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Wigglesworth's voice lifted in violent declamation, but from Sam no answering sound could be heard. The school suffered no noticeable loss in the intellectual quality of its activities by the removal of the whirling brain and incidentally its physical integument of Samuel Wigglesworth.
"Ye're airly on yere way tae the Kirk." "Yes that is yes," replied Mr. "'Business, did ye say, Mr. Wigglesworth?" Mrs. McNish stood facing him at the door. "Business! On the Lord's Day?" Mr. Wigglesworth gaped at her, hat in hand. "Well, Mrs. McNish." Mr. Wigglesworth's head went over to one side as if in contemplation of a new and striking idea.
I often fancy I should have enjoyed living in the good old times, but I am glad I never was a child in colonial New England to have been baptized in ice water, fed on brown bread and warm beer, to have had to learn the Assembly's Catechism and "explain all the Quaestions with conferring Texts," to have been constantly threatened with fear of death and terror of God, to have been forced to commit Wigglesworth's "Day of Doom" to memory, and, after all, to have been whipped with a tattling stick.
This wretched miser, conscious that he had not a friend to be mindful of him in his grave, had himself taken the needful precautions for posthumous remembrance, by bespeaking an immense slab of white marble, with a long epitaph in raised letters, the whole to be as magnificent as Mr. Wigglesworth's skill could make it.
Stone admitted: " I acknowledge yt it is a liberty of ye church to declare their apprehensions by vote about ye fitness of a p'son for office upon his tryall. "I look at it as a received truth yt an officer may in some cases lawfully hinder ye church from putting forth at this or yt time an act of her liberty. Wigglesworth's fitness for office in ye church of Hartford." Conn.
Wigglesworth's chisel being inadequate to the task, she was forced to content herself with a rose, hanging its head from a broken stem. After her departure, I remarked that the symbol was none of the most apt.
There was a complete absence of Wigglesworth's noisy bluster, as also of Gilby's violent profanity. He obviously knew his ground and was ready to hold it. He had a case and was prepared to discuss it. There was no occasion for heat or bluster or profanity. He was prepared to discuss the matter, man to man. Mr. Maitland regarded him for a moment or two with keen steady gaze.
But no living poet can move his readers to the fascinated horror once felt by the Puritans as they followed Wigglesworth's relentless gaze into the future of the soul's destiny. Historical curiosity may still linger, of course, over other verse-writers of the period.
"We demand our rights as " began Mr. Wigglesworth heatedly. "Excuse me, sir. 'A should like to enquir-r-e if it is your-r or-rder-rs that your-r for-r-man should use blasphemious language to your-r men?" The cool, firm, rasping voice cut through Mr. Wigglesworth's sputtering noise like a circular saw through a pine log. Mr. Maitland turned sharply upon the speaker.
She got me some broth, and after I had drunk it brought a flax-wheel and sat down by it. I was sick and weak, but the joy of Michael Wigglesworth's saints in heaven was nothing compared to mine. That is, until the dreadful thought occurred that she might have been already sought and won by some one else. But I said: "Keep your courage up, Ben. She isn't over seventeen.
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