en out, sometimes, that both Papists and Protestants, Jews and Turks, may be embarked in one ship; upon which supposal, I affirm that all the liberty of conscience that ever I pleaded for turns upon these two hinges: that none of the Papists, Protestants, Jews, or Turks be forced to come to the ship's prayers or worship, or compelled from their own particular prayers or worship, if they practice any. I further add, that I never denied that, notwithstanding this liberty, the commander of this ship ought to command the ship's course, yea, and also command that justice, peace, and sobriety may be kept and practiced, both among the seamen and all the passengers. If any of the seamen refuse to perform their service, or passengers to pay their freight; if any refuse to help, in person or purse, toward the common charges or defense; if any refuse to obey the common laws and orders of the ship concerning their common peace and preservation; if any shall mutiny and rise up against their commanders and officers; if any shall preach or write that there ought to be no commanders or officers, because all are equal in Christ, therefore no masters and officers, no laws nor orders, no corrections nor punishments-I say I never denied but in such cases, whatever is pretended, the commander or commanders may judge, resist, compel, and punish such transgressors, according to their deserts and merits. This, if seriously and honestly minded, may, if it so please the Father of Lights, let in some light to such as willingly shut not their eyes.” In spite of this plain definition of what the authorities might do, a hot dispute arose between Roger Williams and an extremist of the name of Harris, who maintained that, according to his conscience, he "ought not to yield subjection to any human order among men.” This strange being was afterward prosecuted, but with no result, the case being sent to England for adjudication. In the controversy which ensued, it is to be regretted that both Williams and Harris lost their tempers. That liberty of conscience was amply maintained, in the best sense of the word, was proved by the fact that the persecuted Quakers found a refuge in the colony, where they were amply protected, in spite of the remonstrances and threats of Massachusetts.

In May, 1658, Roger Williams retired from the office of president, with no desire to return to it. He was, however, frequently honored by civil appointments of trust and weight when great honesty and probity were needed; and in the new charter grant

ed by Charles the Second in 1663, was appointed one of the assistants under the governor. This charter was the one for which he had made his second visit to England. He was unable to remain until it was completed, and his colleague, Mr. Clarke, had the honor of obtaining it from the king. "It was the first charter," says Mr. Gammell, "that ever bore the signature of a king, and was the astonishment of the age in which it was granted. Like that which preceded it, it secured the most perfect freedom in matters of conscience, and thus guaranteed the perpetual exercise of the great principles on which the colony was founded. It continued to be the fundamental law of Rhode Island for nearly a hundred and eighty years, protecting the rights and securing the happiness of a long succession of generations, and 'holding forth a lively experiment that a most flourishing civil state may stand, and best be maintained, with a full liberty in religious concernments.' It was not supplanted until 1843.

In 1670 Williams was again chosen assistant, and also in 1677, but declined to be re-elected. He was now advanced in life, and needed repose. It was probably with the object of securing this that he declined the solicitations of his friends; but a man of his standing and popularity was not likely to be overlooked in or out of office. In 1672 he engaged in his celebrated Quaker controversy, endeavoring by argument to confute the peculiar doctrines of this sect. It is unnecessary to add that he failed in this effort; but it is well to remind the reader that, although he sheltered the Quakers when they needed shelter, he was by no means their friend, and frequently displayed more temper concerning them than we can account for by his antecedents. In the summer of 1675, the disastrous Indian crusade, headed by the famous King Philip, commenced. It was intended, by a confederation of all the tribes, to expel the whites from the country. The attempt was vigorous, and ended in the destruction of a vast amount of property, and the massacre of some five hundred of the colonists. At first Williams tried to exercise his wonted power over the savage minds of his enemies, but, failing in this, he girded on the sword, and commanded a train-band for the protection of the city. Unfortunately, it fell beneath the devastating hands of the Indians, and most of the public records were destroyed, thus obliterating much of the written testimony of this man's excellence. The remaining years of Roger Williams's life were unmarked

by any event of historical importance, or, if such occurred, we are now without the record. It is probable that his exertions were directed mainly to the healing of old sores which still existed among the colonists, and that, like a benevolent sage, he acted the part of a public pacificator. At the time of his death he was in his eighty-fourth year, but the precise day when he departed this life is unknown. The only record of the event is found in a letter of the 10th of May, 1683, which mentions "that the Lord hath arrested by death our ancient and approved friend, Mr. Roger Williams, with divers others here.”

Mr. Williams was the author of several literary works, mostly of a theological and controversial character. His style was not remarkable for elegance or clearness, but it possessed a rude pioneer strength which served all the purposes of more polished composition. As an ecclesiastic he has been accused, and not unjustly, of wavering in his profession of doctrinal faith; but this is not remarkable. His experience of extreme religious tenacity, as exhibited by the ecclesiastics of Boston, may have warned him against a similar course, and led him to doubts, and fears, and wanderings in search of the truth. One thing has never been doubted he was a good and sincere Christian, indefatigable in his labors and unwearied in his diligence, and "one of the most disinterested men that ever lived-a most pious and heavenlyminded soul.”*

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*Callender.

WILLIAM HUTTON.

THE subject of this memoir was a native of England, born at Derby on the 30th of September, 1723. His parents were in very humble circumstances, and belonged to the dissenting sect. Hutton says that they were remarkable for their steady love of peace and pudding; remarkable, also, for memory; not given much to receive, keep, or pay money; often sensible, always modest; the males inactive, the females distinguished for capacity. William was the most ordinary-looking child of the family, and his mother used to say that she was afraid she could not love him; but poverty-that awful test of human goodness-softened her heart, and she was true and kind to him as to the others. The family was sorely pressed at times, and more than once the poor woman sat with one infant on her knee and others nestled around her, on the cold floor, wailing for food, and when at length it arrived in scanty quantities, she surrendered her share to the more eager wants of her offspring. Time produced nothing but tatters and children.

A lad so pitiably circumstanced was not likely to receive much education. For a very short time he was sent to school, and underwent the discipline of a petty tyrant, who imagined that it was necessary to break a boy's head in order to get any thing into it. At the age of seven he had to earn his own living, and was accordingly apprenticed for seven years to a silk-mill. As he was too short to reach the engine, the superintendents elevated him on a pair of pattens, and on this false footing he remained until nature kindly supplied him with a few more inches.

In 1733, the family received a severe blow in the death of Mrs. Hutton. It was a fatal event for the children, who found themselves without a home, for their father took to drinking, and gave them but few of his thoughts. William did all that lay in his power, and struggled with his hard fate bravely and cheerily; but, in spite of his attentions, he had the wretchedness of seeing his little sister perish of want and neglect. In 1737 he quitted the silk-mill, of which he gives the following dismal picture: "I

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had to rise at five every morning during seven years; submit to the cane whenever convenient to the master; be the constant companion of the most rude and vulgar of the human race, never taught by nature, nor even wishing to be taught. A lad, let his mind be in what state it would, must be as impudent as they, or be hunted down.” The following year he removed to the adjacent town of Nottingham, where he found a generous, friendly uncle, and a mean, sneaking aunt-the one seriously religious, the other seriously hypocritical. He also made the acquaintance of two of his uncle's apprentices, whom he describes, the one as a rogue, the other as a greater. Under the roof of this relative it was intended that he should pass seven years of his existence in learning the business of stocking-weaving, and probably would have done so but for an event which made him naturally enough dissatisfied with the treatment he received. On one occasion (it was holiday time) William was a little behind-hand with his work. His uncle noticed it, and reproved him with want of industry, giving him at the same time a task to be executed by a certain time. The day arrived, but the work was unfinished. "Could you have done the task I ordered?" asked the uncle. William, scorning to tell a falsehood, meekly replied, "I could." Instead of being pleased with this manly acknowledgment, his uncle flew into a violent rage, and fell on his nephew with a stick, repeating his blows until the lad thought he would be broken to pieces. The whole neighborhood was aroused by the clamor, and a double punishment was thereby inflicted upon the lad. The very next day a female acquaintance pointed to him derisively as the boy "who was licked last night." Stung to the quick by the publicity which had thus been given to his disgrace, he resolved on putting an end to it by flight. Concealing himself till the family were gone to meeting, he took two shillings from a glass which contained ten, and packed up his small stock of movables. His uncle having locked the door and taken the key with him, Hutton was compelled to scale an eight-feet wall to make good his escape.

He was now a boy of seventeen, not elegantly dressed, nearly five feet high, and rather Dutch-built in appearance. He had a long, narrow bag of brown leather, holding about a bushel, in which was neatly packed up a new suit of clothes; also a white linen bag, holding about half as much, containing a sixpenny loaf