USA > Rhode Island > Washington County > Narragansett > South county studies of some eighteenth century persons, places & conditions in that portion of Rhode Island called Narragansett > Part 6
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tered at the death-bed of Saffin's "Sweet Son Scimon." The testator directs that his body shall be buried in his tomb in Boston, and he commits his soul into the hands of God, hoping for pardon for all his sins, through the righteousness of Christ. To this prayer, who that has followed him through the sorrows and sufferings of his burdened life will not breathe a char- itable Amen. John Saffin's studious pursuits seem to have been the most congenial to his temperament, and Scholars he esteemed in his sounding phrase as "cele- briously Renowned." The Puritans paid devout hom- age to the funeral muse, and Saffin's elegiac offerings were doubtless acceptable, difficult as it is in this gen- eration to conceive of them as received in the spirit in which they were offered. Probably the surviving friends and admirers were gratified by the epitaph on the Rev. John Wilson, which opens with an air of cheer- ful bustle:
"Rejoice, blest spirits, sing a little higher, Here's one more added to your sacred quire,"
or by such graceful tributes as the one sacred to the memory of the relict of Governor Leverett, from which we learn that
"She was a gentlewoman grave and sage, Yet juvenile and agille in her age,"
and which closes with this touching adjuration:
"Let comfort rise;
Forbear to weep, dear friends, muse wipe thine eyes."
But when the writer mingled poetry with politics, and served up petitions in verse, he was disrelished even [ 70 ]
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by the childish statesmen of his time. A friend begs to know why he had thus addressed His Excellency, and is answered at length by the stubborn Saffin, who 'relapses" into verse before closing. He naturally in- spired intense disgust in Governor Dudley, and bitter indeed was the opposition of temperament between the unscrupulous man of affairs and the opinionated victim of his literary ambitions.
Considering the life of Saffin as a study of Puritan- ism, we find in him an example of the zeal for learn- ing and the tenacity of political right and privilege with which that system has been identified. In other aspects he suggests the common limitations of the colonial character, rather than its most marked developments. Credulity, superstition, acrimony, obstinacy, and illib- erality are prominent qualities of the unconscious re- corder of his own deficiencies. Though he rose to high office, by means of his forcible though narrow abilities and effective if limited learning, he was marked by self- will rather than by genuine strength of character. He was a Puritan of the highly respectable type, neither manifesting the worst features of the persecuting spirit, nor rising to that degree of moral earnestness by which his most enlightened contemporaries were known. Cast in the Puritan mould by force of circumstances, his na- ture is yet of that Philistine development which recurs under all conditions. The fire that lighted the lamp of his earthly day was no coal from the altar, but too often burned luridly with the gusty flame of an unholy anger. Intellectually, his great defect was the lack of humor, which he shared with a generation almost destitute of that kindly quality. Must not a sense of the ludicrous,
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even, have been wanting in the "J. S." of his book, and in other diarists of his type? This deprivation affected the balance of their political as well as social structure. The ideal Puritan commonwealth was as palpably absurd in some of its features as was Jack Cade's, and because of the same flaw in the intellectual vision which marred the judgment of that uncom- promising reformer. The absence of humor leaves all the outlines of character rugged and grotesque, and the unchecked cause of enthusiasm and fanaticism may be anticipated in minds closed to its humanizing in- fluences. A sense of humor in the savage as in children appears in a rudimentary state, and may express itself in acts of brutality; but in its most refined form it is assuredly one of the last products of civilization. Pos- sibly Milton needed not to number among the throng- ing powers that obeyed his will, this mundane sprite of the mind, this tricksy Robin Goodfellow of intel- lectual necromancy. Yet Milton stands almost isolated in his lack of that humble quality which in his peers often assumes a higher aspect, and commands homage lasting as literature, inextinguishable as the laughter of the Gods. And in the ways of common life, it is ac- cepted as among American ideas that humor is neces- sary to the integrity of mental health and peace.
John Saffin's old age was unsoftened by the ideal at- mosphere of that season which, in its chastened and tender calm, like a rare day in autumn, suggests the word of philosophy touched by the sentiment of hu- manity. He was a man of an honest temper, and in his solitary communings with his pen, he delights to deal in eulogy as unstinted as his satire is unsparing.
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He mingled with local questions the same gall of bit- terness which his Boston associates had found griev- ously unpalatable; yet sometimes acted from a truer sense of citizenship than that of his more guarded op- ponents. He grew morbid and vexed in spirit from the time of that heavy affliction in the loss of his entire family, which, as he has said, tended to his almost in- supportable grief. Henceforth he developed that mind of discontent which found matter to brood over in the disappointment of his public life. His domestic hopes and his higher ambitions came alike to failure; and as he was gradually severed from his earlier associa- tions he sank into the dregs of a sullen old age. Though he may hardly move us to pity as we contemplate him in the harshness of his desolation, a Lear who spurned the offices of his Cordelia; yet, as his body is borne to its burial, and as the tomb wherein wife and children had long been laid is open to receive him, we lose the thought of his grievous infirmities in the large sense of that awe with which we hail the passing of mor- tality. When Governor Andros, so fiercely hated by the provincials, followed the remains of his wife to the grave, the citizens of Boston, moved by a common im- pulse, did their reverence to the man which they had refused to the ruler. And though we may not deny that John Saffin was a man of bitter nature, and be- longed to a stern generation, we are moved by a kin- dred sense of compassion for his departed spirit. Shall the charity granted to the individual be extended to the system that nurtured him? Time was when it pro- nounced all judgments, and heard no petitions. The most favored nation known to the dealings of history,
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the Puritan state, alone among despotisms, has found disinterested eulogists, even numbering among them the descendants of its victims. But the days of crude eulogy will never return. The old commentators ex- tolled an Ehud, or a Jael, but their Puritan imitators no longer find apologists. The Golden Legend of New England, tested in the crucible of scientific research, yields up its dross. Even in the poetry of this gener- ation, the Pilgrims, safe in the bosom of Dutch Cal- vinism, no longer fly from persecution. Realism in his- tory employed by such practical inquirers as Dr. Coit, Judge Staples, Judge Potter, and broadened by the methods of a philosophical historian like Mr. William Weeden, compels the admission that the mass of the colonists emigrated chiefly to better their condition in life, their appetite for land, according to one author- ity, being very great. While among the leaders men of the highest purity of motive may be found, their counsels were unhappily not the prevailing ones (sav- ing the honored name of Winthrop), and the Puritans of Massachusetts stand convicted before the tribunal of their own century, since their contemporaries, the Roman Catholics of Maryland, the Quakers of Penn- sylvania, and the Baptists of Rhode Island, practised religious toleration, and had nearly developed the sepa- rate existence of Church and State. Alone among these spiritual forces, Puritanism, a spirit furnished with a body, remained exalted on the judgment seat, long after the vital energy had fled and but the dead hoperemained to mock the rising emancipation of Massachusetts. If the counsels, customs, and traditions of our own state have now and again been tinged with the hues of a
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gloomy period, the worst evils of the time threatened us only as hovering shadows, having no substance of power, and soon to be dispersed by the reconciling word that restored to Christianity, as to a kingdom not of this world, the primitive conditions of peace and purity. Many anti-Puritan readings of history, and solemn ar- raignments of colonial bigotry and persecution, have formed a part of the teachings of this Society, speaking through some of its most honored members, who have shown that to all the spiritual wealth of the Puritan, Rhode Island is the rightful heir. But will it be asked, why search so unsparingly into the darkened counsels of the unhappy past? Why set in relief those passages of Puritan history that a generous forgetfulness would gladly cover? Because the voice of justice, the spirit of humanity, the honor of Massachusetts herself, de- mand that the dark chapters in her history, the cruel deeds wrought by her untitled hierarchy, shall never be condoned.
"Still will ye ask why this taunt Of memories sacred from the scorner ? And why with ruthless hand I plant A nettle on the graves of honor?"
The defence made by New England's loyal son and most honored poet may shelter all who humbly follow Whittier in his fearless judgment upon the works of Puritanism.
"Not to reproach New England's dead This echo from the past I summon, Of manhood to the scaffold led, And suffering and heroic woman."
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No-but to pay honor where honor is due; and not only to the martyrs of Puritan persecution, but to many witnesses of the last sufferings of their spiritual breth- ren, those Puritans commonly called Quakers, who gave sign, by ominous mutterings, or still more foreboding silence, that they were not consenting unto their deaths. The heart of the commonwealth was sound. If the sub- ject of this paper, in some of his traits, inevitably sug- gests the sordid greed of the elders, the unselfish lives of his mother, wife, and son, so rich in spiritual beauty, represent the influences that redeem a people from the full weight of that reproach which their leaders must bear. Not from names which have been wrongfully canonized by an arrogant tradition, but from those which history will never know, comes the inheritance of that true spirituality which expresses itself in hum- ble renunciation. What have we gained by all the ad- vances of a civilization that separates us by so great a distance from the seventeenth century, if we are likely to lose that assurance to which the many inarticulate natures clung as an intuition, and the few illuminated minds held with the power of a revelation, that the sacred thirst after righteousness demands the sacrifice of man's nearer needs to his purer aspirations?
"For through all life I see a Cross, Where sons of God yield up their breath; There is no gain, except by death, There is no vision but by Faith ; Nor glory, but by bearing shame, Nor justice, but by taking blame, And that Eternal Passion saith, Be emptied of glory, and right, and name."
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A SUNDAY IN OLD NARRAGANSETT
M IDSUMMER Sunday of 1754 shines bright and fair over the tranquil land, touching with serenest light the gentle slope so fitly chosen by the fathers as the sacred site of their house of prayer and praise. Here, deep in the enduring silence of these wooded hills, among these placid blue lakes and low- voiced streams, nature keeps an eternal Sabbath.
At the time we attempt to illustrate, the Narragan- sett Church (St. Paul's) has long been one of the most important in New England, and as such is well known at home, as the colonists still fondly style the mother country, perhaps with some dim, unacknowledged hope of a late return to her shores. "Let him go to Narragansett," wrote the Bishop of London, nearly fifty years before, in reference to the curate of King's Chapel, between whom and his rector some misunderstanding had arisen. "There he may have a hundred pounds per annum sterling, and what perquisites he may make upon the place, besides being his own master." But a self-willed missionary proves no less unpopular in Nar- ragansett than in Boston, nor is it long before the bishop, in much perplexity of spirit, desires to be particu- larly informed "concerning the insolent riot which Mr. Bridge hath committed upon the church of Rhode Island." The congregation next sustained a severe loss in the death of one whose promised residence among them they had every reason to anticipate with feelings of hope and encouragement. This was the Reverend Dudley Bradstreet, grandson of the venerable Governor Bradstreet. "A native of the country," says the records
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of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, "and a proselyte of their way by education." In 1721 arrived in Narragansett the Reverend James MacSparran, of Scotch-Irish descent, and a graduate of Glasgow Uni- versity; having been recently appointed to the rector- ate of St. Paul's-possibly through the influence of his patron and friend, Sir Francis Nicholson, a colonial governor, and a founder of Trinity Church, Newport. He immediately, and with much zeal and diligence, entered upon the duties of his office, in which he has now continued more than thirty years.
Some hours ago, the parish clerk, who also acts as sexton, left the long, low, weather-stained cottage at the foot of the hill, to throw open the doors and win- dows of the church, and admit the delicious breeze freshly borne from the ocean, but here mingled with the warm odors floating in from the surrounding forest. Although it is too early for the usual time of morning prayer, a subdued murmur of many voices echoes through the church, and now rises upon the full strains of a closing hymn. Dr. MacSparran is catechizing a hundred or more of the slaves of his parishioners, with here and there an Indian among them. Even the "Independents" and "Quakers," between whom and the honest, but not too liberal doctor there is so much ill-concealed enmity, must own that he is doing a good work now-and against great opposition-for he has found it almost impossible to convince the wealthy planters of the colony, that it is not an irreligious act to bestow religious instruction upon negro slaves! Per- suasive tracts for general distribution were forwarded by the Venerable Society; the Bishop of London ad-
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dressed a pastoral letter "To the masters and mis- tresses of families in the English plantations abroad"; and even those sublime authorities, His Majesty's at- torney-general and solicitor-general, were invoked to declare, in a learned opinion, that the rite of baptism was not incompatible with the condition of servitude. These remonstrances would have produced only a slight and temporary effect, had they not been enforced and recommended by the all-pervading energy, the genuine Christianity of the earnest incumbent of St. Paul's. His people yield to a firmer will than their own, but with- out perceiving that by admitting their slaves to the duties and privileges of responsible beings, they have virtually pronounced their emancipation. Some of them may have survived to share the general consternation that ensued, when, in the next generation, Thomas Hazard of South Kingstown, then in the zenith of his manhood and the fullness of his wonderful argumen- tative powers, began to illustrate, both by example and teaching, those broad principles of human freedom, from which, during the varied course of a long life, he never swerved, and the first promulgation of which has led to results of so vast magnitude throughout New England and the whole country.
The music ceases, the doctor's Sunday-school of larger children is dismissed, and the dusky crowd dis- perses about the sunny slope, already thickly set with gravestones, to await their masters' approach. Some of them will afterwards return to occupy the gallery until the close of the morning service. Many of these are old family servants, whose names and faces have long been familiar to the rector. Doubtless, his wife's maid, whom
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he has oddly christened Margaret African, is present. Here, too, are 'Mint and Dimmis, Rochelle (Madam Powell's woman), Luce and Bethany; while among the men are Peter and Plato, Senegambia (a kind of ÆEsop, whose sayings and stories are still current in Narra- gansett), with York, London, Dedford, Orson, and other such quaintnesses in names as perpetuate the thoughtless caprice or humorous fancy of the masters who conferred them. Perhaps we may also distinguish the gloomy features of the Indian woman whom the church records grandly style "Sarah, Queen Dow- ager." The Doctor is innocently fond of fine words, and describes Miantonomi (is it from a vague association with Dryden's play?) as "The Indian emperor." Her Majesty is accompanied by her daughter, crowned, previous to the Revolution, as Queen Esther - the last heir but one to the empire of the Narragansetts - as the Doctor would say.
At this season the church is well filled, -when the heat is not oppressive, - for, in the Doctor's somewhat petulant phrase, "Here, in Nov-Anglia, we are always either frying or freezing,"-with the gentry of the sur- rounding country and their numerous guests. Many of those who most regularly attend the services, trav- erse distances of sixteen or twenty miles in going and returning. From Boston Neck and Point Judith, from Tower Hill and Little Rest, now Kingston Hill, and even from beyond Wickford, come the tall squires and stately dames, mounted on their famous Narragansett pacers, of Andalusian race; the gentlemen in wigs and cocked hats, the ladies gay in as much finery as can possibly be made consistent with the inevitable riding-
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habit. It is a bright and varied picture which comes suddenly into view as the cavalcade winds through the green and shaded lanes, late so silent, but now blithely echoing to the swift hoof-beats and click of harness, mingling with the clear tones of cheerful and animated talk. For, in Rhode Island, Sunday was never regarded as a mournful occasion, and least of all by these sim- ple, kindly people who count it no sin to enter upon the honest performance of their religious duties with right hearty English cheer and good will. Nor would it be very singular if some of them should even linger by the church door rather longer than is absolutely neces- sary for the mere exchange of cordial greetings. People are so isolated on those great plantations! and there are so few opportunities of coming together and dis- cussing the latest European intelligence, as developed in last week's Boston News-Letter - or any other sub- ject that may prove interesting. Less pardonable will it be if the gentlemen's conversation should be insensibly drawn, by force of irresistible attraction, in the direc- tion of their recent field sports-the fox-hunt in Pet- taquamscutt woods, or the pace races on Little Neck beach, for the prize of a silver tankard. Really, if any of the Doctor's worthy parishioners are betrayed into such errors of talk, it must be (as their wives judi- ciously decide) entirely the fault of their guests, these Virginian gentlemen, who to-day are attending church in such state, with a lofty and complacent air of tak- ing the service and the parson into their sublime favor and protection. There was then much sympathy, and a frequent interchange of visits between Virginia and Narragansett. Probably the Doctor has already paid his
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respects to the imposing strangers, who may have con- descended to impart to him several particulars con- cerning their governor, whom he mentioned in his "America Dissected," as "Mr. Dinwoody, my class- mate at the college of Glasgow."
But the time of intercourse is brief, for the tolling bell summons this congregation of highly respectable miserable sinners to their large square pews, guarded by exclusive doors. Here are representatives of the old South County families-the quality, as they are called by their humbler neighbors. Here are those staunch churchmen, the Brentons, the Coles, the Gardiners, the Phillipses, the Updikes, with many others who sacredly cherished and strenuously upheld the traditions of home-rule in Church and State. Prominent among the parish officials are John Balfour (afterwards buried be- neath his own pew), Charles Dickinson, and John Case, Esquires. The latter, although now past the sunnier re- gion of middle life, is still active and even gay; warm hearted, public spirited; always a generous benefactor to the church and the poor. And Phillippa, his wife, or consort, in the stately phrase which was the fashion of that day, is she of serene and gracious presence, as befits her courtly name? We shall never know. "She was a lady of real piety and goodness." Thus far the in- scription on her tombstone.
Madam Powell no longer occupies the pew so well known by her name, but it may perhaps be filled by her surviving sister, the widow of Colonel William Cod- dington, of Newport, and her daughter Content. They often visit Narragansett at this season, and Madam Cod- dington is godmother to most of the children of her
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niece, Mrs. James Helme, including Rowse, who passes his Sundays at home, but will be expected to-morrow by his legal instructor, Matthew Robinson, Esq., of Hopewell, as he calls his place near Little Rest Hill, and who has just entered the church-yard, deep in conver- sation with Colonel Lodowick Updike, the son of the colonial attorney-general.
Mrs. MacSparran is usually accompanied by one of her husband's classical students. Says the Doctor, in reference to "New Haven College," ... "the president, Mr. Thomas Clap, was my scholar, when I first came into these parts, and on all occasions gratefully ac- knowledges his receiving the first rudiments of his learning from me." Seated in the "parsons pew," she is slowly undulating her large fan, with that air of lan- guid and melancholy grace with which she still looks upon us from her portrait, painted by Smibert, when he and Bishop Berkeley were the guests of Dr. Mac- Sparran at the Glebe. She was a Narragansett beauty, "Handsome Hannah," the sister of Colonel John Gar- diner, that worthy country gentleman, and "so dis- tinguished," as good Parson Fayerweather exclaims, when alluding to her death. Another one of this lady's brothers, who became somewhat more widely known, out of Narragansett, than even Colonel John, was the Sylvester Gardiner, M.D., of Boston, who owed the ad- vantages of an European education to the quick per- ceptions, valuable advice, and solicitous directions of his reverend brother-in-law.
From time to time, many glances are turned toward that attractive quarter of the church where Colonel Thomas Hazard of Boston Neck is surrounded by his
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family of fair daughters - Penelope, Sarah, Alice, and the rest. Not far from them are their cousins, Joseph Hazard, Esq., and his mother, Mrs. Esther, the widow of Governor Robert Hazard, and well known through all the country side by the appellation of "Queen Es- ther" in recognition of her great energy of character and commanding presence.
Esquire Willett is not quite punctual this morn- ing, rather later, in fact, than a churchwarden has any right to be, and his usual serene dignity is just touched with a slight consciousness of his unwonted derelic- tion in this respect. Yet the good squire need not re- proach himself very severely. He ordered his horse in good season for an early ride to his beloved planta- tion of young oaks, and, once engrossed by his wood- land favorites, became heedless of the passage of time, until at last, roused to a sense of his neglect, he has hastened to arrive just at the moment when service begins.
The squire's delight in trees is not shared by his neighbors, the residents of North Kingstown. He is greatly esteemed and respected by them, no doubt; at town meeting it is customary for them to say: "We can't commence business till the squire comes "; but in this matter of tree-planting he is held to be decidedly eccentric. To so many of our first settlers the idea in- stantly and involuntarily associated with the sight of a tree was that of a "murdhering Indian Salvage" in lurking behind it. Their immediate descendants liked smooth fields, with a clear outlook from their doors, and retained an unreasonable dread of affording any covert to a stealthy foe. Memories of the Great Swamp
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