Had the advice been heeded, the history of the Colonial Church of England would not have been the sorry story it is. In point of fact, holy and profane things are so mixed in its chronicles that it is hard to write of it without seeming levity and flippancy. To call the differences between the parsons and their parishes in the Southern Colonies a struggle, would be to dignify it beyond the warrant of truth. It was simply a series of squabbles without ennobling principle on either side. Yet, in the beginning, better things promised. Great attention was paid to religious forms and observances, and the earliest laws are devoted to the regulation of church affairs. In the year after the landing of the settlers, Edward Maria Wingfield, first president of the council in Virginia, was brought to trial accused of various high crimes and misdemeanors. Among the charges against him was one of atheism. The most damaging evidence against him was the absence of a Bible from his belongings. He himself felt that this was a point needing explanation, which he made by saying that he had "sorted" many books to take with him to Virginia, and was sure that a Bible was among them, but that in the course of his journey he had found "the truncke" somehow broken open, and the Bible "ymbeasiled." In rebuttal of evidence showing general godlessness and lack of respect for the Sabbath, he explained that on the Sunday in question, Indian allarums had detained every one at the palisade "till the daie was farre spent." Then, he goes on to say: "the preacher, Master Hunt, did aske me if it weare my pleasure to have a sermon. He said he was prepared for it. I made answer that our men were weary and hungry, and that if it pleased him wee would spare him till some other tyme." The tact of this reply should certainly have scored a point in Wingfield's defence, especially as he adds: "I never failed to take such noates by wrighting out of his doctrine as my capacity could comprehend, _unless some raynie day hindered my endeavour_."