"But where was our chair, all this time?" asked Clara.
"It still remained in Cotton Mather's library," replied Grandfather; "and I must not omit to tell you an incident, which is very much to the honor of this celebrated man. It is the more proper, too, that you should hear it, because it will show you what a terrible calamity the small pox was to our forefathers. The history of the province, (and, of course, the history of our chair,) would be incomplete, without particular mention of it." [pg 106] Accordingly, Grandfather told the children a story, to which, for want of a better title, we shall give that of
THE REJECTED BLESSING
One day, in 1721, Doctor Cotton Mather sat in his library, reading a book that had been published by the Royal Society of London. But, every few moments, he laid the book upon the table, and leaned back in Grandfather's chair, with an aspect of deep care and disquietude. There were certain things which troubled him exceedingly, so that he could hardly fix his thoughts upon what he read.
It was now a gloomy time in Boston. That terrible disease, the small pox, had recently made its appearance in the town. Ever since the first settlement of the country, this awful pestilence had come, at intervals, and swept away multitudes of the inhabitants. Whenever it commenced its ravages, nothing seemed to stay its progress, until there were no more victims for it to seize upon. Oftentimes, hundreds of people, at once, lay groaning with its agony; and when it departed, its deep footsteps were always to be traced in many graves.
The people never felt secure from this calamity. Sometimes, perhaps, it was brought into the country by a poor sailor, who had caught the infection in foreign parts, and came hither to die, and to be the cause of many deaths. Sometimes, no doubt, it [pg 107] followed in the train of the pompous governors, when they came over from England. Sometimes, the disease lay hidden in the cargoes of ships, among silks and brocades, and other costly merchandise, which was imported for the rich people to wear. And, sometimes, it started up, seemingly of its own accord; and nobody could tell whence it came. The physician, being called to attend the sick person, would look at him, and say,—"It is the small pox! let the patient be carried to the hospital."
And now, this dreadful sickness had shown itself again in Boston. Cotton Mather was greatly afflicted, for the sake of the whole province. He had children, too, who were exposed to the danger. At that very moment, he heard the voice of his youngest son, for whom his heart was moved with apprehension.
"Alas! I fear for that poor child," said Cotton Mather to himself. "What shall I do for my son Samuel?"
Again, he attempted to drive away these thoughts, by taking up the book which he had been reading. And now, all of a sudden, his attention became fixed. The book contained a printed letter that an Italian physician had written upon the very subject, about which Cotton Mather was so anxiously meditating. He ran his eye eagerly over the pages; and, behold! a method was disclosed to him, by which the small pox might be robbed of its worst terrors. Such a method was known in Greece. The physicians of [pg 108] Turkey, too, those long-bearded Eastern sages, had been acquainted with it for many years. The negroes of Africa, ignorant as they were, had likewise practised it, and thus had shown themselves wiser than the white men.