The scenes that were enacted in New England during this epidemical reign of insanity gradually yielded to the influence of reason, which under proper religious discipline once more assumed its rule. One of the chief causes which tended to arouse the mind from its mental darkness was the fact of a dog being taken up on suspicion, and actually hanged, as an accomplice of his master, who was accused of witchcraft![22] This act capped the climax of folly. People began to wonder if such things could be; and they actually took the case of the dog into serious consideration, and then came to this very wise conclusion,—that he fell a martyr to the folly and ignorance of a few fanatics. They then began to ridicule those who assumed the power to terrify the people and who had exercised it to a bitter end over men and animals. This did more to bring men to their senses than all the preaching and reasoning of the elders previously.[23]
Naturally, while these idiotic scenes were enacting, the arts and sciences, commerce and manufactures, were materially neglected; but when the gloom which fanaticism had cast over this portion of the colonies had passed away, the dawn of _reason and civilization_ awoke her benighted children to a new state of existence.
To trace up the postal history of the colonies to the glorious epoch of our independence would be to give a history of trade and commerce, science and art. To these do every thing useful and ornamental in the New World owe its existence. It is true the postal department was at the early age of colonial history but a minor consideration. The system was a limited one, and consisted in having post-roads and post-riders. Even here the latter were to be seen “like angels’ visits, few and far between.” We can draw one of these from a picture seen in our boyhood days. It was in the good old State of Pennsylvania, not many miles from the city of Philadelphia, and while trudging on our way to the village school, this living picture presented itself. A tall, gaunt man sat on a tall, gaunt horse; he came riding slowly up the road,—this was not, as now, a fast age: his hair was partly gray, and fell in tow-looking ringlets down and around his long, sinewy neck. Over the horse’s back was swung a large, well-filled pair of saddle-bags. He was the post-rider. He had started from the main post of the county, established in Norristown, to others in directions diverging from the main road. He stopped his horse, and, raising his tall form, resting his feet on a pair of old rusty stirrups, he shouted out, in a voice of mimic thunder, “Look here, Jim: take this letter to your mother, ’mediate; for that is written on the back; and as you pass Mrs. Stroud’s, hand her this newspaper. Do this, Jim, and I’ll give you sixpence next pay-day.” Such was the post.