fell upon two Indians, that had been brought in as captives, and in a tumultuous way very barbarously murdered them,” in revenge for the death of some fishermen:  a moral application which certainly gives a singular impression of the style of gospel prevailing inside the meeting-house that day.  But it is good to know, on the other side, that, when the Commissioners of the United Colonies had declared an Indian war, and the Massachusetts Colony had become afterwards convinced that the war was unrighteous, the troops were recalled, though already far towards the field, and no pride or policy prevented the order from being rescinded.

These were some of the labors of the clergy.  But no human being lives without relaxation, and they may have had theirs.  True, “ministers have little to joy in in this world,” wrote old Norton; and one would think so, to read the dismal diaries, printed or manuscript, of those days.  “I can compare with any man living for fears,” said Hooker.  “I have sinned myself into darkness,” said Bailey.  “Many times have I been ready to lay down my ministry, thinking God had forsaken me.”  “I was almost in the suburbs of hell all day.”  Yet who can say that this habit of agonizing introspection wholly shut out the trivial enjoyments of daily life?  Who drank, for instance, that twelve gallons of sack and that six gallons of white wine which the General Court thought it convenient that the Auditor should send, “as a small testimony of the Court’s respect, to the reverend assembly of Elders at Cambridge,” in 1644?  Did the famous Cambridge Platform rest, like the earth in the Hebrew cosmology, upon the waters,—­strong waters?  Was it only the Derry Presbyterians who would never give up a p’int of doctrine, nor a pint of rum?  It is startling to remember that in 1685 it was voted, on occasion of a public funeral, that “some person be appointed to look after the burning of the wine and the heating of the cider,” and to hear that on this occasion there were thirty-two gallons of wine and still more of cider, with one hundred and four pounds of that ensnaring accessory, sugar.  Francis Higginson, in writing back to the mother country that one sup of New England’s air was better than a whole draught of Old England’s ale, gave convincing proof that he had tasted both beverages.  But, after all, the very relaxations of the Puritan minister were more spiritual than spirituous, and to send forth a good Nineteenthly from his own lips was more relishing than to have the best Double X go in.

In spite of the dignity of this influential class, they were called only Elders for a long time.  Titles were carefully adjusted in those days.  The commonalty bore the appellations of Goodman and Goodwife, and one of Roger William’s offences was his wishing to limit these terms to those who gave some signs of deserving them.  The name “Mr.” was allowed to those who had taken the degree of Master of Arts at College, and also to professional men,