and God's Word to melt the hearts of even the most sinful listen-
ers. Three years out of Harvard, he may yet prove himself worthy of
his linguistic patrimony, inheriting the voice of his preacher father, In-
crease Mather, or perhaps even echoing that of his maternal grandfather,
John Cotton, renowned as one of the greatest Puritan orators. At long
last, Mather imagines, he might fulfill one of the reformed Protestant's
fondest dreams: the dream of speaking, without fetters, both to and of
God; the dream of simple prayer, unimpeded by popish forms and un-
mediated by priestly meddlers. With a heart full of "Gratitude unto the
Lord," young Mather retires to his prayer closet, where he cries out in
thanks for his newfound voice: "How Miraculous a Thing is the Free-
dom of Speech . . .!" ²

Skip ahead to the following spring. The delight Mather's "freedom of
speech" brought him the previous June has been supplanted by anxiety.
Now, instead of agonizing over the physical impediments to his tongue's
liberty, Mather frets about his lack of restraint in speaking. Perhaps his
unaccustomed fluency has suddenly made him aware of something virtu-
ally every early modern Englishman and Englishwoman already knows:
that the hot passions of the tongue more often cause words to flow too
freely than not freely enough--particularly, it seems, in New England.
Has not the history of the Massachusetts Bay Colony's first half century,
a history that includes both the inspiring oratory of John Cotton and the
"infectious" heresies of Anne Hutchinson, proved the truth of the popu-
lar maxim stating that "the tongue is every man's best or worst"? ³

Whatever the reason, just months after reveling in his "freedom of
speech," Mather sets out to define, and refine, and confine his verbal
liberties. He begins in his diary a list of what he calls "Rules of right
Speaking," precepts for the proper "Government of the Tongue" to which
he will refer throughout his preaching life. Having at last taught himself
to speak freely, he now reminds himself also to speak "cautiously, moder-
ately, deliberately," and rarely. In order to sound like a godly man, Mather
writes, he must "take heed that hee sinned not with His Tongue." ⁴ He tells
himself, in short, that free speech is not enough. Or, more precisely, he
cautions himself: free speech is sometimes too much.

And so, in the coming years, Mather will use his own, carefully culti-
vated, free public voice to urge others--especially women, especially
children--to govern theirs. In 1692, he will caution the pious matrons
whom he calls the "daughters of Zion" to remember the words "of the
Psalmist, I will take heed unto my ways that I sin not with my Tongue; I will
keep my Mouth with a Bridle." ⁵ Several years later, he will warn the youth
of the rising generation about the dangers of speaking against their par-
ents. ⁶ Until the end of his life, Mather will persist in preaching "against
the Sins of Evil-Speaking," hoping always that he "might fully come at
the Sins of the Tongue, with a Cure for them." ⁷ His very last major work,
a lengthy medical treatise which will not see print during his lifetime,
will continue the fight, repeatedly enjoining readers against " trespassing

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