lectually and spiritually blood of the same blood and flesh of the same flesh. They were no such thing. In everything that makes for character — in the concept of life, in the relation of man to man, in the code that governed the family and the family magnified, the state "the Puritan differs from the Pilgrim as the Hebrew prophet from Saint John," the late Senator Hoar of Massachusetts, himself a descendant in direct descent from three centuries of Puritan ancestors, said on one occasion.1 And he elaborated his theme in this striking passage:

"The Puritan differs from the Pilgrim as the Hebrew prophet from Saint John. Abraham, ready to sacrifice Isaac at the command of God; Jeremiah, uttering his terrible prophecy of the downfall of Judea; Brutus, condemning his son to death; Brutus, slaying his friend for the liberty of Rome; Aristides, going into exile, are his spiritual progenitors, as Stonewall Jackson was of his spiritual kindred. You will find him wherever men are sacrificing life or the delights of life on the altar of Duty.

"But the Pilgrim is of a gentler and a lovelier nature. He, too, if Duty or Honor call, is ready for the sacrifice. But his weapon is love and not hate. His spirit is the spirit of John, the beloved Disciple, the spirit of Grace, Mercy, and Peace. His memory is as sweet and fragrant as the perfume of the little

1 Speech at the banquet of the New England Society, Charleston, S. C., December 22, 1898.

flower which gave its name to the ship which brought him over."

There are few more romantic episodes on the great canvas of history than the sailing of the Pilgrims and their arrival in the land of promise and hope. There are few that so vividly thrill the imagination and appeal to all that is best in man as the recollection of that day when the Pilgrims set foot on the rock that Americans hold sacred. There are few that have so admirably served as the inspiration for painter and poet and story-teller. It is background perfect in its composition and detail to make that gentle figure of the Pilgrim stand forth in all its majesty. Painter and poet and storyteller have labored with rare devotion to exalt his virtues and with loving hands have hidden his vices. He stands in imagination the progenitor of a race and the founder of a new social system. And all the labor has been in vain.

The Pilgrim made only the very slightest impress upon the American character. He founded no social institution. He gave birth to no political system. So far as the America of to-day is concerned, it is as if he had never existed. It is to the Puritan and not to the Pilgrim that America owes what she is.

The Pilgrim stands in the same relation to present-day America as the Saxon Heptarchy does to present-day England. What the Norman Conquest wrought we all know; and it was the Puritan who played the part of the Norman in American race

development. The Pilgrim simply became merged into the Puritan as all cities were absorbed into the Roman state; and in a very short time the Pilgrim no longer existed. But the Puritan lived; he lives to-day. The difference between the Pilgrim and the Puritan is not of the greatest importance historically, but psychologically it is of the utmost importance that the distinction should be made.

The Pilgrims were not virile enough to found a race; the Puritans were. When the Plymouth Colony was fifteen years old it numbered only five hundred people. Twelve years after the Puritans had first settled in Massachusetts they counted twenty thousand souls. They had founded Harvard College; with that insatiable land hunger that was in the blood they had planted colonies in Connecticut and Rhode Island and New Hampshire; they had built churches and provided for their ministers; they were even in that early day living in comparative comfort. It staggers the imagination when one recalls all that had been accomplished in so short a time. The mother colony, its people influenced by the easy-going characteristics of the Dutch, which they had, perhaps, unconsciously assimilated, slowly, very slowly, gained in strength, but gave no promise of developing into a nation. The younger colony, almost at a single bound, displayed its potential power and showed that its people had in them the spirit of the nation builders. One would like to let poetic fancy dwell on the

Pilgrims, for there is no period in history more alluring than this, and no people more entrancing to the lover of the poetic and the imaginative than these simple but courageous folk who loved God and their fellow men; who with such perfect trust committed themselves to the benign protection of their Ruler and Guardian; who under adversity were patient, and who in all things had faith. Sublime qualities these, a much-needed inspiration in a day of gross materialism and little faith, but, alas, not the qualities that make a living race. I must not be understood as implying that the Pilgrim served no useful purpose. He did. He was an instrument in the hands of fate, and fate has never misused an instrument. He had a mission to perform, and he performed it successfully within the limits of his capacity. He moved across the rough stage, but the great drama of life in the New World, with all its pathos and struggle and triumph, was played by men cast in a sterner mould and with a grimmer appreciation of tragedy. That the Pilgrim never had.

Mr. Hoar has poetically compared the memory of the Pilgrim to the sweetness and fragrance of the perfume of the little flower which gave its name to the ship which brought him over. True, indeed, is the characterization, which unintentionally reveals the limitations of the Pilgrim and explains why he made no mark on the continent that lay at his feet. Before men can appreciate the delicate

beauty of the coloring of the hidden flower and its exquisite odor, they must go into the forest and fell great oaks to shelter them. Men, men made resolute, obstinate, courageous by the fierce spirit of persecution and the determination to meet oppression with resistance, were required to bring forth a new life, not the men "of a gentler and lovelier nature" whose "weapon is love and not hate.” Hatred, the thirst for revenge, is a very detrimental quality in the individual and, as a rule, does more injury to him who nourishes it than to its victim, but in a race or a people it has often had beneficial results. It has hardened the mould of character, it has made even the timid bold, it has made the weak face peril and death. The great sweep of history is the record of men who have had a grievance and dared to redress it, not the chronicle of men whose weapon was love. In the ultimate the tyrants have done more for mankind, by involuntarily giving impetus to the qualities of selfreliance and a love of liberty, than the beneficent rulers whom their subjects called the just and the merciful.

The Pilgrims, the men who left England and found a temporary asylum in Holland before their great hegira to the New World, were Church of England men, who separated from the faith of their fathers because they objected to the union of Church and State; and the corruption into which the Church had then fallen was to them abominable.