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Updated: June 24, 2025
Really, my mind received many fresh ideas, which, perhaps, may remain in it even longer than Mr. Wigglesworth's hardest marble will retain the deepest strokes of his chisel. An elderly lady came to bespeak a monument for her first love, who had been killed by a whale in the Pacific Ocean no less than forty years before.
Really, my mind received many fresh ideas which perhaps may remain in it even longer than Mr. Wigglesworth's hardest marble will retain the deepest strokes of his chisel. An elderly lady came to bespeak a monument for her first love, who had been killed by a whale in the Pacific Ocean no less than forty years before.
"'Is brain, sir," earnestly reiterated the sympathetic parent. 'Watch 'is brain, sez 'e, and, my word, the care 'is ma 'as took of that boy's brain is wunnerful, is fair beautiful, sir." Mr. Wigglesworth's voice grew tremulous at the remembrance of that maternal solicitude. "And was that why he left school?" enquired the boss.
Lowell could afford to laugh about it, having crossed that particular black brook. But for several generations the boys and girls of New England had read the "Day of Doom" as if Mr. Wigglesworth, the gentle and somewhat sickly minister of Malden, had veritably peeped into Hell. It is the present fashion to underestimate the power of Wigglesworth's verse.
Friends, you smile at this. This poem of Michael Wigglesworth's was a household treasure in New England for a hundred years. No end of editions was sold. It was earnestly, verily believed; and the doctrine is still taught every time that a new edition of the Presbyterian Confession of Faith? is issued in this country or in Europe. Shall we escape these things by going into other churches?
Wigglesworth turned on Annette who, now that Sam's bellowing had much abated with the appearance of his father upon the scene, had somewhat regained her nerve. "You?" gasped Mr. Wigglesworth. "You? My Samuel? It's a lie," he cried. "Hey, mon, guairrd y're tongue a bit," said Mack. "Mind ye're speakin' to a leddy." "A lidy! A lidy!" Mr. Wigglesworth's voice was eloquent of scorn.
In judging such a popular seventeenth-century poem as Wigglesworth's "Day of Doom" one must strip oneself quite free from the twentieth century, and pretend to be sitting in the chimney-corner of a Puritan kitchen, reading aloud by that firelight which, as Lowell once humorously suggested, may have added a "livelier relish" to the poet's "premonitions of eternal combustion."
There we met nearly every Sunday that summer, and father usually preached. Much of his time that summer was spent in improving forty acres of his farm, on which he raised some sod corn and vegetables, Our corn for bread was ground in Mr. Wigglesworth's treadmill, turned by-oxen.
Rogers preached against long natural hair, the "disguisement of long ruffianly hair," as did also President Chauncey of Harvard College; while Mr. Wigglesworth's sermon on the subject has often been reprinted, and is full of logical arguments.
The three monuments were all to be of the same material and form, and each decorated in bas-relief with two weeping willows, one of these sympathetic trees bending over its fellow, which was to be broken in the midst and rest upon a sepulchral urn. This, indeed, was Mr. Wigglesworth's standing emblem of conjugal bereavement.
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