University of Virginia Library

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.