University of Virginia Library

LEAVES FROM
Margaret Smith's Journal
IN THE
COLONY of MASSACHUSETTS.

Boston, May ye 8th, 1678.

I remember I did promise my kind cousin Oliver,
(whom I pray God to have always in his keeping,)
when I parted with him nigh unto three Months ago,
at mine uncle Grindall's, that, on coming to this new
Countrie, I would, for his Sake and perusal, keep a
little Journal of whatsoever did happen both unto myself
and unto Those with whom I might sojourn; as
also, some account of the Countrie and its Marvels,
and mine own Cogitations thereon. So I this Day
make a beginning of the Same; albeit, as my Cousin
well knoweth, not from any vanitie of Authorship, or
because of any undue confiding in my poor Abilitie to

edify one justly held in Repute among the Learned,
but because my Hearte tells me that what I write, be it
ever so faultie, will be read by the partial Eye of my
Kinsman, and not with the critical Observance of the
Scholar, and that his Love will not find it difficult to
excuse what offends his clerkly Judgment. And, to
embolden me withal, I will never forget that I am
writing for mine old Playmate at Hide and Seek in the
Farm-house at Hilton — the same who used to hunt
after Flowers for me in the Spring, and who did fill
my Apron with Hazle-nuts in the Autumn, and who
was then, I fear, little wiser than his still foolish
Cousin, who, if she hath not since learned so many
new Things as himself, hath perhaps remembered more
of the Old. Therefore, without other Preface, I will
begin my Record.

Of my Voyage out I need not write, as I have spoken
of it in my Letters already, and it greatly irks me to
think of it. Oh, a very long, dismal Time of Sickness
and great Discomforts, and many sad Thoughts of all I
had left behind, and fears of all I was going to meet in
the New England! I can liken it only to an ugly
Dreame. When we got at last to Boston, the sight of
the Land and Trees, albeit they were exceeding bleak
and bare, (it being a late Season, and nipping cold,)
was like unto a Vision of a better World. As we

passed the small wooded Islands, which make the Bay
very pleasant, and entered close upon the Town, and
saw the Houses, and Orchards, and Meadows, and the
Hills beyond covered with a great Growth of Wood, my
Brother, lifting up both of his hands, cried out, “How
goodlie are thy tents, oh Jacob, and thy habitations,
oh Israel!” and for my part I did weep for Joy and
Thankfulness of Heart, that God had brought us safely
to so fair a Haven. Uncle and aunt Rawson met us on
the Wharf, and made us very comfortable at their
House, which is about half a mile from the water side,
at the foot of a Hill, with an oaken Forest behind it, to
shelter it from the north Wind, which is here very
piercing. Uncle is Secretary of the Massachusetts,
and spends a great part of his time in Towne, and his
Wife and Family are with him in the winter Season,
but they spend their Summers at his Plantation on the
Merrimack River, in Newbury. His Daughter, Rebecca,
is just about my Age, very tall and lady-looking;
she is like her brother John, who was at uncle
Hilton's last year. She hath, moreover, a pleasant
Wit, and hath seen much goodlie Companie, being
greatly admired by the young Men of Family and distinction
in the Province. She hath been very kind to
me, telling me that she looked upon me as a Sister. I
have been courteously entertained, moreover, by many
of the principal People, both of the reverend Clergy
and the Magistracy. Nor must I forbear to mention a
Visit which I made with uncle and aunt Rawson at
the house of an aged Magistrate of high Esteem and
Influence in these parts. He saluted me courteously,
and made Inquiries concerning our Familie, and
whether I had been admitted into the Church. On my
telling him that I had not, he knit his Brows, and
looked at me very sternly.

“Mr. Rawson,” said he, “your niece, I fear me,
has much more need of spiritual Adorning than of such
gewgaws as these,” and took hold of my lace Ruff so
hard that I heard the Stitches break; and then he
pulled out my Sleeves, to see how wide they were,
though they were only half an Ell. Madam ventured
to speak a word to encourage me, for she saw I was
much abashed and flustered, yet he did not heed her,
but went on talking very loud against the Follie and
the Wasteful Wantonness of the Times. Poor Madam
is a quiet, sickly looking Woman, and seems not a
little in awe of her Husband, at the which I do not
marvel, for he hath a very impatient, forbidding Way
with him, and, I must say, seemed to carry himself
harshly at Times towards her. Uncle Rawson says
he has had much to try his Temper; that there have
been many and sore Difficulties in Church as well as

State, and he hath bitter Enemies, in some of the
Members of the General Court, who count him too
severe with the Quakers and other Disturbers and
Ranters. I told him it was no doubt true; but that I
thought it a bad use of the Lord's chastenings to abuse
one's best Friends for the Wrongs done by Enemies;
and, that to be made to atone for what went ill in
Church or State, was a kind of vicarious Suffering that,
if I was in Madam's place, I should not bear with half
her Patience and Sweetness.

Ipswich, near Agawam, May ye 12th.

We set out day before Yesterday on our Journey to
Newbury. There were six of us — Rebecca Rawson
and her sister, Thomas Broughton, his Wife, and their
Man Servant, my brother Leonard and myself, and
young Robert Pike, of Newbury, who had been to Boston
on Business, his Father having great Fisheries in
the River as well as the Sea. He is, I can perceive, a
great Admirer of my Cousin, and indeed not without
Reason; for she atone in Mind and Person, in her
graceful carriage and pleasant Discourse, and a certain
not unpleasing waywardness, as of a merrie child,
that which makes her Companie sought of all. Our
Route the first Day lay thorough the Woods and along

the borders of great Marshes and Meadows on the Sea
shore. We came to Linne at Night, and stopped at
the House of a Kinsman of Robert Pike's — a man of
some substance and note in that Settlement. We
were tired and hungry, and the Supper of warm Indian
Bread and sweet Milk relished quite as well as any I
ever ate in the Old Countrie. The next Day we went
on over a rough Road to Wenham, through Salem,
which is quite a pleasant Town. Here we stopped
until this Morning, when we again mounted our
Horses, and reached this place after a smart Ride of
three hours. The Weather in the Morning was warm
and soft as our Summer Days at Home; and as we
rode through the Woods, where the young Leaves
were fluttering, and the white Blossoms of the Windflowers,
and the blue Violets and the yellow blooming
of the Cowslips in the low Grounds, were seen on either
hand, and the Birds all the Time making a great and
pleasing Melody in the Branches, I was glad of Heart
as a Child, and thought if my beloved Friends and
cousin Oliver were only with us, I could never wish to
leave so fair a Countrie.

Just before we reached Agawam, as I was riding a
little before my Companions, I was startled greatly by
the Sight of an Indian. He was standing close to the
Bridle-path, his half-naked Body partly hidden by a

Clump of white Birches, through which he looked out
on me with Eyes like two live Coals. I cried for my
Brother, and turned my Horse, when Robert Pike came
up, and bid me be of cheer, for he knew the Savage,
and that he was friendly. Whereupon, he bade him
come out of the Bushes, which he did, after a little
parley. He was a tall Man, of very fair and comlie
make, and wore a red woollen Blanket with Beads and
small Clam-Shells jingling about it. His skin was
swarthy, not black like a Moor or Guinea Man, but of
a color not unlike that of tarnished copper Coin. He
spoke but little, and that in his own Tongue, very
harsh and strange sounding to my Ear. Robert Pike
tells me that he is Chief of the Agawams, once a great
Nation in these Parts, but now quite small and broken.
As we rode on, and from the Top of a Hill got a fair
View of the great Sea off at the East, Robert Pike
bade me notice a little Bay, around which I could see
four or five small, peaked Huts or Tents, standing just
where the white Sands of the Beach met the green
line of Grass and Bushes of the Uplands.

“There,” said he, “are their Summer Houses,
which they build near unto their Fishing-grounds and
Corn-fields. In the Winter they go far back into the
Wilderness, where game is plenty of all kinds, and
there build their Wigwams in warm Valleys thick with

Trees, which doe serve to shelter them from the
Winds.”

“Let us look into them,” said I to cousin Rebecca;
“it seems but a Stone's throw from our Way.”

She tried to dissuade me, by calling them a dirty,
foul People; but seeing I was not to be put off, she at
last consented, and we rode aside down the Hill, the
rest following. On our Way we had the Misfortune to
ride over their Corn-field; at the which, two or three
Women and as many Boys set up a yell verie hideous
to hear; whereat Robert Pike came up, and appeased
them by giving them some Money and a Drink of
Jamaica spirits, with which they seemed vastly pleased.
I looked into one of their Huts; it was made of Poles
like unto a Tent, only it was covered with the silver
colored Bark of the Birch, instead of hempen Stuff. A
Bark Mat, braided of manie exceeding brilliant Colors,
covered a goodlie Part of the Space inside; and
from the Poles we saw Fishes hanging, and Strips of
dried Meat. On a pile of Skins in the Corner sat a
young Woman with a Child a nursing; they both looked
sadlie wild and neglected; yet had she withal a
pleasant Face, and as she bent over her little one, her
long, straight and black Hair falling over him and
murmuring a low and very plaintive Melody, I forgot
Every thing save that she was a Woman and a Mother,

and I felt my Hearte greatly drawn towards her. So,
giving my Horse in charge, I ventured in to her, speaking
as kindly as I could, and asking to see her Child.
She understood me, and with a Smile held up her little
papoose, as she called him — who, to say Truth, I
could not call very pretty. He seemed to have a wild,
shy Look, like the Offspring of an untamed Animal.
The Woman wore a Blanket, gaudily fringed, and she
had a string of Beads on her Neck. She took down a
Basket, woven of white and red Willows, and pressed
me to taste of her Bread; which I did, that I might not
offend her Courtesie by refusing. It was not of ill
Taste, although so hard one could scarcely bite it, and
was made of Corn Meal unleavened, mixed with a
dried Berry, which gives it a sweet Flavor. She told
me, in her broken way, that the whole tribe now numbered
only twenty-five Men and Women, counting out
the Number very fast with yellow grains of Corn, on the
Corner of her Blanket. She was, she said, the youngest
Woman in the Tribe; and her husband Peckanaminet,
was the Indian we had met in the Bridle-path. I gave
her a pretty piece of Ribbon, and an Apron for the
Child; and she thanked me in her Manner, going with
us on our return to the Path; and when I had ridden a
little onward, I saw her Husband running towards us;
so stopping my Horse, I awaited until he came up,
when he offered me a fine large Fish, which he had
just caught, in acknowledgment, as I judged, of my
gift to his Wife. Rebecca, and Mistress Broughton
laughed, and bid him take the thing away; but I
would not suffer it, and soe Robert Pike took it, and
brought it on to our present tarrying Place, where
trulie it hath made a faire Supper for us all. These
poor Heathen People seem not so exceeding bad as
they have been reported; they be like unto ourselves,
only lacking our Knowledge and Opportunities,
which, indeed, are not our own to boast of, but Gifts of
God calling for humble Thankfulness, and daily Prayer
and Watchfulness, that they be rightly improved.

Newbury on ye Merrimack, May ye 14th, 1678.

We were hardly on our Way Yesterday, from Agawam,
when a dashing young Gallant rode up very fast
behind us. He was fairly clad, in rich stuffs, and rode
a Nag of good Mettle. He saluted us with much Ease
and Courtliness, offering especial compliments to Rebecca,
to whom he seemed well known, and who I
thought was both glad and surprised at his coming.
As I rode near, she said it gave her great joy to bring
to each others Acquaintance, Sir Thomas Hale, a
good Friend of her Father's and her cousin Margaret,

who, like himself, was a new Comer. He replied,
that he should look with Favor on any one who was
near to her in Friendship or Kindred; and, on learning
my Father's name, said he had seen him at his Uncle's,
Sir Matthew Hale's, many Years ago, and could vouch
for him as a worthie Man. After some pleasant and
merrie Discoursing with us, he and my brother fell into
converse upon the state of Affairs in the Colonie, the
late lamentable Warre with the Narraganset and
Pequod Indians, together with the Growth of Heresie
and Schism in the Churches, which latter he did not
scruple to charge upon the wicked Policy of the Home
Government, in checking the wholesome severity of
the Laws here enacted against the Schemers and
Ranters. “I quite agree,” said he, “with Mr. Rawson,
that they should have hanged ten where they did
one.” Cousin Rebecca here said she was sure her
Father was now glad the Laws were changed, and that
he had often told her that, although the Condemned
deserved their Punishment, he was not sure that it was
the best way to put down the Heresie. If she was
Ruler, she continued in her merrie way, she would
send all the Schemers and Ranters, and all the sour,
crabbed, Busy-bodies in the Churches, off to Rhode
Island, where all kinds of Folly, in Spirituals as well
as Temporals, were permitted, and one crazy Head
could not reproach Another.

Falling back a little, and waiting for Robert Pike
and cousin Broughton to come up, I found them
marvelling at the coming of the young Gentleman,
who it did seem had no special concernment in these
parts, other than his Acquaintance with Rebecca, and
his Desire of her Companie. Robert Pike, as is
natural, looks upon him with no great partialitie, yet he
doth admit him to be well-bred, and of much and
varied knowledge, acquired by far Travel as well as
Study. I must say, I like not his confident and bold
Manner, and bearing, toward my faire Cousin; and he
hath more the likeness of a cast-off Dangler at the
Court, than of a modest and seemly country Gentleman,
of a staid and well-ordered House. Mistress
Broughton says he was not at first accredited in
Boston, but that her father, and Mr. Atkinson, and the
chief people there now, did hold him to be not only
what he professeth as respecteth his gentlemanly
Lineage, but also learned and ingenious, and well
versed in the Scriptures, and the works of godly
Writers, both of ancient and modern Time. I noted
that Robert was very silent during the rest of our
Journey, and seemed abashed and troubled in the
presence of the gay Gentleman; for, although a fair
and comely Youth, and of good Familie and Estate,
and accounted solid and judicious beyond his Years, he

does, nevertheless, much lack the Ease and ready Wit
with which the latter commendeth himself to my sweet
Kinswoman.

We crossed about Noon a broad Stream near to
the Sea, very deep and miry, so that we wetted our
Hose and Skirts somewhat; and soon to our great
joy, beheld the pleasant cleared Fields and Dwellings
of the Settlement, stretching along for a goodlie Distance,
while, beyond all, the great Ocean rolled, blue
and cold, under an high easterly Wind. Passing
through a broad Path, with well tilled Fields on each
Hand, where Men were busy planting Corne, and
young Maids dropping the Seed, we came at length to
uncle Rawson's Plantation, looking well-nigh as faire
and broad as the Lands of Hilton Grange, with a good
frame House, and large Barns thereon. Turning up
the Lane, we were met by the House-keeper, a respectable
Kinswoman, who received us with great
civilitie. Sir Thomas, although pressed to stay,
excused himself for the Time, promising to call on the
Morrow, and rode on to the Ordinary. I was sadly
tired with my Journey, and was glad to be shown to a
Chamber and a comfortable Bed.

I was awakened this Morning by the pleasant Voice
of my Cousin, who shared my Bed. She had arisen
and thrown open the Window looking towards the Sunrising,

and the Aire came in soft and warm, and laden
with the sweets of Flowers and green growing things.
And when I had gotten myself ready, I sat with her at
the Window, and I think I may say it was with a
Feeling of Praise and Thanksgiving that mine Eyes
wandered up and down over the green Meadows, and
Corn-fields, and Orchards of my new Home. Where,
thought I, foolish one, be the Terrors of the Wilderness
which troubled thy daily Thoughts and thy nightly
Dreams! Where be the gloomy Shades, and desolate
Mountains, and the wild Beasts, with their dismal
Howlings and Rages! Here all looked peaceful, and
bespoke Comfort and Contentedness. Even the great
Woods which climbed up the Hills in the Distance
looked thin and soft, with their faint young leaves a
yellowish grey, intermingled with pale, silvery Shades,
indicating, as my Cousin saith, the different Kinds of
Trees, some of which, like the Willow, do put on their
Leaves early, and others late, like the Oak, with which
the whole Region aboundeth. A sweet, quiet Picture it
was, with a warme Sun very bright and clear, shining
over it, and the great Sea, glistening with the exceeding
light, bounding the view of mine Eyes, but bearing
my thoughts, like swift Ships, to the Land of my birth,
and so uniting, as it were, the Newe World with the
Old. Oh, thought I, the merciful God, who reneweth
the Earth and maketh it glad and brave with greenery
and Flowers of various Hues and Smells, and causeth
his South winds to blow and his Rains to fall, that
Seed-time may not fail, doth even here, in the ends of
his Creation, prank and beautify the Work of his
Hands, making the Desert places to rejoice, and the
Wilderness to blossom as the Rose. Verily his Love
is over All—the Indian Heathen as well as the English
Christian. And what abundant cause for Thanks have
I, that I have been safely landed on a Shore so faire
and pleasant, and enabled to open mine Eyes in Peace
and Love on so sweet a May morning! And I was
minded of a verse which I learned from my dear
and honored Mother when a child—

When we went Below, we found on the Window
seat which looketh to the Road-way a great Bunch of
Flowers of manie kinds, such as I had never seen in
mine own Countrie, very fresh, and glistening with the
Dew. Now, when Rebecca took them up, her sister
said, “Nay, they are not Sir Thomas's gift, for young
Pike hath just left them.” Whereat, as I thought, she
looked vexed, and ill at ease. “They are yours, then,

cousin Margaret,” said she, rallying, “for Robert and
you did ride aside all the way from Agawam, and he
scarce spake to me the Day long. I see I have lost
mine old Lover, and my little Cousin hath found a new
one. I shall write cousin Oliver all about it.”
“Nay,” said I, “old Lovers are better than new; but I
fear my sweet Cousin hath not so considered it.” She
blushed, and looked aside, and for some space of Time
I did miss her Smile, and she spake little.

May ye 20th.

We had scarcely breakfasted, when him they call
Sir Thomas called on us, and with him came also
a Mr. Sewall, and the minister of the church, Mr.
Richardson, both of whom did cordially welcome home
my Cousins, and were civil to my Brother and myself.
Mr. Richardson and Leonard fell to conversing about
the state of the Church; and Sir Thomas discoursed us
in his lively Way. After some little tarry, Mr. Sewall
asked us to go with him to Deer's Island, a small Way
up the River, where he and Robert Pike had some men
splitting Staves for the Bermuda Market. As the Day
was clear and warm, we did readily agree to go, and
forthwith set out for the River, passing through the
Woods for nearly a half Mile. When we came to the
Merrimack, we found it a great and broad stream. We

took a Boat, and were rowed up the River, enjoying
the pleasing view of the green Banks, and the Rocks
hanging over the Water, covered with bright mosses,
and besprinkled with pale, white Flowers. Mr. Sewall
pointed out to us the different kinds of Trees, and their
nature and uses, and especially the Sugar-tree, which
is very beautiful in its leaf and shape, and from
which the People of this Countrie do draw a sap well
nigh as sweet as the Juice of the Indian cane, making
good Treacle and Sugar. Deer's Island hath rough,
rocky Shores, very high and steep, and is well covered
with a great growth of Trees, mostly evergreen Pines
and Hemlocks, which looked exceeding old. We
found a good seat on the mossy trunk of one of these
great Trees which had fallen from its extreme age, or
from some violent blast of Wind, from whence we
could see the River running with loud noise over the
Rocks, and hear the melodious sound of the Wind in
the leaves of the Pines, and the singing of Birds ever
and anon: and lest this should seem too sad and
lonelie, we could also hear the sounds of the Axes and
Beetles of the workmen, cleaving the Timber, not far
off. It was not long before Robert Pike came up, and
joined us. He was in his working Dress, and his Face
and Hands were much discolored by the smut of the
burnt logs, which Rebecca playfully remarking, he
said there were no Mirrours in the woods, and that must
be his apology; that, besides, it did not become a
plain Man, like himself, who had to make his own
fortune in the world, to try to imitate those who had
only to open their mouths, to be fed like young Robbins,
without trouble or toil. Such might go as brave as
they would, if they would only excuse his necessitie.
I thought he spoke with some bitterness, which indeed
was not without the excuse, that the manner of our gay
young gentleman towards him savored much of pride
and contemptuousness. My beloved Cousin, who hath
a good heart, and who, I must think, apart from the
wealth and family of Sir Thomas, rather inclineth to
her old friend and neighbor, spake cheerily and
kindly to him, and besought me privately to do somewhat
to help her remove his vexation. Soe we did
discourse of manie things, very pleasantly. Mr.
Richardson, on hearing Rebecca say that the Indians
did take the melancholie noises of the Pine trees in the
Winds to be the voices of the Spirits of the Woods,
said that they always called to his mind the sounds in
the Mulberry Trees which the Prophet spake of.
Hereupon Rebecca, who hath her memory well provided
with divers readings, both of the Poets and other
Writers, did cite very opportunely some ingenious
lines, touching what the Heathens doe relate of the
Sacred Tree of Dodona, the rustling of whose leaves
the negro priestesses did hold to be the language of the
Gods. And a late writer, she said, had something in one
of his pieces, which might well be spoken of the aged
and dead tree trunk, upon which we were sitting.
And when we did all desire to know their import, she
repeated them thus: —
These lines, she said, were written by one Vaughn, a
Brecknockshire Welsh Doctor of Medicine, who had
printed a little book not many years ago. Mr. Richardson
said the lines were good, but that he did hold
the reading of Ballads and the conceits of Rhymers a
waste of time, to say nothing worse. Sir Thomas
hereat said that, as far as he could judge, the worthy
folk of New England had no great temptation to
that sin from their own Poets, and did then, in a drolling
Tone, repeat some Verses of the cxxxvii psalm,
which he said were the best he had seen in the Cambridge
Psalm Book: —

“Nay, Sir Thomas,” quoth Mr. Richardson, “it is
not seemly to jest over the Word of God. The writers
of our Book of Psalms in Metre held rightlie that
God's Altar needs no polishing; and truly they have
rendered the Words of David into English verse with
great fidelitie.”

Our young Gentleman, not willing to displeasure a
Man so esteemed as Mr. Richardson, here made an
apology for his jesting, and said that, as to the Cambridge
Version, it was indeed faithful; and that it was
no blame to uninspired men, that they did fall short of
the beauties and richness of the Lord's Psalmist. It

being now near noon, we crossed over the River, to
where was a sweet Spring of Water, very clear and
bright, running out upon the green Bank. Now as we
stood thirsty, having no cup to drink from, seeing some
People near, we called to them, and presently there
came running to us a young and modest woman, with
a bright pewter tankard, which she filled and gave us.
I thought her sweete and beautiful, as Rebecca of old,
at her father's fountain. She was about leaving, when
Mr. Richardson said to her, it was a foul shame for
one like her to give heed to the ranting of the Quakers,
and bade her be a good Girl, and come to the Meeting.

“Nay,” said she, “I have been there often, to
small profit. The Spirit which thou persecutest testifieth
against thee and thy Meeting.”

Sir Thomas jestingly asked her if the Spirit she
spoke of was not such an one as possessed Mary Magdalen.

“Or the Swine of the Gadarenes?” asked Mr.
Richardson.

I did smile with the others, but was presentlie sorrie
for it; for the young Maid answered not a word to this,
but, turning to Rebecca, she said, “Thy Father hath
been hard with us, but thou seemest kind and gentle,
and I have heard of thy charities to the Poor. The
Lord keep thee, for thou walkest in slippery places;

there is danger, and thou seest it not; thou trustest to
the hearing of the Ear and the seeing of the Eye; the
Lord alone seeth the deceitfulness and the guile of
Man; and if thou wilt cry mightily to Him, He can
direct thee rightly.”

Her voice and manner were very weighty and solemn.
I felt an Awe come upon me, and Rebecca's
countenance was troubled. As the Maiden left us, the
Minister, looking after her, said, “There is a deal of
poison under the faire outside of yonder Vessel, which
I fear is fitted for destruction.” “Peggy Brewster
is indeed under a Delusion,” answered Robert Pike,
“but I know no harm of her. She is kind to all, even
to them who evil entreat her.” “Robert! Robert!”
cried the Minister, “I fear me you will follow your
honored Father, who has made himself of ill repute,
by favoring these people.” “The Quaker hath bewitched
him with her bright eyes, perhaps,” quoth Sir
Thomas. “I would she had laid a spell on an uncivil
Tongue I wot of,” answered Robert, angrilie. Hereupon,
Mr. Sewall proposed that we should return, and,
in making readie and getting to the Boat, the matter
was dropped.

Newbury, June, ye 1st, 1678.

To-day, Sir Thomas took his leave of us, being
about to go back to Boston. Cousin Rebecca is, I being
see, much taken with his outside Bravery and Courtliness,
yet she hath confessed to me that her sober Judgment
doth greatlie incline her towards her old Friend
and Neighbor, Robert Pike. She hath even said that
she doubted not she could live a quieter and happier
Life with him than with such an one as Sir Thomas
and that the Words of the Quaker Maid, whom we
met at the spring on the river side, had disquieted he
not a little, inasmuch as they did seem to confirm he
own Fears and Misgivings. But her fancy is so bedazzled
with the goodlie show of her Suitor, that
much fear he can have her for the asking, especially
as her Father, to my knowledge, doth greatly favor
him. And, indeed, by reason of her gracious Manner
witty and pleasant Discoursing, excellent Breeding
and Dignitie, she would doe no discredit to the Choice
of one far higher than this young Gentleman in estate
and rank.

June ye 10th.

I went this Morning with Rebecca to visit Elnathan
Stone, a young Neighbor, who has been lying
sorelie ill for a long time. He was a Playmate of my

Cousin when a Boy, and was thought to be of great
Promise, as he grew up to Manhood; but, engaging in
the Warre with the Heathen, he was wounded and
taken Captive by them, and after much Suffering was
brought back to his Home a few months ago. On entering
the House where he lay, we found his Mother, a
care-worn and sad Woman, spinning in the room by
his bedside. A very great and bitter Sorrow was depicted
on her Features; it was the anxious, unreconciled,
and restless look of one who did feel herself
tried beyond her Patience, and might not be comforted.
For, as I learned, she was a poor Widow, who had
seen her young Daughter tomahawked by the Indians;
and now her only Son, the Hope of her old
Age, was on his Deathbed. She received us with small
civilitie, telling Rebecca that it was all along of the
Neglect of the Men in Authoritie that her Son had got
his death in the Warres, inasmuch as it was the want
of suitable Diet and Clothing, rather than his Wounds,
which had brought him into his present Condition.
Now, as Uncle Rawson is one of the principal Magistrates,
my sweet Cousin knew that the poor afflicted
Creature meant to reproach him; but her good Heart
did excuse and forgive the rudeness and distemper of
one whom the Lord had sorely chastened. So she
spake kindlie and lovinglie, and gave her sundrie nice
daintie Fruits, and comforting Cordials, which she had
got from Boston for the sick Man. Then, as she
came to his bedside, and took his Hand lovingly in
her own, he thanked her for her many Kindnesses,
and prayed God to bless her. He must have been
a handsome Lad in Health, for he had a faire, smooth
Forehead, shaded with brown curling Hair, and large,
blue Eyes, verie sweet and gentle in their look.
He told us that he felt himself growing weaker,
and that at Times his bodilie Suffering was great.
But through the Mercy of his Saviour he had much
peace of Mind. He was content to leave all Things
in His Hand. For his poor Mother's sake, he said,
more than for his own, he would like to get about
once more; there were manie Things he would like to
doe for her, and for all who had befriended him; but
he knew his Heavenly Father could do more and
better for them, and he felt resigned to His Will. He
had, he said, forgiven All who ever wronged him, and
he had now no Feeling of Anger or Unkindness left
towards any one, for all seemed kind to him beyond
his deserts, and like Brothers and Sisters. He had
much Pitie for the poor Savages even, although he had
suffered sorelie at their Hands; for he did believe that
they had been often ill-used, and cheated, and otherwise
provoked to take up Arms against us. Hereupon,
Goodwife Stone twirled her Spindle verie spitefully, and
said she would as soon pity the Devil as his Children.
The Thought of her mangled little Girl and of her
dying Son did seem to overcome her, and she dropped
her thread, and cried out with an exceeding bitter cry:
“Oh, the bloody Heathen! Oh, my poor murdered
Molly! Oh, my Son, my Son!” “Nay, Mother,”
said the sick Man, reaching out his hand, and taking
hold of his Mother's with a sweet Smile on his pale
face — “what does Christ tell us about loving our
Enemies, and doing good to them that doe injure us?
Let us forgive our fellow-creatures, for we have all
need of God's forgiveness. I used to feel as Mother
does,” he said, turning to us; “for I went into the
Warre with a design to spare neither young nor old of
the enemy. But I thank God that even in that dark
season my heart relented at the sight of the poor
starving women and children chased from place to
place like Partridges. Even the Indian fighters, I found,
had sorrows of their own, and grievous wrongs to
avenge; and I doe believe, if we had from the first
treated them as poor blinded Brethren, and striven as
hard to give them light and knowledge, as we have to
cheat them in trade, and to get away their lands, we
should have escaped manie bloody Warres, and won
many precious souls to Christ.”

I enquired of him concerning his Captivitie. He was
wounded, he told me, in a fight with the Sokokis Indians
two years before. It was a hot skirmish in the woods;
the English and the Indians now running forward,
and then falling back, firing at each other from behind
the trees. He had shot off all his powder, and, being
readie to faint by reason of a wound in his knee, he was
fain to sit down against an oak, from whence he did behold
with great sorrow and heaviness of hearte, his
Companions overpowered by the number of their Enemies,
fleeing away and leaving him to his fate. The
Savages soon came to him with dreadful whoopings,
brandishing their hatchets and their scalping knives.
He thereupon closed his eyes, expecting to be knocked
in the head, and killed outright. But just then a noted
Chief coming up in great haste, bade him be of good
cheer, for he was his prisoner, and should not be slain.
He proved to be the famous Sagamore Squando, the
chief man of the Sokokis.

“And were you kindly treated by this Chief?”
asked Rebeeca. “I suffered much in moving with
him to the Sebago Lake, owing to my wound,”
he replied; “but the Chief did all in his power
to give me comfort, and he often shared with
me his scant fare, choosing rather to endure hunger
himself, than to see his Son, as he called me, in want

of food. And one night, when I did marvell at this
kindness on his part, he told me that I had once done
him a great service; asking me if I was not at Black
Point, in a fishing vessel, the Summer before? I told
him I was. He then bade me remember the bad
Sailors who upset the Canoe of a Squaw, and well
nigh drowned her little Child, and that I had threatened
and beat them for it; and also how I gave the Squaw a
warm coat to wrap up the poor wet Papoose. It was
his Squaw and Child that I had befriended; and he told
me that he had often tried to speake to me, and make
known his gratitude therefor; and that he came once
to the Garrison at Sheepscot, where he saw me; but
being fired at, notwithstanding his signs of peace and
friendship, he was obliged to flee into the Woods.
He said the Child died a few days after its evil treatment,
and the thought of it made his Heart bitter;
that he had tried to live peaceably with the White
Men, but they had driven him into the Warre.

“On one occasion,” said the sick Soldier, “as we lay
side by side in his hut, on the shore of the Sebago Lake,
Squando, about midnight, began to pray to his God,
verie earnestlie. And on my querying with him about
it, he said he was greatlie in doubt what to do, and had
prayed for some sign of the Great Spirit's will concerning
him. He then told me that some years ago,

neare the place where we then lay, he left his Wigwam
at night, being unable to sleep, by reason of great
heaviness and distemper of mind. It was a full Moon,
and as he did walk to and fro, he saw a fair, tall Man
in a long black dress, standing in the light on the lake's
shore, who spake to him and called him by name.

“`Squando,' he said, and his voice was deep and
solemn, like the Wind in the Hill Pines, `the God of
the White man is the God of the Indian, and He is
angry with his red children. He alone is able to make
the Corn grow before the Frost, and to lead the fish up
the Rivers in the Spring, and to fill the Woods with
Deers and other game, and the Ponds and Meadows
with Beavers. Pray to him always. Do not hunt on
his day, nor let the Squaws hoe the Corn. Never
taste of the strong fire-water; but drink only from the
Springs. It is because the Indians do not worshipp Him,
that he has brought the White men among them; but
if they will pray like the White men, they will grow
verie great and strong, and their children born in this
Moon will live to see the English sail back in their
great Canoes, and leave the Indians all their fishing
places and hunting grounds.'

“When the strange man had thus spoken, Squando
told me that he went straightway up to him, but found
where he had stood only the Shadow of a broken Tree,

which lay in the Moon across the white Sand of the
shore. Then he knew it was a Spirit, and he trembled,
but was glad. Ever since, he told me, he had prayed
daily to the Great Spirit, had drank no Rum, nor
hunted on the Sabbath.

“He said he did for a long time refuse to dig up his
Hatchet, and make Warre upon the Whites, but that
he could not sit idle in his Wigwam, while his young
Men were gone upon their Warre path. The Spirit of
his dead Child did moreover speak to him from the
land of Souls, and chide him for not seeking Revenge.
Once, he told me, he had in a Dream seen the Child
crying and moaning bitterlie, and that when he enquired
the cause of its Griefe, he was told that the
Great Spirit was angrie with its Father, and would
destroy him and his People unless he did join with the
Eastern Indians to cut off the English.”

“I remember,” said Rebecca, “of hearing my
Father speake of this Squando's kindness to a young
Maid taken Captive some Years ago, at Presumpscot.”

“I saw her at Cocheco,” said the sick man,
“Squando found her in a sad plight, and scarcely
alive, took her to his Wigwam, where his Squaw did
lovingly nurse and comfort her; and when she was
able to travel, he brought her to Major Waldron's,
asking no Ransom for her. He might have been made

the fast Friend of the English at that time, but he
scarcelie got civil treatment.”

“My father says that many friendly Indians, by the
ill conduct of the Traders, have been made our worst
Enemies,” said Rebecca. “He thought the bringing
in of the Mohawks to help us a Sin comparable to that
of the Jews, who looked for deliverance from the King
of Babylon at the hands of the Egyptians.

“They did nothing but mischief,” said Elnathan
Stone; “they killed our friends at Newichawannock,
Blind Will and his Familie.”

Rebecca here asked him if he ever heard the verses
writ by Mr. Sewall concerning the killing of Blind
Will. And when he told her he had not, and would
like to have her repeat them, if she could remember,
she did recite them thus:

A young Woman entered the House just as Rebecca
finished the Verses. She bore in her Hands a pail of
Milk and a Fowl neatlie dressed, which she gave to
Elnathan's mother, and, seeing Strangers by his bedside,
was about to go out, when he called to her, and
besought her to stay. As she came up and spoke to
him, I knew her to be the Maid we had met at the
Spring. The young Man with tears in his eyes,
acknowledged her great kindness to him, at which she
seemed troubled and abashed. A pure, sweet complexion
she hath, and a gentle and loving look, full of
innocence and sinceritie. Rebecca seemed greatlie
disturbed, for she no doubt thought of the warning
words of this Maiden, when we were at the Spring.
After she had left, goodwife Stone said she was sure
she could not tell what brought that Quaker girl to her
house so much, unless she meant to inveigle Elnathan;
but, for her part, she would rather see him dead than

live to bring reproach upon his familie and the Church,
by following after the blasphemers. I ventured to tell
her that I did look upon it as sheer kindness and
love on the young Woman's part; at which Elnathan
seemed pleased, and said he could not doubt it, and
that he did believe Peggy Brewster to be a good
Christian, although sadlie led astray by the Quakers.
His mother said that, with all her meek looks, and
kind words, she was full of all manner of pestilent heresies,
and did remind her always of Satan in the shape
of an Angel of Light.

We went away ourselves soon after this, the sick
man thanking us for our visit, and hoping that he should
see us again. “Poor Elnathan,” said Rebecca, as we
walked home, “he will never go abroad again; but he
is in such a good and loving frame of mind, that he
needs not our pity, as one who is without hope.”

“He reminds me,” I said, “of the comforting
promise of Scripture: `Thou wilt keep him in perfect
peace whose mind is stayed on Thee.”'

June ye 30th, 1678.

Mr. Rawson and Sir Thomas Hale came yesterday
from Boston. I was rejoiced to see mine Uncle, more
especially as he brought for me a package of Letters
and presents and tokens of remembrance from my

friends on the other side of the Water. As soon as I
got them, I went up to my chamber, and, as I read of
the health of those who are verie dear to me, and who
did still regard me with unchanged Love, I wept in my
great joy, and my heart overflowed in thankfulness. I
read the xxii Psalm, and it did seem to express mine
own feelings in view of the great mercies and blessings
vouchsafed to me. My head is annointed with oil;
my cup runneth over. Surely Goodness and Mercy
shall follow me all the days of my life.

This morning, Sir Thomas and Uncle Rawson rode
over to Hampton where they will tarry all night. Last
evening, Rebecca had a long talk with her Father
concerning Sir Thomas, who hath asked her of him.
She came to Bedde very late, and lay restless and
sobbing; whereupon I pressed her to know the cause
of her grief, when she told me she had consented to
marry Sir Thomas, but that her Heart was sorely
troubled, and full of misgivings. On my querying
whether she did really love the young Gentleman, she
said she sometimes feared she did not; and that when
her fancie had made a faire picture of the life of a great
Lady in England, there did often come a dark cloud
over it like the shade of some heavy disappointment or
sorrow. “Sir Thomas,” she said, “was a handsome
and wittie young Man, and had demeaned himself to

the satisfaction and good repute of her Father and the
principal people of the Colony; and his manner towards
her had been exceeding delicate and modest, inasmuch
as he had presumed nothing upon his familie or estate,
but had sought her with much entreatie and humilitie,
although he did well know that some of the most
admired and wealthy young Women in Boston did
esteem him not a little, even to the annoying of herself,
as one whom he especially favored.”

“This will be heavy news to Robert Pike,” said
I; “and I am sorrie for him, for he is indeed a
worthie Man.”

“That he is,” quoth she, “but he hath never spoken
to me of aught beyond that friendliness which, as neighbors
and school-companions, we do innocently cherish
for each other.”

“Nay,” said I, “my sweet Cousin knows full well
that he entertaineth so strong an affection for her, that
there needeth no words to reveal it.”

“Alas!” she answered, “it is too true. When I am
with him, I sometimes wish I had never seen Sir
Thomas. But my Choice is made, and I pray God I
may not have reason to repent of it.”

We said no more, but I fear she slept little, for
on waking about the break of Day, I saw her sitting in
her night dress by the window. Whereupon I

entreated her to return to her Bedde, which she at
length did, and folding me in her arms, and sobbing as if
her Heart would break, she besought me to pity her, for
it was no light thing which she had done, and she
scarcelie knew her own Mind, nor whether to rejoice or
weep over it. I strove to comfort her, and, after a
time, she did, to my great joy, fall into a quiet Sleep.

This afternoon, Robert Pike came in, and had a
long talk with Cousin Broughton, who told him how
matters stood between her Sister and Sir Thomas, at
which he was vehemently troubled, and would fain
have gone to seek Rebecca at once, and expostulate
with her, but was hindered on being told that it could
only grieve and discomfort her, inasmuch as the thing
was well settled, and could not be broken off. He
said he had known and loved her from a Child; that
for her sake he had toiled hard by Day and studied
by Night, and that in all his travels and voyages, her
sweet image had always gone with him. He would
bring no accusation against her, for she had all along
treated him rather as a brother than as a suitor, to which
last condition he had indeed not felt himself at libertie
to venture, after her honored Father, some months ago,
had given him to understand that he did design an
alliance of his Daughter with a gentleman of estate and
familie. For himself, he would bear himself manfully,

and endure his sorrow with patience and fortitude.
His only fear was, that his beloved Friend had been too
hasty in deciding the matter; and that he who was her
Choice might not be worthy of the great gift of her
affection. Cousin Broughton, who has hitherto greatlie
favored the pretensions of Sir Thomas, told me that
she well-nigh changed her mind in view of the manly
and noble bearing of Robert Pike; and that if her Sister
were to live in this land, she would rather see her the
wife of him than of any other Man therein.

July ye 3d.

Sir Thomas took his leave to-day. Robert Pike hath
been here to wish Rebecca great joy and happiness
in her prospect, which he did in so kind and gentle a
manner that she was fain to turn away her Head to
hide her tears. When Robert saw this, he turned the
Discourse, and did endeavor to divert her mind in such
sorte that the shade of melancholy soon left her sweet
Face, and the twain talked together cheerfully as had
been their wont, and as became their years and
conditions.

July ye 6th.

Yesterday a strange thing happened in the Meeting-house.
The Minister had gone on in his Discourse,
until the Sand in the Hour-glass on the rails before

the Deacons had well nigh run out, and Deacon Dole
was aboute turning it, when suddenlie I saw the Congregation
all about me give a great start, and look back.
A young Woman, barefooted and with a coarse canvass
Frock about her, and her long hair hanging loose like a
periwigg, and sprinkled with ashes, came walking up the
south Aisle. Just as she got near Uncle Rawson's seat
she stopped, and turning round towards the four corners
of the House, cried out: “Woe to the persecutors!
Woe to them who for a pretence make long prayers!
Humble yourselves, for this is the day of the Lord's
power, and I am sent as a sign among you!” As she
looked towards me I knew her to be the Quaker maiden,
Margaret Brewster. “Where is the Constable?”
asked Mr. Richardson. “Let the Woman be taken
out.” Thereupon the whole Congregation arose, and
there was a great uproar, Men and Women climbing the
Seats, and manie crying out, some one thing and some
another. In the midst of the noise, Mr. Sewall, getting
up on a Bench, begged the people to be quiet, and let
the Constable lead out the poor deluded creature. Mr.
Richardson spake to the same effect, and the tumult a
little subsiding, I saw them taking the young Woman
out of the door; and, as manie followed her, I went out
also, with my Brother, to see what became of her.

We found her in the middle of a great crowd of

angrie people, who reproached her for her wickedness
in disturbing the Worship on the Lord's day, calling
her all manner of foul names, and threatening her with
the Stocks and the Whipping-post. The poor creature
stood still and quiet; she was deathly pale, and her
wild hair and sackcloth frock gave her a verie strange
and pitiable look. The Constable was about to take
her in charge until the morrow, when Robert Pike came
forward, and said he would answer for her appearance
at the Court the next Day, and besought the people to
let her go quietly to her home, which, after some parley,
was agreed to. Robert then went up to her, and
taking her hand, asked her to go with him. She
looked up, and being greatlie touched by his Kindness,
began to weep, telling him that it had been a sorrowful
cross to her to do as she had done; but that it had been
long upon her Mind, and that she did feel a reliefe
now that she had found strength for obedience. He,
seeing the People still following, hastened her away,
and we all went back to the Meeting-house. In the
afternoon, Mr. Richardson gave notice that he should
preach, next Lord's day, from the 12th and 13th verses
of Jude, wherein the Ranters and Disturbers of the present
day were verie plainlie spoken of.

This morning she hath been had before the Magistrates,
who, considering her youth and good behavior

hitherto, did not proceed against her so far as manie
of the People desired. A fine was laid upon her,
which both she and her Father did profess they could
not in conscience pay, whereupon she was ordered to
be set in the Stocks; but this Mr. Sewall, Robert Pike,
and my Brother would by no means allow, but paid the
fine themselves, soe that she was set at Liberty, whereat
the Boys and rude Women were not a little disappointed,
as they had thought to make sport of her in the
Stocks. Mr. Pike, I hear, did speak openlie in her
behalf before the Magistrates, saying that it was all
along of the cruel persecution of these People that
did drive them to such Follies and breaches of the
Peace. Mr. Richardson, who hath heretofore been
exceeding hard upon the Quakers, did, moreover,
speak somewhat in excuse of her Conduct, believing
that she was instigated by her Elders; and he therefore
counselled the Court that she should not be
whipped.

August ye 1st.

Capt. Sewall, R. Pike, and the Minister Mr. Richardson
at our house to-day. Capt. Sewall, who lives
mostlie at Boston, says that a small Vessell loaded with
Negroes, taken on the Madagascar coast, came last
week into the Harbor, and that the owner thereof had

offered the Negroes for sale as Slaves, and that they
had all been sold to Magistrates, Ministers, and other
people of distinction, in Boston and thereabouts. He
said the Negroes were principally Women and Children,
and scarcelie alive, by reason of their long
Voyage and hard Fare. He thought it a great scandal
to the Colony, and a reproach to the Church, that they
should be openlie trafficked, like Cattell in the market.
Uncle Rawson said it was not so formerlie; for he did
remember the case of Capt. Smith and one Kesar, who
brought Negroes from Guinea thirty Years ago. The
General Court, urged thereto by Sir Richard Saltonstall
and manie of the Ministers, passed an order that,
for the purpose of “bearing a witness against the heinous
sin of Man-stealing, justlie abhorred of all good and
just Men,” the Negroes should be taken back to their
own Countrie at the charge of the Colony; which was
soon after done. Moreover, the two Men, Smith and
Kesar, were duly punished.

Mr. Richardson said he did make a distinction between
the stealing of Men from a Nation at Peace with
us, and the taking of Captives in Warre. The Scriptures
did plainlie warrant the holding of such, and
especially if they be Heathen.

Capt Sewall said he did, for himself, look upon all
slaveholding as contrarie to the Gospel and the Newe

Dispensation. The Israelites had a special Warrant
for holding the Heathen in servitude; but he had
never heard any one pretend that he had that authoritie
for enslaving Indians and Blackamoors.

Hereupon, Mr. Richardson asked him if he did not
regard Dea. Dole as a godlie Man; and if he had
aught to say against him and other pious Men who
held Slaves. And he cautioned him to be careful, lest
he should be counted an Accuser of the Brethren.

Here Robert Pike said he would tell of a matter
which had fallen under his notice. “Just after the
Warre was over,” said he, “owing to the loss of my
Shallop in the Penobscot Bay, I chanced to be in the
neighborhood of him they call the Baron of Castine,
who hath a strong Castle, with much cleared land and
great Fisheries at Byguyduce. I was preparing to
make a Fire and sleep in the Woods, with my two
Men, when a Messenger came from the Baron, saying
that his master, hearing that strangers were in the
Neighborhood, had sent him to offer us food and shelter,
as the Night was cold and rainy. So without ado
we went with him, and were shown into a comfortable
Room in a wing of the Castle, where we found a great
fire blazing, and a joint of Venison with wheaten loaves
on the Table. After we had refreshed ourselves, the
Baron sent for me, and I was led into a large, faire

room, where he was, with Modockawando, who was
his Father-in-law, and three or four other Chiefs of the
Indians, together with two of his Priests. The Baron,
who was a Man of goodlie appearance, received me
with much Courtesie; and when I told him my misfortune,
he said he was glad it was in his power to afford
us a Shelter. He discoursed about the Warre, which
he said had been a sad thing to the Whites as well as
the Indians, but that he now hoped the peace would be
lasting. Whereupon, Modockawando, a verie grave
and serious Heathen, who had been sitting silent with
his Friends, got up and spoke a loud Speech to me,
which I did not understand, but was told that he did
complain of the Whites for holding as Slaves sundrie
Indian captives, declaring that it did provoke another
Warre. His own Sister's child, he said, was thus held
in captivitie. He entreated me to see the great Chief
of our people, (meaning the Governor,) and tell him
that the cries of the Captives were heard by his young
men, and that they were talking of digging up the
Hatchet which the old men had buried at Casco. I told
the old Savage that I did not justify the holding of Indians
after the Peace, and would do what I could to
have them set at Libertie, at which he seemed greatlie
rejoiced. Since I came back from Castine's countrie,
I have urged the giving up of the Indians, and many
have been released. Slavery is a hard lot, and manie
do account it worse than Death. When in the Barbadoes,
I was told that on one Plantation, in the space of
five years, a score of Slaves had hanged themselves.”

“Mr. Atkinson's Indian,” said Capt. Sewall, “whom
he bought of a Virginia ship-owner, did, straightway
on coming to his house refuse Meat; and although
Persuasions and Whippings were tried to make him
eat, he would not so much as take a sip of Drink. I
saw him, a day or two before he died, sitting wrapped
up in his Blanket, and muttering to himself. It was a
sad Sight, and I pray God I may never see the like
again. From that time I have looked upon the holding
of men as slaves as a great Wickedness. The Scriptures
themselves do testify, that he that leadeth into
captivitie shall go into captivitie.”

After the companie had gone, Rebecca sat silent
and thoughtful for a time, and then bade her young
serving girl, whom her Father had bought, about a
year before, of the Master of a Scotch vessel, and who
had been sold to pay the cost of her Passage, to come
to her. She asked her if she had aught to complain of
in her situation. The poor girl looked surprised, but
said she had not. “Are you content to live as a servant?”
asked Rebecca. “Would you leave me if
you could?” She here fell a weeping, begging her

Mistress not to speak of her leaving. “But if I should
tell you that you are free to go or stay, as you will,
would you be glad or sorry?” queried her Mistress.
The poor girl was silent. “I do not wish you to leave
me Effie,” said Rebecca, “but I wish you to know
that you are from henceforth free, and that if you serve
me hereafter, as I trust you will, it will be in Love and
good will, and for suitable Wages.” The bondswoman
did not at the first comprehend the design of her Mistress,
but, on hearing it explained once more, she
dropped down on her knees, and clasping Rebecca,
poured forth her Thanks after the manner of her People;
whereupon Rebecca, greatly moved, bade her
rise, as she had only done what the Scriptures did
require in giving to her servant that which is just and
equal.

“How easy it is to make others happie, and ourselves
also!” she said, turning to me with the Tears
shining in her Eyes.

August ye 8th, 1678.

Elnathan Stone, who died two Days ago, was buried
this Afternoon. A verie solemn Funeral — Mr. Richardson
preaching a sermon from the xxiii Psalm, verse
the 4th, “Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the
Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with

me; thy Rod and thy Staff, they comfort me.” Dea.
Dole provided the Wine and Spirits, and Uncle Rawson
the Beer, and Bread, and Fish for the Entertainment,
and others of the neighbors did, moreover, help
the Widow to sundrie matters of clothing suitable for
the occasion, for she was verie poor, and, owing to the
long Captivitie and Sickness of her Son, she hath been
much straitened at times. I am told that Margaret
Brewster hath been like an Angel of Mercy unto her,
watching often with the sick man, and helping her in her
work, so that the poor Woman is now fain to confess
that she hath a good and kind Heart. A little time
before Elnathan died, he did earnestlie commend the
said Margaret to the kindness of cousin Rebecca, entreating
her to make interest with the Magistrates, and
others in authoritie, in her behalf, that they might be
merciful to her in her outgoings, as he did verilie think
they did come of a sense of duty, albeit mistaken.
Mr. Richardson, who hath been witness to her gracious
demeanor and charity, and who saith she does thereby
shame manie of his own People, hath often sought to
draw her away from the new Doctrines, and to set
before her the dangerous Nature of her Errors, but
she never lacketh answer of some sort, being naturally
of good parts and well read in the Scriptures.

August ye 10th.

I find the Summer here greatlie unlike that of mine
own Countrie. The heate is greate, the Sun shining
verie strong and bright, and for more than a Month
it hath been exceeding dry, without anie considerable
fall of Rain, soe that the Springs fail in manie places,
and the Watercourses are dried up, which doth bring to
mind verie forcibly the language of Job, concerning
the Brooks which the Drouth consumeth: “What time
they wax Warme they vanish; when it is hot they are
consumed oute of their place. The Paths of their Way
are turned aside; they goe to nothing and perish.”
The herbage and grass have lost much of the brightness
which they did wear in the earlie Summer; moreover,
there be fewer Flowers to be seen. The Fields
and Roads are dustie, and all things do seem to faint
and wax old under the intolerable Sun. Great Locusts
sing sharp in the hedges and bushes, and Grasshoppers
flie up in clouds, as it were, when one walks over
the dry grass which they feed upon, and at nightfall
Musketoes are no small torment. Whenever I doe
look forth at noonday, at which time the air is all aglow,
with a certain glimmer and dazzle like that from
an hot Furnace, and see the poor flie-bitten Cattell
whisking their tayles to keep off the venemous insects,
or standing in the Water of the low grounds for coolness,

and the panting Sheep lying together under the
shade of Trees, I must needs call to mind the Summer
season of Old England, the cool sea aire, the soft
dropping Showers, the Fields soe thick with Grasses,
and skirted with hedge-rows like green walls, the
Trees and Shrubs all clean and moist, and the Vines
and Creepers hanging over walls and gateways, verie
plenteous and beautiful to behold. Ah me! often in
these days do I think of Hilton Grange, with its great
Oaks, and cool breezy Hills and Meadows greene the
Summer long. I shut mine eyes, and lo! it is all
before me like a picture; I see mine uncle's grey hairs
beneath the Trees, and my good Aunt standeth in the
doorway, and Cousin Oliver comes up in his field dress,
from the Croft or the Mill; I can hear his merrie
laugh, and the sound of his Horse's hoofs ringing
along the gravel way. Our sweet Chaucer telleth of
a Mirrour in the which he that looked did see all his
past Life; that magical Mirrour is no fable, for in the
memorie of love old things do return and showe themselves
as features doe in the Glass, with a perfect and
most beguiling likeness.

Last night, Dea. Dole's Indian — One Eyed Tom —
a surlie Fellow — broke into his Master's shop, where
he made himself drunk with Rum, and coming to the
House, did greatlie fright the womenfolk by his threatening

words and gestures. Now, the Deacon coming
home late from the Church meeting, and seeing him in
this way, wherreted him smartlie with his cane; whereupon
he ran off, and came up the road howling and
yelling like an Evil Spirit. Uncle Rawson sent his
Irish man-servant to see what caused the ado, but he
straightway came running back, screaming, “Murther!
murther!” at the top of his voice. So Uncle himself
went to the gate, and presentlie called for a Light,
which Rebecca and I came with, inasmuch as the
Irishman and Effie dared not go out. We found Tom
sitting on the horse-block, the Blood running down his
Face, and much bruised and swollen. He was verie
fierce and angrie, saying that if he lived a Month he
would make him a Tobacco-pouch of the Deacon's
scalp. Rebecca ventured to chide him for his threats,
but offered to bind up his head for him, which she did
with her own Kerchief. Uncle Rawson then bade him
goe home and get to bedde, and in future let alone
strong drink, which had been the cause of his beating.
This he would not do, but went off into the Woods,
muttering as far as one could hear him.

This Morning Dea. Dole came in and said his
servant Tom had behaved badlie, for which he did
moderately correct him, and that he did thereupon
run away, and he feared he should lose him. He

bought him, he said, of Captain Davenport, who
brought him from the Narragansett Countrie, paying
ten pounds and six shillings for him, and he could ill
bear so great a Loss. I ventured to tell him that it
was wrong to hold any Man, even an Indian or Guinea
black, as a Slave. My uncle, who saw that my plainness
was not well taken, bade me not meddle with
Matters beyond my depth; and Deacon Dole, looking
verie surlie at me, said I was a forward one; that he
had noted that I did wear a light and idle look in the
Meeting-house; and, pointing with his Cane to my
Haire, he said I did render myself liable to presentment
by the Grand Jury for a breach of the Statute
of the General Court, made the Year before, against
“the immodest laying out of the Hair,” &c. He then
went on to say that he had lived to see strange times,
when such as I did venture to oppose themselves to
sober and grave People, and to despise Authoritie, and
encourage Rebellion and Disorder; and bade me take
heed lest all such be numbered with the cursed children
which the Apostle did rebuke: Who, as natural
brute beasts speak evil of things they understand not,
and shall utterly perish in their corruption.” My dear
Cousin Rebecca here put in a word in my behalf, and
told the Deacon that Tom's misbehaviour did all grow
out of the keeping of strong Liquors for sale, and that
he was wrong to beate him so cruelly, seeing that he
did himself place the Temptation before him. Thereupon,
the Deacon rose up angrilie, bidding Uncle look
well to his forward household. “Nay, girls,” quoth
mine Uncle, after his neighbor had left the House,
“you have angered the good man sorelie.” “Never
heed,” said Rebecca, laughing and clapping her hands,
“he hath got something to think of more profitable, I
trow, than Cousin Margaret's Hair or looks in Meeting.
He has been tything of Mint and Anise and
Cummin long enough, and 'tis high time for him to look
after the weightier matters of the Law.”

The selling of Beer and strong Liquors, Mr. Sewall
says, hath much increased since the troubles of the
Colonie and the great Indian Warre. The General
Court doe take some care to grant Licenses onlie to
discreet persons, but much Liquor is sold without warrant.
For mine own part, I think old Chaucer hath it
right in his Pardoner's Tale:—

Agamenticus, August ye 18th.

The Weather being clear and the heate great, last
week Uncle and Aunt, with Rebecca and myself, and
also Leonard and Sir Thomas, thought it a fitting time
to make a little journey by Water to the Isles of
Shoals and the Agamenticus, where dwelleth my Uncle
Smith, who hath strongly pressed me to visit him.
One Caleb Powell, a sea-faring man, having a good
new Boat, with a small Cabin, did undertake to convey
us. He is a drolling odd Fellow, who hath been in all
parts of the World, and hath seen and read much, and
having a rare memorie, is not ill companie, although
Uncle saith one must make no small allowance for
his desire of making his Hearers marvel at his Stories
and conceits. We sailed with a good Westerlie wind
down the River, passing by the great salt Marshes,
which stretch a long way by the Sea, and in which
the Town's people be now verie busie in mowing and
gathering the grass for Winter's use. Leaving on our
right hand Plum Island, (so called on account of the
rare Plums which doe grow upon it,) we struck into the
open Sea, and soon came in sight of the Islands of
Shoals. There be seven of them in all, lying off the
Town of Hampton on the main land, about a League.
We landed on that called the Star, and were hospitably
entertained through the day and night by Mr. Abbott,

an old inhabitant of the Islands, and largely employed
in Fisheries and Trade, and with whom Uncle had
some Business. In the afternoon Mr. Abbott's son
rowed us about among the Islands, and showed us the
manner of curing the Dun-fish, for which the place is
famed. They split the fishes, and lay them on the
Rocks in the Sun, using little Salt, but turning them
often. There is a Court-house on the biggest Island,
and a famous School, to which manie of the Planters
on the main land doe send their children. We noted a
great Split in the Rocks, where, when the Indians came
to the Islands manie years ago, and killed some and
took others captive, one Betty Moody did hide herself,
and which is hence called “Betty Moody's Hole.”
Also, the pile of Rocks set up by the noted Capt. John
Smith, when he did take possession of the Isles in the
year 1614. We saw our old acquaintance Peckanaminet
and his wife, in a little Birch Canoe, fishing a
short way off. Mr. Abbott says he well recollects the
time when the Agawams were well nigh cut off by the
Tarratine Indians; for that earlie one morning, hearing
a loud yelling and whooping, he went out on the point
of the Rocks, and saw a great Fleet of Canoes filled
with Indians, going back from Agawam, and the noise
they made he took to be their rejoicing over their
Victorie.

In the evening, a cold easterlie Wind began to blow,
and it brought in from the Ocean a damp Fogg, soe that
we were glad to get within doors. Sir Thomas entertained
us by his livelie account of things in Boston, and
of a journie he had made to the Providence Plantations.
He then asked us if it was true, as he had learned from
Mr. Mather, of Boston, that there was an House in
Newbury dolefullie beset by Satan's imps, and that
the familie could get no sleep because of the doings of
Evil Spirits. Uncle Rawson said he did hear something
of it, and that Mr. Richardson had been sent for
to praye against the mischief. Yet as he did count
Goody Morse a poor silly woman, he should give small
heed to her story; but here was her near neighbour,
Caleb Powell, who could doubtless tell more concerning
it. Whereupon, Caleb said it was indeed true that there
was a verie great disturbance in Goodman Morse his
house; doors opening and shutting, household stuff
whisked out of the Room and then falling down the
Chimnie, and divers other strange things, manie of
which he had himself seen. Yet he did believe it
might be accounted for in a natural way, especiallie
as the old couple had a wicked, graceless Boy living
with them, who might be able to doe the tricks by his
greate subtiltie and cunning. Sir Thomas said it
might be the Boy; but that Mr. Josselin, who had

travelled much hereabout, had told him that the Indians
did practice Witchcraft — and that, now they were
beaten in Warre, he feared they would betake themselves
to it, and soe doe by their devilish Wisdom what
they could not do by force; and verilie this did look
much like the beginning of their Enchantments. “That
the Devil helpeth the Heathen in this matter, I doe myself
know for a certaintie,” said Caleb Powell; “for
when I was at Port Royal manie years ago, I did see
with mine eyes the burning of an old Negroe Wizard,
who had done to death manie of the Whites, as well as
his own People, by a Charm which he brought with
him from the Guinea countrie.” Mr. Hull, the minister
of the place, who was a lodger in the House, said
he had heard one Foxwell, a reputable planter at Saco,
lately deceased, tell of a strange Affaire that did
happen to himself, in a Voyage to the Eastward. Being
in a small Shallop, and overtaken by the Night, he
lay at anchor a little way off the Shore, fearing to land
on account of the Indians. Now, it did chance that
they were waked about midnight by a loud Voice from
the Land, crying out, Foxwell, come ashore! three
times over; whereupon, looking to see from whence
the Voice did come, they beheld a great Circle of Fire
on the Beach, and Men and Women dancing aboute it
in a Ring. Presentlie they vanished, and the Fire was
quenched also. In the morning he landed, but found
no Indians nor English, onlie Brands' ends cast up by
the Waves; and he did believe unto the Day of his
Death that it was a piece of Indian sorcery. “There
be strange stories told of Passaconaway, the Chief of
the River Indians,” he continued. “I have heard one
say who saw it, that once at the Patucket Falls, this
Chief, boasting of his skill in Magick, picked up a dry
Skin of a Snake, which had been cast off as is the wont
of the Reptile, and making some violent motions of his
bodie, and calling upon his Familiar, or Demon, he did
presentlie cast it down upon the Rocks, and it became
a great black Serpent, which mine informant saw crawl
off into some Bushes, verie nimble. This Passaconaway
was accounted by his Tribe to be a verie cunning
Conjuror, and they doe believe that he could brew
Storms, make Water burn, and cause green leaves to
grow on trees in the Winter; and, in brief, it may be
said of him that he was not a whit behind the Magicians
of Egypt in the time of Moses.

“There be women in the cold regions about Noraway,”
said Caleb Powell, “as I have heard the sailors
relate, who do raise Storms and sink Boats at their
will.”

“It may well be,” quoth Mr. Hull, “since Satan is
spoken of as the Prince and Power of the Aire.”

“The profane writers of old time doe make mention
of such Sorceries,” said Uncle Rawson. “It is
long since I have read anie of them; but Virgil and
Apulius doe, if I mistake not, speak of this power over
the Elements.”

“Do you not remember, Father,” said Rebecca,
“Some verses of Tibullus, in which he speaketh of a
certain enchantress? Some one hath rendered them
thus:—

Here Sir Thomas laughingly told Rebecca, that he
did put more Faith in what these old writers did tell
of the Magick Arts of the sweet-singing Syrens, and
of Circe and her Enchantments, and of the Illyrian
maidens, so wonderful in their Beautie, who did kill
with their Looks such as they were angrie with.”

“It was, perhaps, for some such reason,” said Rebecca,
“that, as Mr. Abbott tells me, the General
Court manie years ago did forbid Women to live on
these Islands.”

“Pray, how was that?” asked Sir Thomas.

“You must know,” answered our host, “that in the
earlie settlement of the Shoals, Vessels coming for Fish
upon this Coast did here make their Harbor, bringing
hither manie rude Sailors of different Nations; and the
Court judged that it was not a fitting place for Women,
and soe did by law forbid their dwelling on the Islands
belonging to the Massachusetts.”

He then asked his Wife to get the Order of the
Court concerning her stay on the Islands, remarking
that he did bring her over from the Maine in despite of
the Law. Soe his Wife fetched it, and Uncle Rawson
read it, it being to this effect — “That a Petition
having been sent to the Court, praying that the Law
might be put in force in respect to John Abbott his
Wife, the Court doe judge it meet, if no further Complaint
come against her, that she enjoy the companie
of her Husband.” Whereat we all laughed heartilie.

Next morning, the Fogg breaking away earlie, we
set sail for Agamenticus, running along the coast and
off the Mouth of the Piscataqua River, passing near
where my lamented Uncle Edward dwelt, whose Fame
as a worthie Gentleman and Magistrate is still living.
We had Mount Agamenticus before us all Day —
a faire stately Hill, rising up as it were from the
water. Towards Night a smart Shower came on, with
Thunderings and Lightenings such as I did never see

or hear before; and the Wind blowing, and a greate
Raine driving upon us, we were for a time in much
Peril; but, through God's mercie, it suddenlie cleared
up, and we went into the Agamenticus River with a
bright Sun. Before dark we got to the house of my
honored Uncle, where, he not being at home, his Wife
and Daughters did receive us kindlie.

Sept'r 10.

I doe find myself truly comfortable at this place.
My two cousins, Polly and Thankful, are both young,
unmarried Women, verie kind and pleasant, and, since
my Newbury friends left, I have been learning of them
manie things pertaining to Housekeeping, albeit I am
still but a poor Scholar. Uncle is Marshall of the
Province, which takes him much from home, and Aunt,
who is a sicklie Woman, keeps much in her Chamber,
soe that the affairs of the Household and of the Plantation
doe mainlie rest upon the young Women. If ever
I get back to Hilton Grange again, I shall have tales to
tell of my baking and brewing, of my Pumpkin Pies,
and Bread made of the Flour of the Indian corn; yea,
more, of gathering of the wild Fruit in the Woods, and
Cranberries in the Meadows, milking the Cowes, and
looking after the Piggs and barn-yard Fowles. Then,
too, we have had manie pleasant little Journies by

Water and on horseback, young Mr. Jordan, of Spurwink,
who hath asked Polly in Marriage, going with us.
A right comelie youth he is, but a great Churchman,
as might be expected, his Father being the Minister of
the Black Point People, and verie bitter towards the
Massachusetts, and its Clergy and Government. My
Uncle, who meddles little with Church matters, thinks
him a hopeful young Man, and not an ill Suitor for his
Daughter. He hath been in England for his learning,
and is accounted a Scholar, but, although intended for
the Church service, he inclineth more to the Life of a
Planter, and taketh the charge of his Father's Plantation
at Spurwink. Polly is not beautiful and graceful
like Rebecca Rawson, but she hath freshness of Youth
and Health, and a certain good-heartedness of Look
and Voice, and a sweetness of Temper which doe
commend her in the Eyes of all. Thankful is older
by some years, and if not as cheerful and merrie as
her Sister, it needs not be marvelled at, since one
whom she loved was killed in the Narragansett countrie
two Years ago. Oh, these bloodie Warres! There
be few in these Eastern Provinces who have not been
called to mourn the loss of some neare and deare
friend, soe that of a truth, the land mourns.

Sept'r ye 18.

Meeting much disturbed yesterday, a ranting Quaker
coming in and sitting with his Hat on in Sermon time,
humming and groaning, and rocking his Bodie to and
fro like one possessed. After a time he got up, and
pronounced a great Woe upon the Priests, calling them
manie hard Names, and declaring that the whole land
stank with their Hypocrisie. Uncle spake sharplie to
him, and bid hold his Peace, but he onlie cried out the
louder. Some young men then took hold of him, and
carried him out. They brought him along close to my
Seat, he hanging like a Bag of Meal, with his eyes
shut, as ill-favored a Bodie as I ever beheld. The
magistrates had him smartly whipped this morning, and
sent out of the jurisdiction. I was told he was no true
Quaker, for, although a noisie, brawling hanger-on at
their Meetings, he is not in fellowship with the more
sober and discreet of that People.

Rebecca writes me that the Witchcraft in William
Morse his house is much talked of, and that Caleb
Powell hath been complained of as the Wizard. Mr.
Jordan the elder says he does in no wise marvel at the
Devil's power in the Massachusetts, since at his instigation
the Rulers and Ministers of the Colonie have
set themselves against the true and Gospel order of the
Church, and doe slander and persecute all who will
not worship at their Conventicles.

A Mr. Van Valken, a young Gentleman of Dutch
descent, and the Agent of Mr. Edmund Andross of the
Duke of York's Territory, is now in this place, being
entertained by Mr. Godfrey, the late Deputy Governor.
He brought a letter for me from Aunt Rawson, whom
he met in Boston. He is a learned, serious Man, hath
travelled a good deal, and hath an Aire of high breeding.
The Minister here thinks him a Papist, and a
Jesuit, especiallie as he hath not called upon him nor
been to the meeting. He goes soon to Pemaquid, to
take charge of that Fort and trading Station, which
have greatlie suffered by the Warre.

Sept'r ye 30th.

Yesterday, Cousin Polly and myself, with young
Mr. Jordan, went up to the Top of the Mountain, which
is some Miles from the harbor. It is not hard to climb
in respect to steepness, but it is soe tangled with Bushes
and Vines, that one can scarce break through them.
The open places were yellow with Golden Rods, and
the pale Asters were plenty in the Shade, and by the
Side of the Brooks, that with pleasing Noise did leap
down the Hill. When we got upon the Top, which is
bare and rocky, we had a faire View of the Coast, with
its many windings and its Islands, from the Cape Ann,
near Boston, to the Cape Elizabeth, near Casco, the

Piscataqua and Agamenticus Rivers, and away in the
Northwest we could see the Peaks of Mountains looking
like summer clouds, or Banks of grey Fogg.
These Mountains lie manie leagues off in the Wilderness,
and are said to be exceeding loftie.

But I must needs speak of the Color of the Woods,
which did greatlie amaze me, as unlike anything I had
ever seen in old England. As far as mine Eyes could
look, the mightie Wilderness, under the bright westerly
Sun, and stirred by a gentle wind, did seem like a
Garden in its Season of flowering; green, dark, and
light, orange, and pale yellow, and crimson leaves,
mingling and interweaving their various Hues, in a
manner truly wonderful to behold. It is owing, I am
told, to the sudden Frosts, which in this Climate doe
smite the Vegetation in its full Life and greenness, soe
that in the space of a few days, the Colors of the
Leaves are marvellously changed and brightened.
These Colors did remind me of the Stains of the Windows
of Old Churches, and of rich Tapestrie. The
Maples were all aflame with crimson, the Walnuts
were orange, the Hemlocks and Cedars were well nigh
black, while the slender Birches, with their pale yellow
Leaves, seemed painted upon them as Pictures are laid
upon a dark ground. I gazed until mine Eyes grew
wearie, and a Sense of the wonderful Beautie of the

visible Creation, and of God's great goodness to the
Children of Men therein, did rest upon me, and I said
in mine Heart, with one of old: Oh, Lord! how
manifold are thy Works: in wisdom hast thou made
them all, and the Earth is full of thy Riches.

Oct. ye 6th.

Walked out to the Iron Mines, a great Hole digged
in the rocks, manie years ago, for the finding of Iron.
Aunt, who was then just settled in housekeeping,
told me manie wonderful stories of the man who
caused it to be digged, a famous Doctor of Physick,
and, as it seems, a great Wizard also. He bought a
Patent of land on the South side of the Saco River,
four miles by the Sea, and eight miles up into the main
land of Mr. Vines, the first owner thereof; and being
curious in the seeking and working of Metals, did
promise himself great riches in this New Countrie, but
his labours came to nothing, although it was said that
Satan helped him, in the shape of a little blackamoor
man-servant, who was his constant familiar. My Aunt
says she did often see him, wandering about among the
Hills and Woods, and along the banks of Streams of
Water, searching for precious Ores and Stones. He
had even been as far as the great Mountains beyond
Pigwackett, climbing to the top thereof, where the

snows lie well nigh all the year, his way thither lying
through doleful Swamps and lonesome Woods. He
was a great Friend of the Indians, who held him to be
a more famous Conjuror than their own Powahs, and
indeed he was learned in all curious and Occult Arts,
having studied at the great College of Padua, and
travelled in all parts of the Old Countries. He sometimes
stopped in his Travels at my Uncle's house, the
little Blackamoor sleeping in the barne, for my Aunt
feared him, as he was reputed to be a wicked Imp.
Now it soe chanced that on one occasion my Uncle
had lost a Cowe, and had searched the Woods manie
days for her to noe purpose, when this noted Doctor
coming in, he besought him to find her out by his skill
and learning, but he did straightway denie his power to
do soe, saying he was but a poor Scholar, and lover of
Science, and had no greater skill in Occult matters
than any one might attain to, by patient study of Natural
things. But as mine Uncle would in no wise be
soe put off, and still pressing him to try his Art, he
took a bit of Coal, and began to make marks on the
Floor, in a verie careless way. Then he made a black
dot in the midst, and bade my Uncle take heed that
his Cowe was lying dead in that spot; and my Uncle
looking at it, said he could find her, for he now knew
where she was, inasmuch as the Doctor had made a
faire Map of the Country round about for manie miles.
Soe he set off, and found the Cowe lying at the foot of
a great Tree, close beside a Brook, she being quite
dead, which thing did show that he was a Magician of
no mean sort.

My Aunt further said, that in those days there was
great talk of mines of Gold and precious Stones, and
many people spent all their substance in wandering
about over the wilderness country seeking a Fortune in
this way. There was one old man, who, she remembered,
did roam about seeking for hidden Treasures,
until he lost his Wits, and might be seen filling a bagg
with bright stones and shining sand, muttering and
laughing to himself. He was at last missed for some
little time, when he was found lying dead in the Woods,
still holding fast in his hands his bagg of pebbles.

On my querying whether anie did find Treasures
hereabout, my Aunt laughed and said she never heard
of but one man who did soe, and that was old Peter
Preble of Saco, who growing rich faster than his
neighbors, was thought to owe his fortune to the finding
of a Gold or Silver Mine. When he was asked about it,
he did by no means deny it, but confessed he had found
treasures in the sea as well as on the land, and pointing
to his loaded Fish-flakes and his great Cornfields,
said “Here are my Mines.” Soe that afterwards when

any one prospered greatly in his Estate, it was said of
him by his neighbors, “He has been working Peter
Preble's Mine.”

Oct'r ye 8th.

Mr. Van Valken, the Dutchman, had before Mr.
Rishworth, one of the Commissioners of the Province,
charged with being a Papist and a Jesuit. He bore
himself, I am told, haughtilie enough, denying the
right to call him in question, and threatening the interference
of his friend and Ruler, Sir Edmund, on
account of the Wrong done him. My Uncle and
others did testify that he was a civil and courteous
Gentleman, not intermeddling with matters of a religious
Nature; and that they did regard it as a foul
shame to the Town that he should be molested in this
wise. But the Minister put them to silence, by testifying
that he (Van Valken) had given away sundry
Papist Books; and, one of them being handed to the
Court, it proved to be a Latin Treatise, by a famous
Papist, intituled, “The Imitation of Christ.” Hereupon,
Mr. Godfrey asked if there was aught evil in the
Book. The Minister said it was written by a Monk,
and was full of Heresie, favorin gboth the Quakers and
the Papists; but Mr. Godfrey told him it had been
rendered into the English tongue, and printed some

years before in the Massachusetts Bay; and asked
him if he did accuse such men as Mr. Cotton and Mr.
Wilson, and the pious Ministers of their day, of
Heresie. “Nay,” quoth the Minister, “they did see
the Heresie of the Book, and, on their condemning it,
the General Court did forbid its sale.” Mr. Rishworth
hereupon said he did judge the Book to be pernicious,
and bade the Constable burn it in the Street, which he
did. Mr. Van Valken, after being gravely admonished,
was set free; and he now saith he is no Papist, but
that he would not have said that much to the Court to
save his Life, inasmuch as he did deny its right of
arraigning him. Mr. Godfrey says the Treatment
whereof he complains is but a sample of what the
People hereaway are to look for from the Massachusetts
jurisdiction. Mr. Jordan, the younger, says his Father
hath a copy of the condemned Book, of the Boston
printing; and I being curious to see it, he offers to get
it for me.

Like unto Newbury, this is an old Towne for so
new a Countrie. It was made a city in 1642, and
took the name of Gorgeana, after that of the Lord
Proprietor, Sir Ferdinando Gorges. The Government
buildings are spacious, but now falling into
decay somewhat. There be a few Stone Houses, but
the major part are framed, or laid up with square

Loggs. The look of the land a little out of the Towne
is rude and unpleasing, being much covered with
Stones and Stumps; yet the Soil is said to be strong,
and the Pear and Apple doe flourish well here; also,
they raise Rye, Oats, and Barlie, and the Indian Corn,
and abundance of Turnips, as well as Pumpkins,
Squashes, and Melons. The Warre with the Indians,
and the troubles and changes of Government, have
pressed heavilie upon this and other Towns of the
Maine, soe that I am told that there be now fewer
wealthie Planters here than there were twenty years
ago, and little increase of Sheep or horned Cattle. The
People doe seem to me less sober and grave, in their
carriage and conversation than they of the Massachusetts
— hunting, fishing, and fowling more, and working
on the land less. Nor doe they keep the Lord's
Day soe strict; manie of the young People going
abroad, both riding and walking, visiting each other,
and diverting themselves, especiallie after the Meetings
are over.

Oct'r ye 9th.

Goodwife Nowell, an ancient gossip of mine Aunt's,
looking in this Morning, and talking of the tryal of the
Dutchman, Van Valken, spake of the coming into these
parts manie Years ago of one Sir Christopher Gardiner,
who was thought to be a Papist. He sought

Lodgings at her House for one whom he called his
Cousin, a faire young Woman, together with her serving
girl, who did attend upon her. She tarried about
a Month, seeing no one, and going out onlie towards
the Evening, accompanied by her Servant. She spake
little, but did seem melancholie, and exceeding mournful,
often crying very bitterlie. Sir Christopher came
onlie once to see her, and Nowell saith she well
remembers seeing her take leave of him on the road
side, and come back weeping and sobbing dolefullie;
and that a little Time after, hearing that he had gotten
into trouble in Boston as a Papist, and Man of loose
Behavior, she suddenlie took her departure in a Vessel
sailing for the Massachusetts, leaving to her, in pay for
House-room and Diet, a few coins, a gold Cross, and
some silk Stuffs and kerchiefs. The Cross being such
as the Papists doe worship, and therefore unlawful,
her husband did beat it into a solid wedge privatelie,
and kept it from the knowledge of the Minister and the
Magistrates. But as the poor man never prospered
after, but lost his Cattell and Grain, and two of their
children dying of Measles the next year, and he himself
being sicklie, and neare his End, he spake to her
of the Golden Cross, saying that he did believe it was
a great Sin to keep it, as he had done, and that it had
wrought evil upon him, even as the Wedge of Gold,
and the Shekels and Babylonish garment did upon
Achan, who was stoned, with all his house, in the
Valley of Achor; and the Minister coming in, and
being advised concerning it, he judged that although
it might be a sin to keep it hidden from a love of
Riches, it might, nevertheless, be safelie used to support
Gospel preaching and ordinances, and soe did
himself take it away. The Goodwife says, that notwithstanding
her husband died soon after, yet herself
and household did from thenceforth begin to amend
their Estate and Condition.

Seeing me curious concerning this Sir Christopher
and his cousin, Goodwife Nowell said there was a little
Parcel of Papers which she found in her room after
the young Woman went away, and she thought they
might yet be in some part of her House, though she
had not seen them for a score of years. Thereupon,
I begged of her to look for them, which she promised
to do.

Oct. ye 14th.

A strange and wonderful Providence! Last night
there was a great Companie of the neighbors at my
Uncle's, to help him in the husking and stripping of the
Corn, as is the custom in these parts. The barn floor
was about half filled with the Corn in its dry Leaves;

the companie sitting down on blocks and stools before
it plucking off the Leaves, and throwing the yellow
Ears into Baskets. A pleasant and merrie Evening
we had; and when the Corn was nigh stripped, I
went into the House with Cousin Thankful, to look to
the Supper and the laying of the Tables, when we
heard a loud Noise in the Barn, and one of the Girls
came running in, crying out, “Oh, Thankful! Thankful!
John Gibbins has appeared to us! — His Spirit is
in the Barn!” The plates dropped from my Cousin's
Hand, and, with a faint cry, she fell back against the
Wall for a little space; when, hearing a Man's voice
without, speaking her name, she ran to the Door, with
the look of one beside herself, while I, trembling to
see her in such a plight, followed her. There was a
clear Moon, and a tall Man stood in the Light close to
the Door.

“John,” said my Cousin, in a quick choking Voice,
“Is it you?”

“Why, Thankful, don't you know me? I'm alive,
but the Folks in the Barn will have it that I'm a Ghost,”
said the Man, springing towards her.

With a great Cry of Joy and Wonder, my Cousin
caught hold of him: “Oh, John, you are alive!”

Then she swooned quite away, and we had a deal to
do to bring her to Life again. By this time, the House

was full of People, and among the rest came John's old
Mother and his Sisters, and we all did weep and laugh
at the same Time. As soon as we got a little quieted,
John told us that he had indeed been grievously
stunned by the Blow of a Tomahawk, and left for dead
by his comrades, but that after a time he did come to
his Senses, and was able to walk, but, falling into the
hands of the Indians, he was carried off to the French
Canadas, where by reason of his great sufferings on the
way, he fell Sick, and lay for a long time at the point
of Death. That when he did get about again, the
Savage who lodged him, and who had taken him as a
Son, in the place of his own, slain by the Mohawks,
would not let him go home, although he did confess
that the Warre was at an end. His Indian father, he
said, who was feeble and old, died not long ago, and
he had made his way home by the way of Crown
Point and Albany. Supper being readie, we all sat
down, and the Minister, who had been sent for, offered
Thanks for the marvellous preserving and restoring of
the friend who was lost and now was found, as also
for the blessings of Peace, by reason of which every
Man could now sit under his own Vine and Fig tree,
with none to molest or make him afraid, and for the
abundance of the Harvest, and the Treasures of the
Seas, and the Spoil of the Woods, soe that our Land
might take up the song of the Psalmist: The Lord
doth build up Jerusalem; he gathereth the outcasts of
Israel; he healeth the broken in heart. Praise thy
God, oh Zion! For he strengtheneth the Bars of thy
Gates, he maketh peace in thy Borders, and filleth thee
with the finest of Wheat. Oh! a sweet Supper we
had, albeit little was eaten, for we were filled full of
Joy, and needed not other Food. When the companie
had gone, my dear Cousin and her Betrothed went a
little apart, and talked of all that had happened unto
them during their long Separation. I left them sitting
lovingly together in the Light of the Moon, and a
measure of their unspeakable happiness did go with
me to my Pillow.

This morning, Thankful came to my bedside to pour
out her Hearte to me. The poor girl is like a new
creature. The Shade of her heavy Sorrow, which did
formerlie rest upon her Countenance, hath passed off
like a morning cloud, and her Eye hath the light of a
deep and quiet joy.

“I now know,” said she, “what David meant when
he said, `We are like them that Dream; our Mouth
is filled with Laughter, and our Tongue with Singing;
The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we
are glad!”'

October ye 18th.

A cloudie wet Day. Goody Nowell brought me
this morning a little Parcel of Papers, which she found
in the corner of a Closet. They are much stained and
smoked, and the Mice have eaten them sadlie, soe that
I can make little of them. They seem to be letters,
and some fragments of what did take place in the life
of a young Woman of Qualitie from the North of
England. I find frequent mention made of Cousin
Christopher, who is also spoken of as a Soldier in the
Warres with the Turks, and as a Knight of Jerusalem.
Poorly as I can make out the meaning of these
Fragments, I have read enough to make my Hearte
sad, for I gather from them that the young Woman
was in earlie life betrothed to her Cousin, and that
afterwards, owing, as I judge, to the Authoritie of her
Parents, she did part with him, he going abroad, and
entering into the Warres, in the belief that she was to
wed another. But it seemed that the Hearte of the
young Woman did so plead for her Cousin, that she
could not be brought to marry as her Familie willed
her to do; and after a lapse of years, she, by chance
hearing that Sir Christopher had gone to the New
England, where he was acting as an agent of his
kinsman, Sir Ferdinando Gorges, in respect to the
Maine Province, did privately leave her home, and

take passage in a Boston bound Ship. How she did
make herself known to Sir Christopher, I find no
mention made; but, he now being a Knight of the
Order of St. John of Jerusalem, and vowed to forego
Marriage as is the rule of that Order, and being moreover,
as was thought, a Priest or Jesuit, her great love
and constancy could meet with but a sorrowful return
on his part. It does appear, however, that he journeyed
to Montreal, to take counsel of some of the
great Papist Priests there, touching the obtaining of a
Dispensation from the Head of the Church, so that he
might marry the young woman; but getting no encouragement
therein, he went to Boston to find a Passage
for her to England again. He was there complained
of as a Papist; and the coming over of his Cousin
being moreover known, a great and cruel Scandal did
arise from it, and he was looked upon as a Man of
evil life, though I find nothing to warrant such a
Notion, but much to the contrary thereof. What
became of him, and the young woman, his Cousin, in
the end, I doe not learn.

One small Parcel did affect me even unto Tears. It
was a paper containing some dry, withered Leaves of
Roses, with these Words written on it: “To Anna,
from her loving Cousin, Christopher Gardiner, being
the first Rose that hath blossomed this Season in the

College garden. St. Omer's, June, 1630.” I could
but think how many Tears had been shed over this
little Token, and how often, through long, wearie years,
it did call to mind the sweet Joy of earlie Love, of that
fairest blossom of the Spring of Life of which it was
an Emblem, alike in its beautie and its speedy withering.

There be moreover among the papers sundrie
Verses, which do seem to have been made by Sir
Christopher; they are in the Latin tongue, and inscribed
to his Cousin, bearing date manie years before
the twain were in this Countrie, and when he was yet
a Scholar at the Jesuits' College of St. Omer's, in
France. I find nothing of a later time, save the
Verses which I herewith copie, over which there are,
in a Woman's handwriting, these Words:

My Hearte is heavie with the thought of these unfortunates.
Where be they now? Did the Knight forego
his false Worship and his Vows, and soe marry his
beloved Anna? Or did they part forever, she going
back to her kinsfolk, and he to his companions of
Malta? Did he perish at the Hands of the Infidels,
and does the maiden sleep in the familie Tomb, under
her father's Oaks? Alas! who can tell? I must
needs leave them, and their Sorrows and Tryals, to
Him who doth not willingly afflict the children of men;
and whatsoever may have been their Sins and their
Follies, my prayer is, that they may be forgiven, for
they loved much.

The 20th October.

I do purpose to start to-morrow for the Massachusetts,
going by boat to the Piscataqua River, and thence
by horse to Newbury.

Young Mr. Jordan spent yesterday and last Night
with us. He is a goodlie Youth, of a very sweet and
gentle disposition; nor doth he seem to me to lack
spirit, although his Father (who liketh not his quiet
ways and easy temper, so contrarie to his own, and
who is sorely disappointed in that he hath chosen the
life of a Farmer to that of a Minister, for which he did
intend him) often accuseth him of that Infirmitie. Last
night we had much pleasant Discourse touching the
choice he hath made; and when I told him that perhaps
he might have become a great Prelate in the

Church, and dwelt in a Palace, and made a great Lady
of our Cousin, whereas now I did see no better prospect
for him than to raise Corne for his Wife to make
Pudding of, and chop Wood to boil her Kettle, he
laughed right merrilie, and said he should never have
gotten higher than a Curate in a poor Parish; and as
for Polly, he was sure she was more at home in making
Puddings than in playing the fine Lady.

“For my part,” he continued, in a serious manner,
“I have no notion that the Pulpit is my place; I like
the open Fields and Skie better than the grandest
Churches of man's building; and when the Wind
sounds in the great grove of Pines on the Hill near
our house, I doubt if there be a quire in all England
so melodious and solemn. These painted autumn
Woods, and this sunset Light, and yonder Clouds of
gold and purple, doe seem to me better fitted to provoke
devotional thoughts, and to awaken a becoming
Reverence and Love for the Creator, than the stained
Windows and loftie arched Roofs of old Minsters. I
doe know, indeed, that there be manie of our poor
busie Planters, who, by reason of ignorance, ill-breeding,
and lack of quiet for Contemplation, doe see
nothing in these things, save as they do affect their
Crops of Grain or Grasses, or their bodilie Comforts,
in one way or another. But to them whose Minds

have been enlightened and made large and free by
Study and much Reflection, and whose eyes have been
taught to behold the beautie and fitness of things, and
whose ears have been so opened that they can hear the
ravishing Harmonies of the Creation, the life of a
Planter is verie desirable even in this Wilderness, and
notwithstanding the toil and privation thereunto appertaining.
There be Fountains gushing up in the hearts
of such, sweeter than the springs of water which flow
from the hill-sides, where they sojourn; and therein,
also, Flowers of the Summer doe blossom all the year
long. The brutish Man knoweth not this, neither doth
the Fool comprehend it.”

“See now,” said Polly to me, “how hard he is upon
us poor unlearned folk.”

“Nay, to tell the truth,” said he, turning towards
me, “your Cousin here is to be held not a little accountable
for my present inclinations; for she it was
who did confirm and strengthen them. While I had
been busie over Books, she had been questioning the
Fields and the Woods; and, as if the old Fables of the
Poets were indeed true, she did get Answers from
them, as the Priestesses and Sybils did formerlie from
the rustling Leaves of Trees and Sounds of running
Waters; so that she could teach me much concerning
the uses and virtues of Plants and Shrubs, and of

their time of flowering and decay, of the nature and
habitudes of wild Animals and Birds, the changes of
the Aire, and of the Clouds and Winds. My Science,
so called, had given me little more than the names of
things which to her were familiar and common. It
was in her companie that I learned to read Nature as
a Book always open, and full of delectable teachings,
until my poor school-lore did seem undesirable and
tedious, and the verie Chatter of the noisie Blackbirds
in the Spring Meadows more profitable and more
pleasing than the angrie disputes and the cavils and
subtilties of schoolmen and divines.”

My Cousin blushed, and, smiling through her moist
Eyes at this language of her beloved friend, said that
I must not believe all he said; for, indeed, it was along
of his studies of the heathen Poets that he had first
thought of becoming a Farmer. And she asked him
to repeat some of the Verses which he had at his
tongue's end. He laughed, and said he did suppose
she meant some lines of Horace, which had been thus
Englished, —

I am exceedingly pleased, I must say, with the prospect
of my Cousin Polly. Her suitor is altogether a worthie
young Man, and, making allowances for the uncertaintie
of all human things, she may well look forward
to a happie Life with him. I shall leave behind me on
the Morrow, dear friends, who were Strangers unto me
a few short weeks ago, but in whose joys and sorrows
I shall henceforth always partake, so far as I do come
to the knowledge of them, whether or no I behold their
Faces anie more in this life.

Hampton, Oct. ye 24th, 1678.

I took leave of my good friends at Agamenticus, or
York, as it is now called, on the Morning after the last
date in my Journal, going in a Boat with my Uncle to
Piscataqua and Strawberry Bank. It was a cloudie
Day, and I was chilled through before we got to the
mouth of the River; but as the high Wind was much

in our favor, we were enabled to make the Voyage in
a shorter time than is common. We stopped a little
at the house of a Mr. Cutts, a man of some Note in
these parts; but he being from home, and one of the
children sick with a Quinsie, we went up the River to
Strawberry Bank, where we tarried over night. The
Woman who entertained us had lost her Husband in
the Warre, and having to see to the ordering of
matters out of Doors in this busie season of Harvest,
it was no marvel that she did neglect those within. I
made a comfortable supper of baked Pumpkin and
Milk, and for lodgings I had a straw Bed on the Floor,
in the dark Loft, which was piled well nigh full with
Corne ears, Pumpkins, and Beanes, besides a great
deal of old household trumperie, Wool, and Flax, and
the Skins of Animals. Although tired of my Journey,
it was some little time before I could get asleep; and
it soe fell out, that after the Folks of the house were
all abed, and still, it being, as I judge, nigh midnight,
I chanced to touch with my foot a Pumpkin lying near
the Bedd, which set it a rolling down the Stairs,
bumping hard on every Stair as it went. Thereupon
I heard a great stir below, the Woman and her three
Daughters crying out that the house was haunted.
Presentlie she called to me from the foot of the
Stairs, and asked me if I did hear any thing. I laughed
soe at all this, that it was some time before I could
speak; when I told her I did hear a thumping on the
Stairs. “Did it seem to go up, or down?” inquired
she, anxiouslie; and on my telling her that the Sound
went downward, she set up a sad Crie, and they all
came fleeing into the Corn-loft, the Girls bouncing
upon my Bedd, and hiding under the Blanket, and the
old Woman praying and groaning, and saying that she
did believe it was the Spirit of her poor Husband.
By this time my Uncle, who was lying on the Settle in
the Room below, hearing the Noise, got up, and
stumbling over the Pumpkin, called to know what was
the matter. Thereupon the Woman bade him flee
up Stairs, for there was a Ghost in the Kitchen.
“Pshaw!” said my Uncle, “is that all? I thought to
be sure the Indians had come.” As soon as I could
speak for laughing, I told the poor Creature what it
was that so frightened her; at which she was greatlie
vexed; and after she went to Bedd again, I could
hear her scolding me for playing Tricks upon honest
people.

We were up betimes in the morning, which was
bright and pleasant. Uncle soon found a friend of his,
a Mr. Weare, who, with his Wife, was to goe to his
home, at Hampton, that day, and who did kindlie
engage to see me thus far on my way. At about 8

of the clock got upon our horses, the Woman riding
on a Pillion behind her Husband. Our way was for
some miles through the Woods, getting at times a view
of the Sea, and passing some good, thriving Plantations.
The Woods in this Countrie are by no means
like those of England, where the ancient trees are
kept clear of Bushes and undergrowth, and the Sward
beneath them is shaven clean and close; whereas here
they be much tangled with Vines, and the dead Boughs
and Logs which have fallen, from their great age, or
which the Storms do beat off, or the winter Snows and
Ices doe break down. Here, also, through the thick
matting of dead leaves, all manner of Shrubs and
Bushes, some of them verie sweet and faire in their
flowering, and others greatlie prized for their healing
Virtues, doe grow up plenteouslie. In the season of
them, manie wholesome Fruits abound in the woods,
such as blue and black Berries. We passed many
Trees, well loaded with Walnuts and Oylnuts, seeming
all alive, as it were, with Squirrels, striped, red, and
grey, the last having a large, spreading Tayle, which
Mr. Weare told me they doe use as a Sail, to catch the
wind, that it may blow them over Rivers and Creeks,
on pieces of Bark, in some sort like that wonderful
shell fish which transformeth itself into a Boat, and
saileth on the Waves of the Sea. We also found
Grapes, both white and purple, hanging down in
Clusters from the Trees, over which the Vines did run,
nigh upon as large as those which the Jews of old
plucked at Eschol. The Aire was sweet and soft, and
there was a clear but not a hot sun, and the chirping
of Squirrels and the noise of Birds, and the sound
of the Waves breaking on the Beach a little distance
off, and the leaves, at every breath of the
Wind in the tree tops, whirling and fluttering down
about me, like so manie yellow and scarlet-colored
Birds, made the Ride wonderfullie pleasant and
entertaining.

Mr. Weare, on the way, told me that there was
a great talk of the bewitching of Goodman Morse his
house at Newbury, and that the case of Caleb Powell
was still before the Court, he being vehementlie
suspected of the Mischief. I told him I thought the
said Caleb was a vaine, talking man, but nowise of a
Wizard. The thing most against him, Mr. Weare
said, was this: that he did deny at the first that the
house was troubled by Evil Spirits, and even went so
far as to doubt that such things could be at all. “Yet
manie wiser men than Caleb Powell doe deny the
same,” I said. “True,” answered he, “but, as good
Mr. Richardson, of Newbury, well saith, there have
never lacked Sadducees, who believe not in Angel or

Spirit.” I told the storie of the disturbance at Strawberry
Bank the Night before, and how so silly a thing
as a rolling Pumpkin did greatlie terrifie a whole
Household; and said I did not doubt this Newbury
trouble was something verie like it. Hereupon the
good Woman took the matter up, saying she had been
over to Newbury, and had seen with her own Eyes
and heard with her own Ears; and that she could say
of it as the Queen of Sheba did of Solomon's glory,
“The half had not been told her.” She then went on
to tell me of manie marvellous and trulie unaccountable
things, so that I must needs think there is an
invisible Hand at work there.

We reached Hampton about one hour before Noon;
and riding up the Road towards the Meeting-house, to
my great joy, Uncle Rawson, who had business with
the Commissioners then sitting, came out to meet me,
bidding me go on to Mr. Weare his house, whither he
would follow me when the Court did adjourn. He
came thither accordingly, to sup and lodge, bringing
with him Mr. Pike the elder, one of the Magistrates, a
grave, venerable man, the Father of mine old acquaintance,
Robert. Went in the evening, with Mistress
Weare and her maiden sister, to see a young girl in
the Neighborhood, said to be possessed, or bewitched;
but for mine own part, I did see nothing in her

behavior beyond that of a vicious and spoiled Child,
delighting in Mischief. Her grandmother, with whom
she lives, lays the blame on an ill-disposed Woman,
named Susy Martin, living in Salisbury. Mr. Pike,
who dwells near this Martin, saith she is no Witch,
although an arrant Scold, as was her mother before
her; and as for the Girl, he saith that a birch twig,
smartlie laid on, would cure her sooner than the hanging
of all the old Women in the Colonie. Mistress
Weare says this is not the first time the Evil Spirit hath
been at work in Hampton; for they did all remember
the case of Goody Marston's child, who was, from as
faire and promising an infant as one would wish to see,
changed into the Likeness of an Ape, to the great
Griefe and sore Shame of its Parents; and, moreover,
that when the child died, there was seen by more than
one person a little old Woman in a blue Cloak, and
Petticoat of the same color, following on after the
Mourners, and looking verie like old Eunice Cole,
who was then locked fast in Ipswich jail, twenty miles
off. Uncle Rawson says he has all the papers in his
possession touching the tryal of this Cole, and will let
me see them when we get back to Newbury. There
was much talk on this matter, which so disturbed my
Fancie, that I slept but poorly. This afternoon we go
over to Newbury, where indeed I doe greatlie long to
be once more.

Newbury, Oct. ye 26.

Cousin Rebecca gone to Boston, and not expected
home until next Week. The House seems lonelie
without her. R. Pike looked in upon us this morning,
telling us that there was a rumor in Boston, brought by
way of the New York Colony, that a great Papist Plot
had been discovered in England, and that it did cause
much alarm in London, and thereabout. R. Pike saith
he doubts not the Papists doe plott, it being the custom
of their Jesuits soe to doe; but that nevertheless, it
would be no strange thing if it should be found that the
Bishops and the Government did set this rumor a-going,
for the excuse and occasion of some new Persecutions
of Independents and godly people.

Oct. ye 27.

Mr. Richardson preached yesterday, from Deuteronomy
xviii, 10th, 11th, and 12th verses. An ingenious
and solid Discourse, in which he showed that, as
among the Heathen Nations surrounding the Jews,
there were Sorcerers, Charmers, Wizards, and Consulters
with Familiar Spirits, who were an abomination
to the Lord, soe in our time, the Heathen Nations of
Indians had also their Powahs and Panisees, and
devilish Wizards, against whom the warning of the
Text might well be raised by the Watchmen on the

Walls of our Zion. He moreover said that the Arts of
the Adversary were now made manifest in this place
in a most strange and terrible manner, and it did
become the dutie of all Godlie Persons to pray and
wrestle with the Lord, that they who have made a
Convenant with Hell may be speedily discovered in
their Wickedness, and cut off from the Congregation.
An awful Discourse, which made manie tremble and
quake, and did quite overcome Goodwife Morse, she
being a weaklie Woman, soe that she had to be carried
out of the Meeting.

It being cold Weather, and a damp easterly Wind
keeping me within doors, I have been looking over
with Uncle his Papers about the Hampton Witch,
Eunice Cole, who was twice tried for her Mischiefs;
and I incline to copie some of them, as I know they
will be looked upon as worthie of Record by my dear
Cousin Oliver and mine other English friends. I find
that as long ago as the year 1656, this same Eunice
Cole was complained of, and manie Witnesses did
testify to her Wickedness. Here followeth some of
the Evidence on the first Tryal:

“The Deposition of Goody Marston and Goodwife Susanna
Palmer, who, being sworne, sayeth, that Goodwife Cole saith
that shee was sure there was a Witch in Towne, and that she
knew where hee dwelt, and who they are, and that 13 years

agoe shee knew one bewitched as Goodwife Marston's child
was, and shee was sure that party was bewitched, for it told
her soe, and it was changed from a Man to an Ape, as Goody
Marston's child was, and shee had prayed this 13 year that
God would discover that Witch. And further the deponent
saith not.

“Taken on Oath before ye Commissioners of Hampton, ye
8th of ye 2nd mo., 1656.

William Fuller.

Henry Dow.

“Vera copea:

“Thos. Bradbury, Recorder.

“Sworne before, ye 4th of September, 1656,

“Edward Rawson.

“Thomas Philbrick testifieth that Goody Cole told him that
if anie of his Calves did eat of her grass, she hoped it would
poysen them; and it fell out that one never came home
againe, and the other coming home died soon after.

“Henry Morelton's wife and Goodwife Sleeper depose
that, talking about Goody Cole and Marston's childe, they did
hear a great scraping against the boards of the window, which
was not done by a catt or dogg.

“Thomas Coleman's wife testifies that Goody Cole did repeat
to another the verie words which passed between herself
and her husband, in their own house, in private; and Thomas
Ormsby, the constable of Salisbury, testifies, that when he
did strip Eunice Cole of her shift, to be whipped, by the
judgment of the Court at Salisbury, he saw a Witch's Mark
under her left breast. Moreover, one Abra. Drake doth depose
and say, that this Goody Cole threatened that the hand
of God would be against his Cattel, and forthwith two of his
Cattel died, and before the end of Summer a third also.”

About five years ago, she was again presented by
the Jury for the Massachusetts jurisdiction, for having
“entered into a covenant with ye Divil, contrary to ye
peace of our Sovreign Lord the King, his crowne, and
dignity, the laws of God and this jurisdiction;” and
much Testimony was brought against her, tending to
showe her to be an arrant Witch. For it seems she did
fix her evil Eye upon a little Maid named Ann Smith,
to entice her to her house, appearing unto her in the
Shape of a little old Woman, in a blue Coat, a blue
Capp, and a blue Apron, and a white Neckcloth, and
presentlie changing into a Dogg, and running up a tree,
and then into an Eagle flying in the Aire, and lastlie
into a grey Catt, speaking to her, and troubling her in
a grievous manner. Moreover, the Constable of the
Town of Hampton testifies, that, having to supplie
Goody Cole with diet, by order of the Town, she being
poor, she complained much of him, and after that his wife
could bake no Bread in the Oven which did not speedilie
rot and become loathsome to the Smell, but the
same Meal baked at a neighbor's made good and
sweet bread; and, further, that one night there did
enter into their chamber a smell like that of the bewitched
Bread, only more loathsome, and plainlie diabolical
in its nature, soe that, as the Constable his wife
saith, “she was fain to rise in ye night and desire her

husband to goe to prayer to drive away ye Divil; and
he, rising, went to prayer, and after that the smell
was gone, soe that they were not troubled with it.”
There is also the testimony of Goodwife Perkins, that
she did see, on the Lord's day, while Mr. Dalton was
preaching, an Imp in the shape of a Mouse, fall out
the bosom of Eunice Cole down into her lap. For all
which, the County Court, held at Salisbury, did order
her to be sent to the Boston Jail to await her tryal at
the Court of Assistants. This last Court, I learn from
mine Uncle, did not condemn her, as some of the evidence
was old, and not reliable. Uncle saith she was a
wicked old Woman, who had been often whipped and
set in the ducking-stool, but whether she was a Witch
or no, he knows not for a certaintie.

November ye 8th.

Yesterday, to my great joy, came my beloved Cousin
Rebecca from Boston. In her companie also came the
worthy Minister and Doctor of Medicine, Mr. Russ, formerly
of Wells, but now settled at a plantation near Cocheco.
He is to make some little tarry in this Towne,
where at this present time manie complain of sickness.
Rebecca saith he is one of the excellent of the Earth,
and, like his blessed Lord and Master, delighteth in
going aboute doing good, and comforting both soul and

bodie. He hath a cheerful, pleasant Countenance, and
is verie active, albeit he is well stricken in years. He
is to preach for Mr. Richardson next Sabbath, and in
the mean time lodgeth at my Uncle's House.

This morning the Weather is raw and cold, the
ground frozen, and some snow fell before sunrise. A
little time ago, Doct. Russ, who was walking in the
garden, came in a great haste to the Window where
Rebecca and I were sitting, bidding us come forth.
Soe we hurrying out, the good man bade us look
whither he pointed, and lo, a Flock of wild Geese,
streaming across the Skie, in two great files, sending
down, as it were, from the Clouds, their loud and sonorous
Trumpetings, “Cronk, cronk, cronk!” These
birds, the Doctor saith, do goe Northward in March to
hatch their Broods in the great boggs and on the desolate
islands, and fly back again when the cold Season
approacheth. Our worthie guest improved the occasion
to speak of the care and goodness of God towards His
creation, and how these poor Birds are enabled, by
their proper instincts, to partake of His bountie, and to
shun the evils of adverse climates. He never looked,
he said, upon the Flight of these Fowls, without calling
to mind the query which was of old put to Job: Doth
the Hawk flie by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings
toward the south? Doth the Eagle mount up at thy
command, and make her nest on high?

November ye 12th, 1673.

Doct. Russ preached yesterday, having for his text
1 Corinthians, chap. xiii, verse 5. Charity seeketh not
her own. He began by saying that mutual Benevolence
was a Law of Nature — no one being a Whole
of himself, nor capable of happilie subsisting by himself,
but rather a Member of the great Body of Mankind,
which must dissolve and perish, unless held
together and compacted in its various parts by the
Force of that common and blessed Law. The wise
Author of our being hath most manifestlie framed and
fitted us for one another, and ordained that mutual Charity
shall supplie our mutual Wants and Weaknesses,
inasmuch as no man liveth to himself, but is dependent
upon others, as others be upon him. It hath been said
by ingenious men, that in the outward World all things
do mutually operate upon and affect each other; and
that it is by the energie of this principle that our solid
Earth is supported, and the Heavenly Bodies are made
to keep the rhythmic Harmonies of their Creation, and
dispense upon us their benign favors; and it may be
said, that a Law akin to this hath been ordained for the
moral world — mutual Benevolence being the cement
and support of Families, and Churches, and States,
and of the great Communitie and Brotherhood of Mankind.
It doth both make and preserve all the Peace,

and Harmony, and Beauty, which liken our World in
some small degree to Heaven, and without it all things
would rush into Confusion and Discord, and the Earth
would become a place of Horror and Torment, and
men become as ravening Wolves, devouring and being
devoured by one another.

Charity is the second great Commandment, upon
which hang all the Law and the Prophets; and it is
like unto the first, and cannot be separated from it; for
at the Great Day of Recompense we shall be tried by
these Commandments, and our faithfulness unto the
first will be seen and manifested by our faithfulness
unto the last. Yea, by our Love of one another the
Lord will measure our Love of Himself. Inasmuch as
ye have done it unto one of the least of these my Brethren,
ye have done it unto me. The Grace of Benevolence
is therefore no small part of our meetness for the
inheritance of the Saints in Light; it is the Temper of
Heaven; the Aire which the Angels breathe; an immortal
Grace — for when Faith which supporteth us
here, and Hope which is as an Anchor to the tossed
Soul, are no longer needed, Charity remaineth forever,
for it is native in Heaven, and partaketh of the Divine
Nature, for God himself is Love.

“Oh, my hearers,” said the Preacher, his venerable
Face brightening as if with a Light shining from within,

“doth not the Apostle tell us that skill in Tongues
and gifts of Prophecie, and mysteries of Knowledge
and Faith, doe avail nothing where Charity is lacking?
What avail great Talents, if they be not devoted to
goodness? On the other hand, where Charity dwelleth,
it maketh the Weak strong and the Uncomelie
beautiful; it sheddeth a Glory about him who possesseth
it, like that which did shine on the face of Moses, or
that which did sit upon the countenance of Stephen,
when his Face was as the Face of an Angel. Above
all, it conformeth us to the Son of God; for through
Love he came among us, and went about doing good,
adorning his life with Miracles of Mercy, and at last
laid it down for the Salvation of Men. What heart
can resist his melting entreatie: Even as I have
loved you, love ye also one another!

“We doe all,” he continued, “seek after Happiness,
but too often blindlie and foolishlie. The selfish
man, striving to live for himself, shutteth himself up to
partake of his single Portion, and marvelleth that he
cannot enjoy it. The good things he hath laid up for
himself fail to comfort him; and although he hath
Riches, and wanteth nothing for his Soul of all that he
desireth, yet hath he not power to partake thereof. They
be as delicates poured upon a Mouth shut up, or as
Meats set upon a Grave. But he that hath found

Charity to be the Temper of Happiness, which doth
put the Soul in a natural and easy condition, and
openeth it to the Solaces of that pure and sublime
Entertainment which the Angels doe spread for such
as obey the will of their Creator, hath discovered a
more subtle Alchemy than anie of which the Philosophers
did dream — for he transmuteth the Enjoyments
of others into his own, and his large and open Hearte
partaketh of the Satisfaction of all around him. Are
there any here who, in the midst of outward Abundance,
are sorrowful of Heart — who go mourning on
their way, from some inward Discomfort — who long
for Serenity of Spirit, and cheerful happiness, as the
Servant earnestlie desireth the Shadow? Let such
seek out the Poor and Forsaken, they who have no
homes nor estates, who are the Servants of Sin and
evil Habits, who lack Food for both the Body and the
Mind. Thus shall they, in remembering others, forget
themselves; the Pleasure they afford to their fellow-creatures
shall come back larger and fuller unto their
own Bosoms, and they shall know of a truth how much
the more blessed it is to give than to receive. In Love
and Compassion, God hath made us dependent upon
each other, to the end that by the use of our Affections
we may find true happiness and rest to our Souls. He
hath united us so closely with our Fellows, that they do
make, as it were, a part of our being, and in comforting
them we doe most assuredly comfort ourselves.
Therein doth Happiness come to us unawares, and
without seeking, as the Servant who goeth on his
Master's Errand findeth pleasant Fruits and sweet
Flowers overhanging him, and cool Fountains, which
he knew not of, gushing up by the Wayside, for his
solace and refreshing.”

The Minister then spake of the Duty of Charity
towards even the sinful and froward, and of winning
them by love and good will, and making even their
correction and punishment a means of awakening them
to Repentance, and the calling forth of the Fruits meet
for it. He also spake of self-styled Prophets and
Enthusiastic People, who went about to crie against
the Church and the State, and to teach new Doctrines,
saying that oftentimes such were sent as a judgment
upon the professors of the Truth, who had the Form
of godliness onlie, while lacking the Power thereof;
and that he did believe that the zeal which had been
manifested against such had not always been enough
seasoned with Charity. It did argue a lack of Faith in
the Truth, to flie into a Panick and a great Rage
when it was called in question; and to undertake to
become God's avengers, and to torture and burn Heretics,
was an error of the Papists, which ill became

those who had gone out from among them. Moreover,
he did believe that manie of these people, who had so
troubled the Colonie of late, were at heart simple and
honest men and women, whose Heads might indeed be
unsound, but who at Hearte sought to do the Will of
God; and, of a truth, all could testify to the sobriety
and strictness of their Lives, and the justice of their
Dealings in outward things.

He spake also somewhat of the Indians, who, he
said, were our Brethren, and concerning whom we
would have an Account to give at the Great Day. The
hand of these heathen People had been heavy upon
the Colonies, and manie had suffered from their cruel
Slaughterings, and the captivitie of themselves and
their Families. Here the aged Minister wept, for he
doubtless thought of his Son, who was slaine in the
Warre; and for a time the words did seem to die in
his throat, so greatlie was he moved. But he went on
to say, that since God, in his great and undeserved
Mercy, had put an End to the Warre, all present unkindness
and hard dealing towards the poore benighted
Heathen was an Offence in the eyes of Him who respecteth
not the Persons of Men, but who regardeth
with an equal Eye the White and the Red Men, both
being the workmanship of His hands. It is our blessed
privilege to labor to bring them to a knowledge of the

True God, whom, like the Athenians, some of them
doe ignorantlie worshipp, while the greater part, as
was said of the Heathen formerlie, doe not, out of the
good things that are seen, know Him that is; neither
by considering the Works doe they acknowledge the
Work-master, but deem the Fire or Wind, or the swift
Air, or the Circle of the Stars, or the violent Water,
or the Lights of Heaven, to be the Gods who govern
the World.

He counselled against Mischief-makers and stirrers
up of Strife, and such as doe desire occasion against
their Brethren. He said that it did seem as if manie
thought to atone for their own Sins by their great heat
and zeal to discover Wickedness in others; and that
he feared such might be the case now, when there was
much talk of the outward and visible doings of Satan
in this place; whereas, the Enemy was most to be
feared who did work privily in the Hearte; it being a
small thing for him to bewitch a dwelling made of
Wood and Stone, who did soe easilic possess and enchant
the precious Souls of men.

Finally, he did exhort all to keep Watch over their
own Spirits, and to remember that what Measure they
doe mete to others shall be measured to them again, to
lay aside all wrath and malice and evil speaking, to
bear one another's burdens, and soe make this Church

in the Wilderness beautiful and comelie, an example to
the World of that Peace and Good Will to men, which
the Angels sang of at the Birth of the blessed Redeemer.

I have been the more careful to give the substance
of Mr. Russ his sermon, as nearly as I can remember
it, forasmuch as it hath given Offence to some who did
listen to it. Dea. Dole saith it was such a Discourse
as a Socinian or a Papist might have preached, for
the great stress it laid upon Works; and Goodwife
Matson, a noisie, talking Woman — such an one, no
doubt, as those busy-bodies whom Saint Paul did
rebuke for Forwardness, and command to keep Silence
in the Church — says the preacher did goe out of his
way to favor Quakers, Indians, and Witches; and that
the Devil in Goody Morse's house was no doubt well
pleased with the Discourse. R. Pike saith he does no
wise marvel at her complaints; for when she formerlie
dwelt at the Marblehead fishing Haven, she was one of
the unruly Women who did break into Thompson's
garrison House, and barbarously put to death two
Saugus Indians, who had given themselves up for safe
keeping, and who had never harmed anie, which thing
was a great Grief and Scandal to all well-disposed
People. And yet this Woman, who scrupled not to
say that she would as lief stick an Indian as a Hogg,

and who walked all the way from Marblehead to Boston
to see the Quaker Woman hung, and did foully
jest over her dead Bodie, was allowed to have her way
in the Church, Mr. Richardson being plainlie in fear of
her ill Tongue and wicked Temper.

November ye 13th.

The Quaker maid, Margaret Brewster, came this
Morning inquiring for the Doctor, and desiring him to
visit a sick man at her Father's house, a little way up
the River; whereupon, he took his Staff, and went
with her. On his coming back, he said he must doe
the Quakers the justice to say, that, with all their
Heresies, and pestilent errors of Doctrine, they were a
kind People; for here was Goodman Brewster, whose
small Estate had been well nigh taken from him in
fines, and whose Wife was a weak, ailing Woman, who
was at this time kindlie lodging and nursing a poor,
broken-down Soldier, by no means likely to repay him,
in any sort. As for the sick Man, he had been hardlie
treated in the matter of his Wages, while in the Warre,
and fined, moreover, on the Ground that he did profane
the Holy Sabbath; and though he had sent a
Petition to the Honorable Governor and Council, for
the remission of the same, it had been to no purpose.
Mr. Russ said he had taken a copie of this Petition,

with the Answer thereto, intending to make another
Application himself to the Authorities; for although
the Petitioner might have been blameable, yet his
Necessitie did goe far to excuse it. He gave me the
Papers to copy, which are as followeth:

“To the Hon. the Governor and Council, now sitting in
Boston, July 30, 1676. The Petition of Jonathan Atherton
humbly showeth:

“That your Petitioner, being a soldier under Capt. Henchman,
during their aboad at Concord, Capt. H., under pretence
of your Petitioner's profanation of the Sabbath, had sentenced
your Petitioner to lose a fortnight's Pay. Now, the thing that
was alledged against your Petitioner was, that he cutt a piece
of an old Hatt to put in his Shooes, and emptied three or
four Cartridges. Now, there was great occasion and necessity
for his soe doing, for his Shooes were grown soe bigg, by
walking and riding in the wet and dew, that they galled his
Feet soe that he was not able to goe without paine; and his
Cartridges, being in a Bagg, were worne with continual
travell, soe that they lost the Powder out, so that it was dangerous
to carry them; besides, he did not know how soon he
should be forced to make use of them, therefore he did account
it lawful to doe the same; yet, if it be deemed a Breach
of the Sabbath, he desires to be humbled before the Lord, and
beggs the pardon of his People for any offence done to them
thereby. And doth humbly request the favor of your honors
to consider the premises, and to remit the fine imposed upon
him, and to give order to the Committee for the Warr for the
payment of his Wages. So shall he forever pray.”

“Aug. 1676. — The Council sees no cause to grant the Petitioner
any reliefe.”

Newbury, Nov. 18, 1678.

Went yesterday to the haunted house with Mr. Russ
and Mr. Richardson, Rebecca and Aunt Rawson being
in the companie. Found the old couple in much
trouble, sitting by the fire, with the Bible open before
them, and Goody Morse weeping. Mr. Richardson
asked Goodman Morse to tell what he had seen and
heard in the house; which he did, to this effect: That
there had been great and strange Noises all about the
house, a banging of doors, and a knocking on the
boards, and divers other unaccountable Sounds; that
he had seen his box of Tools turn over of itself, and the
tools flie about the room; Baskets dropping down the
Chimnie, and the Pots hanging over the fire smiting
against each other; and, moreover, the Irons on the
hearth jumping into the pots, and dancing on the table.
Goodwife Morse said that her Bread-tray would upset
of its own accord, and the great woolen Wheel would
contrive to turn itself upside down, and stand on its
end: and that when she and the Boy did make the
beds, the Blankets would fly off as fast as they put
them on, all of which the boy did confirme. Mr.
Russ asked her if she suspected anie one of the mischief;
whereupon, she said she did believe it was done
by the seaman Powell, a cunning man, who was wont
to boast of his knowledge in astrology and astronomy

having been brought up under one Norwood, who is
said to have studied the Black Art. He had wickedly
accused her grandson of the mischief, whereas the
poor Boy had himself suffered greatly from the Evil
Spirit, having been often struck with stones and bits of
boards, which were flung upon him, and kept awake
o'nights by the diabolical noises. Goodman Morse
here said that Powell, coming in and pretending to
pity their lamentable case, told them that if they would
let him have the Boy for a day or two, they should be
free of the trouble while he was with him; and that
the Boy going with him, they had no disturbance in
that time; which plainly showed that this Powell had
the wicked Spirits in his keeping, and could chain
them up, or let them out, as he pleased.

Now, while she was speaking, we did all hear a
great thumping on the Ceiling, and presentlie a piece
of a board flew across the room against the chair
on which Mr. Richardson was sitting; whereat, the
two old people set up a dismal groaning, and the Boy
cried out, “That's the Witch!” Goodman Morse
begged of Mr. Richardson to fall to praying, which he
presentlie did; and, when he had done, he asked Mr.
Russ to follow him, who sat silent and musing a little
while, and then prayed that the worker of the disturbance,
whether diabolical or human, might be discovered

and brought to light. After which there was no
noise while we staid. Mr. Russ talked awhile with the
Boy, who did stoutly deny what Caleb Powell charged
upon him, and showed a bruise which he got from a
Stick thrown at him in the Cow-house. When we
went away, Mr. Richardson asked Mr. Russ what he
thought of it. Mr. Russ said, the matter had indeed a
strange look, but that it might be nevertheless the
work of the Boy who was a cunning young Rogue, and
capable beyond his years. Mr. Richardson said he
hoped his Brother was not about to countenance the
scoffers and Sadducees, who had all along tried to
throw doubt upon the matter. For himself he did look
upon it as the work of invisible Demons, and an awful
proof of the existence of such, and of the deplorable
condition of all who fall into their hands; moreover,
he did believe that God would overrule this malice of
the Devil for good, and make it a means of awakening
sinners and lukewarm Church members to a sense of
their danger.

Last night, brother Leonard, who is studying with
the learned Mr. Ward, the Minister at Haverhill, came
down, in the companie of the worshipful Major Saltonstall,
who hath business with Esquire Dummer and
other Magistrates of this place. Mr. Saltonstall's lady,
who is the daughter of Mr. Ward, sent by her husband

and my brother, a very kind and pressing invitation
to Rebecca and myself to make a visit to her;
and Mr. Saltonstall did also urge the matter strongly.
Soe we have agreed to goe with them the day after
to-morrow. Now, to say the truth, I am not sorrie to
leave Newbury, at this time, for there is soe much talk
of the bewitched House, and such dismal stories told of
the power of invisible Demons, added to what I did
myself heare and see yesterday, that I can scarce sleep
for the trouble and disquiet this matter causeth. Doct.
Russ, who left this morning, said, in his opinion, the
less that was said and done about the Witchcraft the
better for the honor of the Church and the peace of the
Neighborhood; for it might, after all, turn out to be
nothing more than an “old wife's fable;” but if it
were indeed the work of Satan, it could, he did believe,
do no harm to sincere and godlie People, who lived
sober and prayerful lives, and kept themselves busy in
doing good. The doers of the Word seldom fell into
the snare of the Devil's enchantments. He might be
compared to a wild Beast, who dareth not to meddle
with the traveller who goeth straightway on his Errand,
but lieth in wait for such as loiter and fall asleep by
the wayside. He feared, he said, that some in our day
were trying to get a great Character to themselves, as
the old Monks did, by their skill in discerning Witchcrafts,
and their pretended conflicts with the Devil in
his bodilie shape; and thus while they were seeking to
drive the enemy out of their neighbor's Houses, they
were letting him into their own Hearts, in the guise of
deceit and spiritual pride. Repentance, and works
meet for it, were the best exorcism; and the savor of
a good life driveth off Evil Spirits, even as that of the
fish of Tobit, at Ecbatana, drove the Devil from the
chamber of the Bride into the uttermost parts of Egypt.
“For mine own part,” continued the worthie man, “I
believe the Lord and Master, whom I seek to serve, is
over all the powers of Satan; therefore doe I not heed
them, being afraid onlie of mine own accusing conscience
and the displeasure of God.”

We are all loath to lose the good Doctor's companie.
An Israelite indeed! My Aunt, who once tarried for
a little time with him for the benefit of his skill in
Physick, on account of sickness, tells me that he is as
a father to the people about him, advising them in all
their temporal Concerns, and bringing to a timely and
wise settlement all their Disputes, soe that there is nowhere
a more prosperous and loving society. Although
accounted a learned Man, he doth not perplex his
hearers, as the manner of some is, with dark and difficult
questions, and points of doctrine, but insisteth
mainly on holiness of life and conversation. It is said

that on one occasion, a famous schoolman and disputer
from abroad, coming to talk with him on the matter of
the damnation of Infants, did meet him with a Cradle
on his shoulder, which he was carrying to a young
Mother in his neighborhood, and when the Man told
him his errand, the good Doctor bade him wait until he
got back, for said he, “I hold it to be vastly more important
to take care of the bodies of the little Infants
which God in his love sends among us, than to seek to
pry into the mysteries of His will concerning their
souls.” He hath no salary or tythe, save the use of a
House and Farm, choosing rather to labor with his own
hands than to burthen his neighbors; yet such is their
love and good will, that in the busy seasons of the Hay
and Corn harvest, they all join together and help him
in his fields, counting it a special privilege to do so.

Nov. ye 19.

Leonard and Mr. Richardson, talking upon the matter
of the Ministry, disagreed not a little. Mr. Richardson
says my brother hath got into his head manie
unscriptural notions, and that he will never be of service
in the Church until he casts them off. He saith, moreover,
that he shall write to Mr. Ward concerning the
errors of the young man. His words troubling me, I
straightway discoursed my brother as to the points of

difference between them; but he, smiling, said it was
a long Storie, but that some time he would tell me the
substance of the Disagreement, bidding me have no
fear in his behalf, as what had displeasured Mr. Richardson
had arisen only from tenderness of conscience.

Haverhill, Nov. ye 22.

Left Newbury day before yesterday. The day cold,
but sunshiny, and not unpleasant. Mr. Saltonstall's
business calling him that way, we crossed over the
ferry to Salisbury, and, after a ride of about an hour,
got to the Falls of the Powow River, where a great
stream of water rushes violently down the rocks, into
a dark wooded Valley, and from thence runs into the
Merrimack, about a mile to the South East. A wild
sight it was, the water swollen by the Rains of the
season, foaming and dashing among the rocks and the
trees, which latter were well nigh stripped of their
leaves. Leaving this place, we went on towards
Haverhill. Just before we entered that Town, we
overtook an Indian, with a fresh Wolf's skin hanging
over his shoulder. As soon as he saw us, he tried to
hide himself in the Bushes; but Mr. Saltonstall, riding

up to him, asked him if he did expect Haverhill folks
to pay him 40 shillings for killing that Amesbury
wolf? “How you know Amesbury wolf?” asked the
Indian. “Oh!” said Mr. Saltonstall, “you can't
cheat us again, Simon. You must be honest, and tell
no more lies, or we will have you whipped for your
tricks.” The Indian thereupon looked sullen enough,
but at length he begged Mr. Saltonstall not to tell where
the Wolf was killed, as the Amesbury folks did now
refuse to pay for anie killed in their Town; and, as he
was a poor Indian, and his Squaw much sick and could
do no work, he did need the money. Mr. Saltonstall
told him he would send his Wife some Corn-meal and
Bacon, when he got home, if he would come for them,
which he promised to do.

When we had ridden off, and left him, Mr. Saltonstall
told us that this Simon was a bad Indian, who when
in drink was apt to be saucie and quarrelsome; but
that his Wife was quite a decent bodie for a savage,
having long maintained herself and children and her
lazy cross husband, by hard labor in the Cornfields and
at the Fisheries.

Haverhill lieth very pleasantlie on the river side; the
land about hilly and broken, but of good quality. Mr.
Saltonstall liveth in a statelie house for these parts, not
far from that of his father-in-law, the learned Mr. Ward.

Madam his wife is a fair, pleasing young woman,
not unused to society, their house being frequented
by many of the first people hereabout, as well as by
strangers of distinction from other parts of the country.
We had hardly got well through our Dinner, (which
was abundant and savory, being greatlie relished by
our hunger,) when two Gentlemen came riding up to
the door; and on their coming in, we found them to be
the young Doctor Clark, of Boston, a son of the old
Newbury physician, and a Doctor Benjamin Thompson,
of Roxbury, who I hear is not a little famous for
his ingenious poetry and witty pieces on manie subjects.
He was, moreover, an admirer of my Cousin Rebecca;
and on learning of her betrothal to Sir Thomas, did
write a most despairing Verse to her, comparing himself
to all manner of lonesome things, soe that when
Rebecca showed it to me, I told her I did fear the poor
young Gentleman would put an end to himself, by
reason of his great sorrow and disquiet; whereat
she laughed merrily, bidding me not fear, for she
knew the Writer too well to be troubled thereat, for he
loved nobody soe well as himself, and that under no
provocation would he need the Apostle's advice to the
Jailer, “Doe thyself no harm.” All which I found to
be true — he being a gay, witty man, full of a fine
conceit of himself, which is not so much to be marvelled
at, as he hath been greatly flattered and sought
after.

The excellent Mr. Ward spent the evening with us;
a pleasant, social old man, much beloved by his people.
He told us a great deal about the earlie settlement of
the Town, and of the grievous hardships which manie
did undergo the first season, from cold, and hunger,
and sickness. He thought, however, that, with all
their ease and worldlie prosperitie, the present Generation
were less happy and contented than their fathers;
for there was now a great striving to outdo each other
in Luxury and gay Apparel, the Lord's day was not soe
well kept as formerlie, and the drinking of spirits and
frequenting of ordinaries and places of public resort
vastly increased. Mr. Saltonstall said the Warre did
not a little demoralize the people, and that since the
Soldiers came back, there had been much trouble in
Church and State. The General Court, two years ago,
had made severe Laws against the provoking evils of
the times: profaneness, Sabbath-breaking, drinking,
and revelling to excess, loose and sinful conduct on the
part of the young and unmarried, pride in dress,
attending Quakers' Meetings and neglect of attendance
upon Divine worship; but these Laws had never been
well enforced, and he feared too manie of the Magistrates
were in the condition of the Dutch Justice in the

New York Province, who, when a woman was brought
before him, charged with robbing a hen-roost, did
request his brother on the Bench to pass sentence upon
her; for, said he, if I send her to the Whipping-post,
the wench will crie out against me as her accomplice.

Doct. Clark said his friend, Doct. Thompson, had
written a long piece on this untoward state of our
Affairs, which he hoped soon to see in print, inasmuch
as it did hold the Looking Glass to the face of this
Generation, and shame it by a comparison with that
of the Generation which has passed. Mr. Ward said
he was glad to hear of it, and hoped his ingenious
friend had brought the Manuscript with him; whereupon,
the young gentleman said he did take it along
with him, in the hope to benefit it by Mr. Ward's judgment
and learning, and with the leave of the Companie
he would read the Prologue thereof. To which we all
agreeing, he read what follows, which I copy from his
Book: —

Mr. Ward was much pleased with the verses, saying
that they would do honor to any Writer. Rebecca
thought the lines concerning the long grace at meat
happy, and said she was minded of the Wife of the
good Mr. Ames, who prided herself on her skill in
Housewifery and Cookery; and on one occasion, seeing
a nice pair of roasted Fowls growing cold under
her husband's long grace, was fain to jog his Elbow,
telling him that if he did not stop soon, she feared they
would have small occasion for thankfulness for their
spoiled dinner. Mr. Ward said he was once travelling
in companie with Mr. Phillips, of Rowley, and Mr.
Parker of Newbury, and stopping all night at a poor
house neare the Sea shore, the Woman thereof brought
into the room for their supper a great wooden Tray,
full of something nicely covered up by a clean linen
cloth. It proved to be a dish of boiled Clams, in their

shells; and as Mr. Phillips was remarkable in his
thanks for aply citing passages of Scripture with regard
to whatsoever food was upon the table before him, Mr.
Parker and himself did greatlie wonder what he could
say of this Dish; but he, nothing put to it, offered
thanks that now, as formerly, the Lord's People were
enabled to partake of the abundance of the seas, and
treasures hid in the sands. “Whereat,” said Mr.
Ward, “we did find it soe hard to keep grave countenances,
that our good hostess was not a little disturbed,
thinking we were mocking her poor Fare; and we
were fain to tell her the cause of our Mirth, which was
indeed ill-timed.”

Dr. Clark spake of Mr. Ward's Father, the renowned
Minister at Ipswich, whose Book of “The Simple Cobbler
of Agawam,” was much admired. Mr. Ward
said that some of the witty turns therein did give much
offence at the time of its printing, but that his Father
could never spoil his joke for the sake of friends, albeit
he had no Malice towards any one, and was always
readie to do a good, even to his enemies. He once
even greatly angered his old and true friend, Mr.
Cotton of Boston. “It fell out in this wise,” said Mr.
Ward. “When the arch heretick and fanatick Gorton
and his crew were in prison in Boston, my Father and
Mr. Cotton went to the Jail window to see them; and

after some little Discourse with them, he told Gorton
that if he had done or said anie thing which he could
with a clear conscience renounce, he would do well to
recant the same, and the Court, he doubted not, would
be merciful; adding, that it would be no disparagement
for him to do so, as the best of men were liable
to err; as, for instance, his brother Cotton here generally
did preach that one year which he publicklie
repented of before his Congregation the next year.”

Mr. Saltonstall told another story of old Mr. Ward
which made us all merrie. There was a noted Antinomian,
of Boston, who used to goe much about the
country disputing with all who would listen to him,
who, coming to Ipswich one night with another of his
sort with him, would fain have tarried with Mr. Ward,
but he told them that he had scarce Hay and Grain
enough in his Barn for the use of his own Cattel, and
that they would do well to take their horses to the
Ordinary, where they could be better cared for. But
the Fellow not wishing to be soe put off, bade him
consider what the Scripture said touching the keeping
of strangers, as some had thereby entertained Angels
unawares. “True, my friend,” said Mr. Ward, “but
we don't read that the Angels came a horseback!”

The evening passed away in a verie pleasant and
agreeable manner. We had rare Nuts, and Apples,

and Pears, of Mr. Saltonstall's raising, wonderfullie
sweet and luscious. Our young gentlemen, moreover,
seemed to think the Wine and Ale of good quality;
for, long after we had gone to our Bedds, we could
hear them talking and laughing in the great Hall
below, notwithstanding that Mr. Ward, when he took
leave, bade Doctor Thompson take heed to his own
hint concerning the
to which the young wit replied, that there was Scripture
warrant for his drinking, inasmuch as the command
was, to give Wine to those that be of heavy
heart. Let him drink, and forget his Poverty, and
remember his Misery no more; and, for his part, he
had been little better than miserable ever since he
heard of Rebecca's betrothal. A light, careless man,
but of good parts, and as brave a talker as I have
heard since I have been in the Colonie.

Nov'r ye 24.

Mr. Ward's negro girl Dinah came for me yesterday,
saying that her Master did desire to see me.
Soe, marvelling greatlie what he wanted, I went with
her, and was shown into the Study. Mr. Ward said
he had sent for me to have some discourse in regard to

my brother Leonard, who he did greatlie fear was
likelie to make shipwreck of the Faith; and that Mr.
Richardson had written him concerning the young
man, telling him that he did visit the Quakers when at
Newbury, and even went over to their Conventicle at
Hampton, on the Lord's day, in the companie of the
Brewster familie, noted Quakers and Ranters. He
had the last evening had some words with the lad, but
with small satisfaction. Being sorelie troubled by this
account, I begged him to send for Leonard, which he
did, and, when he did come into the room, Mr. Ward
told him that he might see by the plight of his Sister
(for I was in tears) what a great grief he was like to
bring upon his familie and friends, by running out into
Heresies. Leonard said he was sorrie to give trouble
to anie one, least of all to his beloved Sister; that he
did indeed goe to the Quaker's meeting, on one occasion,
to judge for himself concerning this People, who
are every where spoken against; and that he must say
he did hear or see nothing in their worshipp contrary
to the Gospel. There, was, indeed, but little said, but
the words were savory and Scriptural. “But they
denie the Scriptures,” cried Mr. Ward, “and set above
them what they call the Light, which I take to be
nothing better than their own Imaginations.” “I doe
not soe understand them,” said Leonard; “I think
they doe diligentlie study the Scripture, and seek to
conform their lives to its teachings; and for the Light
of which they speak, it is borne witness to not only in
the Bible, but by the earlie Fathers, and devout men
of all ages. I doe not go to excuse the Quakers in
all that they have done, nor to defend all their Doctrines
and Practices, manie of which I see no warrant
in Scripture for, but believe to be pernicious and contrary
to good order; yet I must need look upon them
as a sober, earnest-seeking People, who doe verilie
think themselves persecuted for righteousness' sake.”
Hereupon Mr. Ward struck his cane smartlie on the
floor, and, looking severely at my Brother, bade him
beware how he did justify these canting and false
pretenders. “They are,” he said, “either sad Knaves,
or silly Enthusiasts — they pretend to Divine Revelation,
and set up as Prophets; like the Rosycrucians
and Gnosticks, they profess to a knowledge of things
beyond what plain Scripture reveals. The best that
can be said of them is, that they are befooled by their
own Fancies, and the victims of distempered Brains,
and ill habits of Bodie. Then their ranting against the
Gospel order of the Church, and against the Ministers
of Christ, calling us all manner of Hirelings, Wolves,
and Hypocrites, belching out their blasphemies against
the Ordinances and the wholesome Laws of the land
for the support of a sound Ministry and Faith, doe,
altogether, justify the sharp treatment they have met
with; soe that, if they have not all lost their Ears,
they may thank our Clemency rather than their own
Worthiness to wear them. I doe not judge of them
ignorantly, for I have dipped into their Books; where,
what is not downright Blasphemy and Heresie, is
Mystical and Cabalistic. They affect a cloudy and
canting style, as if to keep themselves from being
confuted by keeping themselves from being understood.
Their Divinity is a Riddle; a piece of Black Art; the
Scripture they turn into Allegory and parabolical
Conceits, and thus obscure and debauch the Truth.
Argue with them, and they fall to Divining; reason
with them, and they straightway Prophesie. Then
their Silent Meetings, so called, in the which they doe
pretend to justify themselves by quoting Revelations,
“There was Silence in Heaven;” whereas they might
find other authorities — as, for instance, in Psalm 115,
where Hell is expressed by Silence, and in the Gospel
where we read of a Dumb Devil. As to persecuting
these People, we have been quite too charitable to
them, especiallie of late, and they are getting bolder
in consequence; as, for example, the behaviour of that
shameless young Wench in Newbury, who disturbed
brother Richardson's church with her Anticks not long
ago. She should have been tied to the cart tail and
whipped all the way to Rhode Island.

“Do you speak of Margaret Brewster?” asked
Leonard, his Face all a crimson, and his Lip quivering.
“Let me tell you, Mr. Ward, that you greatlie wrong
one of Christ's little ones.” And he called me to
testify to her goodness and charity, and the blamelessness
of her life.

“Don't talk to me of the blameless life of such an
one,” said Mr. Ward, in a loud, angrie tone; “it is
the Devil's varnish for heresie. The Manichees, and
the Pelagians, and Socinians, all did profess great strictness
and sanctity of life; and there never was heretic
yet, from they whom the Apostle makes mention of,
who fasted from Meats, giving heed to seducing
Spirits and doctrines of Devils, down to the Quakers,
Dippers, and New Lights of this generation, who have
not, like their Fathers of old, put on the shape of
Angels of Light, and lived severe and over-strict lives.
I grant that the Quakers are honest in their dealings,
making great show of sobriety and self-denial, and
abhor the practice of scandalous Vices, being temperate,
chaste, and grave in their behaviour, and thereby
they win upon unstable Souls, and make plausible their
damnable heresies. I warn you, young man, to take
heed of them, lest you be ensnared and drawn into
their way.”

My Brother was about to reply, but, seeing Mr.
Ward so moved and vexed, I begged of him to say no
more, and, companie coming in, the matter was dropped,
to my great joy. I went back much troubled and
disquieted for my Brother's sake.

November ye 28th, 1678.

Leonard hath left Mr. Ward, and given up the
thought of fitting for the Ministry. This will be a
heavie blow to his friends in England. He tells me
that Mr. Ward spake angrilie to him after I left, but
that, when he come to part with him, the old man
wept over him, and prayed that the Lord would enable
him to see his Error, and preserve him from the consequences
thereof. I have discoursed with my Brother
touching his future course of life, and he tells me he
shall start in a day or two to visit the Rhode Island,
where he hath an acquaintance, one Mr. Easton, formerly
of Newbury. His design is to purchase a small
Plantation there, and betake himself to Farming, of the
which he hath some little knowledge, believing that he
can be as happy and doe as much good to his fellow-creatures
in that Employment as in any other.

Here Cousin Rebecca, who was by, looking up with
that sweet archness which doth so well become her,
queried with him whether he did think to live alone on
his plantation like a Hermit, or whether he had not his

eye upon a certain fair-haired young Woman, as suitable
to keep him company. Whereat he seemed a
little disturbed; but she bade him not think her against
his prospect, for she had known for some weeks that
he did favor the young Brewster woman, who, setting
aside her enthusiastick notions of religion, was worthy
of any man's love; and turning to me, she begged of
me to look at the Matter as she did, and not set myself
against the choice of my Brother, which, in all respects
save the one she had spoken of, she could approve with
all her Heart. Leonard goes back with us to-morrow
to Newbury, soe I shall have a chance of knowing how
matters stand with him. The thought of his marrying
a Quaker would have been exceedingly grievous to me
a few months ago; but this Margaret Brewster hath
greatlie won upon me by her beautie, gentleness, and
her goodness of Heart; and, besides, I know that she
is much esteemed by the best sort of people in her
Neighborhood.

Doct. Thompson left this morning, but his friend
Doct. Clark goes with us to Newbury. Rebecca found
in her work-basket, after he had gone, some Verses,
which amused us not a little, and which I here copie.

Dr. Clark, on hearing this read, told Rebecca she
need not take its melancholie to Heart, for he could
assure her that there was noe danger of his friend's
acting on her account the sad part of the Lover in the
old Song of Barbara Allen. As a medical man, he
could safelie warrant him to be Heart-whole; and the
companie could bear him witness, that the Poet himself
seemed verie little like the despairing one depicted in
his Verses.

The Indian Simon calling this forenoon, Rebecca
and I went into the Kitchen to see him. He looks
fierce and cruel, but he thanked Madam Saltonstall for

her gifts of Food and Clothing, and, giving her in
return a little Basket wrought of curiously stained
stuff, he told her that if there were more like her, his
Heart would not be so bitter.

I ventured to ask him why he felt thus, whereupon
he drew himself up, and sweeping about him with his
arms, said: “This all Indian land. The Great Spirit
made it for Indians. He made the great River for
them, and birch trees to make their Canoes of. All
the Fish in the ponds and all the Pigeons and Deers
and Squirrels he made for Indians. He made land for
white men too; but they left it, and took Indian's land,
because it was better. My father was a Chief; he
had plenty meat and corn in his Wigwam. But Simon
is a Dogg. When they fight Eastern Indians, I try to
live in peace, but they say, Simon, you rogue, you no
go into woods to hunt; you keep at home. Soe when
Squaw like to starve, I shoot one of their Hoggs, and
then they whip me. Look!” And he lifted the
blanket off from his shoulder, and showed the marks
of the Whip thereon.

“Well, well, Simon,” said Mr. Saltonstall, “you do
know that our people then were much frightened by
what the Indians had done in other places, and they
feared you would join them. But it is all over now,
and you have all the Woods to yourself to range in;

and if you would let alone strong drink, you would
doe well.”

“Who makes strong drink?” asked the Indian,
with an ugly look. “Who takes the Indian's Beaver-skins
and Corn for it? Tell me that, Captain.”

Soe saying, he put his Pack on his back, and calling
a poor, lean dogg, that was poking his hungrie nose
into Madam's pots and kettles, he went off talking to
himself.

Newbury, Dec. ye 6th.

We got back from Haverhill last night, Doctor Clark
accompanying us, he having business in Newbury.
When we came up to the door, Effie met us with a
shy look, and told her Mistress that Mrs. Prudence
(Uncle's spinster's Cousin,) had got a braw auld
Wooer in the East room; and surely enough we
found our ancient kinswoman and Deacon Dole, a
Widower of three years' standing, sitting at the supper
table. We did take note that the Deacon had on a stiff
new Coat; and as for Aunt Prudence, (for soe she was
called in the family,) she was clad in her bravest, with
a fine cap on her head. They both did seem a little
disturbed by our coming, but plates being laid for us,
we sat down with them. After supper Rebecca had a

fire kindled in Uncle's Room, whither we did betake
ourselves, and being very merry at the thought of
Deacon Dole's visit, it chanced to enter our silly Heads
that it would doe noe harm to stop the Clock in the entry
a-while, and let the two old folks make a long evening
of it. After a time Rebecca made an errand into the
East Room, to see how matters went, and coming back
said the twain were sitting on the same settle by the
fire, smoking a pipe of Tobacco together. Moreover,
our foolish trick did work well, for Aunt Prudence
coming at last into the entry to look at the Clock, we
heard her tell the Deacon that it was only a little past
8, when in truth it was near 10. Not long after, there
was a loud knocking at the door, and as Effie had gone
to bed, Rebecca did open it, when, whom did she see
but the Widow Hepsy Barnet, Deacon Dole's housekeeper,
and with her the Deacon's son, Moses, and the
Minister, Mr. Richardson, with a lantern in his hand!
“Dear me,” says the Woman, looking very dismal,
“have you seen anything of the Deacon?” By this
time we were all at the door, the Deacon and Aunt
Prudence among the rest, when Moses, like a great
lout as he is, pulled off his woolen cap and tossed it up
in the Aire, crying out, “There, Goody Barnet, did 'nt
I tell ye so! There's Father now!” And the
Widow, holding up both her hands, said she never did
in all her born days see the like of this, a Man of the
Deacon's years and station stealing away without letting
folks know where to look for him; and then turning
upon poor Mrs. Prudence, she said she had long known
that some folks were sly and artful, and she was glad
Mr. Richardson was here to see for himself. Whereupon
Aunt Prudence in much amazement said, it was
scarce past 8, as they might see by the Clock; but Mr.
Richardson, who could scarce keep a grave face, pulling
out his watch, said it was past 10, and bade her
note that the Clock was stopped. He told Deacon
Dole that seeing Goody Barnet soe troubled about him,
he had offered to go along with her a little way, and
that he was glad to find that the fault was in the Clock.
The Deacon, who had stood like one in a maze, here
clapped on his Hat, and snatched up his cane and went
off, looking as guilty as if he had been caught a house-breaking,
the Widow scolding him all the way. Now
as we could scarce refrain from laughing, Mr. Richardson,
who tarried a moment, shook his head at Rebecca,
telling her he feared by her looks she was a naughty
Girl, taking pleasure in other folk's trouble. We did
both feel ashamed and sorry enough for our mischief,
after it was all over; and poor Mistress Prudence is so
sorely mortified, that she told Rebecca this morning
not to mention Deacon Dole's name to her again, and
that Widow Hepsy is welcome to him, since he is so
mean-spirited as to let her rule him as she doth.

Dec. ye 8th.

Yesterday I did, at my Brother's wish, goe with him
to Goodman Brewster's house, where I was kindlie
welcomed by the young Woman and her Parents.
After some little tarry, I found means to speak privily
with her touching my Brother's regard for her, and to
assure her that I did truly and freely consent thereunto,
while I did hope, for his sake as well as her own,
that she would, as far as might be consistent with her
notion of dutie, forbear to doe or say anything which
might bring her into trouble with the Magistrates and
those in authority. She said that she was very grateful
for my kindness towards her, and that what I said
was a great relief to her mind; for when she first met
my Brother, she did fear that his Kindness and Sympathy
would prove a Snare to her; and that she had
been sorely troubled moreover, lest by encouraging
him she should not only doe violence to her own Conscience,
but also bring trouble and disgrace upon one
who was, she did confess, dear unto her, not only as
respects outward things, but by reason of what she did
discern of an innocent and pure inward life in his
Conversation and Deportment. She had earnestly
sought to conform her conduct, in this as in all things,

to the Mind of her Divine Master; and as respected
my caution touching those in authority, she knew not
what the Lord might require of her, and she could only
leave all in His hands, being resigned even to deny
herself of the sweet solace of human affection, and to
take up the Cross daily, if he did so will. “Thy visit
and kind words,” she continued, “have removed a
great weight from me. The way seems more open
before me. The Lord bless thee, for thy kindness.”

She said this with so much tenderness of spirit, and
withal with such an engaging sweetness of look and
voice, that I was greatly moved, and, pressing her in
my Arms, I kissed her, and bade her look upon me as
her dear Sister.

The family pressing us, we staid to Supper, and
sitting down in silence at the table, I was about to
speak to my Brother, but he made a sign to check me,
and I held my peace, although not then knowing
wherefore. Soe we all sat still for a little space of
time, which I afterwards found is the manner of these
People at their Meat. The supper was plain, but of
exceeding good relish; warm Rye Loaves with Butter
and Honey, and Bowls of sweet Milk, and roasted
Apples. Goodwife Brewster, who appeared much
above her husband, (who is a plain, unlearned man,) in
her carriage and discourse, talked with us very pleasantly,

and Margaret seemed to grow more at ease, the
longer we staid.

On our way back we met Robert Pike, who hath
returned from the Eastward. He said Rebecca Rawson
had just told him how matters stood with Leonard,
and that he was greatly rejoiced to hear of his prospect.
He had known Margaret Brewster from a Child,
and there was scarce her equal in these parts for
sweetness of Temper and loveliness of Person and
mind; and, were she ten times a Quaker, he was free
to say this in her behalf. I am more and more
confirmed in the belief that Leonard hath not done
unwisely in this Matter, and doe cheerfully accept of
his choice, believing it to be in the ordering of Him
who doeth all things well.

Boston, Dec. ye 31.

It wanteth but two hours to the Midnight, and the
End of the Year. The family are all abed, and I can
hear nothing save the crackling of the Fire now burning
low on the hearth, and the ticking of the Clock in
the corner. The weather being sharp with Frost, there
is no one stirring in the Streets, and the trees and
bushes in the yard being stripped of their leaves, look
dismal enough above the white snow with which the

ground is covered, soe that one would think that all
things must needs die with the year. But, from my
window, I can see the Stars shining with marvellous
brightness in the clear sky, and the sight thereof doth
assure me that God still watcheth over the Work of
His hands, and that in due season he will cause the
flowers to appear on the Earth, and the time of singing
Birds to come, and the voice of the Turtle to be heard
in the land. And I have been led while alone here to
think of the many Mercies which have been vouchsafed
unto me in my travels and sojourn in a strange
land, and a sense of the wonderful Goodness of God
towards me, and they who are dear unto me, both here
and elsewhere, hath filled mine Heart with thankfulness;
and as of old time they did use to set up Stones
of memorial on the Banks of deliverance, soe would I
at this season set up as it were in my poor Journal a
like pillar of Thanksgiving to the praise and honor of
Him who hath soe kindly cared for his unworthy
Handmaid.

January ye 16th, 1679.

Have just got back from Reading, a small town ten
or twelve miles out of Boston, whither I went along
with mine of Uncle and Aunt Rawson, and manie
others, to attend the Ordination of Mr. Brock, in the

place of the worthy Mr. Hough, latelie deceased. The
weather being clear, and the travelling good, a great
concourse of people got together. We stopped at the
Ordinary, which we found well nigh filled, but Uncle,
by dint of scolding and coaxing, got a small room for
Aunt and myself, with a clean Bedd, which was more
than we had reason to hope for. The Ministers, of
whom there were manie and of note (Mr. Mather and
Mr. Wilson, of Boston, and Mr. Corbet of Ipswich, being
among them), were alreadie together at the house
of one of the Deacons. It was quite a Sight the next
morning to see the people coming in from the neighboring
Towns, and to note their odd Dresses, which
were indeed of all kinds, from silks and velvets to
coarsest homespun woollens, dyed with Hemlock, or
Oylnut bark, and fitting soe ill that, if they had all
cast their Clothes into a heap, and then each snatched
up whatsoever coat or gown came to hand, they could
not have suited worse. Yet they were all clean and
tidy, and the young people especially did look exceeding
happie, it being with them a famous Holiday. The
young men came with their sisters or their sweethearts
riding behind them on pillions; and the Ordinary and
all the houses about were soon noisie enough, with
merrie talking and laughter. The Meeting-house was
filled long before the services did begin. There was
a goodlie show of honorable People in the forward
seats, and among them that venerable magistrate, Simon
Broadstreet, who acteth as deputy Governor since
the death of Mr. Leverett; the Honorable Thomas
Danforth, Mr. William Brown of Salem, and others of
note, whose names I do not remember, all with their
Wives and Families, bravely apparelled. The Sermon
was preached by Mr. Higginson, of Salem, the Charge
was given by Mr. Phillips, of Rowley, and the Right
Hand of Fellowship by Mr. Corbet, of Ipswich. When
we got back to our Inn, we found a great crowd of
young roysterers in the Yard, who had got Mr. Corbet's
negro man Sam on the top of a barrel, with a bit
of leather cut in the shape of Spectacles astride of his
nose, where he stood swinging his arms, and preaching,
after the manner of his Master, mimicking his
tone and manner very shrewdlie, to the great delight
and merriment of the young Rogues who did set him
on. We stood in the door awhile to hear him, and, to
say truth, he did wonderfully well, being a Fellow of
good parts and much humor. But, just as he was describing
the Devil, and telling his grinning hearers that
he was not like a black but a white man, old Mr. Corbet,
who had come up behind him, gave him a smart
Blow with his Cane, whereupon Sam cried,

“Dare he be now;” at which all fell to laughing.

“You rascal,” said Mr. Corbet, “get down with you;
I'll teach you to compare me to the Devil.”

“Beg pardon, Massa!” said Sam, getting down
from his pulpit, and rubbing his shoulder; “How you
think Sam know you? He see nothing; he only feel
de lick.”

“You shall feel it again,” said his Master, striking
at him a great blow, which Sam dodged.

“Nay, brother Corbet,” said Mr. Phillips, who was
with him, “Sam's mistake was not so strange, after
all; for if Satan can transform himself into an Angel
of Light, why not into the likeness of such unworthy
Ministers as you and I?”

This put the old Minister in a good humor, and Sam
escaped without farther punishment than a grave admonition
to behave more reverently for the future. Mr.
Phillips, seeing some of his young people in the Crowd,
did sharply rebuke them for their follie, at which they
were not a little abashed.

The Inn being greatlie crowded, and not a little
noisy, we were not unwilling to accept the invitation
of the provider of the Ordination dinner, to sit down
with the honored guests thereat. I waited, with others
of the younger Class, until the Ministers and elderly
People had made an end of their Meal. Among those
who sat at the second Table, was a pert, talkative lad,

a son of Mr. Increase Mather, who, although but sixteen
years of age, graduated at the Harvard College
last year, and hath the reputation of good scholarship
and livelie wit. He told some rare stories concerning
Mr. Brock, the Minister ordained, and of the marvellous
efficacy of his Prayers. He mentioned, among
other things, that, when Mr. Brock lived on the Isles of
Sholas, he persuaded the People there to agree to
spend one day in a Month, beside the Sabbath, in religious
worship. Now, it soe chanced that there was on
one occasion a long season of stormie, rough Weather,
unsuitable for fishing; and when the day came which
had been set apart, it proved soe exceeding fair, that
his Congregation did desire him to put off the Meeting,
that they might fish. Mr. Brock tried in vaine to
reason with them, and showe the dutie of seeking first
the Kingdom of God, when all other things should be
added thereto, but the major part determined to leave
the Meeting. Thereupon he cried out after them;
“As for you who will neglect God's worship, go, and
catch Fish if you can.” There were thirty men who
thus left, and only five remained behind, and to these
he said: “I will pray the Lord for you, that you may
catch Fish till you are weary.” And it soe fell out,
that the thirty toiled all day and caught only four
Fishes, while the five who staid at Meeting went out
after the worship was over, and caught five hundred;
and ever afterwards the Fishermen attended all the
meetings of the Minister's appointing. At another time,
a poor man, who had made himself useful in carrying
people to Meeting in his Boat, lost the same in a storm,
and came lamenting his loss to Mr. Brock. “Go
home, honest man,” said the Minister; “I will mention
your case to the Lord; you will have your Boat again
to-morrow.” And surelie enough, the very next day
a vessel pulling up its anchor near where the Boat
sank, drew up the poor man's Boat, safe and whole,
after it.

We went back to Boston after dinner, but it was
somewhat of a cold ride, especiallie after the night set
in, a keen northerly Wind blowing in great gusts,
which did well nigh benumb us. A little way from
Reading, we overtook an old couple in the road; the
man had fallen off his Horse, and his Wife was trying
to get him up again to no purpose, so young Mr.
Richards, who was with us, helped him up to the
Saddle again, telling his wife to hold him carefullie, as
her old man had drank too much flip. Thereupon the
good wife set upon him with a vile tongue, telling him
that her old man was none other than Deacon Rogers,
of Wenham, and as good and as pious a saint as there
was out of Heaven; and it did ill become a young,

saucie rake and knave, to accuse him of Drunkenness,
and it would be no more than his deserts if the Bears
did eat him before he got to Boston. As it was quite
clear that the Woman herself had had a taste of the
mug, we left them and rode on, she fairly scolding us
out of hearing. When we got home, we found Cousin
Rebecca, whom we did leave ill with a cold, much
better in health, sitting up and awaiting us.

Jan. ye 21st, 1679.

Uncle Rawson came home to-day, in a great passion,
and, calling me to him, he asked me if I, too, was
going to turn Quaker, and fall to prophesying? Whereat
I was not a little amazed; and when I asked him
what he did mean, he said — “Your brother Leonard
hath gone off to them, and I dare say you will follow,
if one of the Ranters should take it into his head that
you would make him a proper Wife, or company-keeper,
for there's never an honest marriage among
them.” Then looking sternly at me, he asked me why
I did keep this matter from him, and thus allow the
foolish young man to get entangled in the snares of
Satan. Whereat I was so greatlie grieved, that I could
answer never a word.

“You may well weep,” said my Uncle, “for you
have done wickedly. As to your Brother, he will doe

well to keep where he is in the Plantations; for if he
comes hither a theeing and thouing of me, I will spare
him never a whit; and if I doe not chastise him myself,
it will be because the Constable can do it better at
the cart-tail. As the Lord lives, I had rather he had
turned Turk!”

I tried to say a word for my Brother, but he cut me
straightway short, bidding me not to mention his name
again in his presence. Poor me! I have none here
now to whom I can speak freely, Rebecca having gone
to her sister's at Weymouth. My young Cousin Grindall
is below, with his college friend, Cotton Mather;
but I care not to listen to their Discourse, and Aunt is
busied with her servants in the Kitchen, soe that I must
even sit alone with my thoughts, which be indeed but
sad companie.

The little Book which I brought with me from the
Maine, it being the gift of young Mr. Jordan, and which
I have kept close hidden in my trunk, hath been no
small consolation to me this day, for it aboundeth in
sweet and goodly thoughts, although he who did write
it was a Monk. Especially in my low state, have
these words been a comfort to me:

“What thou canst not amend in thyself or others,
bear thou with Patience until God ordaineth otherwise.
When comfort is taken away, do not presently despair.

Stand with an even Mind resigned to the Will of God,
whatever shall befal, because after Winter cometh the
Summer; after the dark night the day shineth, and
after the storm followeth a great calm. Seek not for
Consolation which shall rob thee of the grace of Penitence;
for all that is high is not holy, nor all that is
pleasant good; nor every desire pure, nor is what is
pleasing to us always pleasant in the sight of God.”

Jan. ye 23.

The Weather is bitter cold, and a great snow on the
Ground. By a letter from Newbury, brought me by
Mr. Sewall, who hath just returned from that place, I
heare that Goodwife Morse hath been bound for tryal
as a Witch. Mr. Sewall tells me the Woman is now in
the Boston Jail. As to Caleb Powell, he hath been set
at Libertie, there being no proof of his evil Practice.
Yet, inasmuch as he did give grounds of Suspicion by
boasting of his skill in astrology and astronomy, the
Court declared that he justlie deserves to bear his own
shame and the costs of his prosecution and lodging in
Jail.

Mr. Sewall tells me that Dea. Dole has just married
his housekeeper, Widow Barnet, and that Moses says
he never knew before his Father to get the worst in a
bargain.

Jan. ye 30th.

Robert Pike called this morning, bringing me a letter
from my Brother, and one from Margaret Brewster.
He hath been to the Providence Plantations and Rhode
Island, and reporteth well of the prospects of my
Brother, who hath a goodly Farm, and a house nigh
upon finished, the neighbors, being mostlie Quakers,
assisting him much therein. My Brother's letter doth
confirm this account of his temporal condition, although
a great part of it is taken up with a defence of his
newe Doctrines, for the which he doth ingeniously
bring to Mind manie passages of Scripture. Margaret's
letter being short, I here copy it:

Feby. ye 10th.

Speaking of Goody Morse to-day, Uncle Rawson
says she will, he thinks, be adjudged a Witch, as there
be manie witnesses from Newbury to testify against
her. Aunt sent the old creature some warm Blankets
and other necessaries, which she stood much in need
of, and Rebecca and I altered one of Aunt's old
gowns for her to wear, as she hath nothing seemly
of her own. Mr. Richardson, her Minister, hath visited
her twice since she hath been in Jail, but he saith
she is hardened in her sin, and will confess nothing
thereof.

Feby. ye 14th.

The famous Mr. John Eliot, having business with
my Uncle, spent the last night with us, a trulie worthie
man, who, by reason of his great labors among the
heathen Indians, may be called the Chiefest of our
Apostles. He brought with him a young Indian lad,
the son of a Man of some note among his People, verie
bright and comelie, and handsomelie apparrelled after
the Fashion of his Tribe. This lad hath a readie wit,
readeth and writeth, and hath some understanding of
Scripture; indeed he did repeat the Lord's Prayer in a
manner edifying to hear.

The worshipful Major Gookins coming in to sup
with us, there was much discourse concerning the
affairs of the Province; both the Major and his friend
Eliot being great sticklers for the Rights and Liberties
of the people, and exceeding jealous of the rule of
the Home Government, and in this matter my Uncle
did quite agree with them. In a special manner,
Major Gookins did complain of the Acts of Trade, as
injurious to the Interests of the Colonie, and which he
said ought not to be submitted to, as the Laws of England
were bounded by the four Seas, and did not justly
reach America. He read a letter which he had from
Mr. Stoughton, one of the Agents of the Colonie in
England, showing how they had been put off from

time to time, upon one excuse or another, without
being able to get a hearing; and now the Popish Plott
did soe occupie all minds there, that Plantation matters
were sadlie neglected: but this much was certain, the
Laws for the regulating of Trade must be consented
to by the Massachusetts, if we would escape a total
breach. My Uncle struck his hand hard on the Table
at this, and said if all were of his mind, they would
never heed the breach; adding, that he knew his
Rights as a free-born Englishman, under Magna Charta,
which did declare it the privilege of such to have a
voice in the making of Laws; whereas the Massachusetts
had no voice in Parliament, and Laws were
thrust upon them by strangers.

“For mine own part,” said Major Gookins, “I doe
hold our brother Eliot's Book on the Christian Commonwealth,
which the General Court did make haste
to condemn on the coming in of the King, to be a
sound and seasonable Treatise, notwithstanding the
Author himself hath in some sort disowned it.”

“I did truly condemn and deny the false and seditious
doctrines charged upon it,” said Mr. Eliot, “but
for the Book itself, rightly taken, and making allowance
for some little heat of Discourse and certain hasty
and ill-considered Words therein, I have never seen
cause to repent. I quite agree with what my lamented

Friend and Fellow-laborer, Mr. Danforth, said, when
he was told that the King was to be proclaimed at
Boston: `Whatever form of Government may be
deduced from Scripture, that let us yield to for conscience
sake, not forgetting at the same time that the
Apostle hath said, if thou mayest be free use it
rather.”'

My Uncle said this was well spoken of Mr. Danforth,
who was a worthie gentleman and a true friend to the
liberties of the Colonie; and he asked Rebecca to read
some ingenious Verses writ by him in one of his Almanacs,
which she had copied not long ago, wherein
he compareth New England to a goodly Tree or Plant.
Whereupon, Rebecca read them as followeth: —

After a little time, Rebecca found means to draw
the good Mr. Eliot into some account of his labors and
journies among the Indians, and of their manner of
life, ceremonies, and traditions, telling him that I was
a Stranger in these parts, and curious concerning such
Matters. So he did address himself to me verie kindly,
answering such questions as I ventured to put to
him. And first, touching the Powahs, of whom I had
heard much, he said they were manifestlie Witches,
and such as had familiar Spirits; but that, since the
Gospel has been preached here, their power had in a
great measure gone from them. “My old friend,
Passaconaway, the Chief of the Merrimack River
Indians,” said he, “was, before his happy and marvellous

conversion, a noted Powah and Wizard. I once
queried with him touching his sorceries, when he said
he had done wickedlie, and it was a marvel that the
Lord spared his life, and did not strike him dead with his
Lightnings. And when I did press him to tell me how
he did become a Powah, he said he liked not to speak
of it, but would nevertheless tell me. His grandmother
used to tell him manie things concerning the
good and bad Spirits, and in a special manner of the
Abomako, or Chepian, who had the form of a Serpent,
and who was the cause of sickness and pain, and of all
manner of evils. And it soe chanced that on one
occasion, when hunting in the Wilderness, three days'
journey from home, he did lose his way, and wandered
for a long time without food, and Night coming on, he
thought he did hear voices of men talking, but, on
drawing near to the place whence the Noise came, he
could see nothing but the Trees and Rocks; and then
he did see a Light, as from a Wigwam a little way off,
but, going towards it, it moved away, and, following it,
he was led into a dismal Swamp, full of water, and
snakes, and briers; and being in soe sad a plight, he
bethought him of all he had heard of evil Demons and
of Chepian, who he doubted not was the cause of his
trouble. At last, coming to a little knoll in the Swamp,
he lay down under a hemlock Tree, and being sorelie
tired, fell asleep. And he dreamed a Dream, which
was in this wise: —

“He thought he beheld a great Snake crawl up out of
the Marsh, and stand upon his Tayle under a tall maple
Tree; and he thought the Snake spake to him, and
bade him be of good cheer, for he would guide him
safe out of the Swamp, and make of him a great Chief
and Powah, if he would pray to him and own him as
his god. All which he did promise to do; and when
he awoke in the morning, he beheld before him the
maple Tree under which he had seen the Snake in his
Dream, and, climbing to the top of it, he saw a great
distance off the smoke of a Wigwam, towards which
he went, and found some of his own people cooking a
plentiful meal of Venison. When he got back to
Patucket, he told his Dream to his grandmother, who
was greatlie rejoiced, and went about from Wigwam to
Wigwam, telling the tribe that Chepian had appeared
to her grandson. Soe they had a great feast and
dance, and he was thenceforth looked upon as a Powah.
Shortly after, a woman of the tribe falling sick, he
was sent for to heal her, which he did by praying to
Chepian and laying his hands upon her; and at divers
other times, the Devil helped him in his enchantments
and witcheries.”

I asked Mr. Eliot whether he did know of any

women who were Powahs. He confessed he knew
none; which was the more strange, as in Christian
countries the Old Serpent did commonly find instruments
of his craft among the women.

To my query, as to what notion the Heathen had of
God and a future state, he said that, when he did discourse
them concerning the great and true God, who
made all things, and of Heaven and Hell, they would
readilie consent thereto, saying that soe their fathers
had taught them; but when he spake to them of the
destruction of the World by fire, and the resurrection
of the Body, they would not hear to it, for they pretend
to hold that the Spirit of the dead man goes forthwith,
after death, to the happy Hunting Grounds made for
good Indians, or to the cold and dreary Swamps and
Mountains, where the bad Indians doe starve and
freeze, and suffer all manner of hardships.

There was, Mr. Eliot told us, a famous Powah,
who, coming to Punkapog while he was at that Indian
town, gave out among the people there that a little
Humming Bird did come to him and peck at him when
he did aught that was wrong, and sing sweetly to him
when he did a good thing or spake the right words;
which coming to Mr. Eliot's ear, he made him confess,
in the presence of the congregation, that he did
only mean, by the figure of the Bird, the sense he had

of right and wrong in his own Mind. This Fellow
was moreover exceeding cunning, and did often ask
questions hard to be answered touching the creation of
the Devil, and the fall of Man.

I said to him, that I thought it must be a great satisfaction
to him to be permitted to witness the Fruit of
his long labors and sufferings in behalf of these People,
in the hopeful conversion of soe many of them to the
light and knowledge of the Gospel; to which he replied,
that his poor Labors had been indeed greatly
blest, but it was all of the Lord's doing, and he could
truly say he felt, in view of the great wants of these
wild People, and their darkness and misery, that he
had by no means done all his Duty towards them. He
said, also, that whenever he was in danger of being
puffed up with the praise of Men, or the vanity of his
own Heart, the Lord had seen meet to abase and humble
him, by the falling back of some of his people to
their old heathenish practices. The Warre, moreover,
was a sore evil to the Indian Churches, as some few of
their number were enticed by Philip to join him in his
burnings and slaughterings, and this did cause even the
peaceful and innocent to be vehementlie suspected and
cried out against as deceivers and murderers. Poor
unoffending old men, and pious women, had been shot
at and killed by our Soldiers, their Wigwams burned,

their Families scattered, and driven to seek shelter with
the enemy; yea, many Christian Indians, he did believe,
had been sold as slaves to the Barbadoes, which
he did account a great sin, and a reproach to our
people. Major Gookins said that a better feeling
towards the Indians did now prevail among the people;
the time having been when, because of his friendliness
to them, and his condemnation of their oppressors, he
was cried out against and stoned in the Streets, to the
great hazard of his life.

Soe, after some further discourse, our guests left
us, Mr. Eliot kindlie inviting me to visit his Indian congregation
near Boston, whereby I could judge for
myself of their condition.

Feby. ye 22, 1679.

The weather suddenly changing from a warm Rain
and Mist to sharp, clear cold, the Trees a little way
from the house did last evening soe shine with a wonderful
brightness in the light of the Moon, now nigh
unto its full, that I was fain to go out upon the hill-top
to admire them. And truly it was no mean Sight to
behold every small twig becrusted with Ice, and glittering
famouslie like silver work or chrystal, as the
rayes of the Moon did strike upon them. Moreover,
the Earth was covered with frozen snow, smooth and

hard like to Marble, through which the long rushes, the
hazles, and mulliens, and the dry blades of the grasses,
did stand up bravely bedight with Frost. And, looking
upward, there were the dark tops of the evergreen
Trees, such as hemlocks, pines, and spruces, starred
and bespangled, as if wetted with a great Rain of
molten chrystal. After admiring and marvelling at
this rare entertainment and show of Nature, I said it
did mind me of what the Spaniards and Portugals relate
of the great Incas of Guiana, who had a Garden
of Pleasure in the Isle of Puna, whither they were
wont to betake themselves when they would enjoy the
Air of the Sea, in which they had all manner of Herbs
and Flowers, and Trees curiously fashioned of gold
and silver, and so burnished that their exceeding
brightness did dazzle the eyes of the beholders.

“Nay,” said the worthy Mr. Mather, who did go
with us, “it should rather, methinks, call to mind what
the Revelator hath said of the Holy City. I never
look upon such a wonderful display of the natural
World without remembering the description of the
glory of that City which descended out of Heaven from
God, having the glory of God and her light like unto
a Stone most precious, even like unto a jasper stone,
clear as chrystal. And the building of the Wall of it
was of jasper, and the City was pure gold like unto

clear glass. And the twelve Gates were twelve pearls,
every several gate was of one pearl, and the street of
the City was pure gold, as it were transparent glass.

“There never was a King's palace lighted up and
adorned like this,” continued Mr. Mather, as we went
homewards. “It seemeth to be God's design to show
how that He can glorify himself in the work of His
hands, even at this Season of darkness and death, when
all things are sealed up, and there be no flowers, nor
leaves, nor running brooks, to speak of His goodness
and sing forth His praises. Truly hath it been said,
Great things doeth He, which we cannot comprehend.
For He saith to the Snow, Be thou on the earth; likewise
to the small rain and the great rain of his
strength. He sealeth up the hand of every man, that
all Men may know his work. Then the Beasts goe into
their dens, and they remain in their places. Out of
the South cometh the whirlwind, and cold out of the
North. By the breath of God is the Frost given, and
the breadth of the waters straitened.”

March ye 10th.

I have been now for manie days afflicted with a
great cold and pleurisie, although, by God's blessing
on the means used, I am well nigh free from pain, and
much relieved, also, from a tedious cough. In this

Sickness I have not missed the company and kind
ministering of my dear Cousin Rebecca, which was
indeed a great comfort. She tells me to-day that the
time hath been fixed upon for her Marriage with Sir
Thomas, which did not a little rejoice me, as I am to
goe back to mine own Countrie in their companie. I
long exceedingly to see once again the dear Friends
from whom I have been separated by manie Months of
time and a great Ocean.

Cousin Torrey, of Weymouth, coming in yesterday,
brought with her a very bright and pretty Indian girl,
one of Mr. Eliot's flock, of the Natick people. She
was apparelled after the English manner, save that she
wore leggings, called Moccasins, in the stead of Shoes,
wrought over daintilie with the quills of an animal
called a Porcupine, and hung about with small black
and white Shells. Her Haire, which was exceeding
long and black, hung straight down her Back, and was
parted from her Forehead, and held fast by means of
a strip of Birch bark, wrought with quills and feathers,
which did encircle her Head. She speaks the English
well, and can write somewhat, as well as read.
Rebecca, for my amusement, did query much with her
regarding the Praying Indians; and on her desiring to
know whether they did in no wise return to their old
practices and worships, Wauwoonemeen (for soe she

was called by her people) told us that they did still
hold their Keutikaw, or Dance for the Dead; and that
the Ministers, although they did not fail to discourage
it, had not forbidden it altogether, inasmuch as it was
but a Civil Custom of the people, and not a Religious
Rite. This Dance did usually take place at the end
of twelve Moons after the death of one of their
number, and finished the mourning. The Guests invited
bring presents to the bereaved Family, of wampum,
beaver skins, corn, and groundnuts, and venison.
These presents are delivered to a Speaker, appointed
for the purpose, who takes them, one by one, and
hands them over to the mourners, with a Speech
entreating them to be consoled by these tokens of the
Love of their neighbors, and to forget their Sorrows.
After which, they sit down to eat, and are merry
together.

Now it had so chanced that at a Keutikaw held the
present Winter, two men had been taken ill, and had
died the next day; and although Mr. Eliot, when he
was told of it, laid the blame thereof upon their hard
dancing until they were in a great Heat, and then
running out into the Snow and sharp Aire to cool
themselves, it was thought by manie that they were
foully dealt with and poysoned. Soe two noted old
Powahs from Wauhktukook, on the great river Connechticut,

were sent for to discover the murderers.
Then these poor Heathen got together in a great Wigwam,
where the old Wizards undertook, by their
Spells and Incantations, to consult the Invisible Powers
in the matter. I asked Wauwoonemeen if she knew
how they did practice on the occasion; whereupon she
said that none but men were allowed to be in the Wigwam,
but that she could hear the beating of Sticks on
the ground, and the groans and howlings and dismal
mutterings of the Powahs, and that she, with another
young Woman, venturing to peep through a hole in
the back of the Wigwam, saw a great manie people
sitting on the ground, and the two Powahs before the
Fire, jumping and smiting their Breasts, and rolling
their eyes verie frightfullie.

“But what came of it?” asked Rebecca. “Did the
Evil Spirit whom they thus called upon testify against
himself, by telling who were his instruments in mischief?”

The Girl said she had never heard of any discoverie
of the poisoners, if indeed there were such. She told
us, moreover, that manie of the best people in the
Tribe would have no part in the business, counting it
sinful; and that the chief actors were much censured
by the Ministers, and soe ashamed of it that they drove
the Powahs out of the village, the Women and Boys

chasing them and beating them with sticks and frozen
snow, soe that they had to take to the Woods in a sorry
plight.

We gave the Girl some small trinkets and a fair
piece of Cloth for an Apron, whereat she was greatlie
pleased. We were all charmed with her good parts,
sweetness of countenance and discourse, and readie
wit, being satisfied thereby that Nature knoweth no
difference between Europe and America in blood,
birth, and bodies, as we read in Acts 17 that God hath
made of one blood all Mankind. I was specially
minded of a saying of that ingenious but schismatic
man, Mr. Roger Williams, in the little book which he
put forth in England on the Indian tongue:

March ye 15.

One Master O'Shane, an Irish scholar, of whom my
Cousins here did learn the Latin tongue, coming in
last evening, and finding Rebecca and I alone, (Uncle

and Aunt being on a visit to Mr. Atkinson's,) was exceeding
merry, entertaining us rarely with his stories
and songs. Rebecca tells me he is a learned Man, as
I can well believe, but that he is too fond of strong
drink for his good, having thereby lost the favor of
many of the first Families here, who did formerly employ
him. There was one Ballad which he saith is of
his own making, concerning the selling of the daughter
of a great Irish lord, as a Slave in this land, which
greatly pleased me, and on my asking for a copy of it,
he brought it to me this morning in a faire hand. I copy
it in my Journal, as I know that Oliver, who is curious
in such things, will like it.

Mar. ye 22nd, 1697.

Spent the afternoon and evening yesterday at Mr.
Mather's, with Uncle and Aunt, Rebecca and Sir
Thomas, and Mr. Torrey, of Weymouth, and his wife;
Mr. Thacher, the Minister of the South Meeting, and
Major Simon Willard, of Concord, being present also.
There was much discourse of certain Antinomians,

whose loose and scandalous teachings in respect to
Works were strongly condemned, although Mr. Thacher
thought there might be danger, on the other hand, of
falling into the error of the Socinians, who lay such
stress upon Works, that they doe not scruple to undervalue
and make light of Faith. Mr. Torrey told of
some of the Antinomians, who, being guilty of scandalous
sins, did nevertheless justify themselves, and plead
that they were noe longer under the Law. Sir Thomas
drew Rebecca and I into a corner of the room, saying
he was a-weary of soe, much disputation, and began
relating somewhat which befel him in a late visit to the
New Haven people. Among other things, he told us
that while he was there, a maid of nineteen years was
put upon tryal for her life, by complaint of her parents
of disobedience to their Commands, and reviling them;
that at first the Mother of the girl did seem to testify
strongly against her; but when she had spoken a few
words, the accused crying out with a bitter lamentation,
that she should be destroyed in her youth by the words
of her own Mother, the woman did so soften her testimonie
that the Court, being in doubt upon the Matter,
had a consultation with the Ministers present, as to
whether the accused girl had made herself justly liable
to the puishment prescribed for stubborn and rebellious
children in Deut. xxi. 20, 21. It was thought that this
Law did applie specially unto a rebellious son, according
to the words of the Text, and that a daughter could
not be put to death under it; to which the Court did
assent, and the girl, after being admonished, was set
free. Thereupon, Sir Thomas told us, she ran sobbing
into the arms of her Mother, who did rejoice over he
as one raised from the dead, and did moreover mightilie
blame herself for putting her in soe great Peril, by
complaining of her disobedience to the Magistrates.

Maj. Willard, a pleasant, talkative man, being asked
by Mr. Thacher some questions pertaining to his journey
into the New Hampshire, in the year '52, with the
learned and pious Mr. Edward Johnson, in obedience
to an order of the General Court, for the finding the
Northernmost part of the River Merrimack, gave us a
little history of the same, some Parts of which I
deemed noteworthy. The companie, consisting of the
two Commissioners, and two Surveyors, and some Indians,
as guides and hunters, started from Concord
about the middle of July, and followed the river on
which Concord lies, until they came to the great Falls
of the Merrimack, at Patucket, where they were kindly
entertained at the Wigwam of a Chief Indian who
dwelt there. They then went on to the Falls of the
Amoskeag, a famous place of resort for the Indians,
and encamped at the foot of a Mountain, under the

shade of some great trees, where they spent the next
day, it being the Sabbath. Mr. Johnson read a portion
of the Word, and a Psalm was sung, the Indians sitting
on the ground a little way off, in a very reverential
manner. They then went to Annahookline, where
were some Indian cornfields, and thence, over a wild
hilly countrie, to the head of the Merrimack, at a place
called by the Indians Aquedahcan, where they took an
observation of the latitude, and set their names upon a
great Rock, with that of the Worshipful Governor,
John Endicut. Here was the great Lake Winnepiseogee,
as large over as an English county, with manie
islands upon it, verie green with trees and vines, and
abounding with Squirrels and Birds. They spent two
days at the Lake's outlet, one of them the Sabbath, a
wonderfully still, quiet day of the midsummer. “It is
strange,” said the Major, “but soe it is, that although a
quarter of a century hath passed over me since that
day, it is still verie fresh and sweet in my memorie.
Many times, in my musings, I seem to be once more
sitting under the beechen trees of Aquedahcan, with
my three English friends, and I doe verily seem to see
the Indians squatted on the Lake shore, round a fire,
cooking their dishes, and the smoak thereof curling
about among the trees, over their heads; and beyond
them is the great Lake and the Islands thereof, some
big and others exceeding small, and the Mountains
that doe rise on the other side, and whose woody tops
showe in the still water as in a Glass. And, withal, I
do seem to have a sense of the smell of flowers, which
did abound there, and of the strawberries with which
the old Indian cornfield near unto us was red, they being
then ripe and luscious to the Taste. It seems, also, as
if I could hear the bark of my Dogg, and the chatter
of Squirrels, and the songs of the Birds, in the thick
woods behind us; and, moreover, the voice of my
friend Johnson, as he did call to mind these words of
the CIV Psalm: Bless the Lord, oh my soul! Who
coverest thyself with Light, as with a garment: who
stretchest out the Heavens like a Curtain; who layeth
the beams of His Chambers in the Waters; who maketh
the Clouds His chariot; and walketh upon the Wings
of the Wind!” Ah me! I shall never truly heare
that voice more, unless, through God's mercie, I be
permitted to join the Saints of light in Praise and
Thanksgiving beside stiller waters and among greener
pastures than are those of Aquedahcan.”

“He was a shining light, indeed,” said Mr. Mather,
“and, in view of his loss and that of other worthies in
Church and State, we may well say, as of old, Help,
Lord, for the goodlie Man faileth!”

Major Willard said that the works of Mr. Johnson

did praise him, especiallie that monument of his piety
and learning, “The History of New England, or
Wonder-Working Providence of Sion's Saviour,”
wherein he did showe himself in Verse and in Prose a
workman not to be ashamed. There was a piece which
Mr. Johnson writ upon birchen Bark at the head of the
Merrimack, during the journey of which he had spoken,
which had never been printed, but which did more
deserve that honor than much of the Rhymes with
which the land now aboundeth. Mr. Mather said he
had the piece of Bark then in his possession, on which
Mr. Johnson did write; and, on our desiring to see it,
he brought it to us, and, as we could not well make
out the Writing thereon, he read it as followeth: —

Mar. ye 18th.

My cough still troubling me, an ancient Woman,
coming in yesterday, did soe set forth the worth and

virtue of a Syrup of her making, that Aunt Rawson
sent Effie over to the woman's house for a bottle of it.
The woman sat with us a pretty while, being a lively
talking bodie, although now well nigh fourscore years
of age. She could tell manie things of the old people
of Boston, for, having been in youth the wife of a Man
of some Note and Substance, and being herself a
notable Housewife, and of good natural parts, she was
well looked upon by the better sort of people. After
she became a Widow, she was for a little time in the
family of Gov. Endecutt, at Naumkeag, whom she
describeth as a just and goodlie man, but exceeding exact
in the ordering of his household, and of fiery Temper
withal. When displeasured, he would pull hard at the
long tuft of haire which he wore upon his Chin; and
on one occasion, while sitting in the Court, he plucked
off his velvet cap, and cast it in the face of one of
the Assistants, who did profess conscientious scruples
against the putting to death of the Quakers.

“I have heard say his hand was heavy upon these
people,” I said.

“And well it might be,” said the old Woman, “for
more pestilent and provoking Strollers and Ranters
you shall never find than these same Quakers. They
were such a sore trouble to the Governor, that I doe
believe his days were shortened by reason of them.

For, neither the Jail, nor Whipping, nor cropping of
Ears, did suffice to rid him of them. At last, when a
Law was made by the General Court, banishing them
on pain of death, the Governor coming home from
Boston, said that he now hoped to have peace in the
Colonie, and that this sharpness would keep the land
free from these Troublers. I remember it well, how
the next day he did invite the Ministers and chief Men,
and in what a pleasant frame he was. In the Morning
I had mended his best velvet Breeches for him, and he
praised my work not a little, and gave me six shillings
over and above my wages; and says he to me:
`Goody Lake,' says he, `you are a worthie Woman,
and doe feel concerned for the good of Zion, and the
orderly carrying of matters in Church and State, and
hence, I know you will be glad to hear that, after
much ado, and in spite of the strivings of evil-disposed
People, the General Court have agreed upon a Law for
driving the Quakers out the jurisdiction, on pain of
death; soe that, if anie come after this, their Blood be
upon their own Heads. It is what I have wrestled
with the Lord for this manie a month, and I doe count
it a great deliverance, and special favor; yea, I may
truly say, with David: “Thou hast given me my
heart's desire, and hast not withholden the Prayer of
my lips. Thy hand shall find out all thine Enemies;

---

180

thou shalt make them as a fiery oven in the time of
thine Anger; the Lord shall swallow them up in his
wrath, and the fire shall devour them.” You will find
these words, Goody Lake,' says he, `in the xxi Psalm,
where what is said of the King will serve for such as
be in authoritie at this time.' For you must know,
young woman, that the Governor was mighty in Scripture,
more especially in his Prayers, when you could
think that he had it all at his tongue's end.

“There was a famous dinner at the Governor's that
day, and manie guests, and the Governor had ordered
from his cellar some Wine, which was a gift from
a Portugal Captain, and of rare qualitie, as I know of
mine own tasting, when word was sent to the Governor
that a man wished to see him, whom he bid wait
awhile. After dinner was over, he went into the Hall,
and who should be there but Wharton, the Quaker,
who, without pulling off his hat, or other salutation,
cried out: `John Endecutt, Hearken to the Word
of the Lord, in whose fear and dread I am come.
Thou, and thy evil Counsellors, the Priests, have
framed iniquity by Law, but it shall not avail you.
Thus, saith the Lord, Evil shall slay the wicked, and
they that hate the righteous shall be desolate!' Now,
when the Governor did hear this, he fell, as must needs
be, into a Rage, and, seeing me by the door, he bade

me call the servants from the Kitchen, which I did,
and they running up, he bade them lay hands on the
Fellow, and take him away; and then in a great passion
he called for his Horse, saying he would not rest
until he had seen forty stripes save one laid upon that
cursed Quaker, and that he should go to the gallows
yet for his sauciness. Soe, they had him to the Jail,
and the next morning he was soundlie whipped, and
ordered to depart the jurisdiction.”

I, being curious to know more concerning the
Quakers, asked her if she did ever talk with any of
them who were dealt with by the authorities, and what
they said for themselves.

“Oh, they never lacked words,” said she, “but
cried out for Libertie of Conscience, and against Persecution,
and prophecied all manner of evil upon such
as did put in force the Law. Sometime about the year
'56, there did come two Women of them to Boston,
and brought with them certain of their blasphemous
Books, which the Constables burnt in the street, as I
well remember by this token, that, going near the fire,
and seeing one of the Books not yet burnt, I stooped
to pick it up, when one of the Constables gave me a
smart rap with his Staff, and snatched it away. The
Women being sent to the Jail, the Deputy Governor,
Mr. Bellingham, and the Council, thinking they might

be Witches, were for having them searched; and Madam
Bellingham naming me and another Woman to her
Husband, he sent for us, and bade us go to the Jail
and search them, to see if there was any Witch-mark
on their Bodies. Soe we went, and told them our
errand, at which they marvelled not a little, and one
of them, a young, well-favored Woman, did entreat
that they might not be put to such shame, for the Jailer
stood all the time in the yard, looking in at the door;
but we told them such was the order, and soe, without
more ado, stripped them of their clothes, but found
nothing save a mole on the left breast of the younger,
into which Goodwife Page thrust her Needle, at which
the Woman did give a crie as of paine, and the blood
flowed; whereas, if it had been a Witch's mark, she
would not have felt the prick, nor would it have caused
Blood. Soe, finding nothing that did look like Witchcraft,
we left them; and on being brought before the
Court, Deputy Governor Bellingham asked us what we
had to say concerning the Women. Whereupon Good-wife
Page, being the oldest of us, told him that we did
find noe appearance of Witches upon their Bodies,
save the mole on the younger Woman's breast, (which
was but natural,) but that otherwise she was fair as
Absalom, who had no blemish from the soles of his
Feet to the crown of his Head. Thereupon the Deputy
Governor dismissed us, saying that it might be that the
Devil did not want them for Witches, because they
could better serve him as Quakers; whereat all the
Court fell to laughing.”

“And what did become of the Women?” I asked.

“They kept them in jail awhile,” said Nurse Lake,
“and then sent them back to England. But the others
that followed fared harder, some getting whipped at
the cart-tail, and others losing their Ears. The hangman's
wife showed me once the Ears of three of them,
which her husband cut off in the Jail that verie morning.”

“This is dreadful!” said I, for I thought of my dear
brother, and sweet Margaret Brewster, and tears filled
mine eyes.

“Nay; but they were sturdy knaves and vagabones,”
answered Nurse Lake, “although one of them
was the son of a great Officer in the Barbadoes, and
accounted a gentleman before he did run out into his
evil Practices. But cropping of ears did not stop these
headstrong people, and, they still coming, some were
put to death. There were three of them to be hanged
at one time. I doe remember it well, for it was a clear
warm day about the last of October, and it was a brave
sight to behold. There was Marshall Michelson, and
Capt. Oliver, with two hundred Souldiers afoot, besides

manie on horse of our chief people, and among them
the Minister Mr. Wilson, looking like a Saint as he was,
with a pleasant and joyful Countenance, and a great
multitude of people, men, women and children, not
only of Boston, but from the towns round about. I got
earlie on to the ground, and when they were going to
the Gallows I kept as near to the condemned ones as I
could. There were two young well-favored Men, and
a Woman with grey hairs. As they walked hand in
hand, the Woman in the middle, the Marshall, who
was riding beside them, and who was a merry drolling
man, asked her if she wasn't ashamed to walk hand in
hand between two young Men; whereupon, looking
upon him solemnly, she said she was not ashamed, for
this was to her an Hour of great joy, and that no eye
could see, no ear hear, no tongue speak, and no heart
understand, the sweet incomes and refreshings of the
Lord's spirit, which she did then feel. This she spake
aloud, soe that all about could hear, whereat Capt.
Oliver bid the Drums to beat, and drown her voice.
Now, when they did come to the gallows ladder, on
each side of which the officers and chief people stood,
the two men kept on their Hats, as is the ill manner of
their sort, which so provoked Mr. Wilson, the Minister,
that he cried out to them: `What! shall such Jacks
as you come before authoritie with your Hats on?'
To which one of them said, `Mind you, it is for not
putting off our Hats that we are put to death.' The
two men then went up the ladder, and tried to speak;
but I could not catch a word, being outside of the Soldiers,
and much fretted and worried by the crowd.
They were presentlie turned off, and then the Woman
went up the ladder, and they tied her coats down to
her feet, and put the Halter on her neck, and, lacking
a handkerchief to tie over her face, the Minister lent
the Hangman his. Just then, your Uncle Rawson
comes a riding up to the gallows, waving his Hand,
and crying out, `Stop! she is reprieved!' Soe they
took her down, although she said she was ready to die
as her Brethren did, unless they would undo their
bloody laws. I heard Capt. Oliver tell her it was for
her Son's sake that she was spared. Soe they took her
to Jail, and after a time sent her back to her Husband
in Rhode Island, which was a favor she did in no wise
deserve; but good Governor Endecutt, much as he
did abhor these people, sought not their lives, and
spared no pains to get them peaceably out the Countrie;
but they were a stubborn Crew, and must needs
run their necks into the halter, as did this same Woman,
for, coming back again, under pretence of pleading
for the repeal of the laws against Quakers, she was not
long after put to death. The excellent Mr. Wilson
made a brave Ballad on the hanging, which I have
heard the Boys in the Street sing manie a time.

“A great number, both Men and Women, were whipped
and put in the stocks,” continued the woman, “and
I once beheld two of them, one a young, and the other
an aged Woman, in a cold day in Winter, tied to the
tayl of a Cart, going through Salem Street stripped to
their waists as naked as they were born, and their
backs all covered with red whip-marks; but there was
a more pitiful case of one Hored Gardner, a young
married woman, with a little child and her nurse, who,
coming to Weymouth, was laid hold of and sent to
Boston, where both were whipped, and, as I was often
at the Jail to see the Keeper's Wife, it soe chanced
that I was there at the time. The Woman, who was
young and delicate, when they were stripping her, held
her little Child in her arms; and when the Jailer
plucked it from her bosom, she looked round anxiouslie,
and, seeing me, said, `Good Woman, I know
thou'lt have pity on the Babe,' and asked me to hold
it, which I did. She was then whipped with a threefold
Whip, with knots in the ends, which did tear
sadlie into her flesh, and after it was over she kneeled
down, with her Back all bleeding, and prayed for them
she called her Persecutors. I must say I did greatlie
pitie her, and I spoke to the Jailer's Wife, and we

washed the poor creature's back, and put on it some
famous Ointment, soe that she soon got healed.”

Aunt Rawson now coming in, the matter was
dropped; but, on my speaking to her of it after Nurse
Lake had left, she said it was a sore tryal to manie,
even those in authoritie, and who were charged with
the putting in force of the laws against these People.
She furthermore said, that Uncle Rawson and Mr.
Broadstreet were much cried out against by the
Quakers and their abettors on both sides of the Water,
but they did but their duty in the Matter, and for herself
she had always mourned over the coming of these
People, and was glad when the Court did set anie of
them free. When the Woman was hanged, my Aunt
spent the whole day with Madam Broadstreet, who
was soe wrought upon that she was fain to take to her
Bed, refusing to be comforted, and counting it the
heaviest day of her life.

“Looking out of her chamber window,” said Aunt
Rawson, “I saw the people who had been to the Hanging
coming back from the training field; and when
Anne Broadstreet did hear the sound of their Feet in
the Road, she groaned, and said that it did seem as if
every foot fell upon her Hearte. Presentlie, Mr.
Broadstreet came home, bringing with him the Minister,
Mr. John Norton. They sat down in the Chamber,

and for some little time there was scarce a word
spoken. At length, Madam Broadstreet, turning to her
Husband, and laying her hand on his arm, as was her
loving manner, asked him if it was indeed all over.
`The Woman is dead,' said he, `but I marvel, Anne,
to see you soe troubled about her. Her blood is upon
her own Head, for we did by no means seek her life.
She hath trodden under foot out Laws, and misused our
great forbearance, soe that we could do no otherwise
than we have done. Soe under the Devil's delusion
was she, that she wanted noe Minister or Elder to pray
with her at the Gallows, but seemed to think herself
sure of Heaven, heeding in no wise the warnings of
Mr. Norton, and other godly people.' `Did she rayl
at, or crie out against, anie?' asked his Wife. `Nay,
not to my hearing,' he said, `but she carried herself
as one who had done no harm, and who verilie
believed that she had obeyed the Lord's will.”'

“This is verie dreadful,” said she, “and I pray that
the death of that poor misled creature may not rest
heavy upon us.”

Hereupon Mr. Norton lifted up his Head, which had
been bowed down upon his Hand; and I shall never
forget how his pale and sharp Features did seem paler
than their wont, and his solemn Voice seemed deeper
and sadder.

“Madam!” he said, “it may well befit your gentleness
and sweetness of Heart to grieve over the
sufferings even of the froward and ungodly, when they
be cut off from the congregation of the Lord, as His
holy and just law enjoineth, for verily I also could
weep for the condemned one, as a Woman and a
Mother, and, since her coming, I have wrestled with
the Lord, in prayer and fasting, that I might be His
instrument in snatching her as a Brand from the
burning. But, as a Watchman on the walls of Zion,
when I did see her casting Poyson into the Wells of
Life, and enticing unstable souls into the snares and
pitfalls of Satan, what should I doe but sound an alarm
against her? And the Magistrate, such as your
worthie Husband, who is also appointed of God, and
set for the defence of the Truth, and the safetie of the
Church and the State, what can he doe but faithfullie
to execute the law of God, which is a terror to evil
doers? The natural pitie which we feel must give
place unto the duty we doe severally owe to God and
His Church, and the Government of His appointing.
It is a small matter to be judged of Man's judgment,
for, though certain people have not scrupled to call me
cruel and hard of Heart, yet the Lord knows I have
wept in secret places over these misguided Men and
Women.”

“But might not life be spared?” asked Madam
Broadstreet. “Death is a great thing.”

“It is appointed unto all to die,” said Mr. Norton,
“and after death cometh the Judgment. The death of
these poor Bodies is a bitter thing, but the death of the
Soul is far more dreadful; and it is better that these
People should suffer, than that hundreds of precious
Souls should be lost through their evil communication.
The care of the dear souls of my Flock lieth heavilie
upon me, as manie sleepless nights and days of fasting
doe bear witness. I have not taken counsel of flesh and
blood in this grave Matter, nor yielded unto the natural
weakness of my Heart. And while some were for
sparing these workers of Iniquity, even as Saul spared
Agag, I have been strengthened as it were to hew
them in pieces before the Lord in Gilgal. Oh, Madam,
your honored Husband can tell you what travail of
Spirit, what sore tryals, these disturbers have cost us;
and as you doe know in his case, soe believe also in
mine, that what we have done hath been urged, not by
hardness and crueltie of Heart, but rather by our love
and tenderness towards the Lord's heritage in this land.
Through care and sorrow I have grown old before my
time, few and evil have been the Days of my Pilgrimage,
and the end seems not far off; and though I have
manie sins and shortcomings to answer for, I doe

humbly trust that the blood of the souls of the Flock
committed to me will not then be found upon my
garments.”

“Ah, me! I shall never forget these words of that
godly man,” continued my Aunt, “for, as he said, his
end was not far off. He died verie suddenlie, and the
Quakers did not scruple to say that it was God's judgment
upon him for his severe dealing with their People.
They even go soe far as to say that the Land about
Boston is cursed because of the hangings and whippings,
inasmuch as Wheat will not now grow here, as
it did formerlie, and indeed manie, not of their way,
doe believe the same thing.”

April ye 24th.

A vessel from London has just come to Port, bringing
Rebecca's dresses for the Wedding, which will take
place about the middle of June, as I hear. Uncle
Rawson has brought me a long letter from Aunt Grindall,
with one also from Oliver, pleasant and livelie, like
himself. No special news from Abroad, that I hear
of. My heart longs for Old England more and more.

It is supposed that the free-holders have chosen Mr.
Broadstreet for their Governor. The vote, Uncle says,
is exceeding small, verie few people troubling themselves
about it.

May ye 2d.

Mr. John Easton, a man of some note in the Providence
Plantations, having occasion to visit Boston yesterday,
brought me a message from my Brother, to the
effect that he was now married and settled, and did
greatlie desire me to make the Journey to his House
in the companie of his friend, John Easton, and his
Wife's Sister. I feared to break the matter to my
Uncle, but Rebecca hath done so for me, and he hath,
to my great Joy consented thereto; for, indeed, he
refuseth nothing to her. My Aunt fears for me, that I
shall suffer from the cold, as the weather is by no means
settled, although the Season is forward, as compared
with the last; but I shall take good care as to clothing;
and John Easton saith we shall be but two nights on
the way.

The Plantations, May ye 10th, 1679.

We left Boston on the 4th, at about sunrise, and rode
on at a brisk trot, until we came to the banks of the
River, along which we went near a mile before we found
a suitable Ford, and even there the water was soe deep
that we only did escape a wetting by drawing our Feet
up to the saddle-trees. About noon, we stopped at a

Farmer's house, in the hope of getting a Dinner; but
the room was dirty as an Indian Wigwam, with two
children in it, sick with the Measles, and the Woman
herself in a poor way, and we were glad to leave as
soon as possible, and get into the fresh Aire again.
Aunt had provided me with some cakes, and Mr.
Easton, who is an old traveller, had with him a roasted
Fowl, and a good loaf of Indian Bread; soe, coming to
a spring of excellent Water, we got off our Horses,
and, spreading our napkins on the grass and drie
leaves, had a comfortable Dinner. John's Sister is a
Widow, a livelie merry Woman, and proved rare companie
for me. Afterwards we rode until the Sun was
nigh setting, when we came to a little hut on the Shore
of a broad Lake at a place called Massapog. It had
been dwelt in by a white Familie formerly, but it was
now empty, and much decayed in the roof, and as we
did ride up to it we saw a wild Animal of some sort
leap out of one of its windows, and run into the pines.
Here Mr. Easton said we must make shift to tarry
through the Night, as it was manie miles to the house
of a white man. Soe getting off our Horses, we went
into the hut, which had but one room, with loose
boards for a floor; and as we sat there in the Twilight, it
looked dismal enough; but presentlie Mr. Easton coming
in, with a great load of dried boughs, struck a light
in the stone Fire-place, and we soon had a roaring fire.
His Sister broke off some hemlock boughs near the
door, and made a Broom of them, with which she swept
up the floor, soe that when we sat down on blocks by
the Hearth, eating our poor Supper, we thought ourselves
quite comfortable and tidy. It was a wonderful
clear Night, the Moon rising as we judged, about eight
of the Clock, over the tops of the Hills on the Easterly
side of the Lake, and shining brightlie on the Water in
a long line of Light, as if a silver Bridge had been laid
across it. Looking out into the Forest, we could see
the beams of the Moon, falling here and there through
the thick tops of the Pines and Hemlocks, and showing
their tall trunks, like to so manie pillars in a Church or
Temple. There was a Westerlie Wind blowing, not
steadily, but in long Gusts, which, sounding from a
great distance through the Pine leaves, did make a
solemn and not unpleasing Musick, to which I listened
at the door until the cold drove me in for shelter. Our
Horses, having been fed with Corn, which Mr. Easton
took with him, were tied at the back of the Building,
under the cover of a thick growth of Hemlocks, which
served to break off the night Wind. The Widow and
I had a comfortable bed in the corner of the room,
which we made of small Hemlock sprigs, having our
Cloaks to cover us, and our saddle-bags for Pillows.
My companions were soon asleep, but the exceeding
strangeness of my situation did keep me a long time
awake. For, as I lay there looking upward, I could
see the Stars shining down a great hole in the Roof,
and the moonlight streaming through the seams of the
logs, and mingling with the red glow of the coals on
the Hearth. I could hear the Horses stamping, just
outside, and the sound of the Water on the Lake shore,
the crie of wild Animals in the depth of the Woods,
and, over all, the long and very wonderful murmur of
the Pines in the Wind. At last, being sore weary, I
fell asleep, and waked not until I felt the warm Sun
shining in my face, and heard the voice of Mr. Easton,
bidding me rise, as the Horses were readie.

After riding about two hours, we came upon an
Indian Camp, in the midst of a thick wood of Maples.
Here were six spacious Wigwams; but the men were
away, except two verie old and infirm ones. There
were five or six Women, and perhaps twice as manie
Children, who all came out to see us. They brought
us some dried Meat, as hard nigh upon as chips of
Wood, and which, although hungrie, I could feel no
stomach for; but I bought of one of the Squaws two
great cakes of Sugar, made from the sap of the Maples
which abound there, verie pure and sweet, and which
served me instead of their unsavory Meat and cakes

of pounded Corn, of which Mr. Easton and his sister
did not scruple to partake. Leaving them, we had a
long and hard ride to a place called Winnicinnit, where,
to my great joy, we found a comfortable House and
Christian people, with whom we tarried. The next day
we got to the Plantations; and about noon, from the
top of a hill, Mr. Easton pointed out the Settlement
where my Brother dwelt — a fair, pleasant Valley,
through which ran a small river, with the houses of the
Planters on either side. Shortly after, we came to a
new frame house, with a great oak Tree left standing
on each side of the gate, and a broad Meadow before
it, stretching down to the water. Here Mr. Easton
stopped; and now, who should come hastening down
to us but my new Sister, Margaret, in her plain but
comelie dress, kindly welcoming me; and soon my
Brother came up from the Meadow, where he was busie
with his men. It was indeed a joyful meeting.

The next day, being the Sabbath, I went with my
brother and his wife to the Meeting, which was held
in a large house of one of their Quaker neighbors.
About a score of grave, decent people did meet there,
sitting still and quiet for a pretty while, when one of their
number, a venerable man, spake a few words, mostlie
Scripture; then a young woman, who, I did afterwards
learn, had been hardly treated by the Plymouth people,

did offer a few words of encouragement and exhortation
from this portion of the xxxiv Psalm: The Angel
of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him,
and delivereth them. When the Meeting was over,
some of the ancient Women came and spake kindly to
me, inviting me to their houses. In the evening, certain
of these people came to my Brother's, and were
kind and loving towards me. There was, nevertheless,
a gravitie and a certain staidness of Deportment, which
I could but ill conform unto, and I was not sorry when
they took leave. My Uncle Rawson need not fear my
joining with them; for although I doe judge them to be
a worthy and pious people, I like not their manner of
Worship, and their great gravitie and soberness doe
little accord with my natural temper and spirits.

May ye 16th.

This place is in what is called the Narraganset
Countrie, and about twenty miles from Mr. Williams'
Town of Providence, a place of noe small note. Mr.
Williams, who is now an aged man, more than fourscore,
was the founder of the Province, and is held in
great esteem by the people, who be of all sects and
persuasions, as the Government doth not molest any,
in worshipping according to Conscience; and hence
you will see in the same neighbourhood, Anabaptists,

Quakers, New Lights, Brownists, Antinomians, and
Socinians — nay, I am told there be Papists also. Mr.
Williams is a Baptist, and holdeth mainlie with Calvin
and Beza, as respects the decrees, and hath been a
bitter reviler of the Quakers, although he hath ofttimes
sheltered them from the rigor of the Massachusetts
Bay Magistrates, who he saith have noe warrant
to deal in matters of Conscience and Religion, as they
have done.

Yesterday came the Governor of the Rhode Island,
Nicholas Easton, the father of John, with his youngest
daughter Mary, as fair and as ladye-like a person as I
have seen for many a day. Both her father and herself
doe meet with the “Friends,” as they call themselves,
at their great house on the Island, and the Governor
sometimes speaks therein, having, as one of the Elders
here saith of him, “a pretty Gift in the Ministry.” Mary,
who is about the age of my brother's wife, would fain
persuade us to goe back with them on the morrow to
the Island, but Leonard's business will not allow it, and
I would by no means lose his companie while I tarry in
these Parts, as I am soe soon to depart for home, where
a great Ocean will separate us, it may be for manie
years. Margaret, who hath been to the Island, saith
that the Governor's house is open to all new comers,
who are there entertained with rare courtesie, he being

a man of substance, having a great Plantation, with
Orchards and Gardens, and a statelie House on an hill
overlooking the Sea on either hand, where, six years
ago, when the famous George Fox was on the Island,
he did entertain and lodge no less than fourscore persons,
beside his own familie and servants.

Governor Easton, who is a pleasant talker, told a
story of a Magistrate who had been a great persecutor
of his people. On one occasion, after he had cast a
worthy Friend into jail, he dreamed a dream in this
wise: He thought he was in a faire, delightsome place,
where were sweet springs of Water and green
Meadows, and rare Fruit-trees and Vines with ripe
Clusters thereon, and in the midst thereof flowed a
River whose waters were clearer than Chrystal. Moreover,
he did behold a great multitude walking on the
River's bank, or sitting lovingly in the Shade of the
Trees, which grew thereby. Now while he stood
marvelling at all this, he beheld in his dream, the Man
he had cast into Prison sitting with his Hat on, side by
side with a Minister then dead, whom the Magistrate
had held in great esteem while living; whereat, feeling
his anger stirred within him, he went straight and bade
the man take off his Hat in the presence of his betters.
Howbeit the twain did give no heed to his words, but did
continue to talk lovingly together as before; whereupon

he waxed exceeding wroth and would have laid Hands
upon the man. But, hearing a voice calling upon him
to forbear, he did look about him, and behold one, with
a shining countenance, and clad in Raiment soe white
that it did dazzle his Eyes to look upon it, stood before
him. And the Shape said, “Dost thou well to be
angry?” Then said the Magistrate, “Yonder is a
Quaker with his Hat on talking to a godly Minister.”
“Nay,” quoth the Shape, “thou seest but after the
Manner of the World and with the Eyes of Flesh.
Look yonder, and tell me what thou seest.” So he
looked again, and lo, two men in shining Raiment, like
him who talked with him, sat under the tree. “Tell
me,” said the Shape, “if thou canst, which of the
twain is the Quaker and which is the Priest.” And
when he could not, but stood in amazement confessing
he did see neither of them, the Shape said, “Thou
sayst well, for here be neither Priest nor Quaker, Jew
nor Gentile, but all are one in the Lord.” Then he
awoke, and pondered long upon his dream, and when
it was morning he went straightway to the Jail and
ordered the man to be set free, and hath ever since
carried himself lovingly towards the Quakers.

My Brother's lines have indeed fallen unto him in a
pleasant place. His house is on a warme slope of a
Hill, looking to the Southeast, with a great wood of

Oaks and Walnuts behind it, and before it many Acres
of open land, where formerlie the Indians did plant
their Corn, much of which is now ploughed and
seeded. From the top of the Hill one can see the
waters of the great Bay; at the foot of it runs a small
River noisily over the rocks, making a continual
murmur. Going thither this Morning, I found a great
rock hanging over the water, on which I sat down,
listening to the noise of the Stream, and the merriement
of the Birds in the trees, and admiring the green
banks, which were besprinkled with white and yellow
Flowers. I called to mind that sweet fancie of the
lamented Anne Broadstreet, the Wife of the new
Governor of Massachusetts, in a little piece which she
nameth “Contemplations,” being written on the banks
of a Stream, like unto the one whereby I was then
sitting, in the which the Writer first describeth the
beauties of the Wood, and the flowing Water, with the
bright Fishes therein, and then the songs of Birds in
the boughs over her Head, in this sweet and pleasing
Verse, which I have often heard repeated by Cousin
Rebecca:
Now, while I did ponder these lines, hearing a step in
the leaves, I looked up, and behold there was an old
Indian close beside me; and, being much affrighted, I
gave a loud Crie, and ran towards the House. The
old man laughed at this, and, calling after me, said he
would not harm me; and Leonard, hearing my Cries,
now coming up, bade me never fear the Indian, for he
was a harmless Creature, who was well known to him.
Soe he kindlie saluted the old man, asking me to shake
Hands with him, which I did; when he struck across
the Field to a little cleared spot on the side of the
Hill. My Brother bidding me note his actions, I saw
him stoop down on his Knees, with his Head to the
ground, for some space of time, and then getting up,
he stretched out his Hands towards the Southwest, as
if imploring some one whom I could not see. This he
repeated for nigh upon half an hour, when he came
back to the house, where he got some Beer and Bread
to eat, and a great Loaf to carry away. He said but
little until he rose to depart, when he told my Brother
that he had been to see the graves of his Father and
his Mother, and that he was glad to find them as he
did leave them the last Year; for he knew that the
Spirits of the dead would be sore grieved, if the white
man's hoe touched their Bones.

My Brother promised him that the burial place of
his People should not be disturbed, and that he would
find it as now, when he did again visit it.

“Me never come again,” said the old Indian. “No.
Umpachee is very old. He has no Squaw; he has
no young men, who call him Father. Umpachee is
like that tree;” and he pointed, as he spoke, to a
Birch, which stood apart in the Field, from which the
bark had fallen, and which did show no leaf nor bud.

My Brother hereupon spake to him of the Great
Father of both White and Red men, and of His Love
towards them, and of the measure of Light which he

had given unto all men, whereby they might know
Good from Evil, and by living in obedience to which
they might be happie in this Life and in that to come;
exhorting him to put his trust in God, who was able to
comfort and sustain him in his old age, and not to
follow after lying Powahs, who did deceive and mislead
him.

“My young Brother's talk is good,” said the old
man. “The Great Father sees that his skin is White,
and that mine is Red. He sees my young Brother
when he sits in his Praying house, and me when me
offer him Corn and Deer's flesh in the woods, and he
says Good. Umpachee's People have all gone to one
place. If Umpachee goe to a Praying house, the
Great Father will send him to the white Man's place,
and his Father and his Mother and his Sons will never
see him in their Hunting ground. No. Umpachee is
an old beaver that sits in his own House, and swims in
his own Pond. He will stay where he is until his
Father calls him.”

Saying this, the old Savage went on his way. As
he passed out of the Valley, and got to the top of the
hill on the other side, we, looking after him, beheld
him standing still a moment, as if bidding farewell to
the graves of his people.

May ye 24th.

My Brother goes with me to-morrow on my way to
Boston. I am not a little loath to leave my dear Sister
Margaret, who hath greatlie won upon me by her gentleness
and loving deportment, and who doth at all
times, even when at work in ordering her household
Affairs, and amidst the cares and perplexities of her
new life, show forth that sweetness of Temper and that
Simplicitie wherewith I was charmed when I first saw
her. She hath naturally an ingenious Mind, and, since
her acquaintance with my Brother, hath dipped into
such of his studies and readings as she had leisure and
freedom to engage in, soe that her conversation is in no
wise beneath her station. Nor doth she, like some of
her People, especially the more simple and unlearned,
affect a painful and melancholie Look, and a canting
tone of Discourse, but lacketh not for cheerfulness, and
a certain natural ease and grace of Demeanor; and the
warmth and goodness of her Heart doth at times break
the usual quiet of her Countenance, like to sunshine
and wind on a still Water, and she hath the sweetest
smile I ever saw. I have often thought, since I have
been with her, that if Uncle Rawson could see and
hear her as I doe for a single day, he would confess
that my Brother might have done worse than to take a
Quaker to Wife.

Boston, May ye 28th, 1679.

Through God's mercy, I got here safe and well,
saving great weariness, and grief at parting with my
Brother and his Wife. The first day we went as far
as a place they call Rehoboth, where we tarried over
Night, finding but small comfort therein; for the house
was soe filled, that Leonard and a friend who came
with us, were fain to lie all night in the Barn, on the
mow before their Horses; and, for mine own part, I
had to choose between lying in the large room, where
the Man of the house and his Wife and two Sons,
grown Men, did lodge, or to climb into the dark loft,
where was barelie space for a Bed — which last I
did make choice of, although the Woman thought it
strange, and marvelled not a little at my unwillingness
to sleepe in the same room with her Husband and
Boys, as she called them. In the evening, hearing
loud voices in a house near by, we enquired what it
meant, and were told that some People from Providence
were holding a Meeting there, the owner of the
House being accounted a Quaker. Whereupon, I went
thither with Leonard, and found nigh upon a score of
People gathered, and a man with loose haire and beard
speaking to them. My Brother whispered to me that
he was no Friend, but a noted Ranter, a noisie, unsettled
man. He screamed exceeding loud, and stamped

with his Feet, and foamed at the Mouth, like one possessed
with an Evil Spirit, crying against all order in
State or Church, and declaring that the Lord had a
controversy with Priests and Magistrates, the Prophets
who prophecie falsely, and the Priests who bear rule
by their means, and the People who love to have it so.
He spake of the Quakers as a tender and hopeful
People in their beginning, and while the arm of the
wicked was heavie upon them; but now he said that
they, even as the rest, were settled down into a dead
order, and heaping up worldlie goods, and speaking
evil of the Lord's Messengers. They were a part of
Babylon, and would perish with their Idols; they should
drink of the Wine of God's Wrath; the day of
their Visitation was at hand. After going on thus for
a while, up gets a tall, wild-looking Woman, as pale as
a Ghost, and trembling from head to foot, who,
stretching out her long arms towards the Man who had
spoken, bade the People take notice that this was the
Angel spoken of in Revelations, flying through the
midst of Heaven, and crying, Woe! woe! to the inhabitants
of the earth! with more of the like wicked
rant, whereat I was not a little discomposed, and, beckoning
my Brother, left them to foam out their shame to
themselves.

The next morning, we got upon our horses at an

earlie hour, and, after a hard and long ride, reached
Mr. Torrey's, at Weymouth, about an hour after dark.
Here we found Cousin Torrey in bed with her second
child, a boy, whereat her husband is not a little rejoiced.
My brother here took his leave of me, going back to
the Plantations. My Heart is truly sad and heavie with
the great grief of parting.

May ye 30th.

Went to the South Meeting to-day, to hear the Sermon
preached before the worshipful Governor, Mr.
Broadstreet, and His Majestie's Council, it being the
Election day. It was a long Sermon, from Esther, x. 3.
Had much to say concerning the dutie of Magistrates
to support the Gospel and its Ministers, and to put an
end to Schism and Heresie. Very pointed, alsoe,
against time-serving Magistrates.

June ye 1st.

Mr. Michael Wigglesworth, the Malden Minister, at
Uncle's house last night. Mr. Wigglesworth told Aunt
that he had preached a Sermon against the wearing of
long Haire, and other like Vanities, which he hoped
with God's blessing might doe good. It was from
Isaiah, iii. 16, and so on to the end of the Chapter.
Now, while he was speaking of the Sermon, I whispered
Rebecca that I would like to ask him a question,

which he overhearing, turned to me, and bade me never
heed, but speak out. Soe, I told him that I was but a
Child in years and knowledge, and he a wise and
learned Man; but, if he would not deem it forward in
me, I would fain know whether the Scripture did anie
where lay down the particular fashion of wearing the
Hair.

Mr. Wigglesworth said that there were certain general
Rules laid down, from which we might make a
right application to particular cases. The wearing of
long Haire by men is expressly forbidden in 1 Corinthians,
xi. 14, 15; and there is a special word for
women, also, in 1 Tim. ii. 9.

Hereupon, Aunt Rawson told me she thought I was
well answered; but I, (foolish one that I was,) being
unwilling to give up the matter soe, ventured farther to
say that there were the Nazarites, spoken of in Numbers,
vi. 5, upon whose heads, by the appointment of
God, no Razor was to come.

“Nay,” said Mr. Wigglesworth, “that was by a
special Appointment only, and proveth the general
rule and practice.”

Uncle Rawson said that long hair might, he judged,
be lawfullie worn where the bodilie Health did require
it, to guard the necks of weaklie people from the cold.

“Where there seems plainlie a call of Nature for it,”

said Mr. Wigglesworth, “as a matter of bodilie comfort,
and for the warmth of the head and neck, it is no
wise unlawful. But for healthy, sturdy young people
to make this excuse for their sinful Vanitie, doth but
add to their condemnation. If a man go any whit
beyond God's appointment and the comfort of Nature,
I know not where he will stop, until he grows to be the
veriest Ruffian in the world. It is a wanton and shameful
thing for a man to liken himself to a woman, by
suffering his Haire to grow, and curling and parting it
in a Seam, as is the manner of too manie. It betokeneth
pride and vanitie, and causeth no small Offence
to godly, sober people.

“The time hath been,” continued Mr. Wigglesworth,
“when God's people were ashamed of such
vanities, both in the home Countrie and in these parts;
but since the Bishops and the Papists have had their
way, and such as feared God are put down from Authoritie,
to give place to scorners and wantons, there
hath been a sad change.”

He furthermore spake of the gay apparel of the
young women of Boston, and their lack of plainness
and modestie in the manner of wearing and ordering
their Haire; and said he could in no wise agree with
some of his brethren in the Ministry, that this was a
light Matter, inasmuch as it did most plainlie appear

from Scripture, that the pride and haughtiness of the
daughters of Zion did provoke the judgments of the
Lord, not only upon them, but upon the men also.
Now, the special sin of women is Pride and Haughtiness,
and that because they be generally more ignorant,
being the weaker vessel; and this sin venteth
itself in their gesture, their haire and apparel. Now,
God abhors all pride, especially pride in base things;
and hence the conduct of the daughters of Zion does
greatlie provoke his Wrath, first against themselves,
secondly their fathers and husbands, and thirdly against
the land they do inhabit.

Rebecca here rogueishly pinched my arm, saying
apart, that, after all, we weaker Vessels did seem to
be of great consequence, and nobody could tell but
that our head-dresses would yet prove the ruin of the
Countrie.

June ye 4th.

Robert Pike, coming into the Harbour with his
Sloop, from the Pemaquid country, looked in upon us
yesterday. Said that since coming to the Town he
had seen a Newbury man, who told him that old Mr.
Wheelwright, of Salisbury, the famous Boston Minister
in the time of Sir Harry Vane and Madam Hutchinson,
was now lying sick, and nigh unto his end. Also, that
Goodman Morse was soe crippled, by a fall in his barn,

that he cannot get to Boston to the tryal of his Wife,
which is a sore affliction to him. The tryal of the
Witch is now going on, and Uncle saith it looks much
against her, especially the testimony of the Widow
Goodwin about her child, and of John Gladding about
seeing one half of the bodie of Goody Morse flying
about in the Sun, as if she had been cut in twain, or as
if the Devil did hide the lower part of her. Robert
Pike saith such testimonie ought not to hang a Catt,
the Widow being little more than a fool; and as
for the fellow Gladding, he was no doubt in his
Cups, for he had often seen him in such a plight
that he could not have told Goody Morse from the
Queen of Sheba.

June ye 8th.

The Morse woman having been found guilty by the
Court of Assistants, she was brought out to the North
Meeting, to hear the Thursday Lecture, yesterday,
before having her sentence. The House was filled
with People, they being curious to see the Witch. The
Marshall and the Constables brought her in, and set her
in front of the Pulpit; the old Creature looking round
her wildly, as if wanting her wits, and then covering
her face with her dark, wrinkled hands; a dismal sight!
The Minister took his text in Romans, xiii. 3, 4, especially
the last clause of the 4th verse, relating to Rulers:

For he beareth not the sword in vain, &c. He dwelt
upon the power of the Ruler as a Minister of God, and
as a Revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth
evil; and showeth that the punishment of Witches,
and such as covenant with the Devil, is one of the
duties expressly enjoined upon Rulers by the Word of
God, inasmuch as a Witch was not to be suffered to live.

He then did solemnlie address himself to the condemned
Woman, quoting 1 Tim. v. 20: Them that
sin rebuke before all, that others also may fear. The
Woman was greatlie moved, for no doubt the sharp
words of the Preacher did prick her guilty Conscience,
and the terrors of Hell did take hold of her, so that she
was carried out, looking scarcelie alive. They took
her when the Lecture was over to the Court, where the
Governor did pronounce sentence of death upon her.
But Uncle tells me there be manie who are stirring to
get her respited for a time at least, and he doth himself
incline to favor it, especiallie as Rebecca hath
labored much with him to that end, as alsoe hath Maj.
Pike and Maj. Saltonstall with the Governor, who himself
sent for Uncle last Night, and they had a long talk
together, and looked over the Testimonie against the
woman, and neither did feel altogether satisfied with it.
Mr. Norton adviseth for the hanging; but Mr. Willard,
who has seen much of the Woman, and hath prayed

with her in the Jail, thinks she may be innocent in the
matter of Witchcraft, inasmuch as her Conversation
was such as might become a godly person in affliction,
and the reading of the Scripture did seem greatlie to
comfort her.

June ye 9th.

Uncle Rawson being at the Jail to-day, a Messenger,
who had been sent to the Daughter of Goody Morse,
who is the Wife of one Hate Evil Nutter, on the Cocheco,
to tell her that her Mother did greatlie desire to
see her once more before she was hanged, coming in,
told the condemned Woman that her daughter bade him
say to her, that inasmuch as she had sold herself to the
Devil, she did owe her no further love or service, and
that she could not complain of this, for as she had made
her Bed, soe she must lie. Whereat the old Creature
set up a miserable cry, saying that to have her own
flesh and blood turn against her was more bitter than
Death itself. And she begged Mr. Willard to pray for
her, that her trust in the Lord might not be shaken by
this new Affliction.

June ye 10th.

The condemned Woman hath been reprieved by
the Governor and the Magistrates, until the sitting of
the Court in October. Manie People, both Men and

Women, coming in from the Towns about to see the
Hanging, be sore disappointed, and doe vehementlie
condemn the Conduct of the Governor therein. For
mine own part, I doe truly rejoice that Mercie hath
been shown to the poor creature; for, even if she is
guiltie, it affordeth her a season for Repentance; and
if she be innocent, it saveth the land from a great Sin.
The sorrowful look of the old creature at the Lecture
hath troubled me ever since, soe forlorn and forsaken
did she seem. Maj. Pike, (Robert's Father,) coming
in this Morning, says, next to the sparing of Goody
Morse's life, it did please him to see the blood-thirsty
Rabble soe cheated out of their diversion; for example,
there was Goody Matson, who had ridden bare-backed,
for lack of a Saddle, all the way from Newbury, on
Dea. Dole's hard-trotting Horse, and was soe galled
and lame of it that she could scarce walk. The Major
said he met her at the head of King street yesterday,
with half a score more of her sort, scolding and rayling
about the reprieve of the Witch, and prophesying
dreadful Judgments upon all concerned in it. He said
he bade her shut her Mouth and goe home, where she
belonged; telling her that if he heard any more of her
rayling, the Magistrates should have notice of it, and
she would find that laying by the heels in the Stocks
was worse than riding Dea. Dole's Horse.

June ye 14.

Yesterday the Wedding took place. It was an exceeding
brave one; most of the old and honored
Families being at it, soe that the great House wherein
my Uncle lives was much crowded. Among them
were Gov. Broadstreet, and manie of the honorable
Magistrates, with Mr. Saltonstall and his worthy Lady;
Mr. Richardson, the Newbury Minister, joining the
twain in marriage in a verie solemn and feeling manner.
Sir Thomas was richly apparelled, as became
one of his rank, and Rebecca, in her white Silk, looked
comelie as an Angel. She wore the lace Collar I
wrought for her last Winter, for my sake, although I
fear me she had prettier ones of her own working.
The day was wet and dark, with an easterly wind
blowing in great gusts from the Bay, exceeding cold
for the season.

Rebecca, or Lady Hale, as she is now called, had
invited Robert Pike to her wedding, but he sent her an
excuse for not coming, to the effect that urgent business
did call him into the Eastern Countrie as far as
Monhegan and Pemaquid. His letter, which was full
of good wishes for her happiness and prosperitie, I
noted saddened Rebecca a good deal; and she was,
moreover, somewhat disturbed by certain things that
did happen yesterday; the great Mirror in the Hall

being badly broken, and the Family Arms hanging
over the fire-place thrown down, soe that it was burned
by the coals kindled on the Hearth, on account of the
dampness; which were looked upon as ill signs by
most People. Grindall, a thoughtless youth, told his
Sister of the burning of the Arms, and that nothing
was left save the head of the Raven in the crest, at
which she grew very pale, and said it was strange,
indeed, and, turning to me, asked me if I did put faith
in what was said of signs and prognostics. Soe, seeing
her troubled, I laughed at the Matter, although I
secretlie did look upon it as an ill Omen, especiallie as
I could never greatlie admire Sir Thomas. My Brother's
Wife, who seems fully persuaded that he is an
unworthy person, sent by me a Message to Rebecca, to
that effect; but I had not courage to speak of it, as
matters had gone so far, and Uncle and Aunt did seem
soe fully bent upon making a great lady of their
Daughter.

The Vessel in which we are to take our Passage is
near upon ready for the Sea. The Bark is a London
one, called “The Three Brothers,” and is commanded
by an old acquaintance of Uncle Rawson. I am
happy with the thought of going Home, yet, as the
time of Departure draws nigh, I do confess some
regrets at leaving this Countrie, where I have been so

kindlie cared for and entertained, and where I have
seen soe manie new and strange things. The great,
solemn Woods, as wild and natural as they were
thousands of Years ago, the fierce suns of the Summer
season, and the great snows of the Winter, and the
wild Beasts, and the heathen Indians — these be things
the Memory whereof will ever abide with me. To-day
the Weather is again clear and warm, the Sky wonderfullie
bright, the green leaves flutter in the Wind, and
the Birds are singing sweetlie. The waters of the
Bay, which be yet troubled by the Storm of last night,
are breaking in white foam on the rocks of the main
Land, and on the small Islands, covered with trees and
vines; and manie Boats and Sloops going out, with the
West wind, to their fishing, doe show their white sails
in the Offing. How I wish I had skill to paint the
Picture of all this for my English friends! My Heart
is pained, as I look upon it, with the thought that after
a few days I shall never see it more.

June ye 18.

To-morrow we embark for Home. Wrote a long
letter to my dear Brother and Sister, and one to my
Cousins at York. Mr. Richardson hath just left us,
having come all the way from Newbury to the
Wedding. The excellent Gov. Broadstreet hath this

morning sent to Lady Hale a handsome copie of his
first wife's Book, intituled “Several Poems by a gentilwoman
of New England,” with these words on the
blank Page thereof, from Proverbs xxxi. 30, “A
Woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be Praised,”
written in the Governor's own hand. All the great
Folks hereabout have not failed to visit my Cousin
since her Marriage; but I doe think she is better
pleased with some visits she hath had from poor
Widows and others who have been in times past
relieved and comforted by her Charities and Kindness,
the gratitude of these people affecting her unto Tears.
Truly it may be said of her, as of Job: When the Ear
heard her then it blessed her, and when the Eye saw
her it gave witness to her: because she delivered the
poor that cried and the fatherless, and him that had
none to help him. The blessing of Him that was ready
to perish came upon her; and she caused the widow's
Heart to sing for Joy.

[Here the Diary ends somewhat abruptly. It
appears as if some of the last pages have been lost.
Appended to the Manuscript I find a note, in another
handwriting, signed “R. G.,” dated at Malton Rectory,

1747. One Rawson Grindall, M. A., was curate of
Malton at this date, and the initials are undoubtedly his.
The sad sequel to the history of the fair Rebecca
Rawson is confirmed by papers now on file in the
State House at Boston, in which she is spoken of as
“one of the most beautiful, polite, and accomplished
young ladies in Boston.” — Editor.]

“These papers of my honored and pious Grandmother,
Margaret Smith, who, soon after her return
from New England, married her Cousin, Oliver
Grindall, Esq., of Hilton Grange, Crowell, in Oxfordshire,
(both of whom have within the last ten years
departed this Life, greatly lamented by all who knew
them,) having come into my possession, I have thought
it not amiss to add to them a narrative of what happened
to her Friend and Cousin, as I have had the Story
often from her own lips.

“It appears that the brave gallant, calling himself
Sir Thomas Hale, for all his fair seeming and handsome
address, was but a Knave and Impostor, deceiving
with abominable villany Rebecca Rawson and most
of her friends, (although my Grandmother was never
satisfied with him, as is seen in her Journal.) When
they got to London, being anxious, on account of seasickness
and great weariness, to leave the Vessel as

soon as possible, they went ashore to the house of a
Kinsman to lodge, leaving their trunks and clothing on
board. Early on the next morning, he that called
himself Sir Thomas left his Wife, taking with him the
keys of her trunks, telling her he would send them up
from the Vessel in season for her to dress for dinner.
The trunks came as he said, but, after waiting impatiently
for the keys until near the dinner hour, and
her Husband not returning, she had them broken open,
and, to her grief and astonishment, found nothing
therein but shavings and other combustible matter.
Her Kinsman forthwith ordered his carriage, and went
with her to the Inn where they first stopped on landing
from the Vessel, where she inquired for Sir Thomas
Hale. The Landlord told her there was such a Gentleman,
but he had not seen him for some days. `But
he was at your house last night,' said the astonished
young Woman. `He is my Husband, and I was with
him.' The Landlord then said that one Thomas
Rumsey was at his house, with a young lady, the
night before, but that she was not his lawful Wife, for he
had one already in Kent. At this astounding news, the
unhappy young Woman swooned outright, and, being
taken back to her Kinsman's, she lay grievously ill for
many days, during which time, by letters from Kent, it
was ascertained that this Rumsey was a graceless
young spendthrift, who had left his Wife and his two
children, three years before, and gone to parts
unknown.

“My Grandmother, who affectionately watched over
her, and comforted her in her great affliction, has often
told me that, on coming to herself, her poor Cousin
said it was a righteous judgment upon her, for he
pride and vanity, which had led her to discard worthy
Men for one of great show and pretensions, who had
no solid merit to boast of. She had sinned against
God, and brought disgrace upon her Family, in choosing
him. She begged that his name might never be
mentioned again in her hearing, and that she might
only be known as a poor relative of her English
kinsfolk, and find a Home among them until she could
seek out some Employment for her maintenance, as
she could not think of going back to Boston, to become
the laughing-stock of the thoughtless, and the reproach
of her father's family.

“After the marriage of my Grandmother, Rebecca
was induced to live with her for some years. My
great Aunt, Martha Grindall, an ancient spinster, now
living, remembers her well, at that time, describing
her as a young Woman, of a sweet and gentle disposition,
and much beloved by all the members of the
family. Her Father, hearing of her misfortunes,

wrote to her, kindly inviting her to return to New
England, and live with him, and she at last resolved to
do so. My great Uncle Robert having an office under
the Government at Port Royal, in the Island of
Jamaica, she went out with him, intending to sail from
thence to Boston. From that place she wrote to my
Grandmother a letter, which I have also in my possession,
informing her of her safe arrival, and of her
having seen an old friend, Capt. Robert Pike, whose
business concerns had called him to the Island, who
had been very kind and considerate in his attention to
her, offering to take her home in his Vessel, which was
to sail in a few days. She mentions, in a postscript to
her letter, that she found Capt. Pike to be much
improved in his appearance and manners — a true
natural Gentleman; and she does not forget to notice
the fact that he was still single. She had, she said,
felt unwilling to accept his offer of a passage Home,
holding herself unworthy of such civilities at his
hands; but he had so pressed the matter that she had,
not without some misgivings, consented to it.

“But it was not according to the inscrutable wisdom
of Providence that she should ever be restored to her
Father's house. Among the victims of the great
earthquake which destroyed Port Royal a few days
after the date of her letter, was this unfortunate Lady.

It was a heavy blow to my Grandmother, who entertained
for her Cousin the tenderest affection, and,
indeed, she seems to have been every way worthy of
it — lovely in person, amiable in deportment, and of a
generous and noble Nature. She was, especially after
her great trouble, of a somewhat pensive and serious
habit of Mind, contrasting with the playfulness and
innocent light-heartedness of her early Life, as depicted
in the Diary of my Grandmother, yet she was ever
ready to forget herself, in ministering to the Happiness
and Pleasure of others. She was not, as I learn, a
member of the Church, having some scruples in
respect to the rituals, as was natural from her education
in New England, among puritanic schismatics;
but she lived a devout Life, and her quiet and unostentatious
Piety exemplified the Truth of the language of
one of the greatest of our Divines, the Bishop of Down
and Connor, `Prayer is the peace of our Spirit, the
stillness of our Thoughts, the issue of a quiet Mind,
the Daughter of charity, and the Sister of meekness.'
Optimus animus est pulcherimus Dei cultus.