trade ;
students their books of entertainment ; and " every good
man and true," was supposed to be convening his fami
ly around the domestic altar.
In the parlour of Madam L , this was a season of solita
ry and heartfelt meditation. The reflection of a clear wood-
fire gleamed fitfully upon the crimson moreen curtains,
gilded clock, ebony-framed mirror, and polished wain
scot, ere light glimmered more brightly from two stately,
antiquated candlesticks. The lady was seated in her
rocking-chair, which stood in its accustomed corner. A
favourite grey-robed cat, with neck and paws of the most
exquisite whiteness, sat at the feet of her mistress, gazing
wistfully in her face. Slowly erecting herself, she ad
vanced a soft velvet paw to the hand which rested upon
the arm of the chair, as if to remind its owner of ancient
friendship, or claim some expression of fondness. Finding
herself unnoticed, she removed her station to a green
cushion in the vicinity, and turning round thrice, betook
22 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
herself to repose, in the attitude of a caterpiller, coiled
upon a fresh verdant leaf.
On a small found table, lay the Scriptures and " Young s
Night Thoughts," the favourite poem of Madam L . The
latter was open at that canto, where the author so feel
ingly describes the loss of friends, and her spectacles laid
therein, as if to preserve some striking passage for fur
ther perusal, while she indulged in those contemplation?
which it awakened. Her brow resting on her hand, dis
played the emotions of a soul, whose strong susceptibility
the influences of religion had tempered, purified, subli
mated. Before her, past in review, the pictured scenes
of childhood, the gaiety of youth, the sorrows of maturi
ty, the loneliness of age. Memory awoke Grief from the
slumber into which time had soothed her, and revived
her long buried energies. The mourner seemed to see
her mother, the soft nurse of her infancy, the watchful
monitress of her childhood, again smitten by an unseen
hand, and covered suddenly with the paleness of the
tomb : one moment, bending over her plants, in the sweet
r ecesses of her garden, the next, lying lifeless among them,
blasted by Him who maketh all the " glory of man, as
the flower of grass."
Her father, venerable for years, and high in publick
honour, was again stretched before her, in the agonies of
dissolving nature. Once more, his farewell tone falter
ed on her ear, as she wiped the dews from his, temples,
" My daughter I visit the fatherless, and the widow in
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 23
their afflictions, and keep thyself unspotted from the
world." Her faithful obedience to this admonition, utter
ed from the confines of another state, might have cheered
her heart, had it been wont to linger amid the recollections
of its own virtue. The tissue of her good deeds, which
was extolled by others as woven by a perfect hand, she
was accustomed so to scan, as to administer to her hu
mility.
Such influence had imagination in this hour of excited
feeling, that almost, her husband, the companion of her
youth, seemed present, in his accustomed seat by her
side. In fancy, she gazed upon his mild features, radiant
with the beams of intelligence. Half she listened to his
voice, explaining the axioms of science, or pouring forth
the spirit of benevolence. Then came the prattling tones
of children, the smile, the sport, the winning attitudes
of those three boys, who returned no more. But illusion
vanished, and more bitterly than her melancholy poet,
she might have apostrophized the grim conqueror ;
" Thy dart flew thrice and thrice my peace was slain,
And thrice, ere thrice, yon moon had fi ll d her horn."
Yet no repiaing mingled with her sorrow. She loved
Him who had chastened her ; and raising upward eyes,
whose pure azure shone through the big tear, she uttered
in the low tone of mental devotion, " I thank Thee that
I am not alone, for Thou art with me." Tenderly im
pressed by a renovation of her woes, yet gratefully revolv
ing the short space which separated her from her beloved,
24 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
her sa nted ones she sang in tones of the gentlest melody
;hat beautiful hymn of Watts
" There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign ;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain."
At its close, she relapsed into a train of animating, de
votional contemplations, admirably fitting the mind for
the duties of that day, on which the Redeemer, whom
she loved, ascended from the tomb.
Around the fire of her domestics, quietness and com
fort, though of a different nature, predominated. The
clean-washed floor, well-brush d shoes, and preparations
for a Sunday s dinner, shewed that the householders of
that time provided, in their domestic regulations, that
their servants also might attend the worship of the sanc
tuary, and enjoy the privileges of a day of rest. Neatness
and order, in which the ancient house-keeping matrons
certainly yield not the palm to their daughters, or grand
daughters, prevailed throughout the simply-furnished
apartment. The dressers, unpainted, but as white as the
nature of the wood permitted them to be, sustained the
weight of rows of pewter, emulous of silver in its beau
tiful lustre.
A long oaken table in their vicinity, once used at refec
tions, when the family comprised many more members,
but now summoned to do service only on ironing days,
emitted as much lustre as the strength of a brawny arm
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 25
viaily applied to its surface, could produce. A heavy
oaken cupboard, the sound of whose opening doors was
music to the mendicant, and the neighbouring poor, and
five or six tall chairs, wjth rush bottoms, completed the
furniture. A wooden seat or sofa, commonly called a
settle, was immoveably fixed, not far from the ample ex
panse of the fire-place- Over the mantle-piece, was a
high and narrow shelf, which, at its western extremity,
was multiplied into a triple ro% of shorter ones ; forming
a repository for a servant s library. This was composed
principally of pamphlet sermons, or what was considered
Sunday reading ere the writer of novels had engrossed
that department. Approximating to this library, hung the
roasting-jack ; which, when put in motion, with its com
plicated machinery extending from garret to cellar, alarm
ed the unlearned by its discordant sounds, and awoke
in the minds of the superstitious some indefinite suspicion
of the agency of evil spirits. On the broad hearth-stone,
sat Beulah and her brother ; the former, in token of seni
ority occupying the post of honour, in front of a blazing
fire ; the latter, with due decorum ensconced in a corner.
The brow of the ebon damsel exhibited a more than usual
cast of solemnity, by way of testifying respect to a New-
Testament, on whose pages her eyes were devoutly fixed.
Cuffee regarded her for some minutes, as if doubtful
whether an interruption of "her studies would be tolerat
ed. At length, with a long yawn, he hazarded the experi
ment, of expatiating on the excellence of the supper hp
3
26 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
had recently eaten. To distinguish Saturday night, by
a dish of beans baked with pork, was one of the peculiar
ities of their native town. Many of the oldest householder;-
could recollect no instance in w|)ich this ancient custom
had been violated beneath their roof ; and children some
times formed an inseparable connection in their minds,
between this prelusive dish, and the duties of the Sab
bath. The inhabitants still preserve this usage of their
ancestors, as faithfully as tHe sons of Rechab transmitted
his prohibition of wine to their remote posterity. Cuflec.
rinding his exordium unchecked, proceeded to relate witi:
proportionable astonishment, that once within the memory
of an aged man of his own colour, the Saturday-night
Statute-act was violated, at the inn where he was a ser
vitor.
" Next morniri," said he, elevating his eyes with be
coming gravity, " next mornin, they ebery soul forget it
be Sabba-day. They go "bout their work wash, scour
Misse take her knitten-work Massa write his counts
Brister go to barn thrash grain."
He described their utter consternation, when the bell I
from an adjoining steeple reminded them of their trans
gression ; and the haste with which the} made themselves
ready to appear in the sanctuary.
He next proceeded to state, on the authority of a young
man of his acquaintance, the dire disasters which befel hi s
father s household, for a similar omission. Their resi
dence was on Bean-hill, a section of the town, where this
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 27
important article is required to appear on the table, twice
in a week, on the evenings of Wednesday and Saturday.
This ordinance, it seems, had but once been neglected
since the building of their house. That night, a strange
uproar awoke eviery member of the family, and frightful
dreams disturbed their repose. Lo ! in the morning, their
culinary furnace was found prostrate, and every brick
dislodged from its station ; as if invisible agents had as
sumed the punishment of the offence. Cuffee, though
somewhat diffuse in his narrations, drew no sign of atten
tion from his sister, who greatly valued herself upon a
solemn deportment at devotional seasons. At length,
slowly rolling towards him an eye, where white remarkably
predominated, she inquired ino the nature of the book,
which he held unopened in his hand.
" Catechize," he replied, with the tone of an indolent
boy at school, equally reluctant to study, or to recite his
lesson. But Beulah, moved with righteous zeal, drew
her chair into a line with his, and enveloping the volume
in her huge hand, took it from him with no gentle grasp.
By dint of spelling, she rendered the title-page vocal,
which proved to be, " The Scholar s Introduction to the
Science of Arithmetic. By Master Edward Cocker."
" That s a Catechise-Book, I s pose !" she exclaimed
with commendable asperity. Her brother hastily pro
ceeded to justify himself, on the ground of a mistake
made in the volume, before the candle was lighted.
Wishing however to divert attention from this view of the
28 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT.
subject, he descanted upon the carelessness of the owne*
of this ancient volume, who had torn sundry leaves, besides
decorating the blank spaces with ill-drawn pictures, and
blots. He repeated a quaint saying, purporting that those
who deface their books, have within them that principle
of carelessness, which leads to want and disgrace. To
bis expressions of wonder that the name of " Benedict
Arnold," so often occurred, in almost illegible scrawls,
Beulah replied that this was the book, which taught the
elements of arithmetic to the traitor of that name, who
resided in that house for several years, as one of the
clerks of her deceased master. Unable to resist the.
tempation of displaying superiour knowledge, her pious
taciturnity vanished. She spoke eloquently of his enor
mities in burning a neighbouring town, and putting to
death all the brave defenders of the fort ; many of whom
had been his acquaintance, and friends. She complained
that, after landing on the devoted spot, and dining with a
worthy lady, who took great pains for his accommodation,
he ordered her house to be the first set on fire.
She described the men of her native place, marching *
to the relief of their distressed neighbours, as soon as the
sound of the cannon reached them, and their wives and
daughters weeping at the doors and windows, as they
departed. In enlarging upon the losses sustained by the
conflagration of so many buildings, she could not avoid
descanting upon the quantity of eatables that were de
stroyed, especially the " oceans of butter and lard,"
FORTY YEARS SINCE.
which were seen frying in the cellars ; naturally feeling:
strongest sympathy for the waste of those condiments,
which in her culinary art she most highly valued. But she
dwelt with the deepest interest upon an exploit of a female
of her own colour, with whom she profest a particular
acquaintance, calling her Aunt Rose. It seems that Ar
nold, fatigued with the contest, had paused to quench his
battle-thirst at a well. As he stooped over it, this ebon
heroine, who had been commissioned to hold his horse,
made some questionable advances towards him, and had
actually grasped his ancles, to precipitate him into the
pit. Proving unsuccessful in her enterprize, she found
it expedient to withdraw with unusual despatch.
" That very night," subjoined Beulah, "Aunt Rose, hab
most remarkable dream. She tink she die, and go rite
to Heaven. All beautiful place, no hard work dere.
Presently come in, her Misse, and all her darters lookin
exceedin grand. " Where Rose ?" they cry. " Tell
her get supper." Aunt Rose feel strange courage. She
speak out to em, and say, " how you spect me to get
supper ? Don t ye see there s no kitchen in Heaven ?"
Beulah then launched into a new tide of invective,
against the wicked traitor, as she styled him, until Cuffee
inquired if he had no good quality, observing that his
mistress said, that \ve should not forget to speak of the
good, as well as the evil in the characters of our fellow
creatures. The maiden, inly reproved, deigned no an
swer ; but suddenly began to realize that their conver-
30 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT.
sation was too diffuse for Saturday night. This she per
ceived much more readily, when she herself ceased
to be the chief speaker. After a decent pause, she
explained her doubts to her brother, with an emphatic
nasal twang, whether he had yet proceeded in the Assem
bly of Divines Catechism, as far as " Effectual Calling ;"
adding, that long before she had reached his age, she wss
able to repeat the whole, with the proofs, and ask herself
the questions, into the bargain.
" I wonder," he replied, " who had not rudder ax dem~
selves questions, dan hab any body else. Den if you can t
answer em, no matter ; no body to scold bout it."
The ringing of the bell, which on Saturday night, like
the old Norman curfew, was always at eight o clock,
reminded them that much time had been spent, and until
nine, the stated hour for retiring, each seemed absorbed
?r their respective stnclie?.
CHAPTER III.
Our kings ! our fathers 1 where are they
An abject race we roam ;
And where our ancient kingdoms Jay,
Like slaves we crouch like aliens stray ;
Like strangers tarry but a day,
And find the grave our home.
IN the vicinity of the town which we have described,
was the residence of a once powerful tribe of Indians,
But diminished in numbers, and oppressed by a sense of
degradation, the survivers exhibited the melancholy rem
nant of a fallen race, like the almost extinguished embers
of a flame, once terrible in wildness. The aged remem
bered the line of their hereditary kings, now become ex
tinct ; the younger preserved in tradition faint gleams of
the glory which had departed. Yet, in the minds of all,
was a consciousness that their ancestors possessed the land,
in which they were now as strangers, and from whence
their offspring were vanishing, as a " guest that tarrieth
but a night." The small territory, on which they resided,
was secured to them by government ; and its fertile soil
would have been more than adequate to their wants, had
they been assiduous in its cultivation. But those roving
habits, which form their national characteristic, are pe
culiarly averse from the laborious application, and minute
details of agriculture. Here and there, a corn-field with
out enclosure might be seen, displaying its yellow treas-
32 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
ures beneath a ripening sun ; but such was their native
improvidence, that the possessor, ere the return of another
Autumn, would be as destitute of food, as he who had
" neither earing nor harvest." The productions of a little
spot of earth, near the door of many of them, denominated
a garden, supplied them during the gentler seasons, with
the more common vegetables ; yet so reckless were they
of futurity, that cold winter s want was unthought of, as
long as it was unfelt, and the needs of to-morrow never
disturbed the revel of to-day. In their simple estimation,
he was a man of wealth, whose dominion extended over
a cow ; yet it was v.ealth rather to be wondered at, than
envied. To roam freely over the forests, and drink the
pure breath of the mountains ; to earn with their arrow s
point, the food of the passing day, and wrap themselves
in a blanket from the chill of midnight, seemed all the
riches they coveted all the happiness they desired.
These were, however, more properly, the lineaments
of their character, in its native nobleness. Civilization
had excluded them from the forests, their original empire,
and awakened new wants which they were inadequate to
supply. It had familiarized them to the sight of the white
man s comforts, without teaching them the industry by
which they are purchased. It had introduced them to
vices which destroyed their original strength, like the
syren pointing in derision to the humbled Sampson, whose
locks her own hand had shorn. Thus they sacrificed the
virtues of their- savage state, and fell short of the ad-
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 33
vantages which a civilized one bestows ; and striking, as
it were, both upon Scylla and Charybdis, made ship
wreck of all.
Still some interesting features might be traced amid this
assemblage of gloom ; some individuals remained, around
whom, as around Philipoemon, " the last of the Greeks,"
gleams of brightness lingered. A few warriors, who, in
the contest of 1755, dared death for the country which
had subjugated them, still survived, to speak, with flash
ing eyes, of battle, and of victory. Some, who had shared
the toils of that recent war which had emancipated from
British thraldom one who was to rank among the nations
of the earth, remained, to shew their wounds, so poorly
requited. Many might still be found, in whose hearts,
gratitude, hospitality, and inviolable faith, the ancient
characteristics of their race, were not extinguished.
But over the greater mass hung the cloud of intem
perance, indolence, and mental degradation. Conscious
ness of their own state, and of the contempt of others,
presented hopeless obstacles to every reforming hand,
except His who brought light out of chaos. The dwel
lings of this dilapidated tribe, though universally in a
state of rudeness, exhibited considerable variety of ap
pearance. Occasionally, the ancient wigwam might be
detected, lifting its cone-like head among the bushes ; then
a tenement of rough logs, reeking with smoke, would pre
sent its more substantial, though less romantic structure.
Those, which fronted the road, were wsually of board?.
34 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
sometimes containing two rooms, with a chimney of stones,
and admitting comparative comfort. Trees, loaded with
small apples, yielded their spontaneous refreshment to
those, who never cultured the young sapling when the
parent stock decayed.
Their situation afforded conveniences for their favourite
employment of fishing ; and a few boats in their possses-
sion, enabled them to pursue their victims into the deep
waters.
The females were more easily initiated into the habits
of civilized life. These, they readily saw diminished
their labours, and augmented their consequence. StilL
the prerogative of dominion, entrusted to man by his
Maker, is tenaciously cherished by the American Indian.
He slowly yields, to the courtesy of example, the custom
of making his weaker companion the bearer of burdens,
and the servant of his indolence. In this perishing tribe,
the secondary sex were far the most docile, whether
religious truth, or domestic economy were the subjects
of instruction.
Still the distaff, the needle, and the loom were less {
congenial to their inclinations, than the manufacture of
brooms, mats, and baskets. In the construction of the
latter, considerable ingenuity was often manifested ; and
their extensive knowledge of the colouring matter, con
tained in the juices of plants and herbs, enabled them
to adorn these fabrics with all the hues of the rainbow.
Bending beneath a load of these fabrics, and often the
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 35
additional weight of a pappbose, or babe, deposited in
a large basket, and fastened around the neck with a leath
ern strap, might be seen, walking through the streets of
the town, after a weary journey from their own settlement,
the descendants of the former lords of the soil, perhaps
the daughters of kings. Clad in insufficient apparel after
the American fashion, with a little round bonnet of blue
cloth, in a shape peculiar to themselves, and somewhat
resembling a scallop-shell, anda small blanket thrown over
,the shoulders, if the season were cold, they would enter
every door in search of a market. There, in the soft,
harmonious tones, by which the voice of the female na
tive is distinguished, they would patiently inquire for a
purchaser. If all their humble applications were nega
tived, they might be heard requesting in the same gentle
utterance a little refreshment, or a morsel of bread for the
infant at their back. I will not say that these entreaties
were always in vain but the poor, famished dog, which
would be crouching at the feet of the suppliant, was too
happy if he could obtain a fleshless bone, to allay the
cravings of hunger.
These females, when employed as they sometimes
were, in the families of whites, to repair worn chairs? were
uniformly industrious, and grateful for any trifling favour.
In their own culinary processes, they were studious of
comfort as far as their rude notions, and imperfect know
ledge extended. Dishes composed of green corn, and
beans boiled with clams, and denominated Succatash,
36 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
the same grain parched nicely, arid pulverized, by the
name of Yokeag, fish, or birds, prepared in different ways,
with cakes of Indian meal baked in ashes, or before the
fire upon a flat board, gave variety to their simple re
pasts.
They were likewise the physicians of their tribe. They
regarded no toil in travelling, or labour in searching the
thickets, for medicinal plants and roots. To sooth the
agony of pain, or conquer the malignity of disease,
was a victory, which their affectionate hearts prized more
than the warrior, who intoxicated with false glory, boasts
of the lives he has destroyed. Their knowledge of aperi
ents and cathartics, was extensive ; their antidotes to poison
were also considered powerful, and their skill in the
healing of wounds was said to have been justly valued in
time of war. Such were the females in their best estate ;
and such the poverty and degeneracy of the once power
ful tribe of Mohegans.
Yet, strange as it may seem, amid their degradation
they retained strong traits of national pride. In the gravi
ty, and dignity of brow, which the better sort assumed,
might be traced a lingering remnant of the creed of their
ancestors, that the red man was formed before his white
brethren, and of better clay. The proud recollections of
royalty were cherished with peculiar tenacity ; and the
most distant ramification of the blood of their kings, pre
served in tradition with all the Cambrian enthusiasm. The
place of burial for their monarchs was never suffered to
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 37
be polluted by the ashes of the common people. It is
still visible, with its decaying monuments, in the southern
part of the town ; and its mouldering inscriptions have
appeared in the records of recent travellers. A few years
only have elapsed, since a Mohegan who was employed
in mowing, in the northern part of the town, and a Pequot
who was passing through it, both died on the same day,
apparently destroyed by the excessive heat of the weath
er ; perhaps, the victims of some latent disease. Coffins
were provided by the inhabitants, and the bodies, laid
therein with those demonstrations of respect, which they
were accustomed to pay to the forsaken tenement of a
soul. Most of the population of Mohesran attended the ob
sequies, which were solemnized upon the Square, opposite
the Court-house. As the clergyman lifted his voice in
pathetic tones, to Him " who hath made of one blood, all
who dwell upon the face of the earth," the females throng
ed to his side, as if they loved and revered the ambassa
dor of that Great Spirit, who giveth life arid taketh it
away. Tears flowed over their sad faces, as they gazed
upon the lifeless forms ; but on the countenances of the
men, was a dark expression, as if they remembered that
they were but servants, where once their fathers were
lords. This recollection occupied their minds more than
the scene which mournfully illustrated the equality of
man. At length the dissatisfied spirit revealed itself in
words. Graves had been prepared for the unfortunate
men, in the burial-place of the northern parish of N ,
38 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
whose white monuments might be seen through the trees,
which surrounded the green where they were assembled.
" These men shall not lie side by side," they exclaim
ed, with their usual conciseness and energy. " Ask ye
why ? In one of them is the blood of our kings. He was
sixteenth cousin to our last monarch. The other is an
accursed Pequot. Think ye the same earth shall cover
them ? No ! Their spirits would contend in their dark
habitation. The noble soul would scorn to see the vile
slumherer so near. They could not arise and walk to
gether to the shadowy regions, for their everlasting home
is not the same."
Such was the haughty spirit, which lurked in the bosom
of an oppressed, a crushed people. They could not for
get the throne that was overturned, though they grovelled
among worms at its footstool.
Yet this tribe, now so despised, was once formidable to
our ancestors. Its friendship was courted, and its aid,
during the wars with Philip, in the seventeenth century,
was very important to them in the infancy of their colony.
It Was, at that time, formidable both for extent of territo- j
>*. {
ry, and number of warriors. Its power was increased by
the conquest of Sassacus, king of the Pequots, who at the
arrival of the English had under his dominion 26 sachems,
and 700 warriors ; and also by the subjugation of the Nip-
mucks, whose strong hold was in Oxford, in Massachu
setts, though their dominion extended over a part of Con
necticut. These conquests were achieved by the enter-
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 39
prise and talents of Uncas, a monarch whose invincible
courage would have been renowned in history, did he not
belong to a proscribed race ; whose wisdom might place
him by the side of the son of Laertes, had we but an Ho
mer to immortalize his name ; and whose friendship for
our fathers ought to secure him a place in the annals of
our gratitude. Originally of the nation of the Pequots,
he revolted against the tyranny of Sassacus, whose king
dom comprised the whole sea-coast of Connecticut. Un-
eas partook of his blood, and had a command among his
warriors, but rebelled against his arbitrary rule, and de
parted from his jurisdiction.
Considerable address must have been requisite to ren
der himself the monarch of another tribe, and make the
ro} r al honours hereditary in his family. When, at the
arrival of our ancestors, the enmity of the Pequots dis
covered itself in such terrible forms of conspiracy and
murder, that unable to perform in safety the duties of the
consecrated day of rest, armed sentinels were stationed at
the threshold of their churches, Uncas continued their un
alterable ally. When the bravery of Mason staked, as it
were, the existence of Connecticut on the firmness of one
little band, Uncas, with his warriors, partook every hard
ship, shared every danger, and, by his counsels, and su-
periour knowledge of the modes of Indian warfare, greatly
facilitated the victory over their ferocious foes. His pres
ence of mind, in any sudden emergency, would have ranked
him among heroes, had he borne a part in the wars of Rome.
40 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
Thrice, assassins were employed against his life, and suc
ceeded in wounding him, but he discovered no perturba
tion. One, bribed by Miantonimoh, his deadly enemy,
in 1643, shot him through the arm, but, like the wretch
employed against the great Coligny by the Medicean fac
tion, fled, without daring to meet the eye of the hero.
Another, instigated by the treacherous Ninigrate, in 1648,
approached him as he stood unsuspiciously in a ship, and
pierced his breast with a sword. But the wound was nov
mortal, and, in both instances, his cool and majestic de
portment evinced his contempt of treachery, and his supe
riority to the fear of death. But, though prodigal of his
own blood when danger impended, he was tenacious of
the lives of his people.
Sequasson, a sachem on Connecticut River, having de
stroyed one of his subjects, and refused to makp. reparation.
Uncas challenged him to single combat, and slew him ;
cancelling with his blood the debt of justice, which he had
scorned to acknowledge. The same tenderness for the
lives of his followers may be discerned when they were
drawn up in battle array, against the force of Miantonirnoh,
his mortal foe. During the short pause which preceded
the encounter, the Mohegan monarch, lofty in native val
our, approaching from his ranks, stretched forth his hand
toward his antagonist, and said,
" Here are many brave men ; but the quarrel is ours,
Miantonimoh. Come forth, let us fight together. If you
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 41
destroy me, my men shall be yours ; if you fall, yours
shall be mine."
The haughty king of the Narragansetts answered proud-
iy,
" My men came to fight, and they shall fight."
They fought and were defeated. The vanquished
leader was taken prisoner by Uncas, who, contrary to the
expectations of his followers, restrained that rage of ven
geance, which savages rank among their virtues. He led
his captive to Hartford, and delivered him to the justice of
the Colony, submitting his personal resentment to the
sanction of laws, which he acknowledged to be more wise
than his own. They decreed his death, on account of
many crimes, and restored the victim to his conqueror.
Uncas returned with him to the spot where the battle was
fought, and when the carnage, which Miantonimoh had caus
ed, was before his eyes, an Indian executioner cleft his head
with a hatchet. Uncas, having yielded so much to the
forms of, justice, now testified some adherence to the sav
age customs of his country ; which, if fully observed,
would have demanded the torture of the criminal. Sev
ering a piece of flesh from the shoulder of his lifeless ene
my, he devoured it with expressions of triumph. The fal
len monarch was then laid in a grave, over which a heap
of stones was raised, and the spot, which is a short dis
tance north-east of N , bears the name of Sachem s Plain
to this day ; as an Israelitish valley was denominated
4*
42 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
Absalom s Dale, from the pillar erected in remembrance
of that false prince.
The character of Uncas comprehended many noble-
properties. He was indignant at oppression, of invincible
valour, of inflexible friendship, careful of the lives of his
people with parental solicitude, possessing presence of
mind in danger, wisdom in council, and a Spartan con
tempt of personal hardship and suffering. The historians
of that age, who were acustomed to represent the na
tives in shades of indiscriminate blackness, have been
careful to give us the reverse of the picture. They assure
us that the wisdom, by which they profited, partook too
much of art and stratagem to be worthy of commendation.
They inform us that he was tyrannical, in his administration,
to the remnant of the Pequots who were subjected to his do
minion. This was undoubtedly true, yet William the Con
queror, with all his superiour advantages of education and
Christianity, was more oppressive to his Saxon vassals 5
than this Pagan king. They also accuse him of having
been inimical to the Christian faith. Probably the inde
pendent mind of the Pagan preferred the mythology in
which he had been nurtured, to the tenets of invaders,
who, however zealously they might point his race to an
other world, evinced little disposition to leave them ?
refuge in this. Possibly, he might have thought the in
junctions of the Prince of Peace, not well interpreted by
the bloodshed that marked the steps of his followers.
V.-T. under the* pressure of age, and at the approach ofr
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 43
death, he pondered the terms of the gospel, which in his
better days, he had not appreciated, and felt the value of
that " hope, which is an anchor to the soul." Like the
patriarch Joseph, he " gave commandment concerning his
hones." He had selected, during health, a spot for his
interment ; and his dying request was, that all the royal
family might be laid in the same sepulchre. His people
revered the injunction of their deceased king, and con
tinued to lay his descendants in that hallowed ground,
until the royal line became extinct. It is situated within
the town of N , about seven miles from the common
burial place of Mohegan.
Uncas was succeeded by his son Owaneco, commonly
called Oneco, who continued a faithful ally of our fathers,
during the wars with Philip, when the destruction of the
colony was attempted by. more than 3000 warriors. On
the 9th of December, 167 1 , when Massachusetts and Con
necticut hazarded a battle with Philip, and the combined
force of the Nipmucks and Narragansetts, Oneco accom
panied them with 300 warriors.
They endured without complaint, the hardships of u
march at that inclement season, and displayed the same
firmness in the cause of another, which the whites evinced
in their own. On their arrival where the enemy were em
bodied, after sustaining a sharp conflict with an advanced
party, they found that the greatest part of the force was in
the fort with their king, in the centre of a morass. This
was ascertained to be of unusual height, great strength .
44 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
and so artful a construction, that only one person could
enter it at a time without the utmost difficulty. The
troops, on approaching it, found themselves in a hazard
ous situation, being seriously annoyed by the fire from
within the fortification, without the power of acting upon
the defensive. In the council of officers, held at this criti
cal juncture, Oneco exclaimed, with all a hero s enthu
siasm,
" I will scale these walls. My people shall follow me. 5
They assented with surprize and gratitude, and instant
ly Oneco, with his bravest warriors, was seen at the top of
the fort. From hence they hurled their tomahawks, and
took deadly aim with their fire-arms, among the mass
within. In their steps ascended the intrepid Capt. Ma
son, the first among the whites who hazarded so perilous
an adventure. Here he received his mortal wound, and
the troops from Connecticut, who followed him, sustained
the heaviest share in the loss of that day. Six hours the
horrible contest continued. Through the huge logs of the
fort, blood streamed in torrents, and of the great numbers,
which it contained, scarcely 200 escaped.
New-England, that day, bewailed the death or wounds
of between 5 and 600 of her colonists, and of this loss
more than a fourth part was sustained by her faithful al
lies, the Mohegans. Three hundred wounded men were
borne, by their companions, 16 miles to a place of safety,
on the day of this fatiguing battle. Many of these per
ished, in consequence of a storm of snow, which rendered
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 46
the march almost impracticable ; and 400 soldiers were
disabled from action by the severe cold. In all these
dangers and suffering s, Oneco never shrunk from his
friends, or refused any aid, which it was in his power to
offer. Sometime afterwards, in a conflict with the Narra-
gansetts, he rendered our ancestors essential aid, and by
his followers, the wily sachem, Cononchet was destroyed
in a river, where he had sought concealment. Again he
hazarded his life, and his people, in a battle, where the
* Narragansetts, led on by their queen, the wife of Philip,
were defeated, after displaying great valour. Until 1675,
when the campaigns of Philip were terminated by his
death, Oneco continued to lead his men into every scene
of danger, which threatened his allies. Frequently un
noticed, and usually unrewarded, he suffered nothing to
shake the constancy of his friendship, or to induce diso
bedience to the command of his deceased father, never
to swerve from his oath to the English. When the Ma-
chiaveliari policy of Philip was ultimately defeated by
the undaunted Capt. Church, the head of that " troubler
of Israel," was presented him by the warriors of Oneco.,
who had drawn him from beneath the waters, where, like
the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth, he had sought shel
ter.
The historians of that day, who were more accustomed
to stigmatize, than to praise the natives, could not with
hold the epithet of " lion hearted," from the name of
Oneco. Yet, whether his merits have ever been fully ac-
46 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
knowledge d by the descendants of those whose existence
he was instrumental in preserving, let our national annals
bear witness. He died childless, and was succeeded by his
brother Joshua, a peaceful prince, who is scarcely men
tioned in the records of that age, except as executing
deeds for the conveyance of lands to the English. As
soon as they obtained respite from war, the same spirit,
which incited the more southern settlers to search for gold,
moved them to desire the possession of all the patrimony
of the aborigines.
" Soon," said these unhappy people, " we shall not
have land enough left, on which to spread our blankets.
Mahomet, the eldest son of Uncas, inheriting a war
like disposition, had slain, in a private feud, one of his
people who had given him offence. The avenger of
blood, who by their laws is permitted to take the life of
the murderer, slew the young prince ere he was crowned,
Uncas, then hoary with age, deeply regretted the loss of
his favourite son, but was too wise to complain of the
ancient laws of his tribe. Covering his face, for a short
time, to conceal the anguish of a parent for his first-born. ,
he again raised his eyes, and said with an unmoved coun
tenance,
" It is well, my people. Let him be carried to his
grave."
Joshua was succeeded by the brother-kings, Benjamin
and Samuel. The first being the eldest, had the right to
reign and was* saluted by the nation as its sovereign.
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 47
The younger, manifesting a more pliant disposition to the
will of the colonists, was supported by them. He adopt
ed a military dress, and was fond of the customs and
conversation of the whites. The elder, strong in native
eloquence, drew around him the strength of his tribe.
Like Cyrus and Artaxerxes, the rival monarchs of Persia,
separate interests awoke their ambition, yet not iike them
did they lift their hand against each other in battle. Kindred
blood restrained the animosity which their partizans would
rfain have fomented ; and then example is a reproof to
more civilized combatants, who can not only forget that
they had but one father, but even that " one God created
them." At length the elder king paid the debt of nature,
and though he had been wise and humane, yet among the
adherents of his brother was no mourning. But death,
as if determining that the grief should be general, smote
the younger also, and they reposed in one grave. On
the tomb-stone of the favourite of our ancestors, the fol
lowing epitaph was inscribed. It was the production of
a late celebrated physician of N , whose memory is em
balmed by excellence and piety, more than by his poeti
cal talents.
" For beauty, wit, and manly sense,
For temper mild, and eloquence,
For courage bold, and things wauregan,
He was the glory of Mohegan."
The line of the royalty of this tribe became extinct in
the person of Isaiah Uncas, who received a partial educa-
48 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
tion at the seminary of President Wheelock, in Connecti
cut, but seemed not to inherit either the intellect, or
enterprise, which distinguished the founder of that dy
nasty.
CHAPTER IV.
k Haste ! ere oblivion s wave shall close.
And snatch them from the deep,
Muse for a moment o er their woes,
Then bid their memory sleep.""
IT has been mentioned that the tribe of natives, whose
traditions we have partially gathered, retained amid its
degeneracy, some individuals worthy of being rescued
from oblivion. Among these, history has been most
faithful in preserving the lineaments of their spiritual
guide, the Rev. Samson Occom. He received instruction
in the sciences and in the Christian faith, from the Rev.
E. Wheelock, afterwards President of Dartmouth College.
The sj^mpathies of this excellent man were aroused by
the ignorance of a race, at once rapidly vanishing, and
miserably despised. Regardless of the censure which
stamped him as an enthusiast, and a visionary, he com
menced a school for them in Lebanon, (Connecticut,)
about the middle of the eighteenth century, and by his
disinterested efforts for their improvement and salvation,
deserves an illustrious rank among Christian philanthro
pists. Occom was his first pupil, and his intellectual ad
vances, and genuine piety, compensated the labours of
his revered instructor. After a residence of several years
in the family of his benefactor, he became the teacher of
a school on Long Island, and endeavoured to impart th#
o
50 SKETCH OF CONA tXli^UT,
fiidimenb of divine truth, to the Moatauk tribe, who were
in his vicinity. His piety, and correct deportment pro
cured for him a license to preach the gospel to bis be
nighted brethren. He travelled through various tribes,
enduring (he hardships of a missionary, and faithfully
doing the work of an evangelist. His eloquence, par
ticularly in his native language, was very impressive, and
his discourses in English were well received, from the
pulpits of the largest and most polished congregations ia
4 he United Slates. In 17G5, he crossed the Atlantic, and
VH- welcomed in England, with a combination of strong
Curiosity j and ardent benevolence, which were highly grat-
lying to him. Here his mind was enlarged by extensive
ntercourse with the wise and the good, with some of
vliom he continued to maintain a correspondence through
out life. At his return, he commenced the discharge of the
duties of his station, with increased ardour, and an inter
esting humility. He delighted much in devotional poet
ry, and presented a volume of hymns, selected by himself.,
vo his American brethren, which together with the let-
.ers which are preserved, evince his correct knowledge
of our language, and the predominance of religious senti
ments in his mind. His residence was not stationary until
near the close of his life, but at the period of this sketch,
he was with his brethren of the Mohegan tribe. They
listened to his instructions with awe, and regarded him
with affectionate interest. When in explaining to them
the sufferings of a Saviour, his eyes would overflow, and
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 51
a more than earthly fervour pervade his features and ex
pressions, they felt convinced that he loved what he im
parted, and honoured his sincerity. But when he enforced
the wrath of the Almighty against impenitence, his tones
rising with his theme, and the terrours of the law bursting
from his lips, they forgot the lowliness of his station, the
subdued meekness of his character, and trembled as if
they had heard rising among the mountains, the voice of
the Eternal Spirit.
Robert Ashbow was the chieftain, the counsellor of the
tribe. Descended from the royal family, he was tenacious
of that shadowy honour ; yet he who might decry such an
empty distinction, could not long scan him, without per
ceiving that nature had enrolled him among her nobility.
She had endued him with a noble form, and an eye,
whose glance seemed to penetrate the secrets of the soul.
His lofty forehead spoke the language of command, though
his countenance when at rest wore a cast of gravity,
even to melancholy, as if his habitual musings were among
the broken images of other days. Yet his kindling brow,
aad the curl of his strongly compressed lip could testify
the fiery enthusiasm of eloquence, or the most terrible
emotions of anger. Some acquaintance with books had
aided the vigour of his intellect, and he was fond of asso
ciating with the better class of whites, because he could
thus gratify his thirst for knowledge. When the general
government of the states had become settled upon a per
manent foundation, Robert Ashbow was permitted to
5& SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
represent his people in the council of the nation, and re
ceived from some of the most distinguished Senators,
proofs that his talents were duly estimated, and his opin
ions honoured. In religion, he was some what more than a
skeptick, and less than a believer. He was familiar with
the language of scripture, and assented to the excellence
of its precepts, yet was perplexed at the division of faith
from practice, which he beheld in many who professed to
obey it. His adorations of the Great Spirit were stated and
reverential. On the death of the Son of God for man, and
on the nature of the gospel breathing peace, and good
will, he reflected with awe, and admiration, but he suffer
ed his reasoning powers to be perplexed witht he faults, the
crimes of Christians. Perhaps also, the command "to
love our enemies," interfered too palpably with his code
of honour, or with that spirit of revenge, which his proud
soul had been taught to nourish as a virtue.
John Cooper deserves also to be mentioned, were it
only because he was the most wealthy man in his tribe,
It would be unpardonable to forget this distinction, in a
country like ours, where wealth so often supplies the
place of every other ground of merit ; and where it is un
derstood by the body of the people, if not literally the
"one thing needful," yet the best illustration of what is
shadowed forth in scripture, as the " pearl of great price,
which the wise merchantman will sell all to obtain.
The habitation of John bore no external marks of splen
dour, but beside a numerous household, his jurisdiction
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 53
extended over a yoke of oxen, two cows, and sundry swine,
riches heretofore unknown among the unambitious sons ot
Mohegan.
He was also a patient, and comparatively skilful agri
culturist. He had a supply of the implements of hus
bandry, for himself and sons, and availed himself of the
labours of the plough, which his countrymen, either from
dislike of toil, or jealousy at innovation, too generally
neglected. The corn of John Cooper might be known
from that of his neighbours, by its tall, regular ranks,
and more abundant sheaves. Its interstices were fill
ed with the yellow pumpkin, and the green crooked-
neck d squash, and its borders adorned with the prolific
field bean. A large stack of hay furnished the winter
food of his animals, as he had not yet aspired to the luxu
ry of a barn. He was regarded by some of his brethren
with a suspicious eye ; not that they envied his possession?,
for they had not learned to place wealth first on the list
of virtues. But they imagined that he approximated too
closely to the habits of white men, whom if they regard
ed as friends, they could not wholly forget had been
invaders. They conceived poverty to be less degrading
than daily toil, and thought he could not be a true Indian,
who would not prefer the privations of one, to the slavery
of the other. But John found patient industry favourable
not only to his condition but to his character. His regular
supply of necessary articles removed those temptations to
intemperance, which arise from the alternation of famine
5*
54 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT.
:md profusion. Labour promoted his health, and provi
dence of comforts for his family inspired a soothing self
.satisfaction. His untutored mind also found the connex
ion, which has been thought to exist between agriculture
md natural religion. While committing his seed to the
f-arth, he thought of Him who made both the earth and her
son who feeds upon her bosom. He remembered that all
his toil would be fruitless, unless that Great Spirt should
give his smile to the sun, and to the rain that matured the
harvest. Softened by such contemplations, his heart be
came prepared for the truths of revealed religion. Mr.
Occom found him a docile student in the school of his Sa
viour, and imparted to him with delight the knowledge of
the word that bringeth salvation. The husbandman sub
mitted himself to the teaching of the Spirit, and embraced
the Christian faith. His employment became dearerthan
ever, and he was continually drawing from it spiritual em
blems, to animate gratitude, or to deepen humility. When
subjecting to cultivation an unbroken piece of ground, the
jrrmibles which invested it, would remind him of the
.spontaneous vices of the unrenovated heart. " Their end
is to be burned," he would say internally, " and such had
been mine, but for thy mercy, my God. 5 The pure
spring that gave refreshment to his weariness, restored to
his thought " that fountain, which cleanseth from sin, and
>f which he who drinketh shall thirst no more." In the
.storm which frustrated his hopes, he traced the wisdom of
Him, who giveth not account of bis ways r.nto man, jjuj
FORTY YEAHS blNChl. OO
irom the cloud sendeth forth the bow of promise to renew
his trust, and the sunbeam to cheer his toil. In the cul
tured fields, clothed with their various garb, he perceiv
ed an emblem of the righteous man, bringing forth good
truits, out of faith unfeigned : in the harvest bowing to the
reaper, he beheld him ready to be gathered into the gar
ner of eternal life. Thus increasing in knowledge and,
piety, Mr. Occom considered him an useful assistant in hit
stated instructions to the people, and thought of commit
ting them to his spiritual charge, when he was compelled
to be absent. But though they acknowledged that what
John Cooper said of religion was well, and his prayers to
the Great Spirit sufficiently long, it was evident that he
did not possess their entire confidence, and some of them
could not refrain from saying, that they " never yet saw
an Indian so e age /after both worlds." Near the dwelling
of John was that of Arrowhamet the warrior, or Zachary
as he was familiarly called, by the name of his baptism.
Tall, erect and muscular, he seemed to defy the ravages
of time, though the records of his memory proved, that
seventy winters had passed over him. He had borne a
part in the severe campaign, which preceded the defeat of
Braddock, and shared the hardships of the war of revolu
tion, as the firm friend of the Americans. The tacitur
nity of his nation prevented that garrulous recitation of
rhe minutiae of his drama, to which aged soldiers are
often addicted ; but sometimes, when induced to speak
of his battles, his flashing eye, and lofty form rising still
Ot) SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
more high, attested his military enthusiasm. His wile.
Martha, who with him had embraced the Christian reli
gion, was a descendant of the departed royalty of Mohe
gan. Their attachment for each other was strong, and
exemplified on his part, by more of courteousness, on her?
by more of affectionate expression, than was common to
the reserve of their nation. Their tenement consisted of
two rooms, with a shed in the rear, for the deposite ot
tools, or the rougher household utensils.
Ilrwas encompassed with a little garden of herbs and veg
etables, and the whole wore an unusual aspect of neatness
and comfort. But a mysterious personage had been ad
ded to that family, which had not within the memory of
the young, comprised but Zachary and Martha. More
than two years had elapsed, since a female had been
observed to share their shelter, and to sit at their board.
The Indians had remarked with surprise that she was of
the race of the whites, 3 7 oung, and apparently in ill health,,
as she never quitted the mansion. "They at first had testi
fied some disgust, but as in their visits to the old warrior
and his companion, she had always looked mildly on
them, and spoken gently, they came to the conclusion,
that " the pale squaw was wauregan," or good. Any in
quiry respecting the guest, was uniformly answered,
" She is our daughter ;" and perceiving that their friends
did not wish to be pressed on the subject, they resigned
their researches, and considered the stranger a? a denizen,
and a friend.
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 57
The Indian possesses in such respects a native polite
ness, which might sometimes be a salutary model to
more civilized communities. It is an accomplishment
which their neighbours of Yankee origin might however
be slow in acquiring. They seem to have elevated into a
virtue, that close inspection of the concerns of their neigh
bour, which almost precludes attention to their own, and
doubtless think their knowledge of the contents of his cel
lar and garret, the management of his kitchen, the gene
alogy of his guests, and his secrets so far as they might be
ascertained, a suitable employment for those who are
commanded to love their neighbour as themselves.
It might have been remarked, however, that since the
arrival of this stranger, the dress of old Zachary was ar
ranged with a more scrupulous attention to neatness. No
rents were observed in any part of his apparel, and where
they threatened to make their appearance, the delicate
stitches of no untaught needle might be traced. The
broad gold band, which had been the present of an officer,
as a testimony of valour, was now constantly worn upon
his well-brush d hat ; and old Martha was arrayed every
afternoon in a plain black silk gown, made in a very
proper and becoming manner. The interiour of the hum
ble house evinced the daily use of the broom, and near
its door two bee-hives, ranged upon a rough bench, sent
forth the cheerful hum of industry. Beds of thyme and
sage lent their aromatic essence to the winged throng,
which might be seen settling upon them with intense
58 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
pleasure, in the earliest ray of the morning sun. The de
partment of medicinal herbs was gradually enlarged, as
they were found to promote the comfort of the drooping in
mate, and Martha had become too old to seek them as
she was wont in the woods. She busied herself frequent-
ly in the construction of work-baskets, whose smooth
compartments displayed the light touches of a pencil, te
whose delicacy the natives laid no claim. The zeal ot
these hospitable beings to promote the accommodation of
their guest was very remarkable. Zachary would push
his rude boat into the distant waters, that he might obtain
supplies of those fish which were accounted most rare, or of
such oysters as might allure the appetite of an invalid.
When he carried to the market articles of domestic manu
facture, he never returned without having expended some
portion of his little gains, in the purchase of a few crack
ers, or a small quantity of wheat flour, or perhaps some
of the tropical subacid fruits, which are so grateful to
the parched lip of the sufferer from febrile disease,
Martha brought with maternal tenderness, the morning
draught of milk warm from the cow, who in her rude
tenement in the rear of the building quietly ruminated.
She would present also on a clean wooden plate, a dessert
from her bee-hive, for the knowledge of whose manage
ment, she was indebted to the gentle being on whom her
care centered. She would also search the adjoining fields
for the first ripe strawberries, and whortleberries in their
reason, and bring them in a little basket of green leaves,
FORTY YEARS SIISTCE. ;>y
that their freshness and fragrance might tempt the sick
ening palate. An emaciated hand would receive these
gifts, and a face white as marble beam with a faint smile,
while a soft voice uttered, " I thank you Mother." But
all seemed in vain, the liliy grew paler upon its stem.
and seemed likely to sink into the grave, lonely and beau
tiful, with all its mysteriousness unrevealed.
One more personage deserves to be noticed ere we
close the brief catalogue. Maurice, or as he was called
before his baptism Kehoran, was deemed by his country
men the most singular of men. Yet so accustomed had
they become to his habits, that they almost ceased to be
an object of animadversion. Years had elapsed since he
withdrew himself from the residence of man, and became
the tenant of a cave, at the base of a rock, at a consider
able distance from the principal settlement. Nature had
there formed an irregular apartment of about twenty feet
in length, and varying in height and breadth. Its aper
ture, much below the stature of a man, was of a triangular
shape, and apparently made by the disruption of the
rock, which formed the roof of the cavern. It was par
tially closed by rolling against it a large stone which was
found within, among other rubbish, which the hermit had
removed. Here Maurice dwelt, subsisting upon the roots
and berries, which the shaggy forest overhanging his roof
supplied, and quenching his thirst at a spring which ran
bubbling from the rocky height, and, gliding past his
door like a riband-snake, disappeared in the adjoining 1
60 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
thicket. Abed of skins afforded him a place of repose,
and the severity of his life distressed even the natives,
who were accustomed to despise hardships arid privation,
Maurice was tall, and emaciated, clad in a rough man
tle of skins, fastened round his loins with a strip of
bark. At a distance he might be taken for a miserable
Franciscan, and as he approached, the crucifix always
borne around his neck, revealed the religion which he
professed. It was the general opinion that the terrible
penances which he endured, had been enjoined as an
expiation for some unknown crime. It was remembered
by the oldest inhabitants that he had been a warrior, and
a hunter of athletic frame, and keen eye. Now, when a
partridge rested near him, or a squirrel sprang from the
branch where he stood, he had been observed to raise his
arm involuntarily, as if to bend his bow, then dropping it
suddenly to exclaim, " No ! No ! there is blood enough
already." His feet were bare, and often wounded by
thorns, and his white beard which he suffered not to be
cut, rested upon his breast. Every autumn he disap
peared, and was no more seen, until the opening spring
permitted him to inhabit his cave, and resume his usual
regimen. It was at length understood, that in his inter
vals of absence, he travelled to Canada, to visit the Jesuit
who converted him, and to become confirmed in the faith
which he had embraced. But the present winter he had
omitted this stated journey. Some fancied that his be
loved instructed was dead, but the majority concluded
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 61
that the infirmities of age precluded the hermit from the
fatigues of his pilgrimage. He was seen to guide his let
tering steps by a staff, and to look vacantly at surround
ing objects, as if his eye was dim to their proportions.
The hair upon his head had become thin, and whiter than
silver, yet he defended it by no covering from the blast
or from the tempest. He now received with unwonted
kindness, additional clothing, or occasional food from his
countrymen, but if they offered him flesh he would repel
it with disgust, saying " it must never pass the lips of
Maurice." The benevolence of Mr. Occom was strong
ly excited in his behalf. He visited him in his cell, re
lieved his famine, and urged him to accept of a milder
faith and to rely on the expiation of his Redeemer, and not
on the mortification of his frail, decaying body. He would
listen calmly to his discourses, but when he touched upon
any peculiar tenet of the Roman church, would wave his
withered hand, with all its wasted energy, and exclaim
** your way is not my way."
CHAPTER V.
Pure Charity,
Who in the sun-beam of her Sire doth walk
Mrtjestic, hath a prayer of love for all ;
Yet not on Indolence and Vice, her gifts
Profusely pours ; lest fostering Sin, she mar
The Deity s good work, and help to stain
His beautiful creation.
THE charities of Madam L had become proverb
ial. Not only did the sufferers in her vicinity resort to
her under the pressure of calamity, but the roving beggar
trusted to find in her mansion, relief or shelter. These
mendicants, not being restrained at that period by the fear
of work-houses, were more numerous in proportion, and
vastly more at ease in their peregrinations than at the
present day. Although there were not among them, as in
England, any selling of stands and circuits, fortunes se
cretly amassed, or establishments which transformed the
gains of the day into nocturnal revels, where the cripple
danced, and the blind recovered their sight ; yet there
existed that system of sympathetic intelligence, by which
the houses of the bountiful were seldom unvisited, or
those of the churl entered. Madam L , being one day
summoned to the kitchen to receive a guest of that order,
was accosted in piteous tones by a man, who raised him
self with difficulty by the aid of a staff upon one limb, while
64 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
the other was so bandaged that it seemed an useless ap
pendage. This he said was disabled by a shot at the battle
f the Eutaw Springs, where, being left senseless on the
field, his head was dreadfully lacerated by the tomahawks
of the Indians. A swelling, and excoriation upon his arm,
which he also exhibited, he termed a " Rose-Cancer."
Moved by such a combination of ills, and ever alive to
the sufferings of those who fought the battles of our revo -
lution, the Lady bestowed on him alms, which rendered
him eloquent in thanksgiving, and ordered him some din
ner. As she retired to her parlour, Cuff following said in
a suppressed voice, " He been here afore, Ma am. He
no more lame, than I lame."
Returning, and scrutinizing him more closely as he par
took of his repast, she recognized in his face, half covered
by the large cap which concealed his wound, some resem
blance to a recent applicant. " Were you here, a short
time since ?" she inquired. " No God bless your soul,
Ma am," answered the man, rapidly. " I never see your
blessed face till this day," regarding Cuff with eyes in
flamed with anger. Beulah then spoke, " three weeks
ago yesterday, he come here, walking on two legs, with
out any hurt in his head, or Rose-Cancer." " Put a spoon
in your calabash-mouth, and see if that will keep down
your false tongue," said the beggar, in his hoarse, natural
voice ; forgetting the melancholy notes, to which he at
first set his articulation. Hastily seizing the pack, from
.which he had imhamess d himself, that he might more
FORTY YEARS SINCE. (55
eas-ily take refreshment, he slipped the strap over his
neck with such an ill grace, as to dislodge the cap, which
he said he was obliged always to keep over his wound,
because the " air made it ache tormentedly." This un
fortunate occurrence discovered an unscalped head, with
a thick growth of hair. The wrinkles, with which he had
plaited his forehead, suddenly disappeared before the
emotion, which put disguise to flight ; for, though proba
bly long inured to dissimulation, he could not without
some compunction be stripped of his mask, in the presence
of abused goodness. " You are the man," said the Lady
in a calm voice, " who, a short time since, requested
charity for a houseless wife and seven children, whose
little home, erected by your industry, was burnt at mid
night. You wept, as you said, that your eldest daugh
ter, who was sick, perished in the flames. Did you not
tell me the name of the village within the borders of Mas
sachusetts, where your family remained, shelterless, and
that you were in haste to gain a little aid, that you might
return and comfort them ?" To this mild appeal the dis
sembler had no answer. He would have repelled anger
with impudence, but undeserved gentleness silenced him.
Busying himself to collect his cap, hat and staff, he uncon
sciously found his useless limb, very serviceable in facili
tating his exit. " Fear not," said the Lady, " that I shall
reclaim the alms I have given you. But remember, though
you may sometimes deceive your fellow-creatures, there
is a Judge whom you cannot escape, whose " eyes are
6*
UU SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
like a consuming fire to all iniquity," Returning to her
parlour, she found her brother Dr. L , waiting to make
her his daily visit. He was the only brother of her de
ceased husband, and a few years younger than herself.
The residence of his family was opposite her own ; and
the unrestrained intercourse, which had ever been main
tained, greatly alleviated her loneliness. Dr. L was
a man of great goodness of heart, and exemplary life.
Gentleness of manner, moderation in sentiment, and sin
cere piety were his characteristicks. As he approached
the close of a long life, (for more than fourscore year
were allotted him,) benevolence became more and more
his distinguishing feature ; as the stream expands more
widely, as it prepares to enter the bosom of that sea,
where its course terminates. Invariable temperance, and
a mind a stranger to those starts of passion which disorder
the wheels of existence, gave him an age of unbroken ac
tivity and health ; cheered by the sight of his children s
children, springing up like olive plants around his path.
He lived to see the eyes of this beloved sister closed in
death, when she had nearly attained fourscore years and
!en. The fraternal attachment, which had been nourish
ed for more than- half a century by the sympathies of daily
intercourse, did not fully reveal its strength, till its ties
were sundered. "Bowing down, he walked heavily, as
one who mourneth for his mother," and in two years
slumbered near her, beneath the clods of the valley.
At the period of this sketch, IIP was in his grand climac-
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 67
terick, with a florid brow, and a step like youthful agility.
He was of small stature, and correct proportions, and in
his attire preserved those ancient fashions, which were
then thought to give consistency and dignity to the form
which time had honoured. A white, full bottomed wig.
beautifully curled, shaded his venerable brow. This was
surmounted by a low-crowned three-cornered hat, or, dur
ing his favourite rides on horseback, by one with a deep
brim, to afford shelter to the eyes. His nicely plaited
stock, long waistcoat, and silver buckles, never yielded to
modern innovations ; and the neatness, which distinguished
his dress, extended through his mansion, and its precincts.
It also pervaded every branch of the domestic depart
ment, and like the spirit of order, promised to be an heir
loom in his family. Such was the person to whom Mad
am L , with the freedom of sisterly intercourse, re
lated the adventure which had just occurred in her kitch
en. " I have long wished," he remarked, " for an op
portunity to converse with you on this subject. I believe
that you are often deceived by those who solicit your
charity. The good are not easily suspicious, and the
wicked take advantage of it."
" I know brother," she replied, "that I have sometimes
given to the unworthy. The occurrence of to-day is by
HO means a solitary one. Yet how can we always dis
criminate, unless we could read the heart ? That suspi
cion, which would guard us against dissimulation in one
i-ce. might turn us from the prayer of real want in
68 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
another. I have thought that while our reliance was upon
a Benefactor " kind to the unthankful and evil," we ought
not to hold, with too strict a hand, the balance of merit,
when we hear the complaint of misery . I cannot find that
our Saviour hath said Relieve only the righteous, but,
" the poor ye have always with you, and whenever ye
will ye may do them good." Does he not almost make
them His substitute ? "me ye have not always," as if
they were to furnish proof of our compassion, when He
should be raised above the ills of humanity ? When I
have thus reflected on this passage, I have felt that I had
rather relieve ten unworthy claimants, than to neglect on e
suffering servant of my Lord."
" These sentiments," said Dr. L , " might be ex
pected from the benevolence of your heart. Yet while
we indulge in charitable feelings, we should be careful
not to reward deceit, or cherish vice. We are command
ed not to do evil that good may come ? ? Is it not pos
sible that, from a zeal to do good, evil may arise ? It is
always safe to give food to the hungry, and clothing to the
naked, and kind words to him who is of a heavy heart.
But the indiscriminate gift of money enables the drunkard
to repeat his sin, and the indolent to become more vi
cious. Benevolence is blessed in itself, but it must be
associated with discretion, ere it can confer blessings on
others. The science of medicine is salutary, but if the
physician use but one remedy for every disease, he will
sometimes occasion death. Yet I would not speak as if
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 69
you alone were liable to deception from those who solicit
charity. It is but a short time since a young man brought
to my house a paper, signed by several persons, de
claring him to be deaf and dumb from his birth. His
conduct comported with this declaration. His questions
were unintelligible to me, and his eye possessed that
earnest, inquiring gaze, which characterizes that interest
ing, and unfortunate race. Affected at the lot of a being,
cut off from all the privileges and joys of society, I was
preparing to impart liberally to his wants. My wife,
regarding him with a penetrating look, said " she had no
doubt he was an impostor, who could hear and speak as
well as any of us." He could not avoid turning his head
as if to listen, and, more moved by resentment than good
manners, answered, " You lie !"
" What," inquired the Lady, " do you consider the best
method of doing good, with the least possible harm ?"
( Undoubtedly, that of relieving the poor, through their own
industry," he answered. " Thus, instead of the degrada
tion of beggary you elevate their character, with the con
sciousness of a right improvement of time. If they are
addicted to vices, you diminish their strength, by destroy
ing indolence. You dry up the streams, by choking the
fountain. A Christian should seek not merely to relieve
bodily want, but to elevate moral character. If you sup
port the children of an intemperate man, you take from him
the strongest possible motive to reformation and industry.
In those countries where establishments for the indigent
70 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT.
have been the most abundant, charity has at length discov
ered, that the way to multiply the poor, is to provide for the
poor ; or in other words to destroy their motives of action."
" Your theory, my brother, no one can question ; the
difficulty seems in reducing it to practice. The sick,
and the infant must ever be an exception, and those also,
who devote themselves to their comfort. The class of
roving mendicants would also evade it, until the commu
nity shall be so impressed as to erect houses for their
restraint and labour. To the families of the poor, who
have health, it applies itself, as the most natural, and
efficacious system of relief. I have ever found wool and
flax gladly received, and wrought by poor, virtuous
iemales. Their children can assist them in some parts of
the toil, and thus industrious habits are implanted, where
otherwise a vagrant idleness might take root. When these
domestic manufactures have exceeded my own wants, I
have sometimes disposed of them at reduced prices among
those who have wrought them. Thus their families are
clad in durable materials, instead of those insufficient
fabrics, which the poor often purchase for the sake of
cheapness, but which vanish long before one inclement
reason has past. I have usually found it expedient not to
render them payment in money, but in those articles
which are necessary to comfortable subsistence ; for I
believe the cause of poverty will often be found to exist
in the destitution of that economy, which warns against
spending the little " all for that which is not bread, and
I ORTY YEARS SINCE. 71
"he labour ior that which satisfieth not." This system of
charity creates such an intimacy and freedom of detail,
rhat opportunities are discovered, where medicines for
sickness, and books for children may be distributed with
great advantage." " This laborious system, have you then
been pursuing, so silently that I had not discovered -it ?"
-:aid her brother. " What I began for a reproof ends as
asual in the commendation, that, " many daughters have
done virtuously, but thou still excellest." " I pray you,
answered the Lady, to mention nothing of what I have
imparted to you. The detail was given merely for the
.-ake of the inference, that the system was too extensive
for an individual. To be rendered effectual, it should be
supported, by an association of the charitable. It ought
to comprise a warehouse, where the materials for labour
should be furnished, the manufactures exposed for sale,
and a stock of articles kept, suitable to be rendered in
payment. This should be superintended by the directors
of the institution ; and a poor, and pious widow, might
receive a salary for attending in it. A collection of such
medicines, as might be administered safely without appli
cation to a physician, might also be connected with it, and
would often prevent serious sickness in those, whose
strengh is put in daily requisition, without the power of
obtaining necessary cordials. Books of instruction for
children, and of consolation for the aged and sorrowful,
should also be kept for gratuitous distribution. I have
thought that a Charity School, if it were kept but on Sat-
72 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
urday afternoons, might give opportunity of teaching many
valuable precepts to the children of those who laboured in
this institution. It might at least then be ascertained how
they had passed their time during the week, and if they
were prepared to attend in a proper manner, the exercises
of the approaching Sabbath."
" The great objection to this excellent system," said
Dr. L , " will be found in the love of ease. The rich
had generally rather satisfy the poor, and their own con
sciences, at the least expense of time and thought. These
objects are accomplished by the gift of money, and a
claim to the title of bountiful is thus easily procured.
This mode of relief involves no troublesome inquiry into
the sources of want no difficult, and perhaps abortive
attempt to awaken industry. To the actings of this indo
lent spirit, we are all more or less prone. This moves
us even in the education of our children, to overlook in
stead of exterminating the ramifications of evil, and t
cover an injury, which will probably affect them through
out the whole of life, with the soft name of affectionate
indulgence."
Their conversation was interrupted by a low rap at the
door, and the entrance of a woman apparently in humble
life. A cloak of homemade cloth covered a form whose
size promised great strength ; and a decent black bonnet
partially concealed a face, where health and an expression
of cheerful contentment reigned. " I have brought home
Ma am," she said " the rest of the yarn which you wish-
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 73
fd to have spun. If you have any more flax, I should be
very glad to take it." " Sit down Mrs. Rawson," said
.Madam L . " You never seem to be tired, while any
work remains. Have you walked three miles this cold,
unpleasant day ?" * Any body who is strong, and well,
need not complain of walking a few miles, Ma am. Some
part of the way is rather wet, but since I ve been able
through your help to get such a pair of strong shoes, I
don t mind any sort of walking. What a blessed thing it
is. when the hearts of the rich are turned to give work to
the poor, and assist them to get the necessaries of life, for
themselves and families."
" Heaven," said Dr. L , " helps those who are wil
ling to help themselves. Have you any children, good
woman ?" " O yes sir. God be thanked. What a lonely
creature I should be without them We live almost a mile
from any neighbour, and they are company and comfort
to me. Some folks blame me, because I don t put them
to service. But there are only two of them, and they re
very serviceable to me. The boy is twelve years old,
and he takes care of the little spot of garden that we have,
and raises vegetables, and cuts my wood in the winter,
and when he can work out a day or two, with the farmers,
he s willing and thankful to do it, to get a little provision
for me, or help pay my rent. The girl is two years
younger, and does the chores while I spin. She takes to
the wheel too, herself, as natural as a duck runs to the
water. My eldest son wanted to follow the seas like his
7
74 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
father. It was a trial to me, but I remembered that he
had the same protector on the water, as on the land.
When he went away, he said " Mother, keep up a good
heart. I shall come back, and bring you something to
help you along." Oh ! with what delight I used then to
read the 107th Psalm, which speaks of them "that go
down to the sea in ships ; to do business in the great
waters, how they see the works of the Lord, and his won
ders in the deep." Many a time, when I have lain awake,
in stormy nights, when my bed has shook under me with
the winds that rock d the house, I have thought perhaps
my poor boy is among those who " mount up to the
heavens, and go down again to the depths, with their soul
melted because of trouble." Then again it would come
into my mind, who knows but he " will cry unto the
Lord, and he will bring him out of his distresses." That
thought comforted me. If he can only be made to seek
his God, in the days of his youth, what matter is it though
he should suffer, and his mother s heart ache ? all would be-
well in the end. When it came time to expect him back,
I found myself too anxious and impatient, for one who .
ought to trust all to God. One day, when I was looking
for him, a wagon drove up to the door. My heart was
in my mouth. A man got out, and brought me a chest,
and said, " This belonged to your son. He died of a fe
ver, a fortnight before we arrived on this coast." My
tongue was speechless something said to me " be still *
and know that 1 am God." All day long, as I went about
FORTY YEARS SINCE.
76
my work, that boy seemed to stand beside me, with his
face between smiles and tears, as when he last said,
" Good bye, mother." When I went to bed, and all was
darkness, his pale corpse lay stretched before me, and I
trembled with agony as when I bore him. But through
that long sleepless night, the same voice repeated, . ** Be
still ! and know that I am God." The next day, I opened
his chest. There lay all the clothes, that those dear
hands had toiled to procure, and I had made for him. But
oh ! what a blessing. Wrapt up in the choicest manner, I
found a prayer, which he had himself written. It has been
my comfort ever since, when I have grieved, as a mother
will grieve for her first-born. Then I could turn to the
psalm, which had been my companion in his absence, and
say, " Oh ! that men would praise the Lord for his good
ness ! and for his wonderful works to the children of men."
How merciful that he was not thrown overboard, without
a moment s time to beg favour of God. But if the child
of many prayers did, in his sickness, pray himself for sal
vation, and be heard, what more have I to desire ? Some
times in my dreams, I have seen him as an angel, walk
ing on the waves, and reaching his hand toward me. God
grant that I may not be deceived in my hope." She
paused, to wipe the tears that were escaping down her
cheeks ; and recollecting herself, said, " I ought to ask
pardon, for talking so much about my own poor con
cerns." Madam L perceiving that her brother was
interested in the narration, said, " I am always edified to
76 SKETCH OP CONNECTICUT,
hear the events of your life, my good Mrs. Rawson ; for
you keep in view the Hand that rules, both under the
cloud, and in the sun-shine. I wish you would relate to my
brother, what you have told me, respecting your husband.
" He was a man," she answered, " l of better edu
cation, than people in his station always enjoy. I mar
ried him, when I was sixteen, and my whole endeavour
was to please him. I did not consider that it is our duty
to seek "first the Kingdom of God, and his righteou c -
ness." My husband was an ambitious man : and at last be
came master of a vessel. He was always looking for great
things, but seemed to be unfortunate. While he was gone
whole years, I would live upon as little as would keep
life in me, so as not to be a burden to him ; and some
times when I was sick, and would have been thankful for
six-pence, to buy medicine, a letter would come from him,
full of nothing but poetry. Yet I was rejoiced to see only
a line, vmtten by his hand, " because of the love I bore
him." Once, when my babes and I were really in want of
food, there came from him a present to me. of a gold
ring, and his picture as big as life. The children were
frightened to death, at the sight of such a great face, that
did not talk ; and they cried and screamed so, that I had
to carry it up garret, and turn it the backside out. 1 soid
the gold ring, and bought Indian meal, and some wool to
spin stockings for our bare feet. I would have sold the
picture, but nobody would buy it. I thought it was not
becoming in ma to keep such a costly thing. I wrote to
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 77
my husband " if you had but sent me a piece of meat as
big as the picture, I should know what to do with it.
Here are three little mouths, wanting to be rilled, that
call you Father."" But he meant all in kindness. Once
he sent me money to buy a small house, which he liked,
But the man, who had the care of it, spent it, and before
he got ready to pay me, he failed, and could not. Yet I
found that what I repined at, was in mercy. Not long
after, that very house took fire in the night, and burnt
down : and who knows, but what if we had lived there,
one of the children might have been burned in it ?
After some time, my husband came home, a poor, sick
creature, with a leg to be taken off. I felt as if I knew
not which way to turn, to make him comfortable. But
strength came with the need. The doctor was favourable
in his bill, and I was able to be about, both day and night.
My husband suffered every thing in the operation, and in
the sickness afterwards. He was disappointed at being
so poor, when he had promised himself riches ; and all
together made him very unhappy, and violent. His oath?
and curses made me tremble, but I knew that he was in mis
ery, and my prayers rose for him with almost every breath.
Those, who heard him speak to me, thought he was un
kind, but they did not know what he suffered. My voice
was always cheerful to him ; but, when he slept, I took
time to weep. My greatest sorrow was, that he seemed
to be hastening into the presence of his Maker, with a
heart bitter against him. If he awoke, and I was not by.
7*
78 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT,
he would shriek after me in a voice that frightened me,
saying that when I was away, evil spirits came to tear
him. Yet when I appeared, he would sometimes say,
that my sight was hateful to him, as theirs. Hi? pain,
made him loath all creatures, and himself also. But God
in mercy, gave him a better frame of spirit. For a month
before his death, there were no blasphemies, but prayers
for patience. He would ask me to read from the good
book, and listen with tears. I feared to say much to him,
because of his weakness ; but I thanked my Father in
Heaven for his altered mind. When he died, he looked
at me, and his children, with a mild, pleasant face, and
though he was not able to speak, it seemed as if there was
peace within his heart. I asked him, if he could leave
his fatherless children with God, and he bowed his head
with a smile, that lifted a weight from my heart. For
many months, the sound of his groans lingered in my ears,
both when I lay down, and when I rose up, but I commend
ed my soul to the God of the widow, and was preserved. 1
>; And were you able," said Dr. L , " to support
your children entirely by your own industry T *
" Oh ! that would have been but a light matter, Sir,"
replied Mrs. Rawson, " for they were ail healthy, and
willing to help according to their years. We ate our hum
ble food with a good appetite, and found at nigln that the
" * sleep of the labourer is sweet," and rose in the morning
with thankful hearts to Him who permitted us to live in his
good and beautiful world. Once, when we were eating
FORTY YEARS SINCE. 79
our breakfas-t of potatoes, the youngest boy, who was then
about five years old, lifted up to me his bright eye, and
rosy face, and said, " Mother, when I am a little bigger,
the farmers will hire me to work, aifd then I shall bring
you home, a bushel of rye." But what made me feel for
a little while, as if I did not know how to get along, was
when my father and mother came to live with me, just
after I was left a widow. I was willing to work my ringers
to the bone for them, but they were old, and infirm people,
and my house was very small, and I feared that I could
not make them comfortable. It did seem to me too, that
my sister, who sent them down to me from Vermont, was
better able to take care of them than I ; for she had a
husband, and a good farm, and was well-off in the world
while I had to work early and late to get my children
bread. But I thought again God has ordered it, and he
will provide; though I have not even a barrel .of meal, 01
a cruse of oil, like the widow in the Old Testament. And
so it was we were all able to live upon the little that my
hands obtained, until my poor mother became sick and
bedrid ; and then the good people were very kind to help
me to medicines, and comfortable things for her. She was
a heavy woman, and in lifting her I strained my breast,
.-o that it has never been strong since. But how much
more did she endure for me in my infancy and how small
a part could I pay the mother, who had patience with
my helpless and wayward years. Often have I thought,
when I was broke of my rest for many nights, and had
80 SKETCH OF CONNECTICUT.
laboured hard in the day, "O if I could ever find it in
my heart to forsake ray father and mother, how could 1
hope that the Lord would take me up in my distresses. "
And I thank Him who gave me strength unto the end ; for
their aged eyes blessed me, when their voice was lost in
death. " Surely goodness and mercy have followed me
all the days of my life ; and I believe there will always
be a handful of corn, on the mountain-tops for me."
"God will bless you, good woman," said Dr. L -,
"he will be your shield in necessity, and reward your
piety in another world." Then rising to depart, he put
something into the hand of his sister, saying, " Be my
almoner, you know best how to make it acceptable to
her. I perceive there are some, to whom it is safe to
give money in whose hands it ceases to be the u root
of evil," and bringeth forth good and peaceable fruits."
CHAPTER VI.
" Mistake me not for my complexion
The shadowed livery of the burnish d Sun,
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
But prove whose blood is reddest, thine or mine."
Merchant of Venice.
In the neighbourhood of Madam L , was a tenement,
inhabited by an aged African, whose name was Primus.
To him she extended not only her benevolent offices, but
her kind regard. Ven 
