THE NEW ENGLAND LIBRARY AND ITS FOUNDER.
BY VICTORIA REED.
Thomas Prince was an eminent divine and accomplished scholar, well known throughout New England during the first half of the 18th century. His life is worthy of consideration on many accounts, but particularly for the great work he accomplished outside of his profession. He is, perhaps, best known to this generation as the collector of the Prince Library, now incorporated with many other private collections in the Public Library of Boston, although his published work, “The Chronology of New England,” confers an equal benefit on posterity, and both together entitle him to a place of honor in our annals.
His library was gathered as much for the instruction of others as for his own gratification. It is interesting to know that this bequest, now one hundred and fifty years old, obsolete in some respects, is still highly valued. Some writer says, that, if for no other reason, there should be a new fire-proof building for the Public Library for the better preservation of the Shakespeare collection and the Prince Library. The valuable editions of Shakespeare arranged in glass cases in the Bates Hall are no doubt familiar to many people, but it is possible that the majority even of the daily visitors to this institution have no definite knowledge of the Prince Library, which is found, on examination, to contain a fund for the curious, as well as many things of importance to the antiquarian.
This library was added to the Public Library twenty-four years ago, and was originally a gift to the Old South Church. It is a collection which should be treasured, not only by Bostonians and all New England people, but is also of importance to the country at large, as it was, in a limited sense, the forerunner of all public libraries in the land. It is of a twofold nature,—an historical section, with the other devoted to ecclesiastical works. Mr. Prince designed the ecclesiastical or Old South collection, as he called it, for the use of the pastors and church of which he was associate pastor forty years. This contained all the Latin and Greek books, and all in oriental languages.
His will states: “That whereas I have been many years collecting a number of books, pamphlets, maps, prints and manuscripts, either published in New England or pertaining to its history and public affairs, to which collection I have given the name of ‘Ye New England Library,’ and have deposited in the steeple of the Old South Church; and as I made this collection from a public view and desire that many important transactions might be remembered, which otherwise would be lost, I hereby bequeath the collection to the Old South Church forever, to the end that this collection may be kept entire. I desire that this collection be kept in a different department from the other books, and that it may be so made that no person shall borrow any book or paper therefrom, but that any person whom the pastors and deacons of the church for the time being shall approve, may have access thereto, and take copies therefrom.”
The Prince catalogue states that, “at his death, the New England Library was the most extensive of the kind that had ever been formed. It contains, in its depleted state, not less than 1,500 books and tracts relating to America during the period of our colonial history.”
The Mather family and Gov. Hutchinson are alone to be compared with Mr. Prince as collectors of books, and theirs avail little, as they have been scattered and destroyed. It is a matter of congratulation that the greater portion of Mr. Prince’s books have been preserved, each of which had been carefully selected, “many bearing name, date of purchase, cost, and place where it was acquired.” He frequently noted contemporaneous events of public importance on fly-leaf.
A great number were purchased during a seven-years’ residence in Europe, and some one says, “By means of this memoranda, we can easily trace the stages of his sojourn abroad.” He invented a very quaint book-plate, with flowered border, in which he inscribed his name.
Many valuable books and manuscripts were destroyed at the beginning of hostilities, which resulted in the Revolutionary war. The library, when entire, was a rare monument to the energy and perseverance of Mr. Prince, who, through a long and laborious life, never lost sight of this cherished project of his youth. It has never been merged into any other collection, but remains entirely separate, in accordance with the will of the testator. It has a special catalogue, and no book is ever taken from the building, though accessible for reference in the main hall. The books are deposited in an alcove at the top of the house, reached by a spiral stairway. Many of them are of immense size, in heavy leather bindings, while others are of the smallest dimensions. The pages are yellow with age, and the majority will have only the ravages of time to contend with, as the contents are not of a nature to make them attractive to the youth, or even to many maturer minds of this generation; but to the antiquarian, and as a picture of the growth of a mind in Puritan days, from its earliest years to advanced age, this collection is unequalled; for it was carefully selected, subject to the taste and needs of Mr. Prince’s nature, and each book was familiar and favorite ground to him.
The first book with date bears this inscription: “Thos. Prince, his book, 1697, 10 years of age.” The book was “Marrow of Modern Divinity,” with “Awakening Call to the Unconverted” attached, and in his 16th year the following book was added: “Some Account of Holy Life and Death of Mr. Henry Gearing, late citizen of London, who departed this life Jan. 4th, 1693, aged 61. Boston in New England, printed for Sam’l Phillips, at the Brick Shop, 1704.” Underneath is written, “Anno Domini, 1704, Thomas Prince, Duke of Landwich, Earl of Penapog.”
The taking down of the first Old South and “Ye day of laying foundation of ye South Church, New Meeting House, March 31, 1727,” are duly chronicled in books of those dates. All through his life Thomas Prince showed a wonderful adaptability in noting the minutest as well as greatest events, and we trace a thorough command of detail in his published work, both lay and clerical. This, joined with enthusiasm and unflagging zeal, caused him to master all difficulties, and to accomplish tasks that would be appalling to an untrained or undisciplined mind.
One of the cards used for reference in the Public Library contains the following: “The Prince Library has some rare specimens of the earliest typographical art in British America, and other books of peculiar interest in the history of New England, though not printed in America. The Bay Psalm Book, which was printed at Cambridge, Mass., in 1640, being the first book ever printed in the British Possessions, ‘The Freeman’s Oath’ and a small almanac only preceding it. What is supposed to be the original draught of the preface of this book, in the handwriting of one of the editors, the Rev. Richard Mather, is among the Prince MSS. Elliot’s Indian Bible,—first edition printed at Cambridge, 1663,—also Eliot’s Indian Primer, 1720, in original binding, and thought in that style to be unique. Capt. John Smith’s description of New England, printed in London, 1616, with the early map. This copy contains the old and new names, and has differences from most copies that have been preserved.”
Mr. Prince collected the original manuscripts of the “Mather Papers,” and arranged them chronologically with notes. He seemed to know intuitively that everything should be preserved that would be of the least advantage to future historians. The salvation of the records of this most important family, who, with extreme rigor and cruelty even, in some cases, ruled the Puritans of their day, was a natural and thoughtful act on Mr. Prince’s part.
The “Hinckley Papers” are of great interest also. The catalogue of this portion of the library has been very carefully prepared, as each letter in all these manuscript collections is designated by subject, the name of the writer, date, and volume that contains it. The Hinckley papers were those belonging to Mr. Prince’s maternal grandfather, Gov. Hinckley, who had a very extensive correspondence during the twenty years he was governor of Plymouth Colony. It contains letters from all men of note of that period,—Roger Williams, the Cottons, the Mathers, Gov. Winslow, a letter of King Charles II. to Gov. Josiah Winslow, Gov. Hinckley’s address, and petition to James II.; also many personal letters to wife and daughters. Mr. Prince says “that on his grandfather’s death he took these papers from his study, but while he was in Europe some of curiosity and value were unhappily lost.” There are some Prince papers, mostly letters of distinguished divines to his brother, Rev. Nathan Prince. In his brother’s commonplace book he inscribes, “This book belongs to the New England Library. Begun to be collected by Thomas Prince upon his entering Harvard College in 1703, and was given by Prince to s’d library in memory of his late dear brother, ye Rev. Nathan Prince, M.A., formerly Fellow and Tutor of Harvard College. Born at Sandwich, November, 1698; died at Rattan, 1748, and wrote this manuscript before he left sd college in 1742.” The catalogue remarks: “Two vols. MSS., evidently companions to this book, are in the Library of Bishop of London at Fulham.”
There is in the Prince Library quite a large collection of ecclesiastical history and biblical literature.
The psalms in numberless versions, metres, and paraphrases, in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek; one hundred and six volumes on natural, polemic, and practical theology. All his own works are to be found here; as many as thirty-three sermons, mostly funeral discourses, others commemorating great events, such as victories at Culloden and Louisburg. He gave frequently the genealogy of the person eulogized in his funeral orations, thus making them valuable for family reference, and often of historical significance. We easily trace the early bent of his mind toward chronology. It gathered force throughout his whole career, and finally bore fruit in his own “Chronology of New England,” on which he spent many years of preparation.
He said himself, when he presented it in person to the House, of which Hon. Mr. Quincy was speaker, in 1736: “I most humbly present to your honor, and this honorable house, the first volume of my ‘Chronology of New England,’ which at no small expense and pains I have composed and published for the instruction and good of my country.” He published three parts of the second volume, and made elaborate preparations for its continuance. He began his work at the patriarchal period, and brought it down with careful attention to reliable facts into the earliest annals and descriptive history of Plymouth Colony, throwing light on the mode of living and thinking of the Puritans by copious quotations from their diaries. If his diligent and inquisitive mind could have completed this wonderful production,—bringing it to the middle of the 18th century,—it would have been such a perfect and minute account of the early history of New England that there would have been nothing for later historians to glean. It was, however, unappreciated at the time of its publication, which was a discouragement to him, though he always maintained, with his peculiar insight into the needs of coming ages, that the time would surely arrive when his patient and laborious work would meet with some reward,—a prophecy which has been more than fulfilled as far as the historians of New England are concerned.
The last work of his busy life was the revision of the Bay Psalm Book. Mr. Prince, in his account of this undertaking, gives an idea of the thoroughness of his preparatory work. He says: “The old Psalm Book,—the first book printed in all North America, or in the New World,—this version of 1640, by the clergymen, John Elliot, of Roxbury, Mr. Richard Mather, of Dorchester, and Mr. Thomas Weld,—was liked so much, that it was used by some congregations in England while I was there.” “To gain sentiment,” he says, for his own version, “I read every verse in English Bible and Polyglot; also in Hebrew, with Moulane’s Interlineary, the Septuagint, the Chaldee, the ancient Latin, Latin versions of Syriac and Arabic, Castalio, Tremilius and Junius, Ainsworth and De Mies. When I met with difficulty I searched the following ancient lexicons: Avenarius, Schindler, Pagnini, Mercer, Buxtorfs two lexicons, namely, Hebrew and Chaldaic, Leigh, Castillus, Bythun, and Martin Albert.” There were also various interpretations from another long list of names; while he looked into New England version for groundwork, he compared with twelve metrical versions.
A contemporary says: “It showed his wonderful industry and remarkable scholarship.” His professional labors throughout fifty years were very arduous, but he brought the same careful preparation into all branches of his daily occupations that we find in his published work. In addition to his theological studies, which were naturally absorbing, and his historical research, he was thoroughly conversant with polite literature. At his death his library, which he had deposited in the belfry of the Old South Church, said to be his study, remained there intact and undisturbed for seventeen years. The books were on shelves, the manuscripts and maps in boxes and barrels. At the breaking out of the Revolutionary war they were still left where Mr. Prince placed them, though the old meeting-house became the camping ground of British soldiery. Pews and pulpit were burnt, to enable the riding school—which the soldiers inaugurated—a better opportunity for its operations. Gov. Winthrop’s old residence, next door to the church, opposite the foot of School street, which had been used some time as a parsonage, fell a victim to the lawlessness of the soldiers, who used the beams and rafters of this memento of the earliest Puritan days for firewood, while many of Mr. Prince’s books and manuscripts were immolated on the same altar. It has been suggested that some were taken by the spectators who thronged to witness the exhibitions, as manuscripts known to have belonged to this library were found—so the catalogue states—as remote as in a grocer’s shop in Nova Scotia. It would be difficult to conjecture which would have caused the greater grief to Mr. Prince,—the desecration of the church, whose construction had been a daily delight, and where he had earnestly labored for so many years, or the sacrifice of a portion of the results of the patient toil of a lifetime. This material, however, which was consigned to the flames, would have been of great benefit to historical societies, who now treasure the minutest facts that bear upon our past history. In 1814, when society had recovered its equilibrium, and began to feel a dawning pride in the great achievement that made of the colonies a free and independent nation, an interest naturally increased in those things that pertained to their earliest chronicles. The Historical Society looked over the books and pamphlets belonging to Mr. Prince, removing the historical portion to their rooms, while the ecclesiastical was sent to the house of the pastor of the Old South. In 1860 it was considered desirable to place them all together in the Public Library of Boston, where they would be under the guardianship of the city, and be far more accessible, though still the property of the Old South.
Everything seemed to conspire to make the life of Thomas Prince an exceptionally happy and fortunate one. He had remarkable opportunities from his birth to develop all his natural capabilities, and in spite of his Puritan surroundings he gained a liberal view of life, and appreciated and profited by the facilities for culture that were open to him. He traced himself the genealogy and characteristics of the Prince family, and we find in him the modified traits of his English and Puritan forefathers, who, though strictly religious, were not so fanatical as many about them. His great-grandfather, the Rev. John Prince, who lived in the reign of James I. and Charles I., was educated at Oxford, and became rector of East Shefford, Berkshire, Eng. Thomas Prince says of him: “Of whom there was this remarkable, that he was one of the Puritan ministers of the Church of England who in part conformed and who greatly longed for a further reformation. He had married a daughter of Dr. Toldenburg, D.D., of Oxford, by whom he had four sons and seven daughters. Every one of the children proved conscientious non-conformists even while their parents lived, without any breach of affection. Thus they continued pretty near together until the furious and cruel Archbishop Laud dispersed and drove their eldest son, with many others, to this country.”
Walter Money, F.S.A., local secretary of Berks, writes of the old church at East Shefford, of which Rev. John Prince was rector from 1620 to 1644: “The church where he preached still stands, being used only for a mortuary chapel, a new one for use having been erected near by. The old chapel is a most interesting building of the time of Henry VIII., and considered worthy to be described in full in archæological works found in the British Museum. It contains a remarkable monument of Sir Thomas Fettiplace and his wife Beatrice, whose old manor-house adjoined the church. There is an exquisite view of the latter in the British Museum.”
The rector’s oldest son, also named John, was destined for the ministry, and had been three years at Oxford before coming to this country. On arriving here, thinking his preparatory work too meagre for his profession, he devoted himself to husbandry. He settled in Hull, in 1633. His son Samuel, the father of Thomas, was born in 1649, and his son chronicles of him, “That he was healthy and strong in body, vigorous and active in spirit, thoughtful and religious from youth, esteemed for his abilities and gifts, especially of his power of arguing; a zealous asserter of New England liberties, with charity to others, instructive in conversation.” He represented the town of Sandwich nineteen times in legislative councils. He had two wives; the second was Mercy, daughter of Governor Hinckley, and Thomas was her oldest son. Governor Hinckley was a man of superior ability, distinguished in the history of Plymouth Colony. “He had been from first to last the associate, in weal or woe, of its great and good men, and had lived himself chief among the survivors to see the last chapter written in its immortal annals.” His grandmother Hinckley was a daughter of Quartermaster Smith, who came from England. Her grandson, Thomas Prince, says of her: “To the day of her death she shone in the eyes of all as the loveliest and brightest for beauty, knowledge, wisdom, majesty, accomplishments and graces throughout the colony.” Governor Hinckley had seventeen children, their names corresponding to the spirit of the times. Among them we find Mataliah, Mehitable, Mercy, Experience, Thankful, Reliance, Ebenezer, and Bathsheba. Thomas Prince himself, one of fourteen children, was born at Sandwich, the first town settled on the Cape in 1687. When eleven years old he went to his grandfather Hinckley’s, and remained with him until he entered college. Here he imbibed his taste for chronology and his love of books. His grandfather fostered him in his youthful ambition of founding a library, and gave him many from his own collection. During his long life of eighty years Governor Hinckley became thoroughly acquainted with all events of importance that had happened in the new world, and the eager boy was fed and stimulated by companionship with him, and all the moving spirits of the day who frequented his grandfather’s house. His early attention to religious subjects, his wide culture, and remarkable sympathy with everything pertaining to his own times, was the blossoming fruit instilled into him by an honorable ancestry, who from the early part of the seventeenth century had been consistent Puritans, and filled places of trust with honor and fidelity.
Although in the first half of the eighteenth century religious fanaticism was on the decline in Europe it held sway still, in a measure, in the colonies. There had been many instances of intolerance and tyranny on the part of the clergy in the past. Cotton Mather’s implacable spirit found vent in the superstition and cruelty that characterized the Salem Witchcraft, while other ministerial leaders were prominent in the persecution of the Quakers. Joseph Sewall and Thomas Prince were educated under the Cottons and Mathers, but their lives presented a striking contrast to these fiery expounders of the Christian faith. Tolerance, benevolence, and humility shone conspicuously in their united careers. The serious character of the books collected and read by young Prince from his tenth year shows not only his daily training, but the inherent tendency of his mind toward that profession which he afterwards adorned. Mr. Sewall, his colleague, says of him, “That his crowning glory was that he was pious from his youth.” He entered Harvard College at sixteen, and, after graduating, devoted two years to the study of divinity in Cambridge. His acquirements in theology, science, and history were marvellous, and, with his diligence and love of research, he turned with great energy to Europe as a wider field, where he could add indefinitely to his already fine attainments, and where the ease and grace of an older civilization left their stamp on his future deportment and endeared him to his people and the whole community. In 1709 he sailed for England by the way of Barbadoes, thence to Madeira, and, after another trip to Barbadoes, he finally settled in England in October, 1710, making his home there seven years. There is one volume of his journal covering this period, bound in vellum, at the Massachusetts Historical rooms, presented by the Rev. Chandler Robbins. It is a miracle of neatness and precision, but in such fine penmanship that it is difficult to decipher. His love of detail is manifest in the most accurate information in regard to the ship’s progress in her various voyages; and in his account of the small-pox and measles, both of which diseases assailed him at this time, the daily symptoms were chronicled in the most vivid manner. He attended theological lectures in London and at various universities, becoming in 1711 pastor of a church in Combs, Suffolk County, England. For six years this young American pursued his profession with enthusiasm, in the midst of a population who were devoted to him. Before returning to America he formed a church at Battisford, next parish to Combs, and when he returned to his native land many of his congregation came with him.
The chapel was then closed; one part of the flock settled at Needham Market, the other at Stowmarket,—these churches still existing. In Combs began the romantic period of his life. He became interested in Deborah Denny, a child of twelve when he came to the village, who grew up under his ministrations. Her family for centuries was famed for its piety and was thoroughly devoted to the interests of the church. Her training had been as strict in religious matters as Mr. Prince’s. In her eighteenth year Deborah sailed for America, with her brother Samuel, to join another brother, who had settled here previously. Mr. Prince took passage on the same vessel, and two years later they were married at the house of her brother, Daniel Denny, at Leicester, by Rev. Joseph Sewall, Mr. Prince being ten years older than his bride. He had been urged to continue his residence abroad; but his longings for home were too powerful for their inducements, and later in life he was known to have regretted spending so many years away from what he then had learned to consider his true sphere of usefulness.
He landed in Boston on a July Sunday, 1717. He notes it thus in his journal: “The captain sent his pinnace to carry me up. I landed at Long Wharf about three quarters of an hour before the meeting began, and by that means escaped the crowds of people, five hundred it was said, who came down on the wharf at noon, inquiring for me. But now, the streets being clear, I silently went up to the Old South Meeting House, where no one knew me but Mr. Sewall, in the pulpit.” The churches of Hingham, Bristol, and the Old South gave him urgent calls to become their pastor. His choice fell upon the Old South, whose pastor, Mr. Sewall, was a cherished friend and classmate.
Mrs. Grace Denny, Mrs. Prince’s mother, in her letters to “daughter Prince,” regretted that she was to be subject to the temptations of a city life, fearing it would be a snare and hindrance to her growth in grace, and advocated the choice of Hingham as a residence. In 1719 Boston was a goodly town of only twelve thousand inhabitants, governed with strict Puritan laws, some of which were even oppressive, giving small opportunity to indulge in the frivolities of life, even if one desired, and least of all to a pastoress of the Old South Church.
The church in which Mr. Prince was ordained by Increase and Cotton Mather, and Mr. Sewall, and where he delivered his own ordination sermon to admiring crowds, was not the historical structure of the present day, although it occupied the same site. The street in front was lined with beautiful mulberry trees, and bore the name of ‘Marlboro’, from the great Duke and General. The parsonage was next door north, and opposite, on Milk street, was the home of Josiah Franklin, where Benjamin was born. There were handsome residences in the vicinity, and the streets even then were paved with cobble-stones.
Rev. Mr. Wisner, on the one-hundredth anniversary of the erection of the present Old South, gave a pleasing account of the lives and work of Joseph Sewall and Thomas Prince. He said, “Forty years these excellent men associated and labored for this congregation, in firm friendship, in perfect unity, which few can emulate. Their journals show never a shadow of difference. They had remarkable tempers. Mr. Sewall notes in his journal that he and Mr. Prince always prayed together before their different church services, and occasionally spent portions of a day mutually devoted to private humiliation in united prayer.”
The present meeting-house was erected in 1729. A day was set apart “to humble themselves before God, for all their unfruitfulness under the means of grace enjoyed in the old meeting-house, and to bless the building of another one.”
Mr. Sewall prayed with the workmen before they began to take down the house. It is curious to note the remarkable faith in direct answer to prayer in those days. President Dwight lays emphasis upon the fact, and gives the following instance in the life of Mr. Prince as evidence: “It was the destruction of the French fleet, under Duke D’Anville, in 1746. Forty ships of war, destined for the destruction of New England, were fitted out at Brest for the purpose. Our pious fathers, apprised of the danger, called a meeting for fasting and prayer. While Mr. Prince was officiating and praying most devoutly to God to avert the calamity, a sudden gust of wind arose (the day had been perfectly calm and clear), so violent as to cause a loud clattering of the windows. The reverend pastor paused in his prayer, and, looking around upon the congregation with a countenance of hope, he again commenced, and with great devotional ardor supplicated the Almighty to cause that wind to frustrate the object of our enemies, and save the country from conquest and popery. A tempest ensued, in which a greater part of the French fleet was wrecked on the coast of Nova Scotia. The Duke D’Anville committed suicide. Many died with disease, and thousands were consigned to a watery grave. The small number who survived returned to France, broken in health and spirits,—the enterprise was abandoned, and never renewed.” Many who were present have left accounts of Mr. Prince’s earnestness on this occasion.
Probably no two men could be more devoted to the religious interests of their church and the community at large than these, yet Mr. Prince records, eighteen years after the beginning of his pastorate, that the ministers of Boston made an extraordinary effort to arrest the decay of godliness, but with no abiding results, and this was particularly noticeable in his own congregation. There seemed to be no change in this respect until the coming of Whitfield, in 1740, when he preached “to breathless thousands in the old South Church.” Mr. Prince welcomed this apostle with enthusiasm. His own sermons were full of vigor, and a brilliant imagination embellished them with abundant illustrations, but depth of thought and zealous research made the majority of his writings far above the comprehension of the multitude. His printed funeral sermons are quaint in their deep, black borders, with drawings of death’s heads similar to those that adorned the tombstones. His sermon after the death of George I. may have embodied the feeling prevalent at that time; but, in view of the more critical light thrown upon the character and reigns of the Georges by historians and satirists of our day, this eulogy is a curiosity, with its almost childish enthusiasm and simple-hearted loyalty. The following are passages from his sermon:—
For my part, I shall never forget the joy that swelled my heart when in the Splendid Procession, at his Coronation, preceded by all the nobles of the kingdom and his son and heir-apparent, one other hope, with their Ermine Robes and Coronets, that Royal face at length appeared, which Heaven had in that moment sent to save these Great Nations from the Brink of Ruin. Nor do I speak of it as my case alone, but as what appeared to be the equal transport of the multitudes around me. The tears of joy seemed to rise and swell in every eye, and we were hardly able to give a shout thro’ the laboring passions that were swelling in us. He was in some respects a Father to the Kings of the earth, or at least a powerful and decisive mediator and umpire among them. The eyes of the greatest princes were turned to him. In these distant parts of his Dominion we have felt the happy influences of his happy reign. He was the darling and protection of his people, the great support of the reformed interest and the arbiter of Europe. George II. is a Prince of winning countenance and manly aspect, had considerable treasure of useful learning, and with him a most amiable Princess, the reigning glory of her sex for beauty, knowledge, wit, discretion, the sweetest temper, the most cheerful, affable and engaging countenance and carriage, with every charming virtue; in the bloom of her youth preferred her chaste religion to all the glories of the Imperial family, and became the love and admiration of every protestant.
President Cheney says of Mr. Prince “he may be justly characterized as one of our great men;” but he deplored that he sometimes devoted so much attention to minute and trifling circumstances of things, and gave too great credit to surprising stories. This, no doubt, may at times have been unnecessary, and would certainly be a failing at the present time, when writing on all subjects is so universal; but in Mr. Prince’s case it took the form of an advantage to posterity, as this love of detail caused him to hand down to all generations the most life-like descriptions of daily life and conversation of his own and remote times. Although he saw a particular providence in every act, every word, every wind that blew, and every storm that arose, yet Mr. Sewall said of him, “that the great truths and doctrines of the Gospel were his chosen subjects. He spake as the oracles of God, as one that felt the Divine Excellence. Some of his discourses even have received impressions in England.”
The great tenderness of his nature was particularly prominent in his family relations. He trained his children in the paths of knowledge, his well-disciplined mind making him a safe and wise teacher; while, like him, they were pious from their youth. His only son graduated with honor from his own college, and had just started on a literary career with flattering success, when consumption caused his death, in his twenty-fourth year. Two daughters, also, at the early ages of twenty and twenty-two, were taken from the household, and in their old age one daughter only was left to these parents. Mr. Prince’s contemporaries speak of his wonderful resignation at these repeated afflictions. His sermon on the death of his daughter Deborah gives the religious experience of a young girl who, in those rigorous Calvinistic days, had her sweet young life overshadowed by the terror of God’s wrath for what she considered her unbelief. A few extracts will give a good idea of Mr. Prince’s impassioned, pathetic, and even dramatic style, and his apparently “trifling details” add vividness to the picture. His son besought him to dispense with the custom of a funeral oration in his case; but the feelings of the father were sacrificed to what he considered his duty to the youth of his congregation on the occasion of his daughter’s death.
He said: “You have known her character; I need not give it to this assembly, and I am more especially restrained, not only by my near relation, but by what she said to me, with all the emotions of a grieved heart, three or four days before her death. ‘Dear father, I have been told you speak to people in my commendation. I beg you would not. I am a poor, miserable sinner; you cannot think how it grieves me.’ On these accounts I must forbear her character; but because God’s dealings with her, both before and in her sickness, have been remarkable, I cannot but think it will be for his glory and your advantage to present some of them to you. As she grew up, God was pleased to refrain her from vanities, move her to study her Bible and best of authors, both of history and divinity. Dr. Watts and Mrs. Rowe’s writings were familiar to her. The spirit of God worked upon her at fourteen, but she did not join the church until two years later, when she narrowly escaped drowning, in her father’s bosom. For, as I had just received her in my arms, in a boat, in order to go on board a vessel in the harbor, bound to her Uncle Denny’s, at Georgetown, on the Kennebec river, the boat steered off, and I fell back with her into the salt water, ten feet deep, with which she was almost filled, and we both continued under it, out of sight of her brother and sister looking on, for about a minute. If a couple of strangers from Connecticut had not been near at hand to reach her quickly, in a minute or more she had been past recovery....
“In all weathers she sought the house of God, and she was afraid of being deceived. Though her jealousies and fears were troublesome, I think they were useful. Sometimes she had light and comfort; oftener otherwise. In her twentieth year she had a fever, and from the first she thought she should not live, complained of her stupidity of mind, impenitence and unbelief. I came home from afternoon exercise, found her so ill that her mother thought herself obliged to tell her, upon which she thanked her for her kindness, but quickly fell into great distress on being unprepared for eternity. It would break a heart of stone to hear her: ‘Oh! dear sir, what shall I do?’ ... Oh! the horrors of that night. It was one of the most distressing I ever knew. She wouldn’t close her eyes for fear of dying. In the morning was a little more resigned, fell asleep, awoke refreshed, but still in darkness. ‘Oh! dear father,’ she would say, ‘I have dreadfully apostatized from Christ.’ Mr. Sewall and I labored with her for days, but we found nobody but the Almighty could do it.
“Dr. Sewall said, ‘If she died in darkness, we should have good ground to hope that she would awake in glory.’ To everything he would say she would reply, ‘I cannot believe.’ You must be sensible of a distressed father’s heart, putting his soul in her soul’s place for many weeks.
“Incessant prayers were offered for her in public and private, by relations and friends who loved her, but until the last half hour of her life were unanswered. She was in agonies of death all the while Mr. Sewall was praying. When he and the physician left, I told her they could do nothing more. She was calm and composed, but did not speak.... It was so dismal to see her depart in darkness. Oh! the distress in that room. I held her in my arms, she opened her eyes and spoke a new language: ‘Oh! I love the Lord with all my heart. I see such an amiableness in him, I prize him above a thousand worlds.’ I said, ‘Dear child, what have you to say to me?’—‘Oh! sir, that you may be more fervent in your ministry, in exhorting and expostulating with sinners.’ I never saw such a change in a sick room, from distress to joy when I reported her words. I could scarcely have thought a father, mother, brother and sister could have been so transported in the expiring moments of one so dear to them.”
This discourse was published in Edinboro’ after his death. His daughter Sarah, afterwards wife of Lieut.-Gov. Gill, survived her parents a few years, but died, without children in 1771. She was also deeply religious, and some of her writings were published in Edinboro’ after her death.
Mr. Prince’s life, aside from his domestic afflictions, seems to have flowed on in peaceful paths, that ran their quiet course between the hardships of the early years of the colonies and the rising passions and frequent strifes that reigned, particularly in New England, for years before the Revolutionary war. His whole nature, tuned to harmony and peaceful avocations, developed in its proper channel. The comparative quiet of the first half of the eighteenth century permitted a thorough devotion to his allotted pursuits. His forty years’ pastorate in Boston left their trace of love and good-will in seed which can never be destroyed, and his indefatigable industry and painstaking perseverance are lessons that could be of benefit to all generations.
He inherited a large property from his father. Beside other lands, acquired and inherited, he owned the tract which is covered by the town of Princeton, including Wachusett mountain, the town deriving its name from him. In the Boylston Mansion at Princeton, there is a beautiful crayon portrait of Mrs. Sarah Gill, his daughter, executed by Copley. There is also a fine tall clock, which belonged to Mr. Prince, in the possession of Mrs. Addison Denny, at Leicester. Mr. Prince brought it with him from England in 1717; the whole case is in raised Japanese work, and the face decorations very elaborate. It was made by Thomas Wagstaffe, of London, and his descendants still make clocks at the same shop, by hand and under the same name.
Mr. Prince died in 1757, after a year’s illness, at seventy-two years of age. The Weekly Gazette said, in announcing his death: “His performances in pulpit evidence a vast compass of thought, a sublime imagination, a great faith and zeal. In printed composures there is a fertility of invention, correctness of sentiment, sprightliness of expression, that must delight every reader, and transmit his name to posterity in the most advantageous light. His private life was amiable and exemplary, adorned with grace and virtues. A useful member of civil society. His consort has lost an affectionate husband; his only surviving daughter, a tender father; his servants, an indulgent master; his acquaintances, a kind, condescending friend; his church, an enlightened and vigilant pastor; his country, a zealous advocate of civil and religious liberty. Took farewell to this world with humble resignation to the will of God, and entire dependence on our Lord Jesus Christ, and a good hope of Immortality.”
NEW ENGLAND MANNERS AND CUSTOMS IN THE
TIME OF BRYANT’S EARLY LIFE.
BY MRS. H. G. ROWE.
Ninety-one years ago, in the little town of Cummington, Mass., was born a child, who was destined, in after years, to be the first of a grand line of American poets, who have made this, the second century of our Republic, famous by their genius and originality.
Not long since, in looking over an old magazine, published in Philadelphia in 1809, I came across quite an extended review of Campbell’s, then just issued, poem, “Gertrude of Wyoming,” and was not a little amused at the closing comments.
After a little mild praise, and a good deal of equally mild criticism, of the Scotch poet, the editor goes on to say:—
“But, after all, although lesser poets are constantly rising above the literary horizon, challenging the admiration of the reading world for a few short months,—possibly years,—and then sinking into the obscurity of a forgotten past, the sun of English poetry has set forever. With Pope, Milton, and Dryden, England lost her last true poets. Henceforth all who claim that title must be more or less skilful imitators merely of the great masters who have gone before them.
“As for America,” he continues, with the most unpatriotic candor, “there is not the smallest chance of her ever producing a real poet. Ingenious scribblers she may have, without doubt, but the typical American never had or will have one grain of poetry in his hard, shrewd, matter-of-fact nature.”
This was the verdict of a Philadelphia editor seventy-six years ago. To-day the bust of our own Longfellow stands in Westminster Abbey, side by side with a Chaucer and a Shakspere, while not only the English-speaking world on both sides of the ocean, but the dwellers in sunny Italy, upon the frozen steppes of Russia, and in far-off Japan and India, sing and repeat, each in his own tongue, the stirring battle-hymns and sweet home-songs of the gifted singers of our Western World.
We are often reminded that a writer’s environments have much to do with the character of his writings, and in Bryant’s case this fact is particularly noticeable.
His earliest poems, and especially that great masterpiece, “Thanatopsis,” written at the early age of eighteen, show unmistakably that the boy had grown up in the closest familiarity with the theological tenets of the New England of his day, and that the bent of his young mind was, even then, toward graver subjects than would naturally occupy the thoughts of a boy of that age.
His biographers assert that he drew his inspiration for this grand poem from the pages of Kirke White and Southey. But whatever his acquaintance with these poets may have done for him, there is a striking similarity of imagery and sentiment between his own and the writings of the sacred bards, whose utterances were as familiar to the children of a Christian household in those days as their own childish nursery songs and hymns.
For instance, compare these lines from “Thanatopsis” with a well-known passage in the Book of Job:—
“... Yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep,—the dead reign there alone.”
The sacred poet says:—
“Yet shall he be brought to the grave, and shall remain in the tomb.
The clods of the valley shall be sweet unto him, and every man shall draw after him as there are innumerable before him.”
Then, again, in “The Old Man’s Funeral”:—
“Then rose another hoary man, and said,
In faltering accents, to that weeping train:
‘Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead?
Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain.’”
Compare this with:
“Thou shall come to the grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season.”
Examples similar to these occur in many of Bryant’s poems, and tend to show the result of the early religious training, that, as the son of a thoughtful, God-fearing New England gentleman of that day, he most certainly did receive.
That he was intensely, grandly, sometimes fiercely patriotic, is also due, in a great measure, to the surrounding influences of his young life.
The struggle for American independence was at last over, and the lusty young Republic, springing, Minerva-like, from the mighty brain of a no longer imperilled freedom, was ready to throw down the gauntlet of defiance to all the world, and assert her rights as queen regnant of the great Western World.
The armies had been disbanded, and the war-scarred veterans had joyfully returned to their farms and workshops, ready to put their willing hands again to the plough and the plane, and help to restore, by patient toil and honest legislation, prosperity and peace to the land so long distracted by the commotions and uncertainties of war.
Later, his days of toil over, the old soldier sat him down, in restful content, by his own peaceful fireside, while, with the old musket in its honored place above the tall wooden mantle, he fought over again, in memory, his old-time battles, and to sons and grandsons taught, in thrilling, patriotic words, the great lesson to love and revere their country next to their God.
As a boy, no doubt, young Bryant had listened to many of the tales of these honored veterans, and had drank in, with the air of his own native village, long draughts of their fervid patriotism, that animated his writings down to the latest years of his life.
That he had seen with his own eyes some of the leading spirits in that great national struggle, who still lived to honor and be honored by the nation that they had fought so bravely to free from a foreign yoke, is shown by an extract from one of his few humorous poems, in which he says:—
“I pause to state
That I, too, have seen greatness—even I—
Shook hands with Adams, stared at Lafayette,
When, barehead, in the hot noon of July,
He would not let the umbrella be held o’er him,
For which three cheers burst from the mob before him.”
Patriotic, religious, philosophical, and a true lover of nature, yet Bryant cannot, in any mood, be styled one of our fireside poets, like Longfellow, Whittier, and Lowell.
Perhaps he failed to see in the then bare loneliness of the typical New England home a beauty worth the attention of his fastidious and lofty-minded muse. And that New England homes, at that time, were bare of what we, to-day, deem the absolute necessities of life, no student of the past pretends to deny.
The long war had drained and impoverished the country; our manufactures and commerce were then in their infancy; the whole machinery of our recently organized government was new, and the hands that worked it, however wise and brave they might be, were untried, and had much to learn before the ponderous works could be brought into perfect running order.
Worst of all, President Jefferson, in 1807, laid an embargo upon American shipping, thus unwittingly striking a terrible blow at our foreign commerce, in his endeavor to force England into an amicable settlement of certain difficulties that had arisen between her and the young Republic. This, and the two years’ war with England, that broke out in 1812, made hard times for everybody, and taxed the magnanimity and skill of our foremothers to their utmost to make their homes and families present a decent and respectable appearance.
The very poor then, as now, were forced to content themselves with the barest decencies of life. But the respectable middle classes,—the farmers, mechanics, and small merchants,—were put to the greatest straits to keep up an appearance of respectability and comfort, with scant conveniences, and few or none of even the simplest elegancies of life, in dwelling, dress, or furniture.
The principal room of a New England farm-house was the kitchen, which was usually large enough to serve for a cooking, dining, and sitting room, all in one.
The enormous fireplace, with its long, soot-blackened crane, hung with hooks of various sizes, the massive iron andirons, strong enough to hold the great birch and birchen logs, that often taxed the strength of a full-grown man to lift and adjust in their places, occupied a large part of one side of the room, and served as a kind of family altar, about which the family, with their guests and friends, always assembled, in quiet chat or friendly gossip.
And a cheery spot it was, especially in those long, dark evenings in midwinter, when the ruddy, dancing flames went laughing up the great throat of the chimney, chasing the venturesome, wayward sparks, as they hurried out into the untried darkness of the winter’s night. With what a genial glow they lighted up the bare, unplastered walls, the sanded floor, the rough rafters overhead, and the scant, clumsily-fashioned furniture, until
“The rude, bare-raftered room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom.”
Nor must we forget that seldom wanting, always interesting, piece of furniture, to which was sure to be accorded the warmest, coziest spot in the wide chimney-corner,—the inevitable wooden cradle,—clumsily fashioned by loving, but unskilled hands, and always large enough to hold, besides the reigning baby, two, and, at a pinch, three, of the younger members of the household.
How the favored youngsters delighted in a ride in that clumsy old vehicle, nor dreamed that its halting, uncertain gait was other than the very poetry of motion! Even mother’s own wooden rocking-chair, a bit of boughten elegance, with its gay patchwork cushion, and dull, contented “creak! creak!” as its dear occupant swayed meditatively to and fro, knitting in hand, in the quiet, restful gloaming, was not quite equal to that dear, delightful old cradle, for a good brisk canter to “Banbury Cross,” or to the famous hunting grounds, where “Baby Bunting’s rabbit skin” was waiting for him.
Many a man, and woman too, whose names are, to-day, blessed and honored by thousands of grateful hearts all over the land, dreamed then their first misty, childish dreams of a grand and helpful manhood and womanhood, and felt swelling up within their young souls inexpressible longings to help right the wrongs of the down-trodden and oppressed, which they heard their elders talk of, and deplore as past remedy.
The light of other days was simply a home-made tallow candle, and as matches were not then invented, careful housewives never suffered the kitchen-fire, even in the hottest days of summer, to die out entirely. The frequent sight of a child running to the nearest neighbor’s, with a long-handled iron fire-shovel in hand, to “borry a few coals ter start the fire up,” was looked upon as a sure sign of slack housewifery; and no woman might lay claim to the distinction of a good housekeeper who failed to renew her cedar broom as often as every other week.
Equal simplicity in dress prevailed, and a gown of bombazette—a very narrow, all-wool goods, worth from seventy-five cents to a dollar a yard,—was often worn for best during the owner’s lifetime, and at her death bequeathed, with the fondly-cherished string of gold beads, to the favorite granddaughter, as a precious legacy.
For common wear, pressed home-made and home-dyed flannel in winter; and cotton and linen, woven in colored stripes or plaids, for summer, was considered plenty good enough, even for the doctor’s and minister’s wives. Under flannels were an unheard-of luxury. And one ceases to wonder at the frequency of hereditary consumption, in our own day, when he reads that fashionable city ladies, in the very depths of a Northern winter, walked the icy streets in thin cotton or silk stockings and low, pointed, high-heeled morocco shoes. Rubbers being then unknown, and the shoes of stout calf-skin, that their country cousins were only too glad to get, were disdained by these dainty dames as coarse and unlady-like.
A girl carded, spun, wove, bleached, and made her one white linen gown, lavishing upon it all her simple art of needlecraft, every seam and hem stitched by the old-time rule, “take up one thread and skip two,” and, perhaps, embroidering a pattern of tiny sprays and eyelets upon the bosom and sleeves, to give it an air of special gentility.
Finished at last, this choice bit of girlish finery probably served its owner for a wedding-dress, and afterwards was cut up into slips for the babies.
Matrons, young as well as old, wore caps of plain white muslin, made after the same fashion as the round, sweeping caps that tidy housekeepers wear at the present day. The younger and gayer ones, who had no scruples of conscience on the subject, wore their caps adorned with bright ribbons, while the elderly and more sedate contented themselves with a plain band of black, across the front, and pinned primly at the back, without bow or knot.
After the death of Washington, in 1799, besides the band of crape that every citizen of the United States, by the desire of Congress, wore upon his left arm for thirty days, many of the loyal matrons provided themselves with mourning-cap ribbons, upon which was stamped, in white letters, upon a black ground:
“General George Washington,
Departed this life on the 14th of December,
1799, Æ. 68,”
—a fac-simile of the inscription upon the coffin-plate of that illustrious and well-beloved chief. The wool and flax were home productions, but the cotton was brought, in a raw state, from the West Indies.
It was first picked over very carefully, to remove the seeds and stray bits of foreign rubbish, then “batted,” that is, made into small pats, each large enough to be carded into a roll, which was spun into thread upon either a wool or linnen wheel. This “batting” usually fell to the lot of the children of the family, who probably found the monotonous task as little to their taste as their grandchildren do, when required to wash the dishes or saw wood for the cooking-stove.
Woven plain, by the skilful hands of the housemother, and bleached upon the young grass under the blossoming apple boughs, the cloth served for the underwear of the family, and was regarded as one of the few luxuries of the frugal household,—the raw cotton costing over fifty cents a pound, to say nothing of the time and labor required to convert it into cloth.
On account of the scarcity of cotton, our modern “comfortables” were a thing unheard of, and, for a substitute, woollen quilts, stuffed with wool, and closely quilted, often in the most elaborate patterns, were used in all New England households. These quilts were often few and thin in many a poor home, where the elders had hard work to shield their flock of little ones from the bitter cold of winter, in spite of the immense fires that even the poorest were able to provide where any amount of fuel could be had for the cutting.
I have heard a story of a good lady who lived at that time in a town not a hundred miles from Boston, which gives one some idea of the straits to which our grandparents were often reduced in those days:—
Watching one bitterly cold night with a sick neighbor, she heard, at midnight, the little children crying with cold in the loft overhead, and leaving her sleeping patient, she went upstairs, and tried to find an extra quilt or blanket to spread over them. But in vain, for in that poor home there was not so much as a shoulder-blanket that could be spared. At last, in utter desperation, she spread over the shivering little ones a side of leather, that she found rolled up under the eaves.
“It kept out the cold, anyhow,” she said, as she told the story years afterwards. “And the poor little things stopped their cryin’, and cuddled down as contented an’ comfortable as a nestful o’ kittens.”
If there was little of poetry or romance in the lives of those hard-working, hard farming men and women of a past generation, there was no lack of the patient diligence and simple, unquestioning faith, that give strength to weakness, and sweeten toil with the steadfast belief that, to the faithful heart and willing hand God’s blessing never fails.
One of the favorite proverbs at that time is significant, as proverbs usually are, of the character of the people:—
“Begin your web, and God will supply you with thread.”
While still another suggests that well-known element in the New England character that the Scotch aptly call “canny”:—
“A wise man will bend a little rather than be torn up by the roots.”
Extravagance was more than a fault, it was an actual sin, in the eyes of these prudent, simple-living folk, and you may have heard before the story of the ingenious housewife, who, tired of the blank bareness of her yellow-painted floors, conceived the bold idea of manufacturing a carpet for it herself:
A large square of sail-cloth served her for a canvas, and upon this she painted, with the few colors that she could procure, a pattern of flowers of every kind that she was familiar with,—blue roses and green lilies having the preference, as making more show than their humbler sisters. This, when finished, she covered with a thick coat of varnish, thus making a very good substitute for the more modern oil-cloth.
Of course everybody, from far and near, came to look, and wonder, and admire; and among them a good old deacon, who, after critically surveying the wonderful work, turned to the proud artist, and, with a look half of amazement, half of pitying reproach, upon his honest, weather-beaten face, asked solemnly:—
“Sister ——, do you expect to have all this and heaven too?”
To-day, Boston is sometimes jestingly styled the “Hub of the Universe,” but at the beginning of the present century it was, soberly speaking, the Hub of New England, for from it spokes projected into every part, however distant, of that region.
As in past ages all roads led to Rome, so seventy-five or eighty years ago all roads led to or from Boston. In an old Farmer’s Almanac, printed in 1817, I find, among other things quaint and curious, four closely-printed pages devoted to “Roads to the Principal Towns of the Continent from Boston, with the distances and names of Innkeepers.” Beginning with: “From Boston to Newport, over Seekonk, through Rehoboth, 69 miles,” and ending with “Down the Ohio, to the mouth of the Muskinqum, 524 miles,”—a tolerably long ride in those days of the old-fashioned stage coach.
Naturally, this Umbilicus of the Western World set the fashions in theology, literature, dress, and manners for all New England, and any one who had made a trip to Boston was venerated as a kind of travelled wonder, and forever after regarded as an authority upon all mooted points of general interest.
It has been said, on what authority I am unable to state, that “all good Americans go to Paris when they die.” But in those days of Boston’s supremacy an aspiring dame in one of our Maine villages, finding herself upon her death bed, expressed as her one last wish, that she “might be permitted to go to heaven by the way o’ Boston.”
Evidently the poor soul had pined in vain all her life for a sight of its splendors, and could think of nothing so near akin to heaven as a peep at this earthly Paradise on her way there.
I might go on indefinitely to call up pictures, heroic, quaint, or pathetic, of these earnest-hearted men and women, who toiled, suffered, and planned, for the future, that we, their children, have entered into the fulness of. But time forbids, and I can only say, in closing this paper, that it will be well for us, if, in these days of national prosperity and power, when Liberty, proudly triumphant, stands like
“A bearded man
Armed to the teeth,”
ready to hold his own alike against traitors at home and envious despotisms abroad, we do not forget with what a world of self-sacrifice and patient toil our forbears laid the foundations of this great, free government; nor should we deem it a light thing to have been born citizens of a Republic a thousand times grander, nobler, and, God grant! far more enduring, than those of heathen Greece and Rome, that have long since fallen to decay, and now lie buried beneath the melancholy dust of centuries.
Let the words of the great poet whose name stands at the head of this paper speak like a word of warning to every heart within their reach:—
“And they who founded in our land
The power that rules from sea to sea,
Bled they in vain, or vainly planned,
To leave their country great and free?
Their sleeping ashes from below
Send up the thrilling murmur, No!”
TRUST.
BY ARTHUR ELWELL JENKS.
Once let us feel the trust a child bestows
Upon the guardian of its life, each day
Would set serenely on our troubled souls!
To help but one of these, or bring again
To lip and eye the smile so full of peace,—
Reflection of some tender mother’s love,—
Ah, such were service, that, in future years,
Shall shine upon our devious pathway, as
The evening star lights up the western sky!
O ye who labor for the children’s sake,—
Setting these jewels for immortal life,—
The “Well-done!” of the Master shall be yours!