Somewhere about the year 1650, after he had been married a considerable time, he revisited his native country. A sister, Ellen, had, in the mean while, grown up from early childhood; and he found her all that a fond brother could have hoped for. With much persuasion, he besought his mother to allow her to return with him to America. He stated that he had no children; that he would be a father to her, and watch over and care for her as for his own child. At length the mother yielded, and committed her daughter to his custody, not without great reluctance, trusting to his fraternal affection and plighted promise. He brought her over with him to his American home. She was worthy of his love, and he was true to his sacred and precious trust. Ellen Lothrop became the wife of Ezekiel Cheever, the great schoolmaster; and I should consider myself false to all good learning, if I allowed the name of this famous old man to slip by, without pausing to pay homage to it. His record, as a teacher of a Latin Grammar School, is unrivalled. Twelve years at New Haven, eleven at Ipswich, nine at Charlestown, and more than thirty-eight at Boston,—more than seventy in all,—may it not be safely said that he was one of the very greatest benefactors of America? With Elijah Corlett, who taught a similar school at Cambridge for more than forty years, he bridged over the wide chasm between the education brought with them[i.112] by the fathers from the old country, and the education that was reared in the new. They fed and kept alive the lamp of learning through the dark age of our history. All the scholars raised here were trained by them. One of Cotton Mather's most characteristic productions is the tribute to his venerated master. It flows from a heart warm with gratitude. "Although he had usefully spent his life among children, yet he was not become twice a child," but held his faculties to the last. "In this great work of bringing our sons to be men, he was my master seven and thirty years ago, was master to my betters no less than seventy years ago; so long ago, that I must even mention my father's tutor for one of them. He was a Christian of the old fashion,—an old New England Christian; and I may tell you, that was as venerable a sight, as the world, since the days of primitive Christianity, has ever looked upon. He lived, as a master, the term which has been, for above three thousand years, assigned for the life of a man." Mather celebrated his praises in a poetical effusion:— "He lived, and to vast age no illness knew, Till Time's scythe, waiting for him, rusty grew. He lived and wrought; his labors were immense, But ne'er declined to preterperfect tense. * * * * * 'Tis Corlett's pains, and Cheever's, we must own, That thou, New England, art not Scythia grown." To our early schoolmasters, as Mather says, and the later too, I may add, it is owing, that the whole country did not become another Scythia.[i.113]