Having thus brought down the affairs of the New England States to the sitting of the Long Parliament, we will hastily glance at their condition. “The change,” say their writers, “which had been wrought through their industry in the wilderness was the wonder of the world.” Plenty prevailed everywhere. The wigwams and hovels, which furnished the first shelter to the settlers, were replaced by substantial houses. The number of persons who had already emigrated amounted to 21,200. “In little more than ten years, fifty towns and villages had been planted; between thirty and forty churches built; and strangers as they gazed could not but acknowledge God’s blessing on the planters. Affluence was already following in the train of industry; furs, timber, and fish were exported; and grain carried to the West Indies.” Ship-building, in which the Americans of the present day excel so greatly, was early commenced, the great promoter of this branch of art being Hugh Peters, the successor of Roger Williams in the church of Salem. Vessels of 400 tons were built before 1640, which traded to Madeira, the Canaries, and Spain, touching frequently, we regret to confess, on the African coast, and bringing away cargoes of negroes, who were sold in the West Indies, there being, it is said, but small demand for them at home. In many respects the present New Englanders are the genuine and praiseworthy descendants of the early colonists, and in none more so than as regards education. It was ever the custom, and soon became the law, of puritan New England, that “none of the brethren should suffer so much barbarism in their families as not to teach their children and apprentices so much learning as may enable them perfectly to read the English tongue.” That learning might not be hidden, as they said, in the graves of their forefathers, it was ordered that as soon as any township contained fifty householders, a person should be “appointed to teach all the children to read and write, and that after the number amounted to 100, a grammar-school should be established, in which the youth should be instructed so far as to be fitted for the university.” In 1636, a sum equal to a year’s rate of the whole colony was voted for the erection of a college at New Town, the name of which was changed to Cambridge, in commemoration of the seat of learning where most of the Massachusetts divines were educated; and two years later, John Harvard, a man of wealth and learning, arriving in the country only to die, nobly bequeathed one-half of his property and his library to the infant institution. This college was hailed as welcome by all the states; the rent of a ferry was devoted to it as an annual revenue by Massachusetts; and Connecticut, Plymouth and other places, were not behindhand in its support, whilst each individual family was rated twelvepence, or a peck of corn, for the same purpose. “This college,” says Bancroft, “exerted a