Historical fiction; King Philip's War, 1675-1676 -- Fiction; War stories
The spirit of reform had driven those, who so violently felt its
influence, into many usages that, to say the least, were quite as
ungracious to the imagination, as the customs they termed idolatrous were
obnoxious to the attacks of their own unaccommodating theories. The first
Protestants had expelled so much from the service of the altar, that
little was left for the Puritan to destroy, without incurring the risk of
leaving it naked of its loveliness. By a strange substitution of subtlety
for humility, it was thought pharisaical to bend the knee in public, lest
the great essential of spiritual worship might be supplanted by the more
attainable merit of formula; and while rigid aspects, and prescribed
deportments of a new character, were observed with all the zeal of
converts, ancient and even natural practices were condemned, chiefly, we
believe, from that necessity of innovation which appears to be an
unavoidable attendant of all plans of improvement, whether they are
successful or the reverse. But though the Puritans refused to bow their
stubborn limbs when the eye of man was on them, even while asking boons
suited to their own sublimated opinions, it was permitted to assume in
private an attitude which was thought to admit of so gross an abuse,
inasmuch as it infers a claim to a religious vitality, while in truth the
soul might only be slumbering in the security of mere moral pretension.
On the present occasion, they who worshipped in secret had bent their
bodies to the humblest posture of devotion. When Ruth Heathcote arose from
her knees, it was with a hand clasped in that of the child whom her recent
devotion was well suited to make her think had been rescued from a
condition far more gloomy than that of the grave. She had used a gentle
violence to force the wondering being at her side to join, so far as
externals could go, in the prayer; and, now it was ended, she sought the
countenance of her daughter, in order to read the impression the scene had
produced, with all the solicitude of a Christian, heightened by the
tenderest maternal love.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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