from Mrs. Hutchinson, though she believed that her mission thither was
divine. The houses, straw thatched and lowly roofed, stand irregularly
along streets that are yet roughened by the roots of the trees, as if
the forest, departing at the approach of man, had left its reluctant
footprints behind. Most of the dwellings are lonely and silent: from a
few we may hear the reading of some sacred text, or the quiet voice of
prayer; but nearly all the sombre life of the scene is collected near
the extremity of the village. A crowd of hooded women, and of men in
steeple-hats and close-cropped hair, are assembled at the door and open
windows of a house newly built. An earnest expression glows in every
face; and some press inward, as if the bread of life were to be dealt
forth, and they feared to lose their share; while others would fain hold
them back, but enter with them, since they may not be restrained. We,
also, will go in, edging through the thronged doorway to an apartment
which occupies the whole breadth of the house. At the upper end, behind
a table, on which are placed the Scriptures and two glimmering lamps, we
see a woman, plainly attired, as befits her ripened years: her hair,
complexion, and eyes are dark, the latter somewhat dull and heavy, but
kindling up with a gradual brightness. Let us look round upon the
hearers. At her right hand his countenance suiting well with the gloomy
light which discovers it, stands Vane, the youthful governor, preferred
by a hasty judgment of the people over all the wise and hoary heads that
had preceded him to New England. In his mysterious eyes we may read a
dark enthusiasm, akin to that of the woman whose cause he has espoused,
combined with a shrewd worldly foresight, which tells him that her
doctrines will be productive of change and tumult, the elements of his
power and delight. On her left, yet slightly drawn back, so as to
evince a less decided support, is Cotton, no young and hot enthusiast,
but a mild, grave man in the decline of life, deep in all the learning
of the age, and sanctified in heart, and made venerable in feature, by