November 8

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_ Yesterday, to my great joy, came my beloved Cousin Rebecca from Boston. In her company 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 town, where at this present time many complain of sickness. Rebecca saith he is one of the excellent of the earth, and, like his blessed Lord and Master, delighteth in going about doing good, and comforting both soul and body. He hath a cheerful, pleasant countenance, and is very active, albeit he is well stricken in years. He is to preach for Mr. Richardson next Sabhath, 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, Dr. 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. So, we hurrying out, the good man bade us look whither he pointed, and to! a flock of wild geese, streaming across the sky, 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 go northward in March to hatch their broods in the great bogs and on the desolate islands, and fly back again when the cold season approacheth. Our worthy 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 bounty, 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 fly 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 12, 1678.

Dr. 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 happily 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 manifestly framed and fitted us for one another, and ordained that mutual charity shall supply 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 energy 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 community 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 air 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 prophecy, and mysteries of knowledge and faith, do 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 uncomely 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 entreaty: 'Even as I have loved you, love ye also one another.'

"We do all," he continued, "seek after happiness, but too often blindly and foolishly. 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 do spread for such as obey the will of their Creator, hath discovered a more subtle alchemy than any of which the philosophers did dream,--for he transmuteth the enjoyments of others into his own, and his large and open heart 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 earnestly 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 rememering 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 do 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 cry 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 only, 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 fly into a panic 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 many of these people, who had so troubled the Colony of late, were at heart simple and honest men and women, whose heads might indeed be unsound, but who at heart 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 many had suffered from their cruel slaughterings, and the captivity of themselves and their families. Here the aged minister wept, for he doubtless thought of his son, who was slain in the war; and for a time the words did seem to die in his throat, so greatly was he moved. But he went on to say, that since God, in his great and undeserved mercy, had put an end to the war, all present unkindness and hard dealing towards he poor 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 do ignorantly worship; while the greater part, as was said of the heathen formerly, do not, out of the good pings that are seen, know Him that is; neither by considering the works do they acknowledge the workmaster, 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 do desire occasion against their brethren. He said that it did seem as if many 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 heart; it being a small thing for him to bewitch a dwelling made of wood and stone, who did so easily 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 do 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 so make this Church in the wilderness beautiful and comely, 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's sermon, as nearly as I can remember it, forasmuch as it hath given offence to some who did listen to it. Deacon 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 noisy, talking woman,--such an one, no doubt, as those busybodies whom Saint Paul did rebuke for forwardness, and command to keep silence in the church,--says the preacher did go 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 formerly 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 any, 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 hog, and who walked all the way from Marblehead to Boston to see the Quaker woman hung, and did foully jest over her dead body, was allowed to have her way in the church, Mr. Richardson being plainly in fear of her ill tongue and wicked temper.

November 13.

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 do 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 wellnigh taken from him in fines, and whose wife was a weak, ailing woman, who was at this time kindly 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 hardly treated in the matter of his wages, while in the war, and fined, moreover, on the ground that he did profane the holy Sabhath; 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 copy of this petition, with the answer thereto, intending to make another application himself to the authorities; for although the petitioner might have been blamable, yet his necessity did go 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 Captain Henchman, during their abode at Concord, Captain H., under pretence of your petitioner's profanation of the Sabhath, had sentenced your petitioner to lose a fortnight's pay. Now, the thing that was alleged against your petitioner was, that he cut a piece of an old hat to put in his shoes, and emptied three or four cartridges. Now, there was great occasion and necessity for his so doing, for his shoes were grown so big, by walking and riding in the wet and dew, that they galled his feet so that he was not able to go without pain; and his cartridges, being in a bag,--were worn with continual travel, so 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 do the same; yet, if it be deemed a breach of the Sabhath, he desires to be humbled before the Lord, and begs 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 war for the payment of his wages. So shall he forever pray. . . . "

11 Aug. 1676.--"The Council sees no cause to grant the petitioner any relief."

NEWBURY, November 18, 1678.

Went yesterday to the haunted house with Mr. Russ and Mr. Richardson, Rebecca and Aunt Rawson being in the company. 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 fly about the room; baskets dropping down the chimney, 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 woollen 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 confirm. Mr. Russ asked her if she suspected any 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 tip 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 presently 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 presently 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 bands; 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 Haverbill, came down, in the company 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. So we have agreed to go with them the day after to-morrow. Now, to say the truth, I am not sorry to leave Newbury at this time, for there is so much talk of the bewitched house, and such dismal stories told of the power of invisible demons, added to what I did myself hear and see yesterday, that I can scarce sleep for the trouble and disquiet this matter causeth. Dr. 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 godly 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 witcherafts, and their pretended conflicts with the Devil in his bodily shape; and thus, while they were seeking to drive the enemy out of their neighbors' 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 worthy man, "I believe the Lord and Master, whom I seek to serve, is over all the powers of Satan; therefore do I not heed them, being afraid only of mine own accusing conscience and the displeasure of God."

We are all loath to lose the good Doctor's company. An Israelite indeed! My aunt, who once tarried for a little time with him for the benefit of his skill in physic, 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, so 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 tithe, save the use of a house and farm, choosing rather to labor with his own hands than to burden 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.

November 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 many 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 story, 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, November 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 Merrimac, about a mile to the southeast. 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 wellnigh 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 forty 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 any 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 cornmeal 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 saucy and quarrelsome; but that his wife was quite a decent body 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 pleasantly on the river-side; the land about hilly and broken, but of good quality. Mr. Saltonstall liveth in a stately 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 greatly 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 many 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, so 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 so well as himself, and that under no provocation would he need the Apostle's advice to the jailer, "Do 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 early settlement of the town, and of the grievous hardships which many did undergo the first season, from cold, and hunger, and sickness. He thought, however, that, with all their ease and worldly prosperity, 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 so well kept as formerly; and the drinking of spirits and frequenting of ordinaries and places of public resort vastly increased. Mr. Saltonstall said the war did not a little demoralize the people, and that since the soldiers cause 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 many 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 henroost, 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 cry out against me as her accomplice.

Doctor Clark said his friend Doctor 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 company he would read the Prologue thereof. To which we all agreeing, he read what follows, which I copy from his book:--

"The times wherein old PUMPKIN was a saint,
When men fared hardly, yet without complaint,
On vilest cates; the dainty Indian maize
Was eat with clam-shells out of wooden trays,
Under thatched roofs, without the cry of rent,
And the best sauce to every dish, content,--
These golden times (too fortunate to hold)
Were quickly sinned away for love of gold.
'T was then among the bushes, not the street,
If one in place did an inferior meet,
'Good morrow, brother! Is there aught you want?
Take freely of me what I have, you ha'n't.'
Plain Tom and Dick would pass as current now,
As ever since 'Your servant, sir,' and bow.
Deep-skirted doublets, puritanic capes,
Which now would render men like upright apes,
Was comelier wear, our wise old fathers thought,
Than the cast fashions from all Europe brought.
'T was in those days an honest grace would hold
Till an hot pudding grew at heart a-cold,
And men had better stomachs for religion,
Than now for capon, turkey-cock, or pigeon;
When honest sisters met to pray, not prate,
About their own and not their neighbors' state,
During Plain Dealing's reign, that worthy stud
Of the ancient planter-race before the Flood.

"These times were good: merchants cared not a rush
For other fare than jonakin and mush.
And though men fared and lodged very hard,
Yet innocence was better than a guard.
'T was long before spiders and worms had drawn
Their dingy webs, or hid with cheating lawn
New England's beauties, which still seemed to me
Illustrious in their own simplicity.
'T was ere the neighboring Virgin Land had broke
The hogsheads of her worse than hellish smoke;
'T was ere the Islands sent their presents in,
Which but to use was counted next to sin;
'T was ere a barge had made so rich a freight
As chocolate, dust-gold, and bits of eight;
Ere wines from France and Muscovado too,
Without the which the drink will scarcely do.
From Western Isles, ere fruits and delicacies
Did rot maids' teeth and spoil their handsome faces,
Or ere these times did chance the noise of war
Was from our tines and hearts removed far,
Then had the churches rest: as yet, the coals
Were covered up in most contentious souls;
Freeness in judgment, union in affection,
Dear love, sound truth, they were our grand protection.
Then were the times in which our Councils sat,
These grave prognostics of our future state;
If these be longer lived, our hopes increase,
These wars will usher in a longer peace;
But if New England's love die in its youth,
The grave will open next for blessed truth.

"This theme is out of date; the peaceful hours
When castles needed not, but pleasant bowers,
Not ink, but blood and tears now serve the turn
To draw the figure of New England's urn.
New England's hour of passion is at hand,
No power except Divine can it withstand.
Scarce hath her glass of fifty years run out,
Than her old prosperous steeds turn heads about;
Tracking themselves back to their poor beginnings,
To fear and fare upon the fruits of sinnings.
So that this mirror of the Christian world
Lies burnt to heaps in part, her streamers furled.
Grief sighs, joys flee, and dismal fears surprise,
Not dastard spirits only, but the wise.

"Thus have the fairest hopes deceived the eye
Of the big-swoln expectants standing by
So the proud ship, after a little turn,
Sinks in the ocean's arms to find its urn:
Thus hath the heir to many thousands born
Been in an instant from the mother torn;
Even thus thy infant cheek begins to pale,
And thy supporters through great losses fail.
This is the Prologue to thy future woe--
The Epilogue no mortal yet can know."

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 company with Mr. Phillips of Rowley, and Mr. Parker of Newbury, and stopping all night at a poor house near 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 aptly citing passages of Scripture with regard to whatsoever food was upon the table before him, Mr. Parker and himself did greatly 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 so 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."

Doctor 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 ready 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-heretic and fanatic 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 anything 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 publicly repented of before his congregation the next year."

Mr. Saltonstall told another story of old Mr. Ward, which made us all merry. There was a noted Antinomian, of Boston, who used to go 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 cattle, and that they would do well to take their horses to the ordinary, where they would be better cared for. But the fellow, not wishing to be so 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 very pleasant and agreeable manner. We had rare nuts, and apples, and pears, of Mr. Saltonstall's raising, wonderfully 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 beds, 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:

"Wines from France and Muscovado too;"

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 Colony.

November 24.

Mr. Ward's negro girl Dinah came for me yesterday, saying that her master did desire to see me. So, marvelling greatly 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 greatly fear was likely 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 company of the Brewster family, noted Quakers and ranters. He had the last evening had some words with the lad, but with small satisfaction. Being sorely 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 family and friends, by running out into heresies. Leonard said he was sorry to give trouble to any one, least of all to his beloved sister; that he did indeed go to the Quakers' meeting, on one occasion, to judge for himself concerning this people, who are everywhere spoken against; and that he must say he did hear or see nothing in their worship contrary to the Gospel. There was, indeed, but little said, but the words were savory and Scriptural. "But they deny 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 do not so understand them," said Leonard; "I think they do diligently 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 early fathers and devout men of all ages. I do not go to excuse the Quakers in all that they have done, nor to defend all their doctrines and practices, many 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 do verily think themselves persecuted for righteousness' sake." Hereupon Mr. Ward struck his cane smartly 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 Rosicrucians and Gnostics, 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 body. 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, do altogether justify the sharp treatment they have met with; so that, if they have not all lost their ears, they may thank our clemency rather than their own worthiness to wear them. I do not judge of them ignorantly, for I have dipped into their books, where, what is not downright blasphemy and heresy, 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 prophesy. Then their silent meetings, so called, in the which they do pretend to justify themselves by quoting Revelation, '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, especially of late, and they are getting bolder in consequence; as, for example, the behavior of that shameless young wench in Newbury, who disturbed Brother Richardson's church with her antics 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 greatly 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 aloud, angry tone; "it is the Devil's varnish for heresy. 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 behavior, 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, company coming in, the matter was dropped, to my great joy. I went back much troubled and disquieted for my brother's sake.

November 28, 1678.

Leonard hath left Mr. Ward, and given up the thought of fitting for the ministry. This will be a heavy blow for his friends in England. He tells me that Mr. Ward spake angrily 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 fanning, of the which he hath some little knowledge, believing that he can be as happy and do 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 enthusiastic 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 o-morrow to Newbury, so 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 greatly won upon me by her beauty, gentleness, and her goodness of heart; and, besides, I know that she is much esteemed by the best sort of people in her neighborhood.

Doctor Thompson left this morning, but his friend Doctor 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 copy.

"Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
And gone the Summer's pomp and show
And Autumn in his leafless bowers
Is waiting for the Winter's snow.

"I said to Earth, so cold and gray,
'An emblem of myself thou art:'
'Not so,' the earth did seem to say,
'For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.

"'I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams
Of warmer sun and softer rain,
And wait to hear the sound of streams
And songs of merry birds again.

"'But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone,
For whom the flowers no longer blow,
Who standest, blighted and forlorn,
Like Autumn waiting for the snow.

"'No hope is thine of sunnier hours,
Thy winter shall no more depart;
No Spring revive thy wasted flowers,
Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart.'"

Doctor Clark, on hearing this read, told Rebecca she need not take its melancholy to heart, for he could assure her that there was no 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 safely warrant him to be heart-whole; and the company could bear him witness, that the poet himself seemed very 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 Madain 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 deer 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 dog. 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. So when squaw like to starve, I shoot one of their hogs, 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 do 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."

So saying, he put his pack on his back, and calling a poor, lean dog, that was poking his hungry nose into Madam's pots and kettles, he went off talking to himself. _

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