"It
is true, that Colonel Shute had probably never led so unquiet a life while
fighting the French, as he did now, while governing this province of
Massachusetts Bay. But his troubles consisted almost entirely of
dissensions with the legislature. The king had ordered him to lay claim to
a fixed salary; but the representatives of the people insisted upon paying
him only such sums, from year to year, as they saw fit."

Grandfather here explained some of the circumstances, that made the
situation of a colonial governor so difficult and irksome. There was not
the same feeling towards the chief magistrate, now, that had existed,
while he was chosen by the free suffrages of the people. It was felt,
that, as the king appointed the governor, and as he held his office during
the king's pleasure, it would be his great object to please the king. But
the people thought, that a governor ought to have nothing in view, but the
best interests of those whom he governed.

"The governor," remarked Grandfather, "had two masters to serve--the king,
who appointed him, and the people, on whom he depended for his pay. Few
men, in this position, would have ingenuity enough to satisfy either
party. Colonel Shute, though a good-natured, well-meaning man, succeeded
so ill with the people, that in 1722, he suddenly went away to England,
and made complaint to King George. In the mean time, Lieutenant-Governor
Dummer directed the affairs of the province, and carried on a long and
bloody war with the Indians."

"But where was our chair, all this time?" asked Clara.

"It still remained in Cotton Mather's library," replied Grandfather; "and
I must not omit to tell you an incident, which is very much to the honor
of this celebrated man. It is the more proper, too, that you should hear
it, because it will show you what a terrible calamity the small pox was to
our forefathers. The history of the province, (and, of course, the history
of our chair,) would be incomplete, without particular mention of it."
Accordingly, Grandfather told the children a story, to which, for want of
a better title, we shall give that of

THE REJECTED BLESSING

One day, in 1721, Doctor Cotton Mather sat in his library, reading a book
that had been published by the Royal Society of London. But, every few
moments, he laid the book upon the table, and leaned back in Grandfather's
chair, with an aspect of deep care and disquietude. There were certain
things which troubled