So, while our New England forefathers were clever politicians, shrewd and adroit men of affairs, practical and full of ingenious expedients, intelligent and clear-headed about their secular business, they retrograded in religion, and became formalists and controversialists. Theological orthodoxy supplanted intelligent Christianity, and New England religion sank into a dreary series of wranglings about Cambridge platforms and Saybrook platforms, half-way covenants and whole-way covenants, old lights and new lights, consociations and associations, until it became, for a time at least, more arid and lifeless than ever had been the Church of England, against the formalism of which they were continually protesting. It is true that a few isolated cases of witchcraft are found occurring in the early history of the colonies, and it was then that the severe laws were enacted; yet the serious trouble, the great panic, did not come until the first generation, “those men who had seen the works of the Lord,” had been gathered unto their fathers. One cannot imagine John Cotton playing the part of his namesake Cotton Mather, or John Winthrop, superstitious as he was, in the place of Stoughton. Even Wilson and Norton, who exulted in the blood of the Quakers, thought witch-finding a cowardly yielding to popular folly. The responsibility of the men of the first generation lies rather in the character of the religious training they gave their successors, a gloomy religion, which in themselves had been mitigated by a piety, sincere if fanatical, and perhaps also by some recollection of the brighter experiences of their childhood’s days in the more genial religious life of England, a life their children had never known.