Quoting the words of Satan, Mr. McEwen adds, “Skin for skin, all that a man hath will he give for his life.” The faith of the man was strong, yet he was saved not by faith, but by bailing water. Mr. McEwen is quick to condemn the infringement of the law when charged upon the Rogerenes, but makes no objections to the constable’s outrage upon law, and no reference to the hundred years of oppression, in fines, whippings, imprisonments, etc., which the Rogerenes had then endured; fines which, with, interest, would have amounted to millions of dollars at the time Mr. McEwen was speaking. But, notwithstanding the principles of non-resistance so publicly professed by the Rogerenes, from whom the weakest had nothing to fear, Mr. McEwen dwells strongly upon the terrors which they inspired. He says:— Mr. Saltonstall and Mr. Adams were brave men. Mr. Byles was a man of less nerve and he suffered not a little from their annoyances. He was actually afraid to go without an escort, lest he should suffer indignities from them. We have shown (Chapter I) the transparent groundlessness of another statement made of their rudeness by Mr. McEwen, which we need not repeat; but the trials into which Mr. Byles was thrown and the escort deemed necessary present such a comical aspect that the following lines from Mother Goose seem appropriate to the case:— Four and twenty tailors Went to kill a snail, The best man among them Durst not touch its tail; It stuck up its horns, Like a little Kyloe cow; Run! tailors, run! or it Will kill you all just now. Mr. Byles, who was ordained in 1757, seems to have been as much displeased with the church as with the Rogerenes themselves; for in 1768 he left New London, renounced the Congregational church and abandoned its ministry altogether. (See Part II, Chapter XII.) Herod and Pilate were men of note in their day. What are they thought of now? The records of history show many examples of this sort. Quakers were once persecuted and slain. Men are now proud of such ancestry. Let the calumniated wait their hour. The progress of truth adown the ages is slow, but its chariot is golden and its coming sure. CHAPTER III. As round and round it takes its flight, That lofty dweller of the skies, And never on the earth doth light, The fabled bird of Paradise; So would we soar on pinions bright, And ever keep the sun in sight, That sun of truth, whose golden rays Are as the “light of seven days.”