the devil, that made men so bad?’
they fell into the mazes of fixed decrees and free will.
‘Doth God know who shall repent and believe, and who not?’
The statesman might have hesitated in his answers to some problems.
The ballot-box was to them a mystery.
‘When you choose magistrates, how do you know who are good men, whom you dare trust?’
And again, ‘If a man be wise, and his sachem weak, must he yet obey him?’
Cases of casuistry occurred; I will cite but two, one of which, at least, cannot easily be decided.
preached against polygamy.
‘Suppose a man, before he knew God,’ inquired a convert, ‘hath had two wives; the first childless, the second bearing him many sweet children, whom he exceedingly loves; which of these two wives is he to put away?’
And the question which Kotzebue
proposed in a fiction, that has found its way across the globe, was in real life put to the pure-minded Eliot
, among the wigwams of Nonantum.
“Suppose a squaw desert and flee from her husband, and live with another distant Indian, till, hearing the word, she repents, and desires to come again to her husband, who remains still unmarried; shall the husband, upon her repentance, receive her again?”
The poet of civilization tells us that happiness is the end of our being.
‘How shall I find happiness?’
demanded the savage.1
was never tired with this importunity; the spirit of humanity sustained him to the last; his zeal was not wearied by the hereditary idleness of the race; and his simplicity of life and manners, and evangelical sweetness of temper, won for