With the restoration of Charles II. much of the more rhapsodic features of this curious spirit died out, but it is more than probable it was fed elsewhere. The rigorous persecution of the Nonconformists which marked and blotted his reign, the persecuting spirit which drove hundreds to seek beyond the seas that asylum for religious liberty which was denied them at home, could have none other effect than to make these settlers cling the more tenaciously to the new scheme of doctrine and practice, for which they had sacrificed so much. Thus the feeling which had led them at home to allow the Written Word to be the only source from which to select names for their children, or to make substitutions for their own, was not likely to be suppressed in the backwoods.[104] Their very life and its surroundings there but harmonized with the primitive histories of those whose names they had chosen. A kind of affinity seemed to be established between them. This spirit was fanned by the very paucity of population, and the difficulty of keeping up any connexion with the outer world. They were shut up within themselves, and thus the Bible became to them, not so much a record of the past as that through which ran the chronicle of the present. It was a living thread interwoven into their very lives. Their history was inscribed in its pages, their piety was fed by its doctrines. Its impress lay upon all, its influence pervaded all. All this has left its mark upon Anglo-American nomenclature—nay, to such a degree do these influences still exist, that, though derived from the same sources, the American system and our own can scarce be viewed otherwise than as separate and distinct. Rare, indeed, are the early romance and the Teutonic names in those tracts where the descendants of the primitive settlers are found. All are derived from the Scriptures, or are of that fancy character, a love of which arose with their Puritan forefathers. Appellations such as ‘Seth,’ or ‘Abel,’ or ‘Lot,’ or ‘Jonas,’ or ‘Asa,’ or ‘Jabez,’ or ‘Abijah,’ or ‘Phineas,’ or ‘Priscilla,’ or ‘Epaphroditus,’ abound on every hand. Sobriquets like ‘Faith,’ and ‘Hope,’ and ‘Charity,’ and ‘Patience,’ and ‘Prudence,’ and ‘Grace,’ and ‘Mercy,’ have become literally as household words, and names yet more uncouth and strange may be heard every day, sounding oddly indeed to English ears. There would seem to have been a revulsion of feeling, even from such of the Biblical names as had lived in the earlier centuries of our history, as if the connexion of ‘Peter,’ and ‘John,’ and ‘James,’ and ‘Thomas’ with others of more pagan origin had made them unworthy of further use; certain it is, that these are in no way so familiar with them as with us. Such are the strange humours that pass over the hearts of men and communities. Such are the changes that the nomenclature of peoples, as well as of places and things, undergo through the more extraordinary convulsions