My child, my child, thou leav’st me! I shall hear
The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear
With its first utterance I shall miss the sound
Of thy light step, amidst the flowers around;
And thy soft breathing hymn at twilight’s close;
And thy “good night,” at parting for repose!
Yet blessings with thee go!
Love guard thee, gentlest! and the exile’s woe
From thy young heart be far!’ HEMANS.

At the period when Roger Williams was induced to seek a home among the Pilgrim Fathers of New Plymouth, Edith Maitland had attained to womanhood. She was not beautiful, strictly speaking, but she was possessed of that ’something than beauty dearer,’ that nameless and indescribable charm that is sometimes seen to surround a person whose form and features would not satisfy the critical eye of an artist. It was Edith’s character which looked out from her clear hazel eye, and won the interest and the affection of all who knew her. Gentle and affectionate in disposition, but at the same time, firm, enduring, and fall of energy, she combined the characteristic qualities of both her parents, and added to them an originality all her own. Her education, in the common acceptation of the term, had necessarily been both desultory and imperfect; and yet, under its influence, the mind and character of Edith had strengthened and matured in no common degree. The very circumstances by which she was surrounded had educated her; and sorrow deep, abiding sorrow, for the loss of both her much-loved brothers had taught her to look on life in a different point of view, and with different expectations from those with which it is usually regarded by the young. Her mother had watched her opening mind and disposition with much care and anxiety: but she had not sought to check its interesting peculiarity, or to control the wild exuberance of thought and feeling that were occasionally manifested by her intelligent and engaging child. As she grew older, she became more and more the companion of Helen, who studied her character attentively: and, if we be allowed such a figure of speech, wisely endeavored to train it in a right direction, rather than to prune it to any conventional form. Thus a perfect confidence was established, and ever subsisted between the mother and daughter; and the natural thoughtfulness of spirit, and energy of purpose, that belonged to Edith, were unchecked, and she was allowed to possess an individuality of character that is, unhappily, too often repressed and destroyed in these present days of high civilization and uniformity of education.

The courteous manners which both Helen and her husband had acquired in early life when they dwelt in comparative affluence in England were inherited by their daughter in full measure; and her whole manner and conduct were marked by a refinement and elegance that seemed little in keeping with the life of extreme simplicity, and even of hardship, that she had experienced from her early childhood. While her brothers were spared to her, she was their constant companion and playfellow; and except when her mother required her attendance, either as her pupil or her assistant in domestic occupations, she spent the greatest part of the day in rambling with them on the sea-shore, or through the adjacent woods, or else in the active and tasteful cultivation of their garden. And when successive calamities deprived her of these cherished objects of her early affection, she still continued to wander to the spots where they had played and conversed together, under the guardianship of the faithful Fingal; and, with no companion but the powerful and sagacious animal, she was even permitted to ramble through the woods as far as the Wampanoge village, and divert her sorrowful thoughts in the society of Apannow, and her lively little son Nepea.

But after the sad day when Edith wept on the lifeless body of her favorite Fingal, and saw him laid in the grave that was dug for him beneath the great tulip-tree, she seemed to concentrate her affections on the bower that Henrich had erected, and the plants that he and Ludovico had transplanted from the forest to cover its trellised walls, and to decorate the garden that surrounded it. Many of these were again removed, and planted on Fingal’s grave; and there on a seat that her brother had constructed would Edith sit, hour after hour, either buried in contemplations of the past and the future, or else devouring with avidity the few books that her parents possessed, or that she could procure from their friends and neighbors. She formed no intimacy with any of her own young countrywomen. They were too unlike herself they had generally known no sorrow: or, if it had fallen on them, its strokes had not made a like impression on their characters; and Edith could find no consolation or pleasure in their society. So she lived alone with her own spirit, and indulged her own high aspirations; and none but Helen was the confidant of any of her thoughts and imaginings. Many of them she kept within her own breast, for she felt that it would distress her mother to know how little charm remained to her in life, and how often she looked up into the blue depths of heaven, and wished that she had ‘the wings of a dove, and could flee away’ from this cold world, ‘and be at rest’ where Henrich and Ludovico dwelt.

And yet Edith was not unhappy. As she grew up, and became a more equal and rational companion to her parents, the cares and business of life necessarily occupied more of her time and thoughts, and gave her less leisure for solitary meditation; and her daily increasing sense of the duties and responsibilities of a Christian, led her to regard as selfishness that indulgence of her own thoughts and feelings in which she had so much delighted. She was therefore cheerful, and even gay, at home; but she desired no pleasures beyond those that her home afforded, and that were perfectly consistent with the self denying views and principles of her Puritan fellow-countrymen.

In all the doctrines of her sect; Edith was thoroughly well-informed; and to all those that were really scriptural, she gave a sincere and heart-felt assent. But the stern severity of Puritan principles and Puritan bigotry found no response in her gentle nature, and the narrow-minded intolerance of the Boston Church aroused both her contempt and indignation. She was, therefore, quite prepared to regard with interest and favor the free-minded young minister who had made himself obnoxious to their laws end customs, and had sought a refuge among the more liberal and kindly Pilgrims of New Plymouth.

The acquaintance of Roger Williams was soon made by the Maitlands; and, once begun, it quickly ripened into intimacy and friendship. In Rodolph he found a sound and able adviser; in Helen, a kind friend and a well-informed companion; but in Edith he found a kindred spirit to his own one who could understand and sympathize in his yearnings for freedom of thought and action, and in his strong sense of the injustice of his oppressors. In all their tastes and pursuits they were, likewise, as well agreed as in their religious and social opinions. Edith’s passionate love of natural beauty was fully shared by the young refugee; and many an hour passed swiftly away while he instructed his quick and willing scholar in the mysteries of sketching, in which pleasant art he was himself a proficient. Edith loved music also, and frequently accompanied her own rich voice with the simple notes of the mandolin, while she sang the old songs of her fatherland.

Hitherto, her mother had been her only instructor in this most refined and refining of all human pleasures; but now she found an able and very ready teacher in Roger Williams: and it was a matter of astonishment to her father when he observed the rapid progress she made both in the science and the practice of music, from the time the interesting stranger undertook to give her lessons. His deep, manly voice harmonized perfectly with her sweet tones; and they often brought tears to the eyes of Helen, and called forth a sigh from the breast of Rodolph, as they sang together some ancient English ballad, or united their voices in the chants and anthems that were dear to the hearts of the exiles, and recalled days of youth and happiness long passed away, and never to return.

Edith’s bower was the usual scene of these domestic concerts; and there the long, sweet summer evenings glided away in happiness, that the ’queen of that bower ’ as Henrich had named her had never known since the last evening that she spent there with her brother. She began to wonder why she had hitherto associated none but melancholy ideas with the lovely spot; and to find that it was possible to feel even gay and light-hearted while surrounded by Henrich’s flowers, and looking on Fingal’s grave. How strange it seemed and yet, how pleasant! A new existence seemed opening before Edith’s soul; and life no longer appeared a dreary pilgrimage, which duty alone could render interesting. The powers of her mind also received a fresh impulse from the society of the cultivated Englishman, and was drawn out in a manner as agreeable as it was new. Roger had brought from his native land a collection of books, which, though small in number, seemed to Edith a perfect library; and all were offered for her perusal. Several of them were, of course, on controversial and doctrinal subjects; and these she was able to understand and to appreciate: but among these graver and more abstruse treatises, were some of a more attractive nature some volumes of foreign travel, and ancient legends, and heart-stirring poetry, in which the soul of Edith reveled, as in a garden of new and fragrant flowers.

It was a fresh, and a very rich enjoyment to one who had known so few literary pleasures, to pore over these volumes, and find her own vivid thoughts and wild imaginings set before her in all the captivating colors of poetry and fiction; or to follow the wanderings of travelers through the civilized and enlightened countries of the old continent, and learn from books those manners and customs of refined life, which, in all human probability, it would never be her lot to witness. But this enjoyment was more than doubled when Roger took the book, and as he often did read to her and her mother while they sat at their work in Edith’s bower in the heat of the day; and if the younger listener did occasionally pause in her occupation, and forget to ply her needle while she looked up at the fine expressive countenance of the reader, she may be pardoned; for the voice and the expression were in such perfect unison, that the one added greatly to the effect of the other.

Perhaps these days of peaceful intercourse, and growing, but unacknowledged, affection, were among the happiest of Edith’s checkered life: certain it is that, in after days of trial and difficulty, she looked back upon them as on some green and sunny spot in the varied field of memory.

But they could not last for ever. Days and weeks passed by, and Edith was too happy in the present to occupy herself much about the future. But her parents thought of it for her; and Roger thought of it for her, and for himself. Her graceful manners and appearance had attracted him on his first acquaintance with her, and the favorable impression had been strengthened from day to day, as he acquired a more intimate knowledge of her thoughtful character and amiable temper: and it was not long ere he felt that his future happiness in life depended on her returning those sentiments with which she had inspired him.

Had he been possessed of much vanity, he would not long have entertained any doubt on this interesting point; for Edith was too open and ingenuous, and too little in the habit of disguising her feelings, to pretend an indifference that her heart soon denied. But the very admiration and respect with which she inspired Roger prevented him from ‘laying the flattering unction to his soul’; and caused him, for some time, to suppose that the very evident pleasure she felt in his society arose from the solitary life she had hitherto led, and the natural enjoyment of an intelligent mind in conversing with one who could enter into her feelings and tastes, and impart some fresh ideas to give food to her thoughts and imagination.

Helen, however, was not under this misconception with regard to her daughter’s feelings, and she felt much anxiety as to the result of her acquaintance with the young clergyman. The remarkable transparency of Edith’s character rendered it easy for a parent’s eye to discover the deep impression that Roger’s fascinating manners, and rare accomplishments, had made both on her fancy and her heart; and it was equally easy to perceive that his affections were entirely gained, and that he was not a man to draw back in this, or any other pursuit in which his feelings were deeply engaged. There was a simple earnestness of manner in every thing that he said or did that irresistibly won both confidence and love; and Helen and her husband entertained not the slightest doubt of the sincerity of his attachment to their child, or of his full intention to offer his hand to her, as soon as he could feel any certainty of its being accepted. Neither did they doubt his power to make her happy; for it was evident that their tastes and dispositions were admirably suited, and their characters marked to a great degree by the same peculiarities. But it was these very peculiarities in which they so well agreed, and which each would probably strengthen and confirm in the other, that gave rise to the anxious thoughts that dwelt in Helen’s mind, and which she communicated to Rudolph.

Roger Williams was already a marked man, and an object of suspicion and displeasure to the rising power of Boston. Already he had been compelled to retire before the persecuting spirit of the Boston Church, and to seek shelter in the rival and more charitable colony, where his peculiar opinions were tolerated, even if they were not approved. But the Maitlands knew that his position at New Plymouth did not satisfy the yearnings of his earnest and aspiring soul, and that he felt a strong desire to return to Salem, and minister among those who had been his first friends, and his first congregation. His reason for so bag delaying this measure was very evident; and Edith’s parents justly feared that, as soon as the object which now engrossed his whole mind was attained, and he had won their daughter’s heart and band, be would take her from her present safe and peaceful home, to share with him the trials and difficulties, and even dangers, which might await him on his return to the state of Massachusetts, where they felt sure he would again proclaim the opinions that had already given so much offence.

This was a reasonable cause for anxiety; but it was not a sufficient ground on which to refuse a connection with such a man as Roger Williams a man who might, indeed, by his daring freedom of spirit and uncompromising opinions, bring earthly trial on himself and any one whose fate was united to his; but whose lofty piety and steadfast faith must carry with them a spiritual blessing, and gild and cheer the path, however dark and thorny, in which he and his partner should be called to tread.

It was, therefore, with mingled feelings of pain and pleasure that Helen heard from Edith that Roger had, at length, taken courage to declare to her his own feelings, and to ask whether she could return them. Her glowing cheek and glistening eye, as she revealed the interesting fact, would have left her mother in no doubt as to the
answer she had returned, even if she had not already guessed her
sentiments; and she and Rodolph could but give their consent to her wishes, and ask a blessing on her choice. The joy and gratitude of Roger knew no bounds. Now he felt that life lay all bright and clear before him, and that no outward trials could have power to cloud his path, so long as Edith walked by his side, to divide his sorrows and double his joys.

He employed all his eloquence to persuade Rodolph and Helen to consent to his speedy marriage; for, now that his object in lingering at Plymouth was attained, all his love for his flock at Salem, and his desire once more to dwell among them, returned with added force. He was impatient to resume his spiritual duties where first he had commenced them in New England; and he was eager, also, to present Edith as his bride to the friends who had once so kindly received him, and who now so pressingly invited him to return.

The aspect of affairs in the State of Massachusetts was then peaceable, and no demonstration of enmity towards Roger had lately been made by the Boston rulers; so that Rodolph and Helen had no well-grounded pretext for delaying their daughter’s marriage, and her removal to Salem with her husband. The letter of invitation to Roger Williams from that community, also contained such alarming accounts of the rapidly declining health of their pastor, Skelton, that the necessity for the presence of his intended successor could not be denied. With some reluctance the Maitlands, therefore, agreed to an early day for the performance of the simple ceremony that would unite their beloved and only remaining child to one whom they loved and respected, but whose fiery zeal inspired them with doubt and anxiety.

No sooner was the happy day fixed, than Roger hastened to dispatch a trusty messenger to Roxburgh, with a letter to his valued friend and brother minister, Elliot who was appointed preacher in that town to entreat him to be present at his marriage, and to honor the ceremony by giving the customary address at its conclusion.

Much to his satisfaction and that of all the Maitland family this request was acceded to, and the ‘Prince of Missionaries’ arrived at New Plymouth, accompanied also by his bride. He was betrothed when he left England, but circumstances had then prevented his intended wife from accompanying him. But as soon as he was settled at Roxburgh, she followed him to the land of his exile, and became his faithful and devoted companion through a long and toilsome life, and his able and efficient helpmate in all his difficulties.

The chief object of this excellent man, in leaving his own country, was not so much to escape the persecution that then awaited the ministers of his sect, as to attempt the conversion of the native heathen. For this pious and disinterested purpose, he abandoned home and kindred, and all that was dear to him, and, at the age of twenty-seven, entered that land of distant promise, to the evangelization of which he had resolved to devote all the powers of his life, and the faculties of his energetic mind. So abstemious and self-denying was he, that his mode of life resembled that of a hermit; and, at the same time, so liberal was he in relieving the wants of others whether his own countrymen or the red Indians that, if his wife had not been a careful and clever manager, they must often have been reduced to absolute want. There is an anecdote recorded of him, so characteristic of the self-forgetting spirit of the ‘Great Apostle of the Indians,’ that it ought not to be omitted here, where we are endeavoring to give a faithful picture of the manners and the principles of the Pilgrim Fathers, and their immediate followers.

The society in England, under whose auspices he had emigrated, allowed him a salary of L50 a year, a great portion of which, as well as of his small private resources, was always dedicated to charitable purposes. It was his custom, when he received his quarterly payment from the treasurer of the colony, to give away a considerable part of it before he reached his home, so that Dame Elliot as she was called only received a very small sum, inadequate to the necessary expenses of her frugal housekeeping. The paymaster knew the good man’s peculiarities, and was aware of the domestic embarrassments that his too-liberal bounty often occasioned. He therefore tied the money up in a handkerchief with so many knots, that he was sure the pastor could never untie them; and gave it to him, saying in jest, ’Now really, reverend sir, you must this time give it all to your worthy spouse.’ Elliot smiled, and departed: but, before he reached his dwelling, he remembered an afflicted family who stood in need of his assistance and consolation; and, on going to visit them, he found them overwhelmed with unexpected distress. He immediately attempted to open his handkerchief, but all his efforts were unavailing to loosen the complicated knots. ‘Well, well,’ he said, at last, ’I see it is the will of the Lord that you should have the whole.’ And, giving them all his wealth, he returned home penniless.

Dame Elliot never showed any displeasure at these improvident acts of her husband. She admired and respected his pious motives, and his beautiful spirit of self-denial: and she only strove the more to limit her expenses, and to make their home cheerful and comfortable with the scanty means she possessed, while she willingly conformed to the life of extreme simplicity which he felt it right to adopt. More than one dish was never allowed to appear on his table, and water was his only beverage. If wine was offered him at the house of a friend, he courteously declined, but never blamed in others the indulgence which he denied to himself. He used to say, ’Wine is a precious, noble thing, and we should thank the Lord for it; but to suit me aright, water should rather be there.’

Such were the Christian pair who came to attend the wedding of Edith and Roger; and to offer their congratulations on the event, and their prayers that it might tend to the present and the eternal happiness of their valued friend and his interesting bride. It could not be otherwise than that Dame Elliot and Edith should form a speedy and a lasting friendship. There was a similarity of feeling, and a difference of character, that rendered them peculiarly agreeable to each other; and made them mutually rejoice in the prospect of future intercourse which the strong regard that subsisted between Elliot and Williams, and the nearness of Salem to Roxburgh, promised to afford them. The young matron was of a much more calm and subdued temperament than her new friend. Her early life and education had been very different from Edith’s; and the man on whom she had fixed her affections, and the mode of life to which her marriage had conducted her, had alike tended to promote a quiet composure, and steady regulation of mind, rather than to arouse the enthusiastic feelings and the lively fancies that distinguished Edith’s character, and which had proved so irresistible a charm to the fervid soul of Williams. But each of the young women was well adapted to the lot which Providence had assigned them; and each proved a blessing, and a support through life, to their respective partners.

But little preparation was required for the Puritan nuptials that were now about to be celebrated: and little gaiety or display was manifested on the occasion. According to the custom of the sect, the marriage ceremony was performed by Bradford, as the chief civil magistrate, and the personal friend of the family. At that period, marriage was regarded as a mere civil act; and either the magistrate of the place, or a commissary appointed for the purpose, was alone required by law to officiate. If a clergyman chanced to be present, he was generally requested to offer up a prayer, or even to deliver a suitable discourse to the, parties; but this was a matter of choice, and not of necessity, and had no share in the validity of the ceremony. Even the wedding ring had already begun to be regarded by the Plymouthers as a relic of Popish corruption and superstition, and was, in many cases, dispensed with, and some time afterwards formally forbidden. But on this occasion it was retained, at the wish of both Edith and her mother; who were accustomed to regard it as a beautiful, and almost a sacred, symbol of the purity and the duration of the holy tie of marriage.

On the appointed day, the civil rite was duly and solemnly performed by the Governor, in the presence of a few chosen friends, among whom none felt more interest in the future welfare of the young bride than the venerable William Brewster. Although he was not a regular minister, he was invited by Rodolph and Helen to offer up a prayer for the temporal and eternal happiness of their beloved child, and fervently and eloquently the old man complied with their request: and tears of affection and anxiety glistened in his eyes as he concluded his prayer, and added his own heartfelt blessing to that which he had asked from Heaven.

Elliot then delivered a powerful and impressive address to the young married couple, on their social and domestic, as well as their spiritual duties; and a simple, but well-arranged repast at Rodolph’s house completed the ceremonies of the day.

It was about this time that the marriage of Henrich and Oriana was celebrated in the distant wilderness, where all the outward circumstances were so different, and where no prescribed forms could be observed, to render the simple ceremony legal or impressive. And, yet, surely it was as sacred and as binding to those who then plighted their faith to each other as if it had been performed with all the rites of civilized life. The vows of Henrich and his Christian bride were made in the presence of that God who instituted marriage, and hollowed it; and they were sanctified by the ‘prayer of faith,’ which rises as freely, and as acceptably, from the wilderness as from the stately cathedral. Had Edith and her much-loved brother known that their earthly fate was thus being decided so nearly at the same period, how would the supplications which they offered for themselves have been mingled with prayers for the happiness of one another!

A brief sojourn in her much-loved home was allowed to Edith after her marriage; and then she gladly, but tearfully, left her parents, to share the fortunes of him who would be more to her than father, or mother, or brother, or sister, could be. The pinnace that belonged to the colony was appointed by the Governor to convey Roger and his bride to Massachusetts Bay, and land them as near as possible to their new home in Salem; and thus Edith was spared the fatigue and difficulty of a long and toilsome journey through the woods and the wilderness by land. She was kindly and joyfully welcomed by her husband’s friends and admirers, who were already disposed to regard her with favor, and who soon learnt both to love and respect her for her own many amiable and estimable qualities.