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t ingenious but schismatic man, Mr. Roger Williams, in the little book which he put forth in England on the Indian tongue:— Boast not, proud English, of thy birth and blood, Thy brother Indian is by birth as good; Of one blood God made him and thee and all, As wise, as fair, as strong, as personal.
By nature wrath's his portion, thine, no more, Till grace his soul and thine in Christ restore. Make sure thy second birth, else thou shalt see Heaven ope to Indians wild, but shut to thee!
One Master O'Shane, an Irish scholar, of whom my cousins here did learn the Latin tongue, coming in last evening, and finding Rebecca and I alone (uncle and aunt being on a visit to Mr. Atkinson's), was exceeding merry, entertaining us rarely with his stories and songs.
Rebecca tells me he is a learned man, as I can well believe, but that he is too fond of strong drink for his good, having thereby lost the favor of many of the first families here, who did formerly employ him. There was