mon suffering for their distinctive ecclesiastical discipline. The first generation of their clergy was renowned for learning, and a learned ministry had always been their pride and boast. No pains were spared to save the pulpit from the intrusion of unworthy or unbecoming occupants. So far was this feeling carried, that, in Connecticut, a law was passed, at a time when the excitement which attended the Great Awakening threatened to throw off wholesome restraints, providing that no man should be entitled to recognition as a clergyman "who was not a graduate of Yale or Harvard, or of some foreign university." While the organization of the churches trenched on extreme democracy, and, in theory, the line between clergyman and layman was almost obliterated, in fact the clerical position was one of almost unrivalled authority and influence. Though possessing no immunities, and connected by no official tie, they formed a distinct order, and enjoyed a social prestige such as was accorded only to the most considerable members of the community. The reverential regard in which the New England minister of the last century was held has nowhere been so vividly depicted as by the late President Quincy, whose length of honored days almost linked the extreme terms of the period passing under our review. The scene is Andover, and the time a Sunday morning: "The whole space before the meeting-house was filled with a waiting, respectful, and expecting multitude. At the moment of service the pastor issued from his mansion, with Bible and manuscript sermon under his arm, with his wife leaning on one arm, flanked by his negro man on his side, as his wife was by her negro woman, the little negrocs being distributed, according to their sex, by the side of their respective parents. Then followed every other member of the family, according to age and rank, making often, with family visitants, somewhat of a formidable procession. As soon as it appeared, the congregation, as if led by one spirit, began to move towards the door of the church; and, before the procession reached it, all were in their places. As soon as the pastor entered, the whole congregation rose and stood until he was in the pulpit and his family were seated. At the close of the service the congregation stood until he and his family had left the church. Fore

noon and afternoon the same course of proceeding was had." Not every country parson, of course, lived in the style of the Rev. Jonathan French, but all were treated with the same deferential homage. This illustration of the social position of the New England clergyman is not simply a curious picture of the manners of the period, but furnishes an important clew to some of the religious changes afterwards witnessed. The clergy formed an extremely aristocratic class, and it was hardly less their social eminence than their speculative teachings which ultimately arrayed against them a portion of the population.

Beneath the apparent unity of the Congregational body it was true that silent modifications were going on. The austere Puritanism of an earlier epoch had "smoothed its wrinkled front." A taste for amusements had been introduced on which an earlier generation would have frowned. Thus in Whitefield's time, "mixed dancing was very common in New England." Even the absence of the theatre, on which the law still frowned, was not an unmitigated evil; for a lively French chaplain, who was in Boston near the close of the Revolutionary War, assures us that "piety was not the only motive that brought the American ladies in crowds to the various places of worship. Deprived of all shows and public diversions, the church is the grand theatre where they attend to display their extravagance and finery. There they come dressed off in silks, and overshadowed with a profusion of the finest flowers." With these social innovations were disseminated new modes of thought. There was no avowed antagonism to the past, yet there were not wanting many indications that the sway of old ideas was weakened. The religious revival, which had swept through the churches like a whirlwind, divided the New England clergy into two parties, who already eyed each other with mutual distrust. In the country districts Wigglesworth's "Day of Doom" was, perhaps, "taught with the Catechism," for half a century ago there were many living who could recite from memory the doleful stanzas in which the New England Dante makes reprobate infants argue with the Almighty respecting the difficult question of Adam's federal headship; but in the towns, especially of Eastern Massachu

setts, the bard whom Mather so much admired was no longer cherished as a "sweet singer." Had not the disputes with the mother country turned the minds of men in a different direction, it is not unlikely that the controversy which rent the New England churches asunder might have been precipitated half a century earlier. But the Stamp Act totally eclipsed the Five Points of Calvinism. Mayhew, of the West Church, the recognized chief of the liberal party after 1761, "threw all the might of his great fame into the scale of his country." Chauncy succeeded him as a leader of popular opinion, and, like Mayhew, turned wholly from theology to politics. Nor in doing this did they turn to an unfamiliar or uncongenial field. The relation originally existing between religion and the state had always disposed the New England clergy to hold political studies in the highest estimate. Refusing to regard human life as separated into two distinct spheres of action, they believed that God could be glorified in the performance of civil duties, and consistently held their town-meetings in the same house in which they paid Him their public vows. Locke and Sidney were hardly less read than Calvin and Owen. In 1766 we find Hollis writing: "More books, especially on government, are going to New England." This marked predilection of the New England clergy for political discussion was also a circumstance which had an important bearing on their fortunes in later years.

Next in numbers to the Congregationalists stood the Baptists, who were supposed to have, at this time, about three hundred and eighty churches. This numerical strength was, however, less real than apparent, since most of these organizations were insignificant in size and influence. The Baptists were not confined to New England, but were scattered through the Colonies, and had become especially numerous in Virginia. The story has often been repeated, that it was from personal observation of the working of a small Baptist church, not far from his residence, that Mr. Jefferson was first impressed with the peculiar advantages of direct democratic government. But notwithstanding their numbers the Baptists, both in New England and the South, were held in great disfavor. Originally bringing to this country a name identified with the worst excesses

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of the Reformation, and opposing themselves with conscientious pertinacity to long-established ecclesiastical and political usages, they had been made to feel repeatedly the arm of civil power. In Massachusetts they had succeeded, after a long struggle, in winning a tardy recognition of their claims, but under conditions which had added to their exasperation. The slender importance of the Baptists, as a body, even at the beginning of the Revolution, is plainly enough evinced in the contemptuous treatment which they received at the hands of the Massachusetts delegation to the Continental Congress. Manning, who was one of their leaders, speaks of them as "despised and oppressed." They were even accused of disloyalty to the popular cause. Yet, in spite of all this, they steadily increased. Two distinct causes contributed to this growth. Before all else, the Baptists had insisted on a personal experience of religion as the absolute condition of admission to the Christian Church. But this was precisely the doctrine on which the leaders of the Great Awakening had laid such stress. great Northampton controversy had turned on this very point. The inevitable effect was not only to direct increased attention to the tenets of the Baptists, but also to carry over to their ranks the numerous congregations of Separatists which had been called into existence by the conservatism of the Congregational churches. Backus, the faithful historian of the Baptists, was one of this description. But, besides this, there was another and perhaps more potent reason. Religious changes are rarely due to the exclusive influence of religious causes. A distinctive characteristic of the Baptists was the energy with which they extolled the gifts of the Spirit, and advocated an unlearned ministry. On this latter point, as we have already seen, the Congregationalists took high ground. Even Edwards, the most powerful promoter of the Revival, would not allow that a man should enter the pulpit "who had had no education at college." Against what seemed to them an unrighteous prejudice in favor of "the original tongues," both Separatists and Baptists strenuously maintained "that every brother that is qualified by God has a right to preach according to the measure of faith." "Lowly preaching" became their favorite watchword, and it marked the beginning of a popular tendency

destined to make itself deeply felt on the religious institutions of New England. The Baptists not only gained a controlling influence with a devout but humble class who had little appetite for the elaborate discussions of the Congregational divines, but they were powerfully helped by the prejudice which exists, in every community, against the exclusiveness of superior culture. The rapid growth of the Baptists was, in large part, a democratic protest; and it is a noticeable fact that even during the war their numbers steadily augmented.

Third in numerical importance was the religious organization at that time known as "The Church of England in the Colonies." Out of New England it included a majority of those whose wealth or social consideration gave them influence in the community. It was the oldest religious body in the Colonies; its impressive liturgy was read at Jamestown seven years before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth. In all the Southern Colonies it had on its side the support of law, and everywhere out of New England the powerful countenance of official favor. But neither years nor social consideration nor legal support had secured for it a hardy growth. Even in the Colonies where it was most firmly planted, its clergy were dependent for ordination on the mother country, and in New England both for ordination and maintenance. In New England they remained to the last hardly more than missionaries. There existed a wide-spread suspicion that in some way they were rendered subservient to the political designs of the British government. The scheme of erecting an Episcopate over the Colonies contributed, Mr. Adams tells us, as much as any other cause, "to close thinking on the constitutional authority of Parliament." Nor was political prejudice, by any means, the only thing that had impaired its influence. In Maryland and Virginia, where its strength was greatest, the careless lives of the clergy had alienated numbers of those who were sincerely attached to its forms. Before any political antagonisms had been excited, "the Church was becoming more and more unpopular, because it was not considered as promoting piety." Jonathan Boucher, a clergyman of much intelligence, long settled in Virginia, whose sermons throw a clear light both upon the political and religious issues of the period, VOL. CXXII. NO. 250.

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