Gossip with Readers and Correspondents.—A Friend, writing to us from the City of Brotherly Love, under date of 'Sixth-month 15th,' respectfully inquires: 'Will the Editor accept a few remarks on the communication of 'N. S. D.', from a plain Quaker; one, whose ancestors were Quakers, and who, after a close historical scrutiny, is not ashamed to claim kith, if he cannot kin, with those of that profession who were hung on Boston Common, or were beaten at cart-tails from village to village throughout puritanic New-England?' To which we cheerfully answer: 'Yea, certainly, Friend 'N.' Lift up thy voice against the accuser of the brethren, and welcome:'
'From the days of Cotton Mather down to the present time, it has been the constant aim of the defenders of the reputation of the founders of New England, to cast upon the early Quakers all manner of aspersions. A few years since, a writer in the 'North-American Review,' having occasion to allude to the banishment of Mary Fisher and Anne Austin, the first Quakers who ever visited the western world, declared that it was for molesting and interrupting ministers in their places of worship. This assertion is also made by a clergyman of Philadelphia, in a discourse delivered on the anniversary of the landing of the 'Pilgrim Fathers;' with this addition, that one of these women went naked into a place of worship. These charges are not true. I do not believe the reviewer, nor the Doctor of Divinity (so called) wilfully misrepresented the truth; but I believe them culpable in taking for granted assertions of writers living long posterior to the events they describe, without examining for themselves the original documents remaining on the subject. The records of the Massachusetts Colony, as collected by Hazard, as well as the narratives published at the time by the friends of the sufferers, conclusively show that neither Mary Fisher nor Anne Austin had ever set foot on the shores of New England until they were taken as prisoners from the vessel in which they came passengers, and carried to the jail of the colony. Deputy governor Bellingham having received intelligence that two female Quakers were in the ship Swallow, then at anchor in the Bay, commanded that they should be closely confined therein, and that all their books should be taken from them, and burned by the hangman. A writer of that day, in reference to the person employed to effect this conflagration, quaintly remarks: 'O, learned and malicious cruelty!—as if another man had not been sufficient to have burnt a few harmless books, who, like their masters, can neither fight, strike, nor quarrel.' At that time there was no law against Quakers; but the council deemed that they were liable to the penalties of a law passed in 1646, against heresy and error, which decreed to banishment the opposers of the baptism of infants, and all such as denied the lawfulness of war. The order of council in this case is now before me, bearing date 'the 11th of July, 1656.' It commences with enumerating the former laws against heretics, and goes on to say, that, notwithstanding these, Simon Kempthorn had brought in two Quakers, who, on examination, are found to hold very dangerous and heretical opinions, which they acknowledge they came purposely to propagate. It directs that the books of the prisoners shall be burned; that the prisoners themselves shall be kept close, and none admitted to see them without leave from the governor, deputy-governor, or two magistrates; and that the said Simon Kempthorn is hereby enjoined, speedily and directly to transport, or cause to be transported, the said persons from hence to Barbadoes, from whence they came, he defraying all the charges of their imprisonment; and for the effectual performance hereof, he is to give security in a bond of one hundred pounds sterling, and on his refusal to give such security, he is to be committed to prison till he do it.'
'Of the four individuals put to death at Boston, after examining all the records extant in the respective cases, the apologies issued by John Norton and the 'General Court' of Massachusetts, I am prepared to say, that there is not the slightest evidence that they were disturbers of the public peace, or violators of public decorum. The charges brought against them prove indeed that they came to Massachusetts, alleging it was from a sense of religious duty, and that while there, as free-born citizens of England, they refused a voluntary submission to laws violating the rights guarantied them by Magna Charta, and the Common Law of England. I wish not to consume space, but would make a few remarks on the 'frequent occasions' in which the early Quakers, according to 'N. S. D.', went 'stark naked into the public assemblies.' Women of respectable connections, easy fortunes, liberal education, and modest demeanor and carriage, for preaching the gospel, and for merely coming to New-England to look after their rightful possessions, were from time to time stripped naked to the waist, and whipped from township to township; and yet the nice sense of modesty of the New-England folk of that day was not shocked. In 1664, when these scenes had been enacted for seven years, Lydia Wardell, who had been summoned repeatedly to appear before the congregation at Newbury, and whose mind was no doubt under much excitement in sympathy with her fellow-believers in their sufferings, went into the place of worship in that village, stripped in the manner the magistrates were continually stripping her friends. The modesty of the people was sorely offended; and seizing her and her female companion, they stripped the latter, and tying their naked bodies to the whipping-posts, with many lashes earnestly laid on, endeavored to heal the wounds inflicted on the sense of decorum of the gaping crowd.
'I have not taken up my pen to defend the conduct of Lydia, but merely to state the facts of the case. Beside this instance, one other individual, a few months afterward, under similar excitement, performed a similar action. Now to our conclusion. These cases, which are the only ones a close examination of the charges of contemporaneous enemies of the Society, and the defense of its friends exhibit any trace of, are brought forward at this day in justification of acts of oppression committed long before these occurred; Turn to the statements forwarded to England to excuse the murder of Stevenson, Robinson, Dyer, and Leddra; examine the reasons assigned by Norton and the 'General Court' for their proceedings. Their enmity to the Quakers is strong, but not the slightest hint is given that these suffered because of any indecent exposure, or that the general persecution the Society at that time endured was occasioned by acts of this or a kindred nature. And why? Because the first instance of the kind occurred more than three years after the death of Leddra, the last Quaker martyr in New-England. It is a remarkable fact, that soon after these two cases of voluntary exposure, the public stripping of Quaker women ceased. What effect these had in changing the feelings of the community, I cannot tell; but it is certainly a curious coincidence, that after this period the records of courts, and the copious annals of our Society, scarcely exhibit an instance of these cart-tail indecencies. The rest of the charges of 'N. S. D.' are equally unfounded; and, with sufficient space for quotations, might be satisfactorily confuted.
N.'
Religious or sectarian controversy is foreign to the purpose of the Knickerbocker; yet we could not decline the calm consideration of facts brought forward to correct alleged misstatements. 'If,' says the writer, 'N. S. D.' wishes information on a subject with which he seems to be unacquainted, I should like to refer him to works wherein he may find the original documents.' For our own part, we think, as we have already partly intimated, that 'the less said the better' touching the treatment of the Quakers and 'others of the Non-elect' by the New-England Puritans. Washington Irving has driven a long nail home on this theme: 'The zeal of these good people to maintain their rights and privileges unimpaired, betrayed them into errors, which it is easier to pardon than defend. Having served a regular apprenticeship in the school of persecution, it behooved them to show that they had become proficients in the art. They accordingly employed their leisure hours in banishing, scourging, or hanging, divers heretical Papists, Quakers, and Anabaptists, for daring to abuse the 'liberty of conscience,' which they now clearly proved to imply nothing more than that every man should think as he pleased in matters of religion, provided he thought right; for otherwise it would be giving a latitude to damnable heresies. Now as they were perfectly convinced that they alone thought right, it consequently followed that whoever thought differently from them, thought wrong; and whoever thought wrong, and obstinately persisted in not being convinced and converted, was a flagrant violator of the inestimable liberty of conscience, and a corrupt and infectious member of the body politic, and deserved to be lopped off and cast into the fire!' * * * We are indebted to a most kind correspondent for the following excerpt from his note-book. It is an extract made many years ago from some author, whose name and that of his work our friend has alike forgotten. How many just such thoughtless, rattle-brained, aimless talkers have we encountered! We rather like the practice of an old friend of ours in this regard! He makes it a point, he says, never to inquire after any body!
'Whoever has visited Cambridge, can hardly fail of recollecting Lady ——. The leading idea of her life was to do the pretty; to say civil things and make agreeable speeches. But alas! her ladyship was not infallible, and sometimes with the very best intentions would fail desperately. They relate of her at Cambridge, that during a series of concerts which Madame Catalani gave at the last grand commencement, this Queen of Song was staying at the house of her friend Mrs. F. At an evening party at D—— Lodge, Lady —— was invited to meet her. 'My dear Madame Catalani! how delighted, how transported I am to see you! When did you arrive? How is Monsieur Valbrique? and your dear little boy?' Catalani changed color; her lip quivered, and her fine dark eyes filled with tears, as she murmured: 'Ah! pauvre petit, je l'ai perdu!' 'What an engaging, interesting, elegant little creature he is!' 'Je l'ai perdu!' shrieked the foreigner, in a tone of agony. Lady —— had forgot her French. 'Is he, indeed? I am happy to hear it. I always said he would come out something extraordinary.' 'Je l'ai perdu! Je l'ai perdu!' cried poor Catalani, in a more piercing tone, and with increased emotion. 'Don't exert yourself; yes, yes; I understand you, perfectly; well, pray remember me to him very kindly, since he is not with you, and offer him my congratulations.' 'He is dead! he is dead! Lady ——,' said Mrs. F. impatiently. 'Dead! Why didn't somebody tell me so? Poor little fellow! And so he's dead! Well, I declare, I am very sorry for him! Dead! That's very surprising!' On another occasion she said to another distinguished guest: 'Ah! my dear Mrs. Siddons, what an unexpected gratification to see you at Cambridge! How d'ye do? Ah! but you are altered, when one comes to look at you! very much altered! Let me see; it must be thirty years ago since Sir Benjamin and I were first delighted with your Lady Randolph. How life ebbs away! What changes we see! It was poor Edwin's night, I think. Surely, that was the Augustan era of the British Theatre! Ah! poor Edwin! he's gone! And Palmer, Gentleman Palmer, he's gone! And Dodd—clever actor, Dodd—he's gone! We live in a world of changes!' Mrs. Siddons looked sad, and was silent. 'I've been recollecting when it was I saw you last. It must be about fourteen years ago. You played Queen Catherine, and your gifted brother John played Wolsey. What a heat it was! Dear John Kemble! and he's gone!' Mrs. Siddons burst into tears. 'Amiable creature!' said Lady —— to the astonished by-standers; 'what an affectionate heart she has!'
We once saw a painting of the Saviour of Men, which we could well deem to be like the divine original; and never while we live shall we forget the heavenly face which the artist had depicted. It was the countenance of a 'man of sorrows, acquainted with grief:' there was a pervading pathos in its expression, which 'brought the water-drops to our eyes.' The picture is now in Germany, where it was painted; and we can never hope to see another so perfect an embodiment of our conception of the lineaments of the Redeemer. There was something in the ensemble of the picture which we remember to have thought was like a description, by an eye-witness, of the Saviour's personal presence, which we had read in our youth, and which we were glad recently to encounter in an old common-place book. It was addressed by Publius Lentullus, President in Judea in the reign of Tiberius Cæsar, to the Senate of Rome:
'Conscript Fathers: There appeared in these our days a man of great virtue, named Jesus Christ, who is yet living among us, and of the Gentiles is accepted for a Prophet of truth; but his own disciples call him the Son of God. He raiseth the dead, and cureth all manner of diseases. A man of stature somewhat tall and comely, and in proportion of body well shaped; his hands and arms delectable to behold; with a very reverend countenance, such as the beholders may both love and fear. His hair is of the color of a filbert full ripe to his ears, whence downward it is more orient of color, somewhat curling or waving about his shoulders. In the midst of his head, is a seam or partition of his hair, after the manner of the Nazarites. His forehead is plain and delicate. His cheeks without spot or wrinkle, beautified with a comely red; his nose and mouth exactly formed. His beard is thick, the color of his hair; not of any great length, but forked. His look innocent and mature. His eyes gray, dear, and quick. In reproving he is awful; in admonishing, courteous and friendly; in speaking, very temperate, modest, and wise. It cannot be remembered that any have seen him laugh, but many have seen him weep. A being for his singular beauty surpassing the children of men.'