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Samuel Lover (Trial of Anne Hutchinson)
Trial of Anne Hutchinson.
N the early history of stern Puritan New England, woman does not play a very conspicuous part.
She is not the heroine, the mistress of court or chivalry, nor even in the spiritual order is she seen possessing that liberty accorded in the older time and world of female association in cloister for a religious life, the works of charity, education or labor.
One woman, who endeavored to be a power, stands out with her strange history and tragic death-Anne Hutchinson.
She was the daughter of a clergyman in Lincolnshire, and having in England become interested in the preaching of John Cotton and John Wheelright, came to America in 1634.
On her voyage she showed her religious zeal, and her active, energetic mind was not slow in assuming views different from those of her guides. Private judg- his master receive a large sum of money, he and the ment was not broad enough for her, any fettering of groom conspired together to rob him, and they plotted church discipline was wrong.
To her mind each believer was not only the unerring judge in faith, but the abode of the Holy Spirit, whose inward revelations were of paramount authority. On arriving in Boston she began to hold meetings of women, and her views drew to her side Vane, Cotton, Wheelright, and almost all the Church in Boston.
The country churches rose against her. The Synod of Newton, in August, 1637, condemned eighty-two opinions, including hers.
In the November following she was brought to trial before the General Court. She defended herself with ability and eloquence, but all in vain. She was sentenced to banishment. With a courtesy that was unusual, they allowed her to spend the winter in Roxbury.
With the coming of spring she retired to Rhode Island, home of the Baptists, and after losing her husband sought a refuge within the confines of the Dutch colony.
Unfortunately, at this time the Dutch had provoked the Indians to war, and in August, 1643, a party of the red men assailed the house in which she lived, in what is now Westchester County, and there, doubtless, the heroic woman perished in the flames.
A Canine Sagacity.
GENTLEMAN of property, in Ithaca, N. Y., had a mastiff of great size, very watchful, and, altogether, a fine, intelligent animal.
Though often let out to range about, he was in general chained up during the day in a wooden house constructed for his comfort and shelter.
On a certain day, when let out, he was observed to attach himself particularly to his master; and when the servant, as usual, came to tie him up, he clung to his master's feet, showed much anger when they attempted to force him away, and altogether was so peculiar in his manner, that the gentleman desired him to be left as he was, and with him he continued the whole day; and when night came on, still he staid with him, and on going toward his bed-room the dog tesolutely, and for the first time in his life, went up along with him, and rushing into the room, took refuge under the bed, whence neither blows nor caresses could draw him.
In the middle of the night a man burst into the room, dagger in hand, and attempted to stab the sleeping gentleman; but the dog darted at the robber's neck, fastened his fangs in him, and so kept him down that his master had time to call for assistance, and secured the ruffian, who turned out to be the coachman, and who afterward confessed that, seeing the whole thing leaning over the roof of the dog's house.
A gentleman in Harrisburg, Pa., vouches for the fact that a dog of that city, bleeding from a wound in the leg, went into the office of a surgeon, and as plainly as dog could, asked of his excellency would he be good enough to attend to his case.
The surgeon did as requested, stopped the bleedng by taking up the severed artery, and bandaged the wound, whereupon the sagacious creature retired, after having plainly expressed his gratitude, but there is no mention of his having paid any fee.
A Little Nell's Funeral.
ND now the bell-the bell She had so often heard by night and day, And listened to with solemn pleasure, E'en as a living voice- Rung its remorseless toll for her, So young, so beautiful, so good.
Decrepit age, and vigorous life, And blooming youth, and helpless infancy, Poured forth-on crutches, in the pride of strength.
And health, in the full blush Of promise, the mere dawn of life- To gather round her tomb. Old men were there, Whose eyes were dim And senses failing- Grandames, who might have died ten years ago, And still been old-the deaf, the blind, the lame, the palsied, The living dead in many shapes and forms, To see the closing of this early grave.
What was the death it would shut in, To that which still could crawl and keep above it!
Along the crowded path they bore her now; Pure as the new fallen snow That covered it; whose day on earth Had been as fleeting.
Under that porch, where she had sat when Heaven In mercy brought her to that peaceful spot, She passed again, and the old church Received her in its quiet shade.
They carried her to one old nook, Where she had many and many a time sat musing, And laid their burden softly on the pavement.
The light streamed on it through The colored window-a window where the boughs Of trees were ever rustling In the summer, and where the birds Sang sweetly all day long.