o
begin with, and that's half the battle. The forefathers, in whose honor
we meet, were men of good-will, profoundly so; but they were, in their
day, more afraid of showing it, in some forms, than their descendants
happily are.

The first time I ever stood in the pulpit to preach was in the
meeting-house of the ancient Connecticut town where I was brought up.
That was a great day for our folks and all my old neighbors, you may
depend. After benediction, when I passed out into the vestibule, I was
the recipient there of many congratulatory expressions. Among my
friends in the crowd was an aged deacon, a man in whom survived, to a
rather remarkable degree, the original New England Puritan type, who had
known me from the cradle, and to whom the elevation I had reached was as
gratifying as it could possibly be to anybody. But when he saw the smile
of favor focussed on me there, and me, I dare say, appearing to bask
somewhat in it, the dear old man took alarm. He was apprehensive of the
consequences to that youngster. And so, taking me by the hand and
wrestling down his natural feelings--he was ready to cry for joy--he
said: "Well, Joseph, I hope you'll live to preach a great deal better
than that!" [Laughter.] It was an exceedingly appropriate remark, and a
very tender one if you were at the bottom of it.

That severe, undemonstrative New England habit, that emotional reserve
and self-suppression, though it lingers here and there, has mostly
passed away and is not to be regretted. As much as could be has been
made of it to our forefathers' discredit, as has been made of everything
capable of being construed unfavorably to them. They to whom what they
call the cant of the Puritan is an offence, themselves have established
and practise a distinct anti-Puritan cant with which we are all
familiar. The very people who find it abhorrent and intolerable that
they were such censors of the private life of their contemporaries, do
not scruple to bring to bear on their private life a search-light that
leaves no accessible nook of it unexplored, and regarding any unpretty
trait espied by that unsparing inquest the rule of judgment persistently
employed--as one is obliged to perceive--tends to be: "No explanation
wanted or admitted but the worst." [Applause.]

Accordingly, the infestive deportment characteristic of the New England
colonist has been extensively interpreted as the indisputable index of
his sour and morose spirit, begot