Chapter XVI: Book XII: , p. 327; and in Wise, Vindication of the Government of the

New England Churches, Introduction_. The current Tory interpretation of the common law of sedition was severe. “In 1679, at the trial of Henry Carr [Care], indicted for some passages in a weekly paper, the Lord Chief Justice Scroggs declared it criminal at Common Law to ‘write on the subject of government, whether in terms of praise or censure, it is not material; for no man has a right to say anything of government’” (_State Trials_, VII, 929; quoted in Schuyler, _The Liberty of the Press in the American Colonies, etc._)

[121] See _Massachusetts Historical Society Proceedings_, Second Series, Vol. XV, pp. 283-296.

[122] _Vindication_, edition of 1860, pp. 50-53.

[123] _Ibid._, pp. 54-55.

[124] _Ibid._, p. 60.

[125] _The Churches Quarrel Espoused_, p. 116.

[126] _Ibid._, p. 209.

[127] A gratuitous insult, as Wise was well known.

[128] “Letter to Robert Wodrow, September 17, 1715:” _Diary_, in _Massachusetts Historical Collections_, Seventh Series, Vol. VIII, p. 327.

[129] _Ibid._, p. 450.

[130] The account with affidavits is given in Sewall, _Diary_, Vol. II, pp. 144-147.

[131] Hutchinson, _History of Massachusetts Bay Colony_, Vol. II, p. 148.

[132] Sewall, _Diary_, Vol. II, Introduction, p. 109.

[133] _Diary_, Vol. II, p. 663.

Book Two • The Colonial Mind

The undistinguished years of the early and middle eighteenth century, rude and drab in their insularity, were the creative springtime of democratic America--plebeian years that sowed what after times were to reap. The forgotten men and women of those silent decades wrote little, debated little, very likely thought little; they were plain workmen with whom ideas counted for less than the day’s work. The stir of achievement filled the land, daily penetrating farther into the backwoods and bringing new farmlands under the plow. The stern demands of necessity held men in their grip, narrowing the horizon of their minds, and obscuring the vision of their larger accomplishment. Along the Appalachian watershed a vast drama, magnificent in the breadth and sweep of its movement, was being enacted by players unconscious of their parts. Not until long after they had gone to their graves were the broad lines of that drama revealed. Today it is plain that those unremembered years were engaged in clearing away encumbrances more significant than the great oaks and maples of the virgin wilderness: they were uprooting ancient habits of thought, destroying social customs that had grown old and dignified in class-ridden Europe. A new psychology was being created by the wide spaces that was to be enormously significant when it came to self-consciousness. If this middle eighteenth century wrote little literature, it created and spread among a vigorous people something of far greater importance to America, the psychology of democratic individualism.

From this determining influence--too little recognized by later generations--the creative outlines of our history have taken shape. American ideals and institutions emerged in large part from the silent revolution which during the middle eighteenth century differentiated the American from the transplanted colonial; a change that resulted from an amalgam of the older English stock with other races, and the subjection of this new product on a great scale to the influence of diffused landholding. From these two major facts of a new race and a free environment came the social and political philosophy of older America, to which we have traditionally applied the term democratic, and which unconsciously wove itself into our daily intercourse and ways of thinking.

Part One: The Mind in the Making • 1720-1763