Chapter V Chapter VAAMONG the three or four scamps and scalawags who somehow strayed, into the holy communities of New England, and whose disreputable figures add a welcome touch of comic relief to the high seriousness of the Puritan drama, was Captain John Underhill. He was a soldier, brought along by the Massachusetts Bay Company more for his usefulness than for his piety; he did yeoman service in drilling farm boys and apprentices into soldiers and Indian fighters, but he succumbed to the insidious influence of Mrs. Anne Hutchinson, and gave a spectacular example of the worst implications of her teachings. Being assured that he was united to Christ by an immediate joining of spirits, he became confident he could do no wrong and need no longer respect the rules and regulations of civilized society. In 1638 he was arraigned before the General Court on the charge, among others, of calling the authorities of Massachusetts Scribes and Pharisees. A witness further deposed that he had told her how he had sought five years for grace, “and could get no assurance, till at length, as he was taking a pipe of tobacco, the Spirit set home an absolute promise of free grace with such assurance and joy, as he never since doubted of his good estate, neither should he, though he should fall into sin.” Thereupon he proceeded not simply to fall, but more accurately to plunge into a considerable quantity of sin, without so much as a single qualm of conscience.
Underhill was dealt with by the usual machinery of Puritan justice. The ministers explained the nature of his sins, and the magistrates passed such sentence as those sins deserved. His ethical theories were of course exposed as dangerous fallacies; John Cotton also took occasion to point out that any sense of assurance obtained while he was occupied in so trivial and worldly a practice as smoking his pipe was suspect to begin with, and further declared that except in a few special cases, as with St. Paul, the experience of regeneration does not come upon a man in a sudden flash, but slowly and by degrees. Assurance of salvation does not hit the saint like a brickbat on the head, but is gradually and industriously acquired by his diligent pursuit of religious ordinances and strenuous meditation upon God’s word. Therefore Cotton seriously “advised him well to examine the revelation and joy which he had.” 1 Captain Underhill made a pretense of profiting by this advice, but still went from bad to worse, and at last the government and churches breathed a long sigh of relief when he and his erroneous assurance went off to New Amsterdam to take service with the Dutch.
It is probable that the Puritans in England had been more ready to conceive of regeneration as a clap of thunderous illumination, but in New England the heresy of the Antinomians and the whole task of holding religious passion within the limits of control and orderly procedure accentuated the tendency to regard the experience not as a sudden convulsion of the soul wrought in the twinkling of an eye, but as a laborious process. Too many of these cataclysmic conversions turned out like Captain Underbill’s. Consequently the standard doctrine in New England very soon was crystallized in the statement that though in rare instances the Holy Ghost might overwhelm a soul without any previous preparation, still for most persons the call of Christ would come through a long succession of sermons carefully and inwardly digested, long conferences with ministers and saints, years of self-examination and sustained endeavor to live the saintly life. Samuel Willard explained that those who “Commence Believers” (using the academic phrase, by which a student given a degree was said “to commence”) without an antecedent and long-drawn out conviction and period of humiliation were apt to prove apostates, that God carries his decree of election in secret ways “under ground a great while, before it rise and break out in effectual Calling.” 2 The whole process was mysterious, it was something that happened to men and women, not something they brought about of their own volition. Another minister, seeking for a metaphor to illustrate it, hit upon one of the happier figures of Puritan sermonizing:
It fares here, as when persons by some unobserved and unforeseen emanations of spirits from the heart, and pressing through the optick nerves flow into their mutual eyes, and dart themselves into one an-others breasts, whence they become suddenly taken, and as it were in-kindled by certain lineatures in their feitures; and are rapt into deep admiration of somewhat in each other, which neither themselves nor the wisest Philosopher in being can give reason sagacious enough to unfold the surprizing influence when they are constellated to conjugal union.3
Some couples may indeed fall in love at first sight, but the average pair of lovers advance somewhat less precipitously, what with emanations of spirits pressing through the optic nerves, and are less aware of what is happening to them, up to the very point of proposal; so the normal saints become aware only after a time of doubt and bewilderment that the seeds of grace have been sown in their hearts.
It is necessary to keep this doctrine in mind when we come to the reading of Puritan journals, diaries, and biographies, for it explains the purpose of the Puritan’s study of his own life, or of the lives of others. The ways of grace were manifold and no two men ever underwent the crisis in a perfectly similar fashion; in order that we might know the nature and manifestations of the disease, it was necessary to peruse the records of those who had undergone it, and to keep a full medical chart upon our own pulse and temperature. The art of biography as understood by the Puritans was the preparation of case histories. And every man who was concerned about his own plight should take down a daily record of his fluctuations and his symptoms, so that he could view himself with the complete objectivity demanded for accurate diagnosis of his spiritual health or sickness. A journal covering several years’ experience could, when critically perused, offer the best evidence as to whether or not the secret decree of God had been operating “under ground” during that time. Accounts of individuals’ own lives, or of the lives of great men and conspicuous saints, were not to be descriptions of their appearances or of the clothes they wore or of what they ate for breakfast, but of the works of grace in their hearts and the exemplifications of the spirit in their conduct. The masterpiece of autobiography in this vein is Bunyan’s Grace Abounding, and in The Pilgrim’s Progress is the type figure for all Puritan journeys from birth to death, the supreme exemplar of which the biography of each particular Christian is but the individual variant.
It is probable that almost every literate Puritan kept some sort of journal; the number of diaries that remain from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries is legion, and the habit became so thoroughly ingrained in the New England character that it remained a practice with various Yankees long after they had ceased to be Puritans, to the great enrichment of our political and literary history, as witness the diaries of John Quincy Adams and Gideon Welles, or the journals of Emerson, Thoreau, and Hawthorne. Henry Adams, dissecting his career in the search for “education,” is writing in the true New England tradition, and undertakes no more than countless Puritans had done when they submitted their lives to microscopic examination to discover if they had at any time found that vision of the unity and meaning of the universe which they called regeneration and for which he endeavored to substitute a dynamic theory of history.
The preoccupation with the subjective life and the essential sameness of the experiences recorded make most of these early journals monotonous and unrevealing. Very few of them tell us anything of what people did or what they said or how they occupied their time, and of what they thought there appears but one reiterated strain. Most of them are not of great interest to the historian and of less to the general reader, but there is a brilliant exception, both for its literary charm and historical value, in that of Samuel Sewall. The reasons for its pre-eminence are in part the result of the times and circumstances in which Sewall made his jottings. He lived through the transition from the religious seventeenth century to the more wordly eighteenth, and though he was a conservative in doctrinal belief and disinclined to many new customs and ideas, whether periwigs or the Copernican hypothesis, still he was bound to move with his age. Consequently, though the early pages of his journal are concerned with probings into the state of his soul and with pious meditations, and though he continues to the end of his days “improving” occasions with spiritual moralizings, yet even with him the religious preoccupation perceptibly lessened, and for the last thirty or forty years he recorded more and more of his secular employments and worldly fortunes. In his old age, after his first wife died, he went a-courting, and put down the story of his successes and rebuffs with an attention to incidentals that would hardly have been possible in a diary of the seventeenth century. The result was that he created, all unknowingly, two minor literary triumphs, the stories of his failure to acquire the hand of either the timorous widow Denison or of the supremely competent widow Winthrop.
Sewall’s journal is also exceptional because of his own prominence in the political affairs of the colony, Though trained for the ministry, his bent was for business and administration; he married the daughter of John Hull, the mintmaster and one of the wealthiest men of the community; he inherited property from his father-in-law, and always had a considerable estate to manage. He served the colony in many official capacities, as magistrate, judge, and at last chief justice. Inevitably he recorded his meetings with leading men of the colony, of discussions* in the council, of squabbles among the politicians, of good dinners enjoyed by the judges while riding the circuit, and of crises in the state. He was appointed by Governor Phips to serve on the special court that tried and condemned the witches at Salem; he concurred in the decisions at the time, but a few years later he realized, along with most intelligent opinion in the colony, that the community had been stampeded by panic and that innocent men and women had been slaughtered. The chief justice of that particular court, William Stoughton, in whose address before the General Court of 1668 had glowed the confidence that New England was the apple of the divine eye (pp. 243–246), never repented his share in the executions,, but Sewall was of larger mold. The custom in the churches was for anyone who wanted the prayers of the congregation during affliction, or their sympathy during repentance, to post a notice of the request before the assembly; Sewall put up the sheet which he transcribes in his diary, announcing his humiliation and repentance for misjudging the innocent, and sat during this Sabbath not in the pew to which he, as a pillar of the church and the leader of the singing, was entitled, but on the mourners’ bench, where convicted sinners were customarily exhibited to the admonition and censure of the godly.
This act indicates that there is still a further reason for the quality of Sewall’s diary besides the times and his official prominence. He was a limited and prosaic man, but there is an honesty about him that shines through his pages, even where he himself least intended it or where it does not show him to advantage. The unconscious humor and the unwitting self-portraiture of the story of the courtships elevate those portions of the journal into the realm of classic confessionals. His meditation, in 1727, upon the death of his classmate, when he himself was seventy-five and had but three years to live, reveals the essential depth of the man, for all his crotchets and shortcomings.
Thomas Shepard, the great preacher who succeeded Hooker at Cambridge, wrote the narrative of his life for the edification of his children. John Williams, pastor at Deerfield, told of the massacre and his captivity in Canada for the edification of all the righteous; his book was bought and read not only by them, but, one suspects, by many others, for he managed to tell a good adventure story that sold to a tune which must have warmed his publishers’ hearts. Shepard was much the greater man of the two, with a larger breadth of education and vision; Williams was a back-country minister, a provincial figure with a limited imagination and not much taste, but his courage was invincible and his devotion to what he believed very little short of incredible. The two narratives reveal much about the Puritan character, and a comparison of them indicates some of the features that remained constant in a hundred years of development, and some that changed.
The literary value of letters written by Puritans is naturally fugitive. Thousands of papers survive from the seventeenth century, and most of them concern immediate affairs. Those of John Winthrop to his wife, particularly at the time of the departure for New England, not only throw light upon the circumstances of that expedition, but reveal certain depths of the Puritan spirit and the nature of conjugal affection in Puritan households. Mrs. Winthrop was to remain in England until a home was prepared in America; on Mondays and Fridays at five in the afternoons they agree to drop all distractions and to think of each other; in another letter, written on St. Valentine’s Day, he closes by assuring his Margaret she is his Valentine. Tenderness and love undoubtedly existed here, but side by side with it there was religious passion, so that he mingles exhortation with his affection, and she, pining in his absence, welcomes his love letters because they serve her instead of a sermon. The letters of Roger Williams are clear revelations of the spirit of the man, and proclaim his greatness and his nobility as no panegyrics could do. The correspondence with Mrs. Sadleir furnishes a commentary upon his theories of religious liberty; it also illustrates that this splendid radical had something in him of the tactless intrusiveness of the doctrinaire, who sees nothing amiss in forcing his well-meaning attentions upon those who want none of them.
The art of formal biography is here represented by the work of Increase and Cotton Mather. Increase proposed the task of writing his father’s life immediately after the old gentleman died, telling himself “it would be a service not only honorable to my Father, but acceptable & honorable to the name of God.” As Professor Murdock has said, the biography reaches “a simple dignity that comes close to art.” 4 Cotton Mather provided in the Magnolia a complete list of New England leaders and supplied their biographies; the faults of his work have already been commented upon (p. 90), and are indeed all too obvious, but it is a mine of information and a storehouse of Puritan beliefs. The life of Eliot is one of his happier efforts; it is at least an excellent illustration of the values which were to be perceived according to Puritan standards in the life of a saint, and of the manner in which the moral of a holy career was to be pointed up. The chapter on Eliot’s birth, early life, and marriage makes “no more than an entrance in the history,” which becomes really significant with the account of his conversion; episodes are stressed not for themselves, but for their meanings, and are shamelessly taken as occasions for generalization; the death scene is draped in the phrases appropriate to the saint’s certain translation from earth to heaven.
The pilgrimage of man and woman from earth to heaven is still the theme of Parson Ebenezer Turell when he relates the lives of his father-in-law and of his wife. Jane Turell evidentiy possessed the authentic Puritan conscience, and agonized in the approved abasement of spirit over her salvation. But in these works a new note begins to sound; the title page proclaims the life of a lady who was not only “pious” but “ingenious”; she had “digested” English poetry, and was versed in “polite pieces in prose”; her husband was first attracted to her not only by her sanctity but by her “taste,” which he feared so much that even at her request he would not venture to translate a psalm lest he do violence to her sensibilities by the grossness of his masculine meters. When such criteria began to creep into the judgment of biographers, the Puritan age was on the wane.
[For Winthrop’s life see p. 125. Margaret Winthrop was John’s third wife; they were married in 1618. She died in 1647 (see Winthrop’s notice, p. 142). Texts are from Winthrop Papers, Vol. II (Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston, 1931).]
THE LARGNESSE and trueth of my loue to thee makes me allwayes mindfull of thy wellfare, and settes me on to worke to beginne to write, before I heare from thee: the verye thought of thee affordes me many a kynde refreshinge, what will then the enioyinge of thy sweet societye, which I prize aboue all worldly comfortes?
Yet such is the folye and miserye of man, as he is easylye brought to contemne the true good he enioyes, and to neglect the best thinges which he holdes onely in hope, and bothe vpon an vngrounded desire of some seeminge good which he promiseth to himselfe: and if it be thus with vs, that are Christians, who haue a sure worde to directe vs, and the holy Faith to hue by, what is the madnesse and bondage of those who are out of Christ? O: the riches of Christ! O: the sweetnesse of the worde of Grace! it rauisheth my soule in the thought heerof, so as when I apprehende but a glimpse of the dignitye and felicitye of a Christian, I can hardly perswade my heart, to hope for so great happynesse: let men talke what they will of riches, honors pleasures etc.; let vs haue Christ crucified, and let them take all besides: for indeed, he who hath Christ hath all thinges with him, for he enioyeth an allsufficiencie which makes him abundantly riche in pouertye, honorable in the lowest abasementes, full of ioye and consolation in the sharpest Afflictions, liuinge in death, and possessinge aeternitye in this vale of miserye: therefore blesse we God, for his free and infinite mercye, in bestowinge Christ vpon vs: let vs entertaine and loue him with our whole heartes: let vs trust in him, and cleaue to him, with denyall of our selues, and all thinges besides, and account our portion the best in the world: that so beinge strengthned and comforted in his loue, we may putt forth our selues, to improue our life and meanes, to doe him seruice: there are very fewe howers lefte of this daye of our labour, then comes the night, when we shall take our rest, in the mominge we shall awake vnto glorye and immortalitye, when we shall haue no more worke to doe, no more paines or griefe to endure, no more care, feare, want, reproach, or infirmitye; no more sinne, corruption or temptation.
I am forced to patch vp my lettres, heer a peece and there another. I haue now receiued thine, the kyndly fruites of thy most sweet Affection. Blessed be the Lorde for the wellfare of thy selfe and all our familye. I receiued lettres from my 2: sonnes with thee, remember my loue and blessinge to them, and to my daughter Winthfrop] for whose safetye I giue the Lord thankes: I haue so many lettres to write as I cannot write to them now: our freindes heer are in reasonable health, and desire to be kindly remembered to you all. Commende me to all my good freindes, my louinge neighbours goodman Cole and his wife, to whom we are allwayes much behouldinge. I will remember M[ary] her gowne and petticoate, and the childrens girdles. So with my most affectionate desires of thy wellfare, and my blessinge to all our children, I kisse my sweet wife, and comende thee and all ours to the gratious protection of our heauenly father, and rest Thy faithfull husbande still present with thee in his most vnkinde absence
Jo: Winthrop.
May 8 1629.
I am sorye for my neighbour Bluetes horse, but he shall loose nothinge by him. tell my sonne Hen: I will pay the mony he writes of.
My good wife, I prayse the Lorde for the wished newes of thy well-fare and of the rest of our Companye, and for the continuance of ours heer: it is a great favour, that we may enioye so much comfort and peace in these so euill and declininge tymes and when the increasinge of our sinnes giues vs so great cause to looke for some heauye Scquorge and Judgment to be comminge vpon us: the Lorde hath admonished, threatened, corrected, and astonished vs, yet we growe worse and worse, so as his spirit will not allwayes striue with vs, he must needs giue waye to his furye at last: he hath smitten all the other Churches before our eyes, and hath made them to drinke of the bitter cuppe of tribulation, euen vnto death; we sawe this, and humbled not our-selues, to turne from our euill wayes, but haue prouoked him more then all the nations rounde about vs: therefore he is turninge the cuppe towards vs also, and because we are the last, our portion must be, to drinke the verye dreggs which remaine: my deare wife, I am veryly perswaded, God will bringe some heauye Affliction vpon this lande, and that speedylye: but be of good Comfort, the hardest that can come shall be a meanes to mortifie this bodye of Corruption, which is a thousand tymes more dangerous to vs then any outward tribulation, and to bringe vs into neerer communion with our Lo: Jes: Christ, and more Assurance of his kingdome. If the Lord seeth it wilbe good for vs, he will prouide a shelter and a hidinge place for vs and ours as a Zoar for Lott,1 Sarephtah for his prophet etc: if not, yet he will not forsake vs: though he correct vs with the roddes of men, yet if he take not his mercye and louinge kindnesse from vs we shalbe safe. He onely is allsufficient, if we haue him, we haue all thinges: if he seeth it not good, to cutt out our portion in these thinges belowe equall to the largnesse of our desires, yet if he please to frame our mindes to the portion he allottes vs, it wilbe as well for vs.
I thanke thee for thy kinde lettre, I am goinge to Westminster], and must heere breake of. I would haue my sonne H[enry] to be heere on teusdaye that I may goe out of towne on wensdaye or thursdaye next. If marye her gowne be made I will send it down by Smith this weeke, or els next, with other thinges: all our freindes heer are indifferent well, and desire to be comended to thee, so with my hearty salut[ation]s to all our freindes with thee, my loue and blessinge to my sonnes and daughteres, In very much hast, I ende and commende thee and all ours to the gratious protection and blessinge of the Lorde so I kisse my sweet wife, and thinke longe till I see thee farewell. Thine
Jo: Winthrop.
I thanke thee for our Turkye
May 15 1629
Most louinge and good Husband, I haue receued your letters, the true tokens of your loue and care of my good, now in your abcence as well as when you are present, it makes me thinke that sayinge falce out of sight out of minde. I am sure my hart and thoughts are all wayes neere you to doe you good and not euill all the dayse of my life.
I hope through gods blessinge your paynes will not be all together lost which you bestow vpon me in rightinge those serious thoughts of your owne which you sent me did make a very good supply in stead of a sarmon. I shall often reade them and desyre to be of gods famyle to home so many blessinges be-longe and pray that I may not be one separated from god whose concience is alwayes accusinge them. I shall not neede to right to you of any thing this weke my sonne and brother Goslinge can tell you how we are. and I shall thinke longe for your cominge home, and thus with my best loue to you I beseech the lord to send vs a comfortable meetinge in his good time I commit you to the Lord. Your louinge and obedient wife
Margaret Winthrope.
[Ca. May 18, 1629.]
My deare Husband, I knowe thou art desyrus to heere often from vs which makes me take plesure in rightinge to thee, and in relatinge my true affections to thee and desyers of your wished welfayer. the good lord be euer with thee and prosper all thy affayres [in] this great and waytty busines which is now in hand, that it may be for the glory of his most holy name and furtherance of his gospell, but I must part with my most deare Husban, which is a uery hard tryall for me to vndergoe, if the lord doe not supporte and healpe me in it, I shalbe vnable to beare it. I haue now receiued thy kinde letter which I cannot reade without sheding a great many teares, but I will resine thee and giue thee into the hands of the almyti god who is all soficient for thee, whome I trust will keepe thee and prosper thee in the way thou art to goe, if thou walke before him in truth and vprightnesse of hart, he will neuer fayle of his promise to thee, therefore my good Husban chere vp thy hart in god and in the expectation of his fauors and blessings in this thy change, with asurance of his loue in Crist Jesus our lord for our change heare after when we shall Hue with him in glory for euer. as for me his most vnworthy seruant I will cleaue to my Husban Crist as neere as I can though my infirmytyes be great he is able to heale them and wil not forsake me in the time of neede. I know I shall haue thy prayers to god for me that what is wanting in thy presence may be supplyed by the comfort of gods spirit. I am now full of passion haueinge nuly receiued thy letter and not able to right much, my sonne F[orth] will right about other busines. I begine to feare I shall see thee no more before thou goest which I should be very sory for and earnestly intreat thee that thou wilt com once more downe if it be possible, and thus with my due respect to thy selfe brother and sister D. thankes for my learners to my sister, my loue to my sonnes, I commit thee to god and rest Your faythfull and obedient wife
Margaret Winthrope.
My good sister F. remembers hir loue.
[Groton, February 2, 1630.]
My sweet wife, Thy loue is such to me, and so great is the bonde be-tweene vs, that I should neglect all others to hold correspondencye of lettres with thee: but I knowe thou art willinge to dispense with somewhat of thine owne right, to giue me lib[er]ty to satisfie my other occasions for the present, which call me to much writinge this eueninge, otherwise I would haue returned a larger answeare to thy sweet lettre. I prayse God we are all in health, and we goe on cheerfully in our businesse: I purpose (if God will) to be with thee vpon thursdaye come sennight, and then I must take my Farewell of thee, for a summers daye and a winters daye, the Lorde our good God will (I hope) sende vs a happye meetinge againe in his good tyme: Amen. Comende me kindly to my good sister F[ones] I would haue written to her, but I cannot, havinge 6: Lettres to write. I wrote to mr. P[aynter] tell my sister that her mother is brought in bedd and the child dead, and she in great danger, among other thinges let the brassen quart in the Larder howse be putt vp: and my grey cloake and the coate which was my brother Fones. and let this warrant inclosed be sent to Colchester to mr. Samuell Borrowes by the next tyme the carte goes. The Lord blesse thee my sweet wife with all our children: my brother and sister salute you all: my sonnes remember their loue and dutye: comend my loue to all: farewell Thy faithfull husband,
Jo: Winthrop.
[London,] Feb: 5. 1630.
remember to putt me vp some Cardam[ons] and Cardamfon] seed.
Beinge now ready to sende away my lettres; I receiued thine, the readinge of it hath dissolued my head into tears, I can write no more, if I Hue I will see thee ere I goe. I shall parte from thee with sorrowe enough, be comfortable my most sweet wife, our God wilbe with thee Farewell.
My faithfull and deare wife, It pleaseth God that thou shouldest once againe heare from me before our departure, and I hope this shall come safe to thy hands, I knowe it wilbe a great refreshinge to thee: And blessed be his mercye, that I can write thee so good newes, that we are all in verye good health, and hauinge tryed our shipps entertainment now more then a weeke, we finde it agree very well with vs, our boyes are well and cheerfull, and haue no minde of home, they lye both with me, and sleepe as soundly in a rugge (for we vse no sheets heer) as euer they did at Groton, and so I doe my selfe (I prayse God). the winde hath been against vs this weeke and more, but this day it is come faire to the North, so as we are preparinge (by Godes assistance) to sett sayle in the morninge: we haue onely 4: shippes ready, and some 2: or 3: hollandes goe alonge with vs: the rest of our fleet (beinge 7: shippes) will not be ready this senight. we haue spent now 2: sabbaths on shipp board, very comfortably (God be praysed) and are daylye more and more incouraged to looke for the Lords presence to goe alonge with vs: Hen: Kingesburye hath a childe or 2: in the Talbott sicke of the measells, but like to doe well: one of my men had them at Hampton, but he was soone well againe. we are in all our 11: shippes, about 700: persons passengers; and 240 Cowes, and about 60: horses. the shippe which went from Plimouth carried about 140: persons, and the shippe which goes from Bristowe, carrieth about 80: persons. And now (my sweet soule) I must once againe take my last farewell of thee in old England, it goeth verye neere to my heart to leaue thee, but I know to whom I haue committed thee, euen to him, who loues the[e] much better than any husband can, who hath taken account of the haires of thy head, and putts all thy teares in his bottle, who can, and (if it be for his glorye) will bringe vs togither againe with peace and comfort, oh how it refresheth my heart to thinke that I shall yet againe see thy sweet face in the lande of the liuinge: that louely countenance, that I haue so much delighted in, and beheld with so great contente! I haue hetherto been so taken vp with businesse, as I could seldome looke backe to my former happinesse, but now when I shalbe at some leysure, I shall not auoid the remembrance of thee, nor the greife for thy absence: thou hast thy share with me, but I hope, the course we haue agreed vpon wilbe some ease to vs both, mundayes and fiydayes at 5: of the clocke at night, we shall meet in spiritt till we meet in person, yet if all these hopes should faile, blessed be our God, that we are assured, we shall meet one day, if not as husband and wife, yet in a better condition, let that staye and comfort thy heart, neither can the sea drowne thy husband, nor enemyes destroye, nor any adversity depriue thee of thy husband or children, therefore I will onely take thee now and my sweet children in mine armes, and kisse and embrace you all, and so leaue you with my God. farewell farewell. I blesse you all in the name of the Lord Jesus; I salute my daughter Winth: Matt, Nan and the rest, and all my good neighbors and freindes pray all for vs. farewell.
Comende my blessinge to my sonne John. I cannot now write to him, but tell him I haue committed thee and thine to him, labour to drawe him yet nearer to God, and he wilbe the surer staffe of comfort to thee. I cannot name the rest of my good freinds, but thou canst supply it. I wrote a weeke since to thee and mr. Leigh and diuerse others. Thine wheresoever
Jo: Winthrop.
From Aboard the Arbella rydinge at the Gowes march 28. 1630.
I would haue written to my brother and sister Gostlinge, but it is neer midnight, let this excuse and commende my love to them and all theirs.
[For Shepard’s life see p. 117. The autobiography was written for the benefit of his son. This text is from The Autobiography of Thomas Shepard, edited by Allyn B. Forbes, Publications of the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, XXVII (1932), 321–400.]
THE FIRST two yeares I spent in Cambridge was in studying & in my neglect of god & priuate prayer which I had sometime vsed. & I did not regard the Lord at all vnless it were at some fits; the 3d yeare wherin I was Sophister I began to be foolish & proud & to shew my selfe in the publike Schooles; & there to be a disputer about things which now I see I did not know then at all but only prated about them; & toward the end of this yeare when I was most vile (after I had bin next vnto the gates of Death by the [small] Pox the yeare before) the Lord began to Call me home to the fellowship of his grace; which was in this manner
1. I doe remember that I had many good affections (but blind & vnconstant) oft cast into me since my fathers sicknes by the spirit of god wrastling with me, & hence I would pray in secret & hence when I was at Cambridge I heard old Doctor Chadderton 1 the master of the Colledge when I came & the first yeare I was there to heare him vpon a Sacrament day my hart was much affected but I did breake loose from the Lord agayne & halfe a yeare after I heard mr Dickinson common place in the chappell vpon those woords I will not destroy it for tens sake. Gen: 19. & then agayne was much affected, but I shooke this off also & fell from god to loose & lewd company to lust & pride & gaming & bowling & drinking; & yet the Lord left me not but a godly Scholler walking with me, fell to discourse about the misery of euery man out of Christ viz: that what euer they did was sin; & this did much affect me; & at another time when I did light in godly company I heard them discourse about the wrath of god, & the terrour of it & how intolerable it was which they did present by fire how intollerable the torment of that was for a time what then would aeter-nity be; & this did much awaken me; & I began to pray agayne; but then by loose company I came to dispute in the Schooles & there to joyne to loose schollers of other colledges & was fearfully left of god & fell to drinke with them; & I dranke so much on day that I was dead drunke & that vpon a Saturday night & so was carryed from the place I had drinke at & did feast at, vnto a Schollers chamber on Basset of Christs Colledge; & knew not where I was vntill I awakened late on that sabboth & sick with my beastly carriage; & when I awakened I went from him in shame & confusion, & went out into the feelds & there spent that sabboth lying hid in the corne feelds where the Lord who might justly haue cut me off in the mids of my sin; did meet me with much sadnes of hart & troubled my soule for this & other my sins which then I had cause & laysure to thinke of: & now when I was woorst he began to be best vnto me & made me resolue to set vpon a course of dayly meditation about the euill of sin & my own wayes; yet although I was troubled for this sin I did not know my sinfull nature all this while. . . .
At this time I cannot omit the goodnes of god as to my selfe so to all the cuntry in deliuering vs from the Pekoat furies;2 these Indians were the stoutest proudest & most successefull in there wars of all the Indians; there cheefe Sachem was Sasakus, a proud cruell vnhapy & headstrong prince, who not willing to be guided by the perswasions of his fellow an aged Sachem Momanattuck nor fearing the reuenge of the English, hauing first suckt the blood of captaine Ston & mr Oldam found it so sweet & his proceedings for on whole winter so successefull that hauing beseeged & kild about 4 men that kept Seabrook fort he aduentured to fall vpon the English vp the riuer at Wethersfeed where he slew 9 or 10. men women & children at vnawares, & tooke two maids prisoners carrying them away captiue to the Pekoat cuntry herevpon those vpon the riuer first gathered about 70 men & sent them into Pekoat cuntry, to make that the seat of war, & to reuenge the death of those innocents whom they barbarously & most vnnaturally slew; these men marched two dayes & nights from the way of the Naraganset vnto Pekoat; being guided by those Indians then the ancient enemies of the Pekoats they intended to assault Sasakus Fort but falling short of it the second night the prouidence of god guided them to another nearer, full of stout men & their best souldiers being as it were coopt vp there to the number of 3 or 400 in all for the diuine slaughter by the hand of the English; these therfore being all night making merry & singing the death of the English the next day, toward breake of the day being very heauy with sleepe the English drew neare within the sight of the fort, very weary with trauayle & want of sleepe, at which time 500 Naragansets fled for feare & only 2 of the company stood to it to conduct them to the fort & the dore & entrance thereof; the English being come to it awakened the fort with a peale of muskets directed into the midst of there wigwams; & after this some vnder-taking to compasse the fort without some aduentured into the fort vpon the very faces of the enemy standing ready with there arrowes ready bent to shoot who euer should aduenture; but the English casting by there peeces tooke there swoords in there hands (the Lord doubling there strength & courage) & fell vpon the Indians where a hot fight continued about the space of an houre, at last by the direction of on Captayne Mason there wigwams were set on fire which being dry & contiguous on to another was most dreadfull to the Indians, some burning some bleeding to death by the swoord some resisting till they were cut off some flying were beat down by the men without vntill the Lord had vtterly consumed the whole company except 4 or 5. girles they tooke prisoners & dealt with them at Seabrooke as they dealt with ours at Wethersfeeld, & tis verily thought scarce on man escaped vnles on or two to carry foorth tydings of the lamentable end of there fellowes; & of the English not on man was kild but on by the musket of an Englishman (as was concerned) some were wounded much but all recouered & restored agayne. . . .
But the Lord hath not bin woont to let me Hue long without some affliction or other, & yet euer mixt with some mercy, & therefore Aprill the 2d: 1646. as he gaue me another son, John, so he tooke away my most deare precious meeke & louing wife, in childbed, after 3 weekes lying in, hauing left behind her two hopefull branches my deare children, Samuell, & John: this affliction was very heauy to me, for in it the Lord seemd to withdraw his tender care for me & mine, which he graciously manifested by my deare wife; also refused to heare prayer, when I did thinke he would haue hearkned & let me see his bewty in the land of the liuing, in restroring of her to health agayne; also in taking her away in the prime time of her life when shee might haue liued to haue glorifyed the Lord long, also in threatning me to proceed in rooting out my family, & that he would not stop hauing begun here as in Ely for not being zealous enough agaynst the sins of his son; & I saw that if I had profited by former afflictions of this nature I should not haue had this scourge; but I am the Lords, & he may doe with me what he will, he did teach me to prize a little grace gained by a crosse as a sufficient recompense for all outward losses; but this losse was very great; shee was a woman of incomparable meeknes of spirit, toward my selfe especially & very louing; of great prudence to take care for & order my family affayres being neither too lauish nor sordid in any thing so that I knew not what was vnder her hands; shee had an excellency to reprooue for sin & discerned the euills of men; shee loued gods people dearly & studious to profit by there fellowship, & therefore loued there company shee loued gods woord exceedingly & hence was glad shee could read my notes which shee had to muse on euery weeke; shee had a spirit of prayer beyond ordinary of her time & experience shee was fit to dy long before shee did dy, euen after the death of her first borne which was a great affliction to her, but her woorke not being done then shee liued almost 9. yeares with me & was the comfort of my life to me & the last Sacrament before her lying in seemd to be full of Christ & thereby fitted for heauen; shee did oft say shee should not outliue this child; & when her feuer first began (by taking some cold) shee told me soe, that we should loue exceedingly together because we should not Hue long together; her feuer tooke away her sleepe, want of sleepe wrought much distemper in her head, & filled it with fantasies & distractions but without raging; the night before shee dyed, shee had about 6 houres vnquiet sleepe; but that so coold & setled her head, that when shee knew none else so as to speake to them, yet shee knew Jesus Christ & could speake to him, & therefore as soone as shee awakened out of sleepe shee brake out into a most heauenly hartbreaking prayer after Christ her deare redeemer for the sparing of life; & so continued praying vntill the last houre of her death: Lord tho I vnwoorthy Lord on woord on woord &c. & so gaue vp the ghost; thus god hath visited & scourged me for my sins & sought to weane me from this woorld, but I haue euer found it a difficult thing to profit euer but a little by the sorest & sharpest afflictions.
[For Williams’s life see p. 214. The text of these letters is from Publications of the Narragansett Club, Vol. VI (Providence, R. L, 1874), edited by John Russell Bartlett.]
Providence, [April 16, 1638.]
MUCH HONORED SIR,—I kindly thank you for your loving inclination to receive my late protestation concerning myself, ignorant of Mr. Greene’s letter. I desire unfeignedly, to rest in my appeal to the Most High in what we differ, as I dare not but hope you do: it is no small grief that I am otherwise persuaded, and that sometimes you say (and I can say no less) that we differ: the fire will try your works and mine: the Lord Jesus help us to make sure of our persons that we seek Jesus that was crucified: however it is and ever shall be (the Lord assisting) my endeavor to pacify and allay, where I meet with rigid and censorious spirits, who not only blame your actions but doom your persons . . .
Sir, there will be new Heavens and a new Earth shortly but no more Sea. (Revel. 21. 2.) the most holy God be pleased to make us willing now to bear the tossings, dangers and calamities of this sea, and to seal up to use upon his own grounds, a great lot in the glorious state approaching. So craving pardon for prolixity, with mine and my wife’s due respect to Mrs. Winthrop, Mr. Deputy, Mr. Bellingham, &c, I rest
Your worship’s desirous to be ever yours unfeigned
Roger Williams.
[Mrs. Sadleir was the daughter of the famous lawyer, Sir Edward Coke, who had been the benefactor and patron of Roger Williams before Williams came to New England. Though the father had been one of the great maintainers of Parliamentary government against the absolutism of James I, the daughter had obviously come to feel by 1652 that constitutional opposition had long since passed into overt rebellion, and no longer held with any of the programs of the Protectorate. When Williams came to England in 1652, having published opinions that were identified with the most radical wing of the revolutionary forces, he innocently attempted to pay his respects to the daughter of his old friend, and the following correspondence ensued.]
For my much honored kind friend, Mistress Sadleir, at Stondon, Puckridge, these.
From my lodgings near St. Martin’s, at Mr. Davis his house, at the sign of the Swan.
[London, 1652]
MY MUCH HONORED FRIEND, MRS. SADLEIR,—The never-dying honor and respect which I owe to that dear and honorable root and his branches, and, amongst the rest, to your much honored self, have emboldened me, once more, to enquire after your dear husband’s and your life, and health, and welfare. This last winter I landed, once more, in my native country, being sent over from some parts of New England with some addresses to the Parliament.
My very great business, and my very great straits of time, and my very great journey homeward to my dear yoke-fellow and many children, I greatly fear will not permit me to present my ever-obliged duty and service to you, at Stondon, especially if it please God that I may despatch my affairs to depart with the ships within this fortnight. I am, therefore, humbly bold to crave your favorable consideration, and pardon, and acceptance, of these my humble respects and remembrances. It hath pleased the Most High to carry me on eagles’ wings, through mighty labors, mighty hazards, mighty sufferings, and to vouchsafe to use, so base an instrument—as I humbly hope—to glorify himself, in many of my trials and sufferings, both amongst the English and barbarians.
I have been formerly, and since I landed, occasioned to take up the two-edged sword of God’s Spirit, the word of God, and to appear in public in some contests against the ministers of Old and New England, as touching the true ministry of Christ and the soul freedoms of the people. Since I landed, I have published two or three things, and have a large discourse at the press, but ‘tis controversial, with which I will not trouble your meditations; only I crave the boldness to send you a plain and peaceable discourse, of my own personal experiments, which, in a letter to my dear wife—upon the occasion of her great sickness near death—I sent her, being absent myself amongst the Indians.1 And being greatly obliged to Sir Henry Vane, junior-—once Governor of New England—and his lady, I was persuaded to publish it in her name, and humbly to present your honorable hands with one or two of them. I humbly pray you to cast a serious eye on the holy Scriptures, on which the examinations are grounded. I could have dressed forth the matter like some sermons which, formerly, I used to pen. But the Father of lights hath long since shown me the vanity and soul-deceit of such points and flourishes. I desire to know nothing, to profess nothing, but the Son of God. the King of souls and consciences; and I desire to be more thankful for a reproof for ought I affirm than for applause and commendation. I have been oft glad in the wilderness of America, to have been reproved for going in a wrong path, and to be directed by a naked Indian boy in my travels. How much more should we rejoice in the wounds of such as we hope love us in Christ Jesus, than in the deceitful kisses of soul-deceiving and soul-killing friends.
My much honored friend, that man of honor, and wisdom, and piety, your dear father, was often pleased to call me his son; and truly it was as bitter as death to me when Bishop Laud pursued me out of this land, and my conscience was persuaded against the national church and ceremonies, and bishops, beyond the conscience of your dear Father. I say it was as bitter as death to me, when I rode Windsor way, to take ship at Bristow, and saw Stoke House, where the blessed man was; and I then durst not acquaint him with my conscience, and my flight. But how many thousand times since have I had honorable and precious remembrance of his person, and the life, the writings, the speeches, and the examples of that glorious light. And I may truly say, that beside my natural inclination to study and activity, his example, instruction, and encouragement, have spurred me on to a more than ordinary, industrious, and patient course in my whole course hitherto.
What I have done and suffered—and I hope for the truth of God according to my conscience—in Old and New England, I should be a fool in relating, for I desire to say, not to King David—as once Mephibosheth—but to King Jesus, “What is thy servant, that thou shouldest look upon such a dead dog?” And I would not tell yourself of this, but that you may acknowledge some beams of his holy wisdom and goodness, who hath not suffered all your own and your dear father’s smiles to have been lost upon so poor and despicable an object. I confess I have many adversaries, and also many friends, and divers eminent. It hath pleased the general 2 himself to send for me, and to entertain many discourses with me at several times; which, as it magnifies his christian nobleness and courtesy, so much more doth it magnify His infinite mercy and goodness, and wisdom, who hath helped me, poor worm, to sow that seed in doing and suffering—I hope for God— that as your honorable father was wont to say, he that shall harrow what I have sown, must rise early. And yet I am a worm and nothing, and desire only to find my all in the blood of an holy Savior, in whom I desire to be
Your honored,
Most thankful, and faithful servant,
Roger Williams.
My humble respects presented to Mr. Sadleir.
Mr. Williams,—Since it hath pleased God to make the prophet David’s complaint ours (Ps. lxxix.): “O God, the heathen,” &c, and that the Apostle St. Peter has so long ago foretold, in his second epistle, the second chapter, by whom these things should be occasioned, I have given over reading many books, and, therefore, with thanks, have returned yours. Those that I now read, besides the Bible, are, first, the late King’s book; Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity; Reverend Bishop Andrew’s Sermons, with his other divine meditations; Dr. Jer. Taylor’s works; and Dr. Tho. Jackson upon the Creed.3 Some of these my dear father was a great admirer of, and would often call them the glorious lights of the church of England. These lights shall be my guide; I wish they may be yours: for your new lights that are so much cried up, I believe, in the conclusion, they will prove but dark lanterns: therefore I dare not meddle with them.
Your friend in the old way,
Anne Sadleir.
For his much honored, kind friend, Mrs. Anne Sadleir, at Stondon, in Hartfordshire, near Puckridge.
My much honored, kind Friend, Mrs. Sadleir,—
. . . You were pleased to direct me to divers books, for my satisfaction. I have carefully endeavoured to get them, and some I have gotten; and upon my reading, I purpose, with God’s help, to render you an ingenuous and candid account of my thoughts, result, &c. At present, I am humbly bold to pray your judicious and loving eye to one of mine.
’Tis true, I cannot but expect your distaste of it; and yet my cordial desire of your soul’s peace here, and eternal, and of contributing the least mite toward it, and my humble respects to that blessed root of which you spring, force me to tender my acknowledgments, which if received or rejected, my cries shall never cease that one eternal life may give us meeting, since this present minute hath such bitter partings.
For the scope of this rejoinder, if it please the Most High to direct your eye to a glance on it, please you to know, that at my last being in England, I wrote a discourse entitled, “The Bloudy Tenent of Persecution for Cause of Conscience.” I bent my charge against Mr. Cotton especially, your standard bearer of New English ministers. That discourse he since answered, and calls his book, “ The Bloody Tenent made white in the Blood of the Lamb.” This rejoinder of mine, as I humbly hope, unwasheth his washings, and proves that in soul matters no weapons but soul weapons are reaching and effectual.
I am your most unworthy servant, yet unfeignedly respective,
Roger Williams.
Sir,—I thank God my blessed parents bred me up in the old and best religion, and it is my glory that I am a member of the Church of England, as it was when all the reformed churches gave her the right hand. When I cast mine eye upon the frontispiece of your book, and saw it entitled “The Bloudy Tenent,” I durst not adventure to look into it, for fear it should bring into my memory the much blood that has of late been shed, and which I would fain forget; therefore I do, with thanks, return it. I cannot call to mind any blood shed for conscience:—some few that went about to make a rent in our once well-governed church were punished, but none suffered death. But this I know, that since it has been left to every man’s conscience to fancy what religion he list, there has more christian blood been shed than was in the ten persecutions. And some of that blood, will, I fear, cry till the day of judgment. But you know what the Scripture says, that when there was no king in Israel, every man did that which was right in his own eyes,—but what became of that, the sacred story will tell you.
Thus entreating you to trouble me no more in this kind, and wishing you a good journey to your charge in New Providence, I rest
Your Friend in the Old and Best Way.
My honored, kind Friend, Mrs. Sadleir,—
. . . That you admire the king’s book, and Bp. Andrews his sermons, and Hooker’s Polity, &c, and profess them to be your lights and guides, and desire them mine, and believe the new lights will prove dark lanterns, &c. I am far from wondering at it, for all this have I done myself, until the Father of Spirits mercifully persuaded mine to swallow down no longer without chewing: to chew no longer without tasting; to taste no longer without begging the Holy Spirit of God to enlighten and enliven mine against the fear of men, tradition of fathers, or the favor or custom of any men or times. . . .
I have read those books you mention, and the king’s book, which commends two of them, Bishop Andrews’s and Hooker’s—yea, and a third also, Bishop Laud’s: and as for the king, I knew his person, vicious, a swearer from his youth, and an oppressor and persecutor of good men (to say nothing of his own father), and the blood of so many hundred thousands English, Irish, Scotch, French, lately charged upon him. Against his and his blasphemous father’s cruelties, your own dear father, and many precious men, shall rise up shortly and cry for vengeance. . . .
The Turks—so many millions of them—-prefer their Mahomet before Christ Jesus, even upon such carnal and worldly respects, and yet avouch themselves to be the only Muselmanni or true believers. The catholics account us heretics, diabloes, &c; and why? but because we worship not such a golden Christ and his glorious vicar and lieutenant. The several sects of common protestants content themselves with a traditional worship, and boast they are no Jews, no Turks, (Matt. vii. 21, 22.) nor catholics, and yet forget their own formal dead faith, (2 Tim. iii. 9.) dead hope, dead joys, and yet, nescio vos, I know you not, depart from me, which shall be thundered out to many gallant professors and considents, who have held out a lamp and form of religion, yea, and possibly of godliness too, and yet have denied the power and life of it. . . .
God’s Spirit persuadeth the hearts of his true servants: First, to be willing to be searched by him, which they exceedingly beg of him, with holy fear of self-deceit and hypocrisy.
Second. To be led by him in the way everlasting: (Ps. cxxxix.), whether it seem old in respect of institution, or new in respect of restoration. This I humbly pray for your precious soul, of the God and Father of mercies, even your eternal joy and salvation. Earnestly desirous to be in the old way, which is the narrow way, which leads to life, which few find. Your most humble, though most unworthy servant,
Roger Williams.
My honored Friend, since you please not to read mine, let me pray leave to request your reading of one book of your own authors. I mean the “Liberty of Prophesying,” penned by (so called) Dr. Jer. Taylor. In the which is excellently asserted the toleration of different religions, yea, in a respect, that of the papists themselves, which is a new way of soul freedom, and yet is the old way of Christ Jesus, as all his holy Testament declares.
I also humbly wish that you may please to read over impartially Mr. Milton’s answer to the king’s book.4
Mr. Williams,—I thought my first letter would have given you so much satisfaction, that, in that kind, I should never have heard of you any more; but it seems you have a face of brass; so that you cannot blush. But since you press me to it, I must let you know, as I did before (Ps. lxxix.), that the Prophet David there complains that the heathen had defiled the holy temple, and made Jerusalem a heap of stones. And our blessed Saviour, when he whipped the buyers and sellers out of the temple, told them that they had made his Father’s house a den of thieves. Those were but material temples, and commanded by God to be built, and his name there to be worshipped. The living temples are those that the same prophet, in the psalm before mentioned (verse the 2nd and 3rd), “The dead bodies of thy servants have they given to the fowls of the air, and the flesh of thy saints to the beasts of the land. Their blood have they shed like water,” &c. And these were the living temples whose loss the prophet so much laments; and had he lived in these times, he would have doubled these lamentations. For the foul and false aspersions you have cast upon that king, of ever-blessed memory, Charles, the martyr, I protest I trembled when I read them, and none but such a villain as yourself would have wrote them . . .
For Milton’s book, that you desire I should read, if I be not mistaken, that is he that has wrote a book of the lawfulness of divorce; and, if report says true, he had, at that time, two or three wives living. This, perhaps, were good doctrine in New England; but it is most abominable in Old England. For his book that he wrote against the late king that you would have me read, you should have taken notice of God’s judgment upon him, who stroke him with blindness, and, as I have heard, he was fain to have the help of one Andrew Marvell,5 or else he could not have finished that most accursed libel. God has began his judgment upon him here—his punishment will be hereafter in hell. . ..
I cannot conclude without putting you in mind how dear a lover and great an admirer my father was of the liturgy of the church of England, and would often say, no reform church had the like. He was constant to it, both in his life and at his death. I mean to walk in his steps; and, truly, when I consider who were the composers of it, and how they sealed the truth of it with their blood, I cannot but wonder why it should now of late be thus contemned. By what I have now writ, you know how I stand affected. I will walk as directly to heaven as I can, in which place, if you will turn from being a rebel, and fear God and obey the king, there is hope I may meet you there; howsoever, trouble me no more with your letters, for they are very troublesome to her that wishes you in the place from whence you came.
Anne Sadleir.
[Near the direction, on the outside, of Williams’s first letter, there is the following note by Mrs. Sadleir:]—
This Roger Williams, when he was a youth, would, in a short hand, take sermons and speeches in the Star Chamber and present them to my dear father. He, seeing so hopeful a youth, took such liking to him that he sent him in to Sutton’s Hospital, and he was the second that was placed there; full little did he think that he would have proved such a rebel to God, the king, and his country. I leave his letters, that, if ever he has the face to return into his native country, Tyburn may give him welcome.
To my honored, kind friend, Mr. John Winthrop, [Jr.] Governor, at Hartford, on Connecticut.
Providence, 6, 12, 59–60. [6th February, 1660.]
Sir,—Loving respects to yourself and Mrs. Winthrop, &c. Your loving lines in this cold, dead season, were as a cup of your Connecticut cider, which we are glad to hear abounds with you, or of that western metheglin, which you and I have drunk at Bristol together, &c. Indeed, it is the wonderful power and goodness of God, that we are preserved in our dispersions among these wild, barbarous wretches. . . .
Sir, you were, not long since, the son of two noble fathers, Mr. John Winthrop and Mr. H. Peters.6 It is said they are both extinguished. Surely, I did ever, from my soul, honor and love them even when their judgments led them to afflict me. Yet the Father of Spirits spares us breath, and I rejoice, Sir, that your name (amongst the New England magistrates printed, to the Parliament and army, by H. Nort. Rous, &c.,) is not blurred, but rather honored, for your prudent and moderate hand in the late Quakers’ trials amongst us. And it is said, that in the late Parliament, yourself were one of the three in nomination for General Governor over New England, which however that design ripened not, yet your name keeps up a high esteem, &c. I have seen your hand to a letter to this colony, as to your late purchase of some land at Narragansett. The sight of your hand hath quieted some jealousies amongst us, that the Bay, by this purchase, designed some prejudice to the liberty of conscience amongst us. We are in consultations how to answer that letter, and my endeavor shall be, with God’s help, to welcome, with both our hands and arms, your interest in these parts, though we have no hope to enjoy your personal residence amongst us. I rejoice to hear that you gain, by new plantations, upon this wilderness. I fear that many precious souls will be glad to hide their heads, shortly, in these parts. Your candle and mine draws towards its end. The Lord graciously help us to shine in light and love universally, to all that fear his name, without that monopoly of the affection to such of our own persuasion only; for the common enemy, the Romish wolf, is very high in resolution, and hope, and advantage to make a prey on all, of all sorts that desire to fear God. Divers of our neighbors thankfully re-salute you We have buried, this winter, Mr. Olney’s son, whom, formerly, you heard to be afflicted with a lethargy. He lay two or three days wholly senseless, until his last groans. My youngest son, Joseph, was troubled with a spice of an epilepsy. We used some remedies, but it hath pleased God, by his taking of tobacco, perfectly, as we hope, to cure him. Good Mr. Parker, of Boston, passing from Prudence Island, at his coming on shore, on Seekonk land, trod awry upon a stone or stick, and fell down, and broke the small bone of his leg. He hath lain by of it all this winter, and the last week was carried to Boston in a horse litter. Some fears there was of a gangrene. But, Sir, I use too much boldness and prolixity. I shall now only subscribe myself
Your unworthy friend,
Roger Williams.
Sir, my loving respects to Mr. Stone, Mr. Lord, Mr. Allen, Mr. Webster, and other loving friends.
[In 1670 Connecticut and Rhode Island were involved in a dispute concerning the boundary between the two colonies; committees were appointed and in May held a stormy conference that produced no agreement; Connecticut men thereupon seized control of the town of Westerly. The Rhode Island government retaliated by capturing some of the invaders and sending them to jail at Newport. At this juncture Williams wrote the following letter to Major Mason, one of the magistrates of Connecticut:]
Providence, June 22, 1670.
Major Mason,—My honored, dear and ancient friend, my due respects and earnest desires to God, for your eternal peace, &c.
I crave your leave and patience to present you with some few considerations, occasioned by the late transactions between your colony and ours. The last year you were pleased, in one of your lines to me, to tell me that you longed to see my face once more before you died. I embraced your love, though I feared my old lame bones, and yours, had arrested traveling in this world, and therefore I was and am ready to lay hold on all occasions of writing, as I do at present.
The occasion, I confess, is sorrowful, because I see yourselves, with others, embarked in a resolution to invade and despoil your poor countrymen, in a wilderness, and your ancient friends, of our temporal and soul liberties.
It is sorrowful, also, because mine eye beholds a black and doleful train of grievous, and, I fear, bloody consequences, at the heel of this business, both to you and us. The Lord is righteous in all our afflictions, that is a maxim; the Lord is gracious to all oppressed, that is another; he is most gracious to the soul that cries and waits on him; that is silver, tried in the fire seven times.
Sir, I am not out of hopes, but that while your aged eyes and mine are yet in their orbs, and not yet sunk down into their holes of rottenness, we shall leave our friends and countrymen, our children and relations, and this land, in peace, behind us. To this end, Sir, please you with a calm and steady and a Christian hand, to hold the balance and to weigh these few considerations, in much love and due respect presented:
First. When I was unkindly and unchristianly, as I believe, driven from my house and land and wife and children, (in the midst of a New England winter, now about thirty-five years past,) at Salem, that ever honored Governor, Mr. Winthrop, privately wrote to me to steer my course to Narragansett Bay and Indians, for many high and heavenly and public ends, encouraging me, from the freeness of the place from any English claims or patents. I took his prudent motion as a hint and voice from God, and waving all other thoughts and motions, I steered my course from Salem (though in winter snow, which I feel yet) unto these parts, wherein I may say Peniel, that is, I have seen the face of God.
Second, I first pitched, and began to build and plant at Seekonk, now Rehoboth, but I received a letter from my ancient friend, Mr. WinsJow,7 then Governor of Plymouth, professing his own and others love and respect to me, yet lovingly advising me, since I was fallen into the edge of their bounds, and they were loath to displease the Bay, to remove but to the other side of the water, and then, he said, I had the country free before me, and might be as free as themselves, and we should be loving neighbors together. These were the joint understandings of these two eminently wise and Christian Governors and others, in their day, together with their counsel and advice as to the freedom and vacancy of this place, which in this respect, and many other Providences of the Most Holy and Only Wise, I called Providence.
Third. Sometime after, the Plymouth great Sachem, (Ousamaquin,) upon occasion, affirming that Providence was his land, and therefore Plymouth’s land, and some resenting it, the then prudent and godly Governor, Mr. Bradford, and others of his godly council, answered, that if, after due examination, it should be found true what the barbarian said, yet having to my loss of a harvest that year, been now (though by their gentle advice) as good as banished from Plymouth as from the Massachusetts, and I had quietly and patiently departed from them, at their motion to the place where now I was, I should not be molested and tossed up and down again, while they had breath in their bodies; and surely, between those, my friends of the Bay and Plymouth, I was sorely tossed, for one fourteen weeks, in a bitter winter season, not knowing what bread or bed did mean, beside the yearly loss of no small matter in my trading with English and natives, being debarred from Boston, the chief mart and port of New England. God knows that many thousand pounds cannot repay the very temporary losses I have sustained. It lies upon the Massachusetts and me, yea, and other colonies joining with them, to examine, with fear and trembling, before the eyes of flaming fire, the true cause of all my sorrows and sufferings. It pleased the Father of spirits to touch many hearts, dear to him, with some relentings; amongst which, that great and pious soul, Mr. Winslow, melted, and kindly visited me, at Providence, and put a piece of gold into the hands of my wife, for our supply.
Fourth. When the next year after my banishment, the Lord drew the bow of the Pequod war against the country, in which, Sir, the Lord made yourself, with others, a blessed instrument of peace to all New England, I had my share of service to the whole land in that Pequod business, inferior to very few that acted, for,
1. Upon letters received from the Governor and Council at Boston, requesting me to use my utmost and speediest endeavors to break and hinder the league labored for by the Pequods against the Mohegans, and Pequods against the English, (excusing the not sending of company and supplies, by the haste of the business,) the Lord helped me immediately to put my life into my hand, and, scarce acquainting my wife, to ship myself, all alone, in a poor canoe, and to cut through a stormy wind, with great seas, every minute in hazard of life, to the Sachem’s house.
2. Three days and nights my business forced me to lodge and mix with the bloody Pequod ambassadors, whose hands and arms, me-thought, wreaked with the blood of my countrymen, murdered and massacred by them on Connecticut river, and from whom I could not but nightly look for their bloody knives at my own throat also. . . .
9. However you satisfy yourselves with the Pequod conquest, with the sealing of your charter some weeks before ours; with the complaints of particular men to your colony; yet upon a due and serious examination of the matter, in the sight of God, you will find the business at bottom to be,
First, a depraved appetite after the great vanities, dreams and shadows of this vanishing life, great portions of land, land in this wilderness, as if men were in as great necessity and danger for want of great portions of land, as poor, hungry, thirsty seamen have, after a sick and stormy, a long and starving passage. This is one of the gods of New England, which the living and most high Eternal will destroy and famish.
2. An unneighborly and unchristian intrusion upon us, as being the weaker, contrary to your laws, as well as ours, concerning purchasing of lands without the consent of the General Court. . . .
From these violations and intrusions arise the complaint of many privateers, not dealing as they would be dealt with, according to law of nature, the law of the prophets and Christ Jesus, complaining against others, in a design, which they themselves are delinquents and wrong doers. I could aggravate this many ways with Scripture rhetoric and similitude, but I see need of anodynes, (as physicians speak,) and not of irritations. Only this I must crave leave to say, that it looks like a prodigy or monster, that countrymen among savages in a wilderness; that professors of God and one Mediator, of an eternal life, and that this is like a dream, should not be content with those vast and large tracts which all the other colonies have, (like platters and tables full of dainties,) but pull and snatch away their poor neighbors’ bit or crust; and a crust it is, and a dry, hard one, too, because of the natives’ continual troubles, trials and vexations.
10. Alas! Sir, in calm midnight thoughts, what are these leaves and flowers, and smoke and shadows, and dreams of earthly nothings, about which we poor fools and children, as David saith, disquiet ourselves in vain? Alas? what is all the scuffling of this world for, but, come, will you smoke it? What are all the contentions and wars of this world about, generally, but for greater dishes and bowls of porridge, of which, if we believe God’s Spirit in Scripture, Esau and Jacob were types? Esau will part with the heavenly birthright for his supping, after his hunting, for god belly: and Jacob will part with porridge for an eternal inheritance. O Lord, give me to make Jacob’s and Mary’s choice, which shall never be taken from me.
11. How much sweeter is the counsel of the Son of God, to mind first the matters of his kingdom; to take no care for to-morrow; to pluck out, cut off and fling away right eyes, hands and feet, rather than to be cast whole into hell-fire; to consider the ravens and the lilies, whom a heavenly Father so clothes and feeds; and the counsel of his servant Paul, to roll our cares, for this life also, upon the most high Lord, steward of his people, the eternal God: to be content with food and raiment; to mind not our own, but every man the things of another; yea, and to suffer wrong, and part with what we judge is right, yea, our lives, and (as poor women martyrs have said) as many as there be hairs upon our heads, for the name of God and the son of God his sake. This is humanity, yea, this is Christianity. The rest is but formality and picture, courteous idolatry and Jewish and Popish blasphemy against the Christian religion, the Father of spirits and his Son, the Lord Jesus. Besides, Sir, the matter with us is not about these children’s toys of land, meadows, cattle, government, &c. But here, all over this colony, a great number of weak and distressed souls, scattered, are flying hither from Old and New England, the Most High and Only Wise hath, in his infinite wisdom, provided this country and this corner as a shelter for the poor and persecuted, according to their several persuasions. . . .
16. Sir, I lament that such designs should be carried on at such a time, while we are stripped and whipped, and are still under (the whole country) the dreadful rods of God, in our wheat, hay, corn, cattle, shipping, trading, bodies and lives; when on the other side of the water, all sorts of consciences (yours and ours) are frying in the Bishops’ pan and furnace; when the French and Romish Jesuits, the firebrands of the world for their god belly sake, are kindling at our back, in this country, especially with the Mohawks and Mohegans, against us, of which I know and have daily information.
17. If any please to say, is there no medicine for this malady? Must the nakedness of New England, like some notorious strumpet, be prostituted to the blaspheming eyes of all nations? Must we be put to plead before his Majesty, and consequently the Lord Bishops, our common enemies, &c. I answer, the Father of mercies and God of all consolations hath graciously discovered to me, as I believe, a remedy, which, if taken, will quiet all minds, yours and ours, will keep yours and ours in quiet possession and enjoyment of their lands, which you all have so dearly bought and purchased in this barbarous country, and so long possessed amongst these wild savages; will preserve you both in the liberties and honors of your charters and governments, without the least impeachment of yielding one to another; with a strong curb also to those wild barbarians and all the barbarians of this country, without troubling of compromisers and arbitrators between you; without any delay, or long and chargeable and grievous address to our King’s Majesty, whose gentle and serene soul must needs be afflicted to be troubled again with us. If you please to ask me what my prescription is, I will not put you off to Christian moderation or Christian humility, or Christian prudence, or Christian love, or Christian self-denial, or Christian contention or patience. For I design a civil, a humane and political medicine, which, if the God of Heaven please to bless, you will find it effectual to all the ends I have proposed. Only I must crave your pardon, both parties of you, if I judge it not fit to discover it at present. I know you are both of you hot; I fear myself, also. If both desire, in a loving and calm spirit, to enjoy your rights, I promise you, with God’s help, to help you to them, in a fair, and sweet and easy way. My receipt will not please you all. If it should so please God to frown upon us that you should not like it, I can but humbly mourn, and say with the prophet, that which must perish must perish. And as to myself, in endeavoring after your temporal and spiritual peace, I humbly desire to say, if I perish, I perish. It is but a shadow vanished, a bubble broke, a dream finished. Eternity will pay for all.
Sir, I am your old and true friend and servant,
Roger Williams.
[For life of Increase Mather see p. 334. This text is from The Life and Death of that Reverend Man in God, Mr. Richard Mather (Cambridge, 1670), pp. 8–11, 25–33.]
BEING as hath been related, setled in the Ministry at Toxteth, he resolved to change his single condition: And accordingly he became a Suitor to Mrs. Katharine Hoult, Daughter to Edmund Hoult Esq; of Bury in Lancashire. She had (and that deservedly) the repute of a very godly and prudent Maid. The Motion for several years met with Obstructions, by reason of her Fathers not being affected towards Non-conformable Puritans: But at last he gave his Consent that Mr. Mather should marry his Daughter; the Match therefore was Consummated Septemb. 29. 1624. God made her to become a rich Blessing to him, continuing them together for the space of above 30 years. By her God gave him six Sons; four whereof (viz. Samuel, Timothy, Nathaniel and Joseph) were born in England, and two (viz. Eleazar and Increase) in New-England. After his Marriage he removed his Habitation three miles from Toxteth, to Much-Woolton, having there purchased an House of his own; yet he was wont constantly Summer and Winter to Preach the Word at Toxteth upon the Lords-dayes. During his abode there, he was abundant in Labours in the Gospel: For every Lords-day he Preached twice at Toxteth, and once in a Fortnight on the Third day of the Week he kept a Lecture at the Town of Prescot. Also, faithful and powerful Preaching being then rare in those parts, he did frequently Preach upon the Holy dayes (as they are called) being often thereunto desired by godly Christians of other Parishes in that Country: And this he did, not as thinking that there was any Holiness in those times (or in any other day besides the Lords-day) beyond what belongs to every day; but because then there would be an opportunity of great Assemblies,1 and it is good casting the Net where there is much Fish: for which cause it might be that the Apostles Preached mostly in Populous Towns and Cities, and also (which suiteth with what we are speaking) on the Jewish Sabbaths after their abrogation as to any Religious tye upon Conscience for their observation. Yea and besides all this, he often Preached at Funerals. It is true that Cartwright, Sherwood, Hildersham, and many other Renowned Non-Conformists, have scrupled Preaching Funerall Sermons; Also in some Reformed Churches that practice is wholly omitted, yea and Decrees of Councils have sometimes been against it; but that hath been chiefly upon account of that Custome of Praising the dead upon such occasions, and that many times untruly: Which Custome (as many Learned men have observed) is Ethnically having its rise from the Funeral Orations of the Heathen. Publicola made an excellent Oration in Praise of Brutus, which the People were so taken with, that it became a Custome that Famous men dying should be so praised, and when (as Plutarch saith in the Life of Camillus) the Women amongst the Romans parted with their Golden Ornaments for the Publick Good, the Senate decreed, That it should be lawful to make Funeral Orations for them also. Hinc mortuos laudandi mos fluxit quern nos hodie servamus.2 Pol. Verg. de Rer. Invent, lib. 3. cap. 10. Nor indeed was this Rite practised in the Church afore the Apostacy began. Vide Magd. Cent. 4. Cap. 6. wherefore this faithful Servant of the Lord avoided that practice, his speech at Funerals being taken up not with Praising the Dead, but with Instructing the Living concerning Death, the Resurrection, the Judgement to come, and the like seasonable Truths. Thus did he Preach the Word, being instant in season and out of season; reproving, rebuking, exhorting, with all long-suffering and doctrine. In his publick Ministry in England he went over 2 Samuel, Chap. 24. Psalm 4. and Psalm 16. Proverbs, Chap. 1. Isaiah, Chap. 1. and Chap. 6. Luke, 22 and 23 Chapters. Romans, Chap. 8. 2 Epist. to Timothy; 2. Epist. of John; and the Epistle of Fude.
After that he had thus painfully and faithfully spent fifteen years in the Work of the Ministry, He that holds the Stars in his right hand, had more work for him to do elswhere; and therefore the rage of Satan and wrath of men must be suffered to break forth, untill this choice Instrument had his mouth stopped in unrighteousness. The Lecture which he kept at Prescot caused him to be much taken notice of, and so was the more unto the Adversaries of the Truth an object of Envy. Magnamfamam & magnam quietem eodem tempore nemo potest acquirere. Quint.3 Wherefore Complaints being made against him for Non-Conformity to the Ceremonies, he was by the Prelates Suspended. This was in August, Anno 1633. Under this Suspension he continued untill November following: But then, by means of the Intercession of some Gentlemen in Lancashire, and by the Influence of Simon By by (a near Alliance of the Bishops) he was restored again to his Publick Ministry. After his Restauration he more fully searched into, and also in his Ministry handled the Points of Church-Discipline. And God gave him in those dayes not onely to see, but also to Instruct others in the Substance of the Congregationall-Way, which came to pass by his much reading of the holy Scriptures, and his being very conversant in the Writings of Cartwright, Parker, Baynes, and Ames.4 But this restored Liberty continued not long; for Anno 1634. Bishop Neal (he who was sometimes by King James pleasantly admonished of his Preaching Popery, because by his carriage he taught the people to pray for a blessing upon his dead Predecessor) being now become Archbishop of York, sent his Visitors into Lancashire; of whom Doctor Cousins (whose Cozening Devotions Mr. Pryn 5 hath made notorious to the world) was one: These Visitors being come into the Country . . . kept their Courts at Wigan; where, amongst many other unrighteous proceedings, & having Mr. Mather convened before them, they passed a Sentence of Suspension against him, meerly for his Non-Conformity to the Inventions of men in the Worship of God. It was marvellous to see how God was with him, causing a Spirit of Courage and of Glory to rest upon him, and filling him with wisdome when he stood before those Judges, who were not willing that he should speak for himself, or declare the Reasons which convinced his Conscience of the unlawfulness of that Conformity which they required. Concerning the Lords presence with him at that time, himself doth in a Manuscript left in his Study thus express it: In the passages of that day, I have this to bless the Name of God for, that the terrour of their threatning words, of their Pursevants, and of the rest of their Pomp, did not so terrifie my minde, but that I could stand before them without being daunted in the least measure, but answered for my self such words of truth and soberness as the Lord put into my mouth, not being afraid of their faces at all: which supporting and comforting presence of the Lord I count not much less mercy, then if I had been altogether preserved out of their hands.
Being thus silenced from Publick Preaching the Word, means was again used by Mr. Mathers friends to obtain his Liberty; but all in vain. The Visitor asked how long he had been a Minister? Answer was made, That he had been in the Ministry fifteen years. And (said he) how often hath he worn the Surpless? Answer was returned, That he had never worn it. What (said the Visitor, swearing as he spake it) preach Fifteen years and never wear a Surpless? It had been better for him that he had gotten Seven Bastards. This was a Visitors judgement. . . .
Wherefore the case being thus, he betook himself to a private life: and no hope being left of enjoying Liberty again in his Native Land; foreseeing also (Sapiens Divinat) 6 the approaching Calamities of England, he meditated a Removall into New-England. . . .
During the time of his Pilgrimage in New-England he under-went not so many Changes, as before that he had done; for he never removed his Habitation out of Dorchester, albeit he had once serious thoughts that way, by reason that his old people in Toxteth, after that the Hierarchy was deposed in England, sent to him, desiring his return to them: But Dorchester was in no wise willing to forgoe their interest in him, therefore he left them not. Nevertheless, he did in New-England (as in a Wilderness might be expected) experience many Trials of his Faith and Patience. That which of outward Afflictions did most agrieve him, was the Death of his dear Wife, who had been for so many years the greatest outward Comfort and Blessing which he did enjoy: Which Affliction was the more grievous, in that she being a Woman of singular Prudence for the Management of Affairs, had taken off from her Husband all Secular Cares, so that he wholly devoted himself to his Study, and to Sacred Imployments. After he had continued in the state of Widowhood a year and half, he again changed his Gondition, and was Married to the pious Widow of that deservedly Famous Man of God Mr. John Cotton; 7 and her did God make a Blessing and a Comfort to him during the remainder of his dayes.
Old Age now being come upon him, he was sensible of the Infirmities thereof, being in his latter years something thick of Hearing: Also (as it was with great Zanchy) 8 the sight in one of his Eyes failed, seven years before his Death. Yet God gave him Health of Body and Vigour of Spirit in a wonderful measure, so as that in fifty years together, he was not by Sickness detained so much as one Lords-day from Publick Labours. Which continued Health (as to Natural causes) proceeded partly from his strong Constitution of Body, and partly from his accustoming himself to a plain and wholsome Diet. Bona Diata est potior quovis Hippocrate.9 He never made use of any Physician, nor was he ever in all his life sick of any acute Disease. Onely the two last years of his Life he was sorely afflicted with that Disease which some have called Flagellum Studiosorum, viz.10 The Stone, which at last brought him to an end of all his Labours and Sorrows.
Concerning the Time and Manner of his Sickness and Death, thus it was. There being some Differences in Boston,11 Counsel from Neighbour-Churches was by some desired, to direct them in the Lord what should be done: Accordingly the Churches sent their Messengers; and Dorchester Church, amongst others, sent Mr. Mather their aged Teacher, who Assembled in Boston, April 13. 1669. He was, because of his Age, Gravity, Grace and Wisdome wherewith the Lord had endowed and adorned him, chosen the Moderator in that Reverend Assembly. For divers dayes after his being thus in Consultation, he enjoyed his Health as formerly, or rather better then for some time of late. But as Luther when Assembled in a Synod was surprized with a violent Fit of the Stone, whence he was forced to return home, his Friends having little hopes of his life; so it was with this holy man. For April 16. 1669. he was in the night, being then in his Sons house in Boston, taken exceeding ill through a totall stoppage of his Urine. The next morning he therefore returned home to Dorchester. Great was the favour of God towards him, that he should be found about such a blessed Work as then he was ingaged in, for the Lord found him sincerely and earnestly endeavouring to be a Peace-maker. His being thus taken when at a Synod, brings to minde that of the German Phoenix;
Now as usually Providence so ordereth, that they who have been speaking all their lives long, shall not say much when they come to die: Blessed Hooker in his last Sickness, when Friends would have had him answered to some Enquiries which might have made for their Edification after he was gone, he referred them wholly to the things which he had taught them in his health, because then he had enough to do to grapple with his own bodily weakness, &c. Neither did this good man speak much in his last Sickness either to Friends or to his Children. Onely his Son who is now Teacher of a Church in Boston, coming to visit his Father, and perceiving the Symptomes of Death to be upon him, said unto him, Sir, if there be any speciall thing which you would recommend unto me to do, in case the Lord should spare me upon the Earth, after you are in Heaven, I would intreatyou to express it. At the which, his Father making a little pause, and lifting up his eyes and hands to Heaven, replied, A speciall thing which I would commend to you, is, Care concerning the Rising Generation in this Country, that they be brought under the Government of Christ in his Church; and that when grown up and qualified, they have Baptism for their Children. I must confess I have been defective as to practise, yet I have publickly declared my judgement, and manifested my desires to practise that which I think ought to be attended, but the Dissenting of some in our Church discouraged me. I have thought that persons might have Right to Baptism, and yet not to the Lords Supper; and I see no cause to alter my judgement as to that particular. And I still think that persons qualified according to the Fifth Proposition of the late Synod-Book, have Right to Baptism for their Children.13
His bodily Pains continued upon him untill April 22. when in the Morning his Son aforementioned, coming to visit him, asked his Father if he knew him; to whom he Replied that he did, but was not able to speak any more to him: Whereupon his Son saying, Now you will speedily be in the joy of your Lord; His Father lifted up his hands, but could not speak. Not long after his Son again spoke to him, saying, You will quickly see Jesus Christ, and that will make amends for all your pains and sorrows: At which words his Father again lifted up his hands; but after that he took notice of no person or thing, but continuing speechless untill about 10 h. P.M. he quietly breathed forth his last. Thus did that Light that had been shining in the Church above Fifty years, Expire.
As he was a man faithful and fearing God above many, so the Lord shewed great faithfulness unto him, both in making him serviceable unto the last, yea and continuing the vigour of his Spirit, and power of his Ministry. Few men, though young, are known to Preach with such vigour as he did but ten dayes before his death. Also the Lord was faithful and gracious to him, in respect of his Children. It was a special token of Divine favour unto some of the Ancients, that their Sons after them succeeded in the Ministry; so was it with the Fathers of Gregory Nazianzen, Gregory Nyssen, Basil, Hilary, &c. And the Lord cheered the heart of this his Servant in his old Age, by giving him to see most of his Sons imployed in the Ministry many years before their precious Father’s decease. He left four Sons in that Work; one of whom, viz. Mr. Eleazar Mather, late Pastor of the Church at Northampton in New-England, went to his rest about three Moneths after his Father, with him to sound forth the praises of God amongst the Spirits of just men made perfect. The other three are yet surviving, viz. Mr. Samuel Mather, Teacher of a Church in Dublin; Mr. Nathaniel Mather, late Minister of Barnstable in Devon, and since in Rotterdam in Holland; and Increase Mather of Boston in New-England. . . .
His way of Preaching was plain, aiming to shoot his Arrows not over his peoples heads, but into their Hearts and Consciences. Whence he studiously avoided obscure phrases, Exotick words, or an unnecessary citation of Latine Sentences, which some men addict themselves to the use of. Mr. Dod was wont to say, That so much Latine was so much flesh in a Sermon: So did this humble man look upon the affectation of such things in a Popular Auditory to savour of Carnal wisdome. The Lord gave him an excellent faculty in making abstruse things plain, that in handling the deepest Mysteries he would accommodate himself to Vulgar Capacities, that even the meanest might learn something. He knew how to express Kaiva 
.14 He would often use that Saying, Artis est celare Artem.15 And much approved that of Austin; If (said he) I preach Learnedly, then onely the Learned and not the Unlearned can understand and profit by me; but if I preach plainly, then Learned and Unlearned both can understand, so I may profit all. He was Mighty in the Scriptures: Whence Mr. Hooker would say of him, My Brother Mather is a mighty man. Also his usuall way of Delivery was very Powerful, Awakening, and Zealous; especially in his younger years, there being few men of so great strength of body as he, which together with his natural fervour of Spirit, being sanctified, made his Ministry the more powerful. And the Lord went forth with his Labours to the Conversion of many, both in England and in New-England. Yet though his way of Preaching was plain and zealous, it was moreover Substantial and very Judicious. Even in his beginning times, Mr. Gillebrand (a famous Minister in Lancashire; and the more famous, for that though he did exceedingly Stammer in his ordinary discourse, he would Pray and Preach as fluently as any man) once having heard him Preach, asked what his Name might be? And answer being made that his Name was Mather; Nay (said Mr. Gillebrand) call him Matter, for believe it this man hath Substance in him. Yea, such was his Solidity of Judgement, that some who were his Opposites, yet did therefore greatly respect and honour him. Doctor Parr (then Bishop in the Isle of Man) having heard Mr. Mather was Silenced, lamented it, saying, If Mather be Silenced I am sorry for it, for he was a solid man, and the Church of God hath then a great loss. . . .
It might be said of him, as was said of that blessed Martyr, that he was sparing in his Diet, sparing in his Speech, most sparing of all of his Time. He was very diligent both as to duties of general and particular Calling, which are indeed the two Pillars upon which Religion stands. As to his general Calling; He was much in Prayer, especially in his Study, where he oft-times spent whole dayes with God in suing for a Blessing upon himself and Children, and upon the people to whom he was related, and upon the whole Country where he lived. The Requests which upon such occasions he put up to God in Jesus Christ, and also how his heart was moved to believe that God heard him, he left (many of them) in writing amongst his private Papers, I suppose that so himself might have recourse unto those Experiences in a time of darkness and Temptation; also that his Sons after him might see by their Fathers Example, what it is to walk before God. Now what a loss is it to the world when such a Righteous man is taken away! Well might Philo and Jerome weep bitterly, when they heard of the death of any such men, because it portended evil to the places where they had lived, and served God. As he was much in Prayer, so he was very frequent in Hearing the Word. It was his manner to attend several Lectures in Neighbour-Congregations, untill his Disease made him unable to ride; yea and usually even to his old Age (as did Mr. Hildersham16) he took Notes from those whom he heard, professing that he found profit in it.
As to his particular Calling, he was even from his youth a hard Student. Yea his minde was so intent upon his Work and Studies, that the very morning before he died, he importuned those Friends that watched with him to help him into his Study: They urging that he was not able to go so farre, he desired them to help him and try; which they did: but ere he was come to the door of his Lodging-room, I see (saith he) I am not able, yet I have not been in my Study several dayes, and is it not a lamentable thing that I should lose so much time? After his entrance upon the Ministry, he was not onely in England (as hath been said) but in New-England abundant in Labours: for except when he had an Assistant with him (which was seldome) he Preached twice every Lords-day; and a Lecture once a fortnight, besides many occasionall Sermons both in Publick and in Private. Also he was much exercised in answering many practical Cases of Conscience, and in Polemical, especially Disciplinary Discourses. In his Publick Ministry in Dorchester he went over The Book of Genesis to Chap. 38. Psalm 16. The whole Book of the Prophet Zechariah. Matthews Gospel, to Chap. 15. 1. Epist. to Thess. Chap. 5. And the whole Second Epistle of Peter; his Notes whereon he reviewed, and Transcribed for the Press, not many years before his decease.
Notwithstanding those rare Gifts and Graces wherewith the Lord had adorned him, he was exceeding low and little in his own eyes. Some have thought that his greatest errour was, that he did not magnifie his Office, as he might and sometimes should have done. If a man must erre, it is good erring on that hand. Humble enough, and good enough, was the frequent saying of a great Divine. And another observeth, That every man hath just as much and no more true worth in him, as he hath Humility. Austine being asked which was the most excellent grace, answered, Humility; and which was the next, answered, Humility; and which was the third, replied again, Humility. That indeed is Comprehensively All, being of great price in the sight of God; And if so, Mr. Mather was a man of much Reall Worth.
[For Cotton Mather’s life see p. 162. This text is from Magnolia Christi Americana (London, 1702), Book III. John Eliot was born at Widford, Herts, 1604; emigrated in 1631 and was ordained teacher of the church at Roxbury in 1632; he died May 21, 1690. As Mather’s account makes clear, he was a leader of New England Puritanism, not because like Cotton and Hooker he was a profound intellect, but because he incarnated the Puritan ideal of saintly piety.]
THE INSPIRED Moses, relating the Lives of those Anti Diluvian Patriarchs, in whom the Church of God, and Line of Christ was continued, through the first Sixteen hundred Years of Time, recites litde but their Birth, and their Age, and their Death, and their Sons and Daughters. If those Articles would satisfie the Appetites and Enquiries of such as come to read the Life of our Eliot, we shall soon have dispatch’d the Work now upon our Hands.
The Age, with the Death of this Worthy Man, has been already terminated, in the Ninetieth Year of the present Century, and the Eighty sixth Year of his own Pilgrimage. And for his Birth, it was at a Town in England; the Name whereof I cannot presently recover; nor is it necessary for me to look back so far as the place of his Nativity; any more than ‘tis for me to recite the Vertues of his Parentage, of which he said, Vix ea nostra voco:1 Tho’ indeed the pious Education which they gave him, caused him in his Age, to write these Words: I do see that it was a great Favour of God unto me, to season my first Times with the Fear of God, the Word, and Prayer.
The Atlantick Ocean, like a River of Lethe, may easily cause us to forget many of the things that happened on the other side. Indeed the Nativity of such a Man, were an Honour worthy the Contention of as many Places, as laid their Claims unto the famous Homer’s: But whatever Places may challenge a share in the Reputation of having enjoy’d the first Breath of our Eliot, it is New-England that with most Right can call him Hers; his best Breath, and afterwards his last Breath was here; and here ‘twas, that God bestow’d upon him Sons and Daughters.
He came to New-England in the Month of November, A.D. 1631. among those blessed old Planters, which laid the Foundations of a remarkable Country, devoted unto the Exercise of the Protestant Religion, in its purest and highest Reformation. He left behind him in England, a Vertuous young Gentlewoman, whom he had pursued and purposed a Marriage unto; and she coming hither the Year following, that Marriage was consummated in the Month of October, A.D. 1632.
This Wife of his Youth lived with him until she became to him also the Staff of his Age; and she left him not until about three or four Years before his own Departure to those Heavenly Regions, where they now together see Light. She was a Woman very eminent, both for Holiness and Usefulness, and she excelled most of the Daughters that have done vertuously. Her Name was Anne, and Gracious was her Nature. God made her a rich Blessing, not only to her Family, but also to her Neighbourhood; and when at last she died, I heard and saw her Aged Husband, who else very rarely wept, yet now with Tears over the Coffin, before the Good People, a vast Confluence of which were come to her Funeral, say, Here lies my dear, faithful, pious, prudent, prayerful Wife; I shall go to her, and she not return to me. My Reader will of his own accord excuse me, from bestowing any further Epitaphs upon that gracious Woman. . . .
But all that I have hitherto said, is no more than an entrance into the History of our Eliot. Such an Enoch as he, must have something more than these things recorded of him; his Walk with God, must be more largely laid before the World, as a thing that would bespeak us all to be Followers no less than we shall be Admirers of it.
He had not passed many Turns in the World, before he knew the meaning of a saving Turn from the Vanities of an Unregenerate State, unto God in Christ, by a true Repentance; he had the singular Happiness and Privilege of an early Conversion from the Ways, which Original Sin disposes all Men unto. One of the principal Instruments which the God of Heaven used in tingeing, and filling the Mind of this chosen Vessel, with good Principles, was that Venerable Thomas Hooker, whose Name in the Churches of the Lord Jesus, is, As an Ointment poured forth; even that Hooker, who having Angled many Scores of Souls into the Kingdom of Heaven, at last laid his Bones in our New England; it was an Acquaintance with him, that contributed more than a litde to the Accomplishment of our Elisha, for that Work unto which the most High designed him. His liberal Education, having now the Addition of Religion to direct it, and improve it, it gave such a Biass to his young Soul, as quickly discovered it self in very signal Instances. His first Appearance in the World after his Education in the University, was in the too difficult and unthankful but very necessary Employment of a SchooUMaster, which Employment he discharged with a good Fidelity. And as this first Essay of his Improvement was no more Disgrace unto him, than it was unto the famous Hieron, Whitaker, Vines, and others, that they thus began to be serviceable; so it rather prepared him, for the further Service, which his Mind was now set upon. He was of worthy Mr. Thomas Wilson’s 2 Mind, that the calling of a Minister was the only one wherein a Man might be more serviceable to the Church of God, than in that of a Schoo-Master: And with Melchior Adam, he reckoned, the Calling of a School-Master, Pulverulentam, ac Molestissimam quidem, sed Deo longe gratissimam Functionem.3 Wherefore having dedicated himself unto God betimes, he could not reconcile himself to any lesser way of serving his Creator and Redeemer, than the Sacred Ministry of the Gospel; but alas, where should he have Opportunities for the Exercising of it? The Laudian, Grotian,4 and Arminian Faction in the Church of England, in the Prosecution of their Grand Plot, for the reducing of England unto a moderate sort of Popery, had pitched upon this as one of their Methods for it; namely, to creeple as fast as they could, all the Learned, Godly, Painful Ministers of the Nation; and invent certain Shibboleths for the detecting and the destroying of such Men as were cordial Friends to the Reformation. ‘Twas now a time when there were every day multiplied and imposed those unwarrantable Ceremonies in the Worship of God, by which the Conscience of our Considerate Eliot counted the second Commandment notoriously violated; ‘twas now also a time, when some Hundreds of those Good People which had the Nick-name of Puritans put upon them, transported themselves, with their whole Families and Interests, into the Desarts of America, that they might here peaceably erect Congregational Churches, and therein attend and maintain all the pure Institutions of the Lord Jesus Christ; having the Encouragement of Royal Charters, that they should never have any Interruption in the Enjoyment of those precious and pleasant things. Here was a Prospect which quickly determined the devout Soul of our young Eliot, unto a Remove into New-England, while it was yet a Land not sown; he quickly lifted himself among those valiant Souldiers of the Lord Jesus Christ, who cheerfully encountred first the Perils of the Atlantick Ocean, and then the Fatigues of the New-English Wilderness, that they might have an undisturbed Communion with him in his Appointments here. And thus did he betimes procure himself the Consolation of having afterwards and for ever a Room in that Remembrance of God, I remember thee, the Kindness of thy Youth, and the Love of thine Espousals, when thou wentest after me into the Wilderness.
On his first Arrival to New-England, he soon joined himself unto the Church at Boston; ‘twas Church-work that was his Errand hither, Mr. Wilson, the Pastor of that Church, was gone back into England, that he might perfect the Settlement of his Affairs; and in his Absence, young Mr. Eliot was he that supplied his place. Upon the Return of Mr. Wilson, that Church was intending to have made Mr. Eliot his Collegue, and their Teacher; but it was diverted. Mr. Eliot had engaged unto a select Number of his Pious and Christian Friends in England, that if they should come into these Parts before he should be in the Pastoral Care of any other People, he would give himself to Them, and be for Their Service. It happened, that these Friends transported themselves hither, the Year after him; and chose their Habitation at the Town which they called Roxbury. A Church being now gathered at this place, he was in a little while Ordained unto the Teaching and Ruling of that Holy Society. So, ‘twas in the Orb of that Church that we had him as a Star fixed for very near Threescore Years; it only remains that we now observe what was his Magnitude all this while, and how he performed his Revolution. . . .
The Apostle Paul, reciting and requiring Qualifications of a Gospel Minister, gives Order, that he be The Husband of one Wife, and one that ruleth well his own House, having his Children in subjection with all gravity. It seems, that a Man’s Carriage in his own House is a part, or at least a sign, of his due Deportment in the House of God; and then, I am sure, our Eliot’s was very Exemplary. That one Wife which was given to him truly from the Lord, he loved, prized, cherished, with a Kindness that notably represented the Compassion which he (thereby) taught his Church to expect from the Lord Jesus Christ; and after he had lived with her for more than half an Hundred Years, he followed her to the Grave with Lamentations beyond those, which the Jews from the figure of a Letter in the Text, affirm, that Abraham deplored his aged Sarah with; her Departure made a deeper Impression upon him than what any common Affliction could. His whole Conversation with her, had that Sweetness, and that Gravity and Modesty beautifying of it, that every one called them Zachary and Elizabeth. His Family was a little Bethel, for the Worship of God constantly and exactly maintained in it; and unto the daily Prayers of the Family, his manner was to prefix the Reading of the Scripture; which being done, ‘twas also his manner to make his young People to chuse a certain Passage in the Chapter, and give him some Observation of their own upon it. By this Method he did mightily sharpen and improve, as well as try, their Understandings, and endeavour to make them wise unto Salvation. He was likewise very strict in the Education of his Children, and more careful to mend any error in their Hearts and Lives, than he could have been to cure a Blemish in their Bodies. No Exorbitancies or Extravagancies could find a Room under his Roof, nor was his House any other than a School of Piety; one might have there seen a perpetual mixture of a Spartan and a Christian Disciple. Whatever Decay there might be upon Family-Religion among us, as for our Eliot, we knew him, that he would command his Children, and his Houshold after him, that they should keep the Way of the Lord.
Such was he in his lesser Family! And in his greater Family, he manifested still more of his Regards to the Rule of a Gospel-Ministry. To his Congregation, he was a Preacher that made it his Care, to give every one their Meat in due Season. It was Food and not Froth; which in his publick Sermons, he entertained the Souls of his People with, he did not starve them with empty and windy Speculations, or with such things as Animum non dant, quia non habent; 5 much less did he kill them with such Poyson as is too commonly exposed by the Arminian and Socinian Doctors that have too often sat in Moses’s Chair. His way of Preaching was very plain; so that the very Lambs might wade, into his Discourses on those Texts and Themes, wherein Elephants might swim; and herewithal, it was very powerful, his Delivery was always very graceful and grateful; but when he was to use reproofs and warnings against any Sin, his Voice would rise into a Warmth which had in it very much of Energy as well as Decency; he would sound the Trumpets of God against all Vice, with a most penetrating Liveliness, and make his Pulpit another Mount Sinai, for the Flashes of Lightning therein display’d against the Breaches of the Law given upon that Burning Mountain. And I observed, that there was usually a special Fervour in the Rebukes which he bestow’d upon Carnality, a carnal Frame and Life in Professors of Religion; when he was to brand the Earthly-mindedness of Church-Members, and the Allowance and the Indulgence which they often gave unto themselves in sensual Delights, here he was a right Boanerges; he then spoke, as ‘twas said one of the Ancients did, Quot verba tot Fulmina, as many Thunderbolts as Words.
It was another Property of his Preaching, that there was evermore much of CHRIST in it; and with Paul, he could say, I determined to know nothing but Jesus Christ; having that Blessed Name in his Discourses, with a Frequency like that, with which Paul mentions it in his Epistles. As ‘twas noted of Dr. Bodly, that whatever Subject he were upon, in the Application still his Use of it would be, to drive Men unto the Lord Jesus Christ; in like manner, the Lord Jesus Christ was the Loadstone which gave a touch to all the Sermons of our Eliot; a Glorious, Precious, Lovely Christ was the Point of Heaven which they still verged unto. From this Inclination it was, that altho’ he Printed several English Books before he dy’d, yet his Heart seemed not so much in any of them, as in that serious and savoury Book of his, Entituled, The Harmony of the Gospels, in the Holy History of Jesus Christ.6 From hence also ‘twas, that he would give that Advice to young Preachers, Pray let there be much of Christ in your Ministry; and when he had heard a Sermon, which had any special Relish of a Blessed Jesus in it, he would say thereupon, 0 blessed be God, that we have Christ so much and so well preached in poor New-England!
Moreover, he lik’d no Preaching, but what had been well studied for; and he would very much commend a Sermon which he could perceive had required some good Thinking and Reading in the Author of it. I have been present, when he has unto a Preacher then just come home from the Assembly with him, thus expressed himself, Brother, there was Oyl required for the Service of the Sanctuary; but it must be beaten Oyl; I praise God, that I saw your Oyl so well beaten to day; the Lord help us always by good Study to beat our Oyl, that there may be no knots in our Sermons left undissolved, and that there may a clear light be thereby given in the House of God! And yet he likewise look’d for something in a Sermon beside and beyond the meer Study of Man; he was for having the Spirit of God, breathing in it and with it; and he was for speaking those things, from those Impressions and with those Affections, which might compel the Hearer to say, The Spirit of God was here! I have heard him complain, It is a sad thing, when a Sermon shall have that one thing, The Spirit of God wanting in it. . . .
The Titles of a Christian and of a Minister, have rendred our Eliot considerable; but there is one memorable Title more, by which he has been signalized unto us. An Honourable Person 7 did once in Print put the Name of an Evangelist upon him; whereupon in a Letter of his to that Person afterwards Printed, his Expressions were, “There is a Redundancy, where you put the Title of Evangelist upon me; I beseech you to suppress all such things; let us do and speak and carry all things with Humility; it is the Lord who hath done what is done; and it is most becoming the Spirit of Jesus Christ to lift up him, and lay our selves low; I wish that Word could be obliterated.” My Reader sees what a Caution Mr. Eliot long since entred against our giving him the Title of an Evangelist; but his Death has now made it safe, and his Life had long made it just, for us to acknowledge him with such a Title. I know not whether that of an Evangelist, or one separated for the Employment of Preaching the Gospel in such Places whereunto Churches have hitherto been gathered, be not an Office that should be continued in our Days; but this I know, that our Eliot very notably did the Service and Business of such an Officer.
Cambden 8 could not reach the Heighth of his Conceit, who bore in his Shield a Salvage of America, with his Hand pointing to the Sun, and this Motto, Mihi Accessu, Tibi Recessu. Reader, Prepare to behold this Device Illustrated!
The Natives of the Country now Possessed by the New-Englanders, had been forlorn and wretched Heathen ever since their first herding here; and tho’ we know not When or How those Indians first became Inhabitants of this mighty Continent, yet we may guess that probably the Devil decoy’d those miserable Salvages hither, in hopes that the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ would never come here to destroy or disturb his Absolute Empire over them. But our Eliot was in such ill Terms with the Devil, as to alarm him with sounding the Silver Trumpets of Heaven in his Territories, and make some Noble and Zealous Attempts towards outing him of his Ancient Possessions here. There were, I think, Twenty several Nations (if I may call them so) of Indians upon that spot of Ground, which fell under the Influence of our Three United Colonies; and our Eliot was willing to rescue as many of them as he could, from that old usurping Landlord of America, who is by the Wrath of God, the Prince of this World.
I cannot find that any besides the Holy Spirit of God, first moved him to the blessed Work of Evangelizing these perishing Indians; ‘twas that Holy Spirit which laid before his Mind the Idea of that which was on the Seal of the Massachuset Colony; A poor Indian having a Label going from his Mouth, with a, COME OVER AND HELP US. It was the Spirit of our Lord Jesus Christ, which enkindled in him a Pitty for the dark Souls of these Natives, whom the God of this World had blinded, through all the By-past Ages. He was none of those that make, The Salvation of the Heathen, an Article of their Creed; but (setting aside the unrevealed and extraordinary Steps which the Holy one of Israel may take out of his usual Paths) he thought men to be lost if our Gospel be hidden from them; and he was of the same Opinion with one of the Ancients, who said, Some have endeavoured to prove Plato a Christian, till they prove themselves little better than Heathens. It is indeed a Principle in the Turkish Alcoran, That Let a Man’s Religion be what it will, he shall be saved, if he conscientiously live up to the Rules of it: But our Eliot was no Mahometan. He could most heartily subscribe to that Passage in the Articles of the Church of England. “They are to be held accursed, who presume to say, that every Man shall be saved by the Law or Sect which he professeth, so that he be diligent to frame his Life according to that Law, and Light of Nature; for Holy Scripture doth set out unto us, only the Name of Jesus Christ, whereby Men must be saved.” And it astonished him to see many dissembling Subscribers of those Articles, while they have grown up to such a Phrensy, as to deny peremptorily all Church-state, and all Salvation to all that are not under Diocesan Bishops, yet at the same time to grant that the Heathen might be saved without the Knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ. . . .
The exemplary Charity of this excellent Person in this important Affair, will not be seen in its due Lustres, unless we make some Reflections upon several Circumstances which he beheld these forlorn Indians in. Know then, that these doleful Creatures are the veriest Ruines of Mankind, which are to be found any where upon the Face of the Earth. No such Estates are to be expected among them, as have been the Baits which the pretended Converters in other Countries have snapped at. One might see among them, what an hard Master the Devil is, to the most devoted of his Vassals! These abject Creatures, live in a Country full of Mines; we have already made entrance upon our Iron; and in the very Surface of the Ground among us, ‘tis thought there lies Copper enough to supply all this World; besides other Mines hereafter to be exposed; but our shiftless Indians were never Owners of so much as a Knife, till we come among them; their Name for an English-man was a Knife-man; Stone was instead of Metal for their Tools; and for their Coins, they have only little Beads with Holes in them to string them upon a Bracelet, whereof some are white; and of these there go six for a Penny; some are black or blew; and of these, go three for a Penny; this Wampam, as they call it, is made of the Shell-fish, which lies upon the Sea Coast continually.
The[y] live in a Country, where we now have all the Conveniencies of human Life: But as for them, their housing is nothing but a few Mats ty’d about Poles fastened in the Earth, where a good Fire is their Bed Clothes in the coldest Seasons; their Clothing is but a Skin of a Beast, covering their Hind-parts, their Fore-parts having but a little Apron, where Nature calls for Secrecy; their Diet has not a greater Dainty than their Nokehick, that is a spoonful of their parcWd meal, with a spoonful of Water, which will strengthen them to travel a Day together; except we should mention the Flesh of Deers, Bears, Mose, Rackoons, and the like, which they have when they can catch them; as also a little Fish, which if they would preserve, ‘twas by drying, not by salting; for they had not a grain of Salt in the World, I think, till we bestow’d it on them. Their Physick is, excepting a few odd Specificks, which some of them Encounter certain Cases with, nothing hardly, but an Hot-House, or a Powaw; their Hot-House is a little Cave about eight foot over, where after they have terribly heated it, a Crew of them go sit and sweat and smoke for an Hour together, and then immediately run into some very cold adjacent Brook, without the least Mischief to them; ‘tis this way they recover themselves from some Diseases, particularly from the French; but in most of their dangerous Distempers, ‘tis a Powow that must be sent for; that is, a Priest, who has more Familiarity with Satan than his Neighbours; this Conjurer comes and Roars, and Howls, and uses Magical Ceremonies over the Sick Man, and will be well paid for it, when he has done; if this don’t effect the Cure, the Marts Time is come, and there’s an end,
They live in a Country full of the best Ship-Timber under Heaven: But never saw a Ship, till some came from Europe hither; and then they were scar’d out of their Wits, to see the Monster come sailing in, and spitting Fire with a mighty noise, out of her floating side; they cross the Water in Canoo’s, made sometimes of Trees, which they bum and hew, till they have hollow’d them; and sometimes of Barks, which they stitch into a light sort of a Vessel, to be easily carried over Land; if they over-set, it is but a little paddling like a Dog, and they are soon where they were.
Their way of living, is infinitely Barbarous: The Men are most abominably slothful; making their poor Squaws, or Wives, to plant and dress, and barn, and beat their Corn, and build their Wigwams for them; which perhaps may be the reason of their extraordinary Ease in Childbirth. In the mean time, their chief Employment, when they’ll condescend unto any, is that of Hunting; wherein they’ll go out some scores, if not Hundreds of them in a Company, driving all before them.
They continue in a Place, till they have burnt up all the Wood thereabouts, and then they pluck up Stakes; to follow the Wood, which they cannot fetch home unto themselves; hence when they enquire about the English, Why come they hither/ They have themselves very Learnedly determined the Case, ‘Twos because we wanted Firing. No Arts are understood among them, unless just so far as to maintain their Brutish Conversation, which is little more than is to be found among the very Bevers upon our Streams. . . .
This was the miserable People, which our Eliot propounded unto himself, to teach and save! And he had a double Work incumbent on him; he was to make Men of them, e’er he could hope to see them Saints; they must be civilized e’er they could be Christianized; he could not, as Gregory once of our Nation, see any thing Angelical to bespeak his Labours for their Eternal Welfare, all among them was Diabolical. To think on raising a Number of these hideous Creatures, unto the Elevations of our Holy Religion, must argue more than common or little Sentiments in the Undertaker; but the Faith of an Eliot could encounter it! . . .
The First Step which he judg’d necessary now to be taken by him, was to learn the Indian Language; for he saw them so stupid and senseless, that they would never do so much as enquire after the Religion of the Strangers now come into their Country, much less would they so far imitate us, as to leave off their beastly way of living, that they might be Partakers of any Spiritual Advantage by us: Unless we could first address them in a Language of their own. Behold, new Difficulties to be surmounted by our indefatigable Eliot! He hires a Native to teach him this exotick Language, and with a laborious Care and Skill, reduces it into a Grammar which afterwards he published. There is a Letter or two of our Alphabet, which the Indians never had in theirs; tho’ there were enough of the Dog in their Temper, there can scarce be found an R in their Language; (any more than in the Language of the Chinese, or of the Greenlanders) save that the Indians to the Northward, who have a peculiar Dialect, pronounce an R where an N is pronounced by our Indians; but if their Alphabat be short, I am sure the Words composed of it are long enough to tire the Patience of any Scholar in the World; they are Sesquipedalia Verba,9 of which their Lingua is composed; one would think, they had been growing ever since Babel, unto the Dimensions to which they are now extended. For instance, if my Reader will count how many Letters there are in this one Word, Nummatchekodtantamooonganunnonash, when he has done, for his Reward I’ll tell him, it signifies no more in English, than our Lusts, and if I were to translate, our Loves; it must be nothing shorter than Noowomantammooonkanunonnash. Or, to give my Reader a longer Word than either of these, Kummogkodonattoottummooetiteaongannunnonash, is in English, Our Question: But I pray, Sir, count the Letters! Nor do we find in all this Language the least Affinity to, or Derivation from any European Speech that we are acquainted with. I know not what Thoughts it will produce in my Reader, when I inform him, that once finding that the Damons in a possessed young Woman, understood the Latin and Greek and Hebrew Languages, my Curiosity led me to make Trial of this Indian Language, and the Damons did seem as if they did not understand it. This tedious Language our Eliot (the Anagram of whose Name was TOILE) quickly became a Master of; he employ’d a pregnant and witty Indian, who also spoke English well, for his Assistance in it; and compiling some Discourses by his Help, he would single out a Word, a Noun, a Verb, and pursue it through all its Variations: Having finished his Grammar, at the close he writes, Prayers and Pains thro’ Faith in Christ Jesus will do any thing! And being by his Prayers and Pains thus furnished, he set himself in the Year 1646. to preach the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, among these Desolate Outcasts. . . .
’Twas in the Year 1646, that Mr. Eliot, accompany’d by three more, gave a Visit unto an Assembly of Indians, of whom he desired a Meeting at such a Time and Place, that he might lay before them the Things of their Eternal Peace. After a serious Prayer, he gave them a Sermon which continued about a Quarter above an Hour, and contained the principal Articles of the Christian Religion, applying all to the Condition of the Indians present. Having done, he asked of them, Whether they understood? And with a General Reply they answered, They under-stood all. He then began what was his usual Method afterwards in treating with them; that is, he caused them to propound such Questions as they pleas’d unto himself; and he gave wise and good Answers to them all. Their Questions would often, tho’ not always, refer to what he had newly preached; and he this way not only made a Proof of their profiting by his Ministry, but also gave an Edge to what he delivered unto them. Some of their Questions would be a little Philosophical, and required a good Measure of Learning in the Minister concerned with them; but for this our Eliot wanted not. He would also put proper Questions unto them, and at one of his first Exercises with them, he made the Young Ones capable of regarding those three Questions,
Q. 1. Who made you and all the World?
Q. 2. Who do you look should save you from Sin and Hell?
Q. 3. How many Commandments has the Lord given you to keep?
It was his Wisdom that he began with them upon such Principles as they themselves had already some Notions of; such as that of an Heaven for good, and Hell for bad People, when they dy’d. It broke his gracious Heart within him to see, what Floods of Tears fell from the Eyes of several among those degenerate Salvages, at the first Addresses which he made unto them; yea, from the very worst of them all. He was very inquisitive to learn who were the Powawes, that is, the Sorcerers, and Seducers, that maintained the Worship of the Devil in any of their Societies; and having in one of his first Journeys to them, found out one of those Wretches, he made the Indian come unto him, and said, Whether do you suppose God, or Chepian (i.e. the Devil) to be the Author of all Good? The Conjurer answered, God. Upon this he added with a stern Countenance, Why do you pray to Chepian then? And the poor Man was not able to stand or speak before him; but at last made Promises of Reformation. . .
By this time, I have doubtless made my Readers loth to have me tell what now remains of this little History; doubtless they are wishing that this John might have Tarried unto the Second Coming of our Lord, But, alas, All-devouring Death at last snatch’d him from us, and slighted all those Lamentations of ours, My Father, My Father, the Chariots of Israel, and the Horsemen thereof!
When he was become a sort of Miles Emeritus,10 and began to draw near his End, he grew still more Heavenly, more Savoury, more Divine, and scented more of the Spicy Country at which he was ready to put ashore. As the Historian observes of Tiberius, That when his Life and Strength were going from him, his Vice yet remained with him; on the contrary, the Grace of this Excellent Man rather increased than abated, when every thing else was dying with him. ‘Tis too usual with Old Men, that when they are past Work, they are least sensible of their Inabilities and Incapacities, and can scarce endure to see another succeeding them in any part of their Office. But our Eliot was of a Temper quite contrary thereunto; for finding many Months before his Expiration, That he had not Strength enough to Edify his Congregation with Publick Prayers, and Sermons, he importun’d his People with some Impatience to call another Minister; professing himself unable to die with Comfort, until he could see a good Successor ordained, settled, fixed among them. For this Cause, he also cry’d mightily unto the Lord Jesus Christ our Ascended Lord, that he would give such a Gift unto Roxbury, and he sometimes call’d his whole Town together to join with him in a Fast for such a Blessing. As the Return of their Supplications, our Lord quickly bestow’d upon them, a Person young in Years, but old in Discretion, Gravity, and Experience; and one whom the Church of Roxbury hopes to find, A Pastor after God’s own Heart
It was Mr. Nehemiah Walter, who being by the Unanimous Vote and Choice of the Church there, become the Pastor of Roxbury, immediately found the Venerable Eliot Embracing and Cherishing of him, with the tender Affections of a Father. The good Old Man like Old Aaron, as it were disrobed himself, with an unspeakable Satisfaction, when he beheld his Garments put upon a Son so dear unto him. After this, he for a Year or two before his Translation, could scarce be perswaded unto any Publick Service, but humbly pleaded, what none but he would ever have said, It would be a Wrong to the Souls of the People, for him to do any thing among them, when they were supply’d so much to their Advantage otherwise. If I mistake not, the last that ever he Preached was on a Publick Fast; when he fed his People with a very distinct and useful Exposition upon the Eighty Third Psalm; and he concluded with an Apology, begging his Hearers to pardon the Poorness, and Meanness, and Brokenness, (as he called it) of his Meditations; but added he, My dear Brother here, will by’nd by mend all.
But altho’ he thus dismissed himself as one so near to the Age of Ninety, might well have done, from his Publick Labours; yet he would not give over his Endeavours, in a more private Sphere, to Do good unto all. He had always been an Enemy to Idleness; any one that should look into the little Diary that he kept in his Almanacks, would see that there was with him, No Day without a Line; and he was troubled particu larly, when he saw how much Time was devoured by that Slavery to Tobacco, which too many debase themselves unto; and now he grew old, he was desirous that his Works should hold pace with his Life; the less Time he saw left, the less was he willing to have lost. He imagined that he could now do nothing to any purpose in any Service for God; and sometimes he would say with an Air peculiar to himself, I wonder for what the Lord Jesus Christ lets me live; he knows that now lean do nothing for him! And yet he could not forbear Essaying to Do something for his Lord; he conceived, that tho’ the English could not be benefited by any Gifts which he now fancied himself to have only the Ruines of, yet who can tell but the Negro’s might! He had long lamented it with a Bleeding and a Burning Passion, that the English used their Negro’s but as their Horses or their Oxen, and that so little Care was taken about their immortal Souls; he look’d upon it as a Prodigy, that any wearing the Name of Christians, should so much have the Heart of Devils in them, as to prevent and hinder the Instruction of the poor Blackamores, and confine the Souls of their miserable Slaves to a Destroying Ignorance, meerly for fear of thereby losing the Benefit of their Vassalage; but now he made a Motion to the English within two or three Miles of him, that at such a time and Place they would send their Negro’s once a Week unto him: For he would then Catechise them, and Enlighten them, to the utmost of his Power in the Things of their Everlasting Peace; however, he did not live to make much Progress in this Undertaking . . .
He fell into some Languishments attended with a Fever, which in a few days brought him into the Pangs (may I say? or Foys) of Death; and while he lay in these, Mr. Walter coming to him, he said unto him, Brother, Thou art welcome to my very Soul. Pray retire to thy Study for me, and give me leave to be gone; meaning that he should not, by Petitions to Heaven for his Life, detain him here. It was in these Languishments, that speaking about the Work of the Gospel among the Indians, he did after this Heavenly manner express himself, There is a Cloud (said he) a dark Cloud upon the Work of the Gospel among the poor Indians. The Lord revive and prosper that Work, and grant it may live when I am Dead. It is a Work, which I have been doing much and long about. But what was the Word I spoke last? I recal that Word, My Doings Alas, they have been poor and small, and lean Doings, and Pll be the Man that shall throw the first Stone at them all.
It has been observed, That they who have spoke many considerable things in their Lives, usually speak few at their Deaths. But it was otherwise with our Eliot, who after much Speech of and for God in his Life-time, uttered some things little short of Oracles on his Death-Bed, which, ‘tis a thousand Pities, they were not more exactly regarded and recorded. Those Authors that have taken the pains to Collect, Apoph-thegmata Morientum, have not therein been unserviceable to the Living; but the Apophthegms of a Dying Eliot must have had in them a Grace and a Strain truly extraor[di]nary; and indeed the vulgar Error of the signal sweetness in the Song of a Dying Swan, was a very Truth in our Expiring Eliot; his last Breath smelt strong of Heaven, and was Articled into none but very gracious Notes; one of the last whereof, was, Welcome Joy! and at last it went away calling upon the standers-by, to Pray, pray, pray! Which was the thing in which so vast a Portion of it, had been before Employ’d.
This was the Peace in the End of this Perfect and upright Man; thus was there another Star fetched away to be placed among the rest that the third Heaven is now enriched with. He had once, I think, a pleasant Fear, that the Old Saints of his Acquaintance, especially those two dearest Neighbours of his, Cotton of Boston, and Mather of Dorchester, which were got safe to Heaven before him, would suspect him to be gone the wrong way, because he staid so long behind them. But they are now together with a Blessed Jesus, beholding of his Glory, and celebrating the High Praises of him that has call’d them into his marvellous Light. Whether Heaven was any more Heaven to him, because of his finding there, so many Saints, with whom he once had his Desireable Intimacies, yea, and so many Saints which had been the Seals of his own Ministry in this lower World, I cannot say; but it would be Heaven enough unto him, to go unto that Jesus, whom he had lov’d, preach’d, serv’d, and in whom he had been long assured, there does All Fullness dwell. In that Heaven I now leave him: Not without Grynaus’s Pathetical Exclamations [O beatum ilium diem!] “Blessed will be the Day, O Blessed the Day of our Arrival to the Glorious Assembly of Spirits, which this great Saint is now rejoicing with!”
Bereaved New-England, where are thy Tears, at this Ill-boding Funeral? We had a Tradition among us, “That the Country could never perish, as long as Eliot was alive.” But into whose Hands must this Hippo fall, now the Austin of it is taken away? Our Elisha is gone, and now who must next Tear invade the Land? The Jews have a Saying, Quando Luminaria patiuntur Eclipsin, malum signum est mundo; 11 But I am sure, ‘tis a dismal Eclipse that has now befallen our New-English World. I confess, many of the Ancients fell into the Vanity of esteeming the Reliques of the Dead Saints, to be the Towers and Ramparts of the Places that enjoy’d them; and the Dead Bodies of two Aposdes in the City, made the Poet cry out,
If the Dust of dead Saints could give us any Protection, we are not without it; here is a Spot of American Soyl that will afford a rich Crop of it, at the Resurrection of the Just. Poor New-England has been as Glasten-bury of Old was called, A Burying-place of Saints. But we cannot see a more terrible Prognostick, than Tombs filling apace with such Bones, as those of the Renowned Eliot’s; the whole Building of this Country trembles at the Fall of such a Pillar.
[For Sewall’s life see p. 376. Text from Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Fifth Series, Vols. V–VII]
JAN. 13, 1677. Giving my chickens meat, it came to my mind that I gave them nothing save Indian com and water, and yet they eat it and thrived very well, and that that food was necessary for them, how mean soever, which much affected me and convinced what need I stood in of spiritual food, and that I should not nauseat daily duties of Prayer, &c.
Nov. 6, 1692. Joseph threw a knop of Brass and hit his Sister Betty on the forhead so as to make it bleed and swell; upon which, and for his playing at Prayer-Time, and eating when Return Thanks, I whipd him pretty smartly. When I first went in (call’d by his Grandmother) he sought to shadow and hide himself from me behind the head of the Cradle: which gave me the sorrowfull remembrance of Adam’s carriage.
April 29, 1695. The morning is very warm and Sunshiny; in the Afternoon there is Thunder and Lightening, and about 2. P.M. a very extraordinary Storm of Hail, so that the ground was made white with it, as with the blossoms when fallen; ‘twas as bigg as pistoll and Musquet Bullets; It broke of the Glass of the new House about 480 Quarrels [Squares] of the Front; of Mr. Sergeant’s about as much; Col. Shrimpton, Major General, Gov’. Bradstreet, New Meetinghouse, Mr. Willard, &c. Mr. Cotton Mather dined with us, and was with me in the new Kitchen when this was; He had just been mentioning that more Ministers Houses than others proportionably had been smitten with Lightening; enquiring what the meaning of God should be in it. Many Hail-Stones broke throw the Glass and flew to the middle of the Room, or farther: People afterward Gazed upon the House to see its Ruins. I got Mr. Mather to pray with us after this awfull Providence; He told God He had broken the brittle part of our house, and prayd that we might be ready for the time when our Clay-Tabernacles should be broken. Twas a sorrowfull thing to me to see the house so far undon again before twas finish’d.
Jan. 13, 1696. When I came in, past 7. at night, my wife met me in the Entry and told me Betty had surprised them. I was surprised with the abruptness of the Relation. It seems Betty Sewall had given some signs of dejection and sorrow; but a little after dinner she burst out into an amazing cry, which caus’d all the family to cry too; Her Mother ask’d the reason; she gave none; at last said she was afraid she should goe to Hell, her Sins were not pardon’d. She was first wounded by my reading a Sermon of Mr. Norton’s, about the 5th of Jan. Text Jn° 7. 34. Ye shall seek me and shall not find me. And those words in the Sermon, Jn° 8. 21. Ye shall seek me and shall die in your sins, ran in her mind, and terrified her greatly. And staying at home Jan. 12. she read out of Mr. Cotton Mather—Why hath Satan filled thy heart, which increas’d her Fear. Her Mother ask’d her whether she pray’d. She answer’d, Yes; but feared her prayers were not heard because her Sins not pardon’d. Mr. Willard though sent for timelyer, yet not being told of the message, ... He came not till after I came home. He discoursed with Betty who could not give a distinct account, but was confused as his phrase was, and as had experienced in himself. Mr. Willard pray’d excellently. The Lord bring Light and Comfort out of this dark and dreadful Cloud, and Grant that Christ’s being formed in my dear child, may be the issue of these painfull pangs.
Dec. 25, 1696. We bury our little daughter. In the chamber, Joseph in course reads Ecclesiastes 3d a time to be born and a time to die— Elisabeth, Rev. 22. Hanah, the 38th Psalm. I speak to each, as God helped, to our mutual comfort I hope. I order’d Sam. to read the 102. Psalm. Elisha Cooke, Edw. Hutchinson, John Baily, and Josia Willard bear my little daughter to the Tomb.
Note. Twas wholly dry, and I went at noon to see in what order things were set; and there I was entertain’d with a view of, and converse with, the Coffins of my dear Father Hull, Mother Hull, Cousin Quinsey, and my Six Children: for the little posthumous was now took up and set in upon that that stands on John’s: so are three, one upon another twice, on the bench at the end. My Mother ly’s on a lower bench, at the end, with head to her Husband’s head: and I order’d little Sarah to be set on her Grandmother’s feet. ‘Twas an awfull yet pleasing Treat; Having said, The Lord knows who shall be brought hether next, I came away.
Jan. 14, 1697. Copy of the Bill I put up on the Fast day; giving it to Mr. Willard as he pass’d by, and standing up at the reading of it, and bowing when finished; in the Afternoon.
Samuel Sewall, sensible of the reiterated strokes of God upon himself and family; and being sensible, that as to the Guilt contracted upon the opening of the late commission of Oyer and Terminer at Salem (to which the order for this Day relates) he is, upon many accounts, more concerned than any that he knows of, Desires to take the Blame and shame of it, Asking pardon of men, And especially desiring prayers that God, who has an Unlimited Authority, would pardon that sin and all other his sins; personal and Relative: And according to his infinite Benignity, and Sovereignty, Not Visit the sin of him, or of any other, upon himself or any of his, nor upon the Land: But that He would powerfully defend him against all Temptations to Sin, for the future; and vouchsafe him the efficacious, saving Conduct of his Word and Spirit.
Jan. 26, 1697. I lodged at Charlestown, at Mrs. Shepards, who tells me Mr. Harvard built that house. I lay in the chamber next the street. As I lay awake past midnight, In my Meditation, I was affected to consider how long agoe God had made provision for my comfortable Lodging that night; seeing that was Mr. Harvards house: And that led me to think of Heaven the House not made with hands, which God for many Thousands of years has been storing with the richest furniture (saints that are from time to time placed there), and that I had some hopes of being entertain’d in that Magnificent Convenient Palace, every way fitted and furnished. These thoughts were very refreshing to me.
Oct. 1, 1697. Jer. Balchar’s sons came for us to go to the Island. My Wife, through Indisposition, could not goe: But I carried Sam. Hannah, Elisa, Joseph, Mary and Jane Tapan: I prevaiPd with Mr. Willard to goe, He carried Simon, Elisabeth, William, Margaret, and Elisa Tyng: Had a very comfortable Passage thither and home again; though against Tide: Had first Butter, Honey, Curds and Cream. For Dinner, very good Rost Lamb, Turkey, Fowls, Applepy. After Dinner sung the 121 Psalm. Note. A Glass of spirits my Wife sent stood upon a Joint-Stool which, Simon W. jogging, it fell down and broke all to shivers: I said twas a lively Emblem of our Fragility and Mortality. . . .
Jan. 14, 1701. Having been certified last night about 10. oclock of the death of my dear Mother at Newbury, Sam. and I set out with John Sewall, the Messenger, for that place. Hired Horses at Charles-town: set out about 10. aclock in a great Fogg. Din’d at Lewis’s with Mr. Cushing of Salisbury. Sam. and I kept on in Ipswich Rode, John went to accompany Bror from Salem. About Mr. Hubbard’s in Ipswich farms, they overtook us. Sam. and I lodg’d at Cromptons in Ipswich. Bror and John stood on for Newbury by Moon-shine. Jany. 15th Sam. and I set forward. Brother Northend meets us. Visit Aunt Northend, Mr. Payson. With Bror and sister we set forward for Newbury: where we find that day appointed for the Funeral: twas a very pleasant Comfortable day.
Bearers, Jn° Kent of the Island, Lt Cutting Noyes, Deacon William Noyes, Mr. Peter Tappan, Capt. Henry Somersby, Mr. Joseph Wood-bridge. I follow’d the Bier single. Then Bror Sewall and sister Jane, Bror Short and his wife, Brop Moodey and his wife, Bror Northend and his wife, Bror Tappan and sister Sewall, Sam. and cous. Hannah Tappan. Mr. Payson of Rowley, Mr. Clark, Minister of Excester, were there. Col. Pierce, Major Noyes &c. Cous. John, Richard and Betty Dummer. Went abt 4. p.m. Nathan1 Bricket taking in hand to fill the Grave, I said, Forbear a litde, and suffer me to say That amidst our bereaving sorrows We have the Comfort of beholding this Saint put into the rightfull possession of that Happiness of Living desir’d and dying Lamented. She liv’d commendably Four and Fifty years with her dear Husband, and my dear Father: And she could not well brook the being divided from him at her death; which is the cause of our taking leave of her in this place. She was a true and constant Lover of Gods Word, Worship, and Saints: And she always, with a patient cheerfullness, submitted to the divine Decree of providing Bread for her self and others in the sweat of her Brows. And now her infinitely Gracious and Bountiful Master has promoted her to the Honor of higher Employments, fully and absolutely discharged from all manner of Toil, and Sweat. My honoured and beloved Friends and Neighbours! My dear Mother never thought much of doing the most frequent and homely offices of Love for me; and lavish’d away many Thousands of Words upon me, before I could return one word in Answer: And therefore I ask and hope that none will be offended that I have now ventured to speak one word in her behalf; when shee her self is become speechless. Made a Motion with my hand for the filling of the Grave. Note, I could hardly speak for passion and Tears.
Jan. 24, 1704. Took 24s in my pocket, and gave my Wife the rest of my cash £4. 3–8, and tell her she shall now keep the Cash; if I want I will borrow of her. She has a better faculty than I at managing Affairs: I will assist her; and will endeavour to live upon my Salary; will see what it will doe. The Lord give his Blessing.
April 3, 1711. I dine with the Court at Pullin’s. Mr. Attorney treats us at his house with excellent Pippins, Anchovas, Olives, Nuts. I said I should be able to make no Judgment on the Pippins without a Review, which made the Company Laugh. Spake much of Negroes; I mention’d the problem, whether [they] should be white after the Resurrection: Mr. Bolt took it up as absurd, because the body should be void of all Colour, spake as if it should be a Spirit. I objected what Christ said to his Disciples after the Resurrection. He said twas not so after his Ascension.
April 11, 1712. I saw Six Swallows together flying and chippering very rapturously.
May 5, 1713. Dr. Cotton Mather makes an Excellent Dedication-Prayer in the New Court-Chamber. Mr. Pain, one of the Overseers of the Work wellcom’d us, as the Judges went up Stairs. Dr. Cotton Mather having ended Prayer, The Clark went on and call’d the Grand-Jury: Giving their Charge, which was to enforce the Queen’s Proclamation, and especially against Travailing on the Lord’s Day; God having return’d to give us Rest. [In the margin: My speech to Grand jury in new Court House.] I said, You ought to be quickened to your Duty, in that you have so Convenient, and August a Chamber prepared for you to doe it in. And what I say to you, I would say to my self, to the Court, and to all that are concern’d. Seeing the former decay’d Building is consum’d, and a better built in the room, Let us pray, May that Proverb, Golden Chalices and Wooden Priests, never be transfer’d to the Civil order; that God would take away our filthy Garments, and cloath us with Change of Raiment; That our former Sins may be buried in the Ruins and Rubbish of the former House, and not be suffered to follow us into this; That a Lixivium may be made of the Ashes, which we may frequendy use in keeping ourselves Clean: Let never any Judge debauch this Bench, by abiding on it when his own Cause comes under Trial; May the Judges always discern the Right, and dispense Justice with a most stable, permanent Impartiality; Let this large, transparent, cosdy Glass serve to oblige the Attomys alway to set Things in a True Light, And let the Character of none of them be Impar sibi; Let them Remember they are to advise the Court, as well as plead for their clients. The Oaths that prescribe our Duty run all upon Truth; God is Truth. Let Him communicat to us of His Light and Truth, in Judgment, and in Righteousness. If we thus improve this House, they that built it, shall inhabit it; the days of this people shall be as the days of a Tree, and they shall long enjoy the work of their hands. The Terrible Illumination that was made, the third of October was Twelve moneths, did plainly shew us that our GOD is a Consuming Fire: but it hath repented Him of the Evil. And since He has declar’d that He takes delight in them that hope in his Mercy, we firmly believe that He will be a Dwelling place to us throughout all Generations.
Saturday, Feb. 6, 1714 [Queen Anne’s birthday]. . . . My neighbour Colson knocks at our door about 9. or past to tell of the Disorders at the Tavern at the Southend in Mr. Addington’s house, kept by John Wallis. He desired me that I would accompany Mr. Bromfield and Constable Howell thither. It was 35. Minutes past Nine at Night before Mr. Bromfield came; then we went. I took Æneas Salter with me. Found much Company. They refus’d to go away. Said were there to drink the Queen’s Health, and they had many other Healths to drink. Call’d for more Drink: drank to me, I took notice of the Affront to them. Said must and would stay upon that Solemn occasion. Mr. John Netmaker drank the Queen’s Health to me. I told him I drank none; upon that he ceas’d. Mr. Brinley put on his Hat to affront me. I made him take it off. I threaten’d to send some of them to prison; that did not move them. They said they could but pay their Fine, and doing that they might stay. I told them if they had not a care, they would be guilty of a Riot. Mr. Bromfield spake of raising a number of Men to Quell them, and was in some heat, ready to run into Street. But I did not like that. Not having Pen and Ink, I went to take their Names with my Pensil, and not knowing how to Spell their Names, they themselves of their own accord writ them. Mr. Netmaker, reproaching the Province, said they had not made one good Law.
At last I address’d myself to Mr. Banister. I told him he had been longest an Inhabitant and Freeholder, I expected he should set a good Example in departing thence. Upon this he invited them to his own House, and away they went; and we, after them, went away. The Clock in the room struck a pretty while before they departed. I went directly home, and found it 25. Minutes past Ten at Night when I entred my own House. . . .
Monday, Feb. 8. Mr. Bromfield comes to me, and we give the Names of the Offenders at John Wallis’s Tavern last Satterday night, to Henry Howell, Constable, with Direction to take the Fines of as many as would pay; and warn them that refus’d to pay, to appear before us at 3. p.m. that day. Many of them pay’d. The rest appear’d; and Andrew Simpson, Ensign, Alexander Gordon, Chirurgeon, Francis Brinley, Gent, and John Netmaker, Gent., were sentenc’d to pay a Fine of 5s each of them, for their Breach of the Law Entituled, An Act for the better Observation, and Keeping the Lord’s Day. They all Appeal’d, and Mr. Thomas Banister was bound with each of them in a Bond of 20s upon Condition that they should prosecute their Appeal to effect.
Capt. John Bromsal, and Mr. Thomas Clark were dismiss’d without being Fined. The first was Master of a Ship just ready to sail, Mr. Clark a stranger of New York, who had carried it very civilly, Mr. Jekyl’s Brother-in-Law.
Dec. 23, 1714. Dr. C. Mather preaches excellently from Ps. 37. Trust in the Lord &c. only spake of the Sun being in the centre of our System. I think it inconvenient to assert such Problems.
Oct. 15, 1717. My Wife got some Relapse by a new Cold and grew very bad; Sent for Mr. Oakes, and he sat up with me all night.
Oct. 16. The Distemper increases; yet my Wife speaks to me to goe to Bed.
Oct. 17. Thursday, I asked my wife whether twere best for me to go to Lecture: She said, I can’t tell; so I staid at home, put up a Note. It being my Son’s Lecture, and I absent, twas taken much notice of. Major Gen1 Winthrop and his Lady visit us. I thank her that she would visit my poor Wife.
Oct. 18. My wife grows worse and exceedingly Restless. Pray’d God to look upon her. Ask’d not after my going to bed. Had the advice of Mr. Williams and Dr. Cutler.
Oct. 19. Call’d Dr. C. Mather to pray, which he did excellently in the Dining Room, having Suggested good Thoughts to my wife before he went down. After, Mr. Wadsworth pray’d in the Chamber when ‘twas suppos’d my wife took little notice. About a quarter of an hour past four, my dear Wife expired in the Afternoon, whereby the Chamber was fill’d with a Flood of Tears. God is teaching me a new Lesson; to live a Widower’s Life. Lord help me to Learn; and be a Sun and Shield to me, now so much of my Comfort and Defense are taken away.
Oct. 20. I goe to the publick Worship forenoon and Afternoon. My Son has much adoe to read the Note I put up, being overwhelm’d with tears.
Feb. 6, 1718. This morning wandering in my mind whether to live a Single or a Married Life; I had a sweet and very affectionat Meditation Concerning the Lord Jesus; Nothing was to be objected against his Person, Parentage, Relations, Estate, House, Home! Why did I not resolutely, presently close with Him! And I cry’d mightily to God that He would help me so to doe!
March 14, 1718. Deacon Marion comes to me, sits with me a great while in the evening; after a great deal of Discourse about his Courtship—He told [me] the Olivers said they wish’d I would Court their Aunt [Mrs. Winthrop]. I said little, but said twas not five Moneths since I buried my dear Wife. Had said before ‘twas hard to know whether best to marry again or no; whom to marry.
June 9, 1718. . . . Mrs. D[eniso]n came in the morning about 9 aclock, and I took her up into my Chamber and discoursed thorowly with her; She desired me to provide another and better Nurse. I gave her the two last News-Letters—told her I intended to visit her at her own house next Lecture-day. She said, ’twould be talked of. I answer’d, In such Cases, persons must run the Gantlet. Gave her Mr. Whiting’s Oration for Abijah Walter, who brought her on horseback to Town. I think little or no Notice was taken of it.
June 17, 1718. Went to Roxbury Lecture, visited Mr. Walter. Mr. Webb preach’d. Visited Gov’ Dudley, Mrs. Denison, gave her Dr. Mather’s Sermons very well bound; told her we were in it invited to a Wedding. She gave me very good Curds.
July 25, 1718. I go in the Hackny Coach to Roxbury. Call at Mr. Walter’s who is not at home; nor Gov’ Dudley, nor his Lady. Visit Mrs. Denison: she invites me to eat. I give her two Cases with a knife and fork in each; one Turtle shell tackling; the other long, with Ivory handles, Squar’d, cost 4s 6d; Pound of Raisins with proportionable Almonds.
Oct. 15, 1718. Visit Mrs. Denison on Horseback; present her with a pair of Shoe-buckles, cost 5s 3d.
Nov. 1, 1718. My Son from Brooklin being here I took his Horse, and visited Mrs. Denison. Sat in the Chamber next Majr Bowls. I told her ‘twas time now to finish our Business: Ask’d her what I should allow her; she not speaking; I told her I was willing to give her Two [Hundred] and Fifty pounds per annum during her life, if it should please God to take me out of the world before her. She answer’d she had better keep as she was, than give a Certainty for an uncertainty; She should pay dear for dwelling at Boston. I desired her to make proposals, but she made none. I had Thoughts of Publishment next Thorsday the 6th. But I now seem to be far from it. May God, who has the pity of a Father, Direct and help me!
Nov. 28, 1718. I went this day in the Coach; had a fire made in the Chamber where I spake with her before, 9’ the first: I enquired how she had done these 3 or 4 weeks; Afterwards I told her our Conversation had been such when I was with her last, that it seem’d to be a direction in Providence, not to proceed any further; She said, It must be what I pleas’d, or to that purpose. Afterward she seem’d to blame that I had not told her so 9’ 1.... I repeated her words of 9r 1. She seem’d at first to start at the words of her paying dear, as if she had not spoken them. But she said she thought twas Hard to part with All, and have nothing to bestow on her Kindred. I said, I did not intend any thing of the Movables, I intended all the personal Estate to be to her. She said I seem’d to be in a hurry on Satterday, 9r 1., which was the reason she gave me no proposals. Whereas I had ask’d her long before to give me proposals in Writing; and she upbraided me, That I who had never written her a Letter, should ask her to write. She asked me if I would drink, I told her Yes. She gave me Cider, Apples and a Glass of Wine: gathered together the little things I had given her, and offer’d them to me; but I would take none of them. Told her I wish’d her well, should be glad to hear of her welfare. She seem’d to say she should not again take in hand a thing of this nature. Thank’d me for what I had given her and Desired my Prayers. I gave Abijah Weld an Angel. Mr. Stoddard and his wife came in their Coach to see their Sister which broke off my Visit. Upon their asking me, I dismiss’d my Coach, and went with them to see Mr. Danforth, and came home by Moon-shine. Got home about 9. at night. Lous Deo.
My bowels yem towards Mrs. Denison: but I think God directs me in his Providence to desist. . . .
Nov. 30, 1718. Lord’s-day. In the evening I sung the 120. Psalm in the family. About 7 a-clock Mrs. Dorothy Denison comes in, her Cousin Weld coming first, saying she desired to speak with me in privat. I had a fire in the new Hall, and was at prayer; was very much startled that she should come so far a-foot in that exceeding Cold Season; She enter’d into discourse of what pass’d between us at Rox-bury last Friday; I seem’d to be alter’d in my affection; ask’d pardon if she had affronted me. Seem’d to incline the Match should not break off, since I had kept her Company so long. Said Mr. Denison spake to her after his Signing the Will, that he would not make her put all out of her Hand and power, but reserve somwhat to bestow on his Friends that might want. I told her She might keep all. She excus’d, and said ‘twas not such an all. I Commended the estate. I could not observe that she made me any offer of any part all this while. She mention’d two Glass Bottles she had. I told her they were hers, and the other small things I had given her, only now they had not the same signification as before. I was much concern’d for her being in the Cold, would fetch her in a plate of somthing warm; (for I had not sup’d), she refus’d. However I Fetched a Tankard of Cider and drank to her. She desired that no body might know of her being here. I told her they should not. Sam. Hirst went to the door, who knew not her Cousin Weld; and not so much as he might stay in the room while we talked together. She went away in the bitter Cold, no Moon being up, to my great pain. I Saluted her at parting.
April 1, 1719. In the morning I dehorted Sam. Hirst and Grindal Rawson from playing Idle Tricks because ‘twas first of April; They were the greatest fools that did so. N[ew] E[ngland] Men came hither to avoid anniversary days, the keeping of them, such as the 25th of Decr. How displeasing must it be to God, the giver of our Time, to keep anniversary days to play the fool with ourselves and others. . . .
[The courtship of the widow Denison having unhappily come to naught, Sewall looked about him once more, and in August, 1719, began calling upon the widow Abigail Tilly. His overtures were more acceptable in this quarter, and on October 29 they were married by Sewall’s son, the Reverend Joseph. The new Mrs. Sewall, however, was soon taken ill, and in the night of May 26, 1720, as Sewall records, “About midnight my dear wife expired to our great astonishment, especially mine.”]
Sept. 5, 1720. Going to Son Sewall’s I there meet with Madam Win-throp, told her I was glad to meet her there, had not seen her a great while; gave her Mr. Homes’s Sermon.
Sept. 30, 1720. Mr. Golman’s Lecture; Daughter Sewall acquaints Madam Winthrop that if she pleas’d to be within at 3. p.m. I would wait on her. She answer’d she would be at home.
Oct. 1, 1720. Satterday, I dine at Mr. Stoddard’s: from thence I went to Madam Winthrop’s just at 3. Spake to her, saying, my loving wife died so soon and suddenly, ‘twas hardly convenient for me to think of Marrying again; however I came to this Resolution, that I would not make my Court to any person without first Consulting with her. Had a pleasant discourse about 7 Single persons sitting in the Fore-seat 7r29th, viz. Madm Rebekah Dudley, Catharine Winthrop, Bridget Usher, Deliverance Legg, Rebekah Loyd, Lydia Colman, Elizabeth Bellingham. She propounded one and another for me; but none would do, said Mrs. Loyd was about her Age.
Oct. 3, 1720. Waited on Madam Winthrop again; ‘twas a little while before she came in. Her daughter Noyes being there alone with me, I said, I hoped my Waiting on her Mother would not be disagreeable to her. She answer’d she should not be against that that might be for her Comfort. I Saluted her, and told her I perceiv’d I must shortly wish her a good Time; (her mother had told me, she was with Child, and within a Moneth or two of her Time). By and by in came Mr. Airs, Chaplain of the Castle, and hang’d up his Hat, which I was a little startled at, it seeming as if he was to lodge there. At last Madam Winthrop came too. After a considerable time, I went up to her and said, if it might not be inconvenient I desired to speak with her. She assented, and spake of going into another Room; but Mr. Airs and Mrs. Noyes presently rose up, and went out, leaving us there alone. Then I usher’d in Discourse from the names in the Fore-seat; at last I pray’d that Katharine [Mrs. Winthrop] might be the person assign’d for me. She instantly took it up in the way of Denyal, as if she had catch’d at an Opportunity to do it, saying she could not do it before she was asked. Said that was her mind unless she should Change it, which she believed she should not; could not leave her Children. I express’d my Sorrow that she should do it so Speedily, pray’d her Consideration, and ask’d her when I should wait on her agen. She setting no time, I mention’d that day Sennight. Gave her Mr. Willard’s Fountain open’d with the little print and verses; saying, I hop’d if we did well read that book, we should meet together hereafter, if we did not now. She took the Book, and put it in her Pocket. Took Leave.
Oct. 6, 1720. A little after 6. p.m. I went to Madam Winthrop’s. She was not within. I gave Sarah Chickering the Maid 2s, Juno, who brought in wood, Is. Afterward the Nurse came in, I gave her 18d, having no other small Bill. After awhile Dr. Noyes came in with his Mother; and quickly after his wife came in: They sat talking, I think, till eight a-clock. I said I fear’d I might be some Interruption to their Business: Dr. Noyes reply’d pleasandy: He fear’d they might be an Interruption to me, and went away. Madam seem’d to harp upon the same string. Must take care of her Children; could not leave that House and Neighbourhood where she had dwelt so long. I told her she might doe her children as much or more good by bestowing what she laid out in Hous-keeping, upon them. Said her Son would be of Age the 7th of August. I said it might be inconvenient for her to dwell with her Daughter-in-Law, who must be Mistress of the House. I gave her a piece of Mr. Belcher’s Cake and Ginger-Bread wrapped up in a clean sheet of Paper; told her of her Father’s kindness to me when Treasurer, and I Constable. My Daughter Judith was gon from me and I was more lonesom—might help to forward one another in our Journey to Canaan.—Mr. Eyre came within the door; I saluted him, ask’d how Mr. Clark did, and he went away. I took leave about 9 aclock. I told [her] I came now to refresh her Memory as to Monday-night; said she had not forgot it. In discourse with her, I ask’d leave to speak with her Sister; I meant to gain Madm Mico’s favour to persuade her Sister. She seem’d surpris’d and displeas’d, and said she was in the same condition!
Oct. 10, 1720. In the Evening I visited Madam Winthrop, who treated me with a great deal of Curtesy; Wine, Marmalade. I gave her a News-Letter about the Thanksgiving Proposals, for sake of the verses for David Jeffries. She tells me Dr. Increase Mather visited her this day, in Mr. Hutchinson’s Coach.
Oct. 11, 1720.1 writ a few Lines to Madam Winthrop to this purpose: “Madam, These wait on you with Mr. Mayhew’s Sermon, and Account of the state of the Indians on Martha’s Vinyard. I thank you for your Unmerited Favours of yesterday; and hope to have the Happiness of Waiting on you to-morrow before Eight a-clock after Noon. I pray God to keep you, and give you a joyfull entrance upon the Two Hundred and twenty ninth year of Christopher Columbus his Discovery; and take Leave, who am, Madam, your humble Servt. S.S.
Oct. 12, 1720. Mrs. Anne Cotton came to door (twas before 8.) said Madam Winthrop was within, directed me into the little Room, where she was full of work behind a Stand; Mrs. Cotton came in and stood. Madam Winthrop pointed to her to set me a Chair. Madam Winthrop’s Countenance was much changed from what ‘twas on Monday, look’d dark and lowering. At last, the work, (black stuff or Silk) was taken away, I got my Chair in place, had some Converse, but very Gold and indifferent to what ‘twas before. Ask’d her to acquit me of Rudeness if I drew off her Glove. Enquiring the reason, I told her twas great odds between handling a dead Goat, and a living Lady. Got it off. I told her I had one Petition to ask of her, that was, that she would take off the Negative she laid on me the third of October; She readily answer’d she could not, and enlarg’d upon it; She told me of it so soon as she could; could not leave her house, children, neighbours, business. I told her she might do som Good to help and support me. Mentioning Mrs. Gookin, Nath, the widow Weld was spoken of; said I had visited Mrs. Denison. I told her Yes! Afterward I said, If after a first and second Vagary she would Accept of me returning, Her Victorious Kindness and Good Will would be very Obliging. She thank’d me for my Book, (Mr. Mayhew’s Sermon), But said not a word of the Letter. When she insisted on the Negative, I pray’d there might be no more Thunder and Lightening, I should not sleep all night. I gave her Dr. Preston, The Church’s Marriage and the Church’s Carriage, which cost me 6s at the Sale. The door standing open, Mr. Airs came in, hung up his Hat, and sat down. After awhile, Madam Winthrop moving, he went out. Jn° Eyre look’d in, I said How do ye, or, your servant Mr. Eyre: but heard no word from him. Sarah fill’d a Glass of Wine, she drank to me, I to her, She sent Juno home with me with a good Lantern, I gave her 6d and bid her thank her Mistress. In some of our Discourse, I told her I had rather go to the Stone-House adjoining to her, than to come to her against her mind. Told her the reason why I came every other night was lest I should drink too deep draughts of Pleasure. She had talk’d of Canary, her Kisses were to me better than the best Canary. Explain’d the expression Concerning Columbus.
Oct. 13. I tell my Son and daughter Sewall, that the Weather was not so fair as I apprehended.
Oct. 17. In the Evening I visited Madam Winthrop, who Treated me Courteously, but not in Clean Linen as somtimes. She said, she did not know whether I would come again, or no. I ask’d her how she could so impute inconstancy to me. (I had not visited her since Wednesday night being unable to get over the Indisposition received by the Treatment received that night, and I must in it seem’d to sound like a made piece of Formality.) Gave her this day’s Gazett. Heard David Jeffries say the Lord’s Prayer, and some other portions of the Scriptures. He came to the door, and ask’d me to go into Chamber, where his Grandmother was tending Little Katee, to whom she had given Physick; but I chose to sit below. Dr. Noyes and his wife came in, and sat a Considerable time; had been visiting Son and dater Cooper. Juno came home with me.
Oct. 18, 1720. Visited Madam Mico, who came to me in a splendid Dress. I said, It may be you have heard of my Visiting Madam Win-throp, her Sister. She answered, Her Sister had told her of it. I ask’d her good Will in the Affair. She answer’d, If her Sister were for it, she should not hinder it. I gave her Mr. Homes’s Sermon. She gave me a Glass of Canary, entertain’d me with good Discourse, and a Respectfull Remembrance of my first Wife. I took Leave.
Ocf. 19, 1720. Midweek, Visited Madam Winthrop; Sarah told me she was at Mr. Walley’s, would not come home till late. I gave her Hannah 3 oranges with her Duty, not knowing whether I should find her or no. Was ready to go home: but said if I knew she was there, I would go thither. Sarah seem’d to speak with pretty good Courage, She would be there. I went and found her there, with Mr. Walley and his wife in the little Room below. At 7 a-clock I mentioned going home; at 8. I put on my Coat, and quickly waited on her home. She found occasion to speak loud to the servant, as if she had a mind to be known. Was Courteous to me; but took occasion to speak pretty earnesdy about my keeping a Coach: I said ’twould cost £100. per annum: she said twould cost but £40. . . . Exit. Came away somewhat late.
Oct. 20, 1720. . . . Madam Winthrop not being at Lecture, I went thither first; found her very Serene with her dater Noyes, Mrs. Dering, and the widow Shipreev sitting at a little Table, she in her arm’d Chair. She drank to me, and I to Mrs. Noyes. After awhile pray’d the favour to speak with her. She took one of the Candles, and went into the best Room, clos’d the shutters, sat down upon the Couch. She told me Madam Usher had been there, and said the Coach must be set on Wheels, and not by Rusting. She spake somthing of my needing a Wigg. Ask’d me what her Sister said to me. I told her, She said, If her Sister were for it, She would not hinder it. But I told her, she did not say she would be glad to have me for her Brother. Said, I shall keep you in the Cold, and asked her if she would be within to morrow night, for we had had but a running Feat. She said she could not tell whether she should, or no. I took Leave. As were drinking at the Governour’s, he said: In England the Ladies minded little more than that they might have Money, and Coaches to ride in. I said, And New-England brooks its Name. At which Mr. Dudley smiled. Govr said they were not quite so bad here.
Oct. 21, 1720. Friday, My Son, the Minister, came to me p.m by appointment and we pray one for another in the Old Chamber; more especially respecting my Courtship. About 6. a-clock I go to Madam Winthrop’s; Sarah told me her Mistress was gon out, but did not tell me whither she went. She presently order’d me a Fire; so I went in, having Dr. Sibb’s Bowels with me to read. I read the two first Sermons, still no body came in: at last about 9. a-clock Mr. Jn° Eyre came in; I took the opportunity to say to him as I had done to Mrs. Noyes before, that I hoped my Visiting his Mother would not be disagreeable to him; He answered me with much Respect. When twas after 9. a-clock He of himself said he would go and call her, she was but at one of his Brothers: A while after I heard Madam Winthrop’s voice, enquiring something about John. After a good while and Clapping the Garden door twice or thrice, she came in. I mentioned something of the lateness; she banter’d me, and said I was later. She receiv’d me Courteously. I ask’d when our proceedings should be made publick: She said They were like to be no more publick than they were already. Offer’d me no Wine that I remember. I rose up at 11 a-clock to come away, saying I would put on my Coat, She offer’d not to help me. I pray’d her that Juno might light me home, she open’d the Shutter, and said twas pretty light abroad; Juno was weary and gon to bed. So I came horn by Star-light as well as I could. At my first coming in, I gave Sarah five Shillings. I writ Mr. Eyre his Name in his book with the date Octobr 21. 1720. It cost me 8s. Jehovah jireh! Madam told me she had visited M. Mico, Wendell, and Wm Clark of the South [Church].
Oct. 22, 1720. Dater Cooper visited me before my going out of Town, staid till about Sun set. I brought her going near as far as the Orange Tree. Coming back, near Leg’s Corner, Litde David Jeffries saw me, and looking upon me very lovingly, ask’d me if I was going to see his Grandmother? I said, Not to-night. Gave him a peny, and bid him present my Service to his Grandmother.
Oct. 24, 1720. I went in the Hackny Coach through the Common, stop’d at Madam Winthrop’s (had told her I would take my departure from thence). Sarah came to the door with Katee in her Arms: but I did not think to take notice of the Child. Call’d her Mistress. I told her, being encourag’d by David Jeffries loving eyes, and sweet Words, I was come to enquire whether she could find in her heart to leave that House and Neighbourhood, and go and dwell with me at the Southend; I think she said softly, Not yet. I told her It did not ly in my Lands to keep a Coach. If I should, I should be in danger to be brought to keep company with her Neighbour Brooker, (he was a litde before sent to prison for Debt). Told her I had an Antipathy against those who would pretend to give themselves; but nothing of their Estate. I would a proportion of my Estate with my self. And I suppos’d she would do so. As to a Perriwig, My best and greatest Friend, I could not possibly have a greater, began to find me with Hair before I was born, and had continued to do so ever since; and I could not find in my heart to go to another. She commended the book I gave her, Dr. Preston, the Church Marriage; quoted him saying ‘twas inconvenient keeping out of a Fashion commonly used. I said the Time and Tide did circumscribe my Visit. She gave me a Dram of Black-Cherry Brandy, and gave me a lump of the Sugar that was in it. She wish’d me-a good Journy. I pray’d God to keep her, and came away. Had a very pleasant Journy to Salem.
Oct. 31, 1720. At night I visited Madam Winthrop about 6. p.m. They told me she was gon to Madam Mico’s. I went thither and found she was gon; so return’d to her house, read the Epistles to the Galatians, Ephesians in Mr. Eyre’s Latin Bible. After the Clock struck 8. I began to read the 103. Psalm. Mr. Wendell came in from his Warehouse. Ask’d me if I were alone? Spake very kindly to me, offer’d me to call Madam Winthrop. I told him, She would be angry, had been at Mrs. Mico’s; he help’d me on with my Coat and I came home: left the Gazett in the Bible, which told Sarah of, bid her present my Service to Mrs. Winthrop, and tell her I had been to wait on her if she had been at home.
Nov. 1, 1720. I was so taken up that I could not go if I would.
Nov. 2, 1720. Midweek, went again, and found Mrs. Alden there, who quickly went out. Gave her about 
pound of Sugar Almonds, cost 3s per £. Carried them on Monday. She seem’d pleas’d with them, ask’d what they cost. Spake of giving her a Hundred pounds per anum if I dy’d before her. Ask’d her what sum she would give me, if she should dy first? Said I would give her time to Consider of it. She said she heard as if I had given all to my Children by Deeds of Gift. I told her ‘twas a mistake, Point-Judith was mine &c. That in England, I own’d, my Father’s desire was that it should go to my eldest Son; ‘twas 2o£ per anum; she thought ‘twas forty. I think when I seem’d to excuse pressing this, she seem’d to think twas best to speak of it; a long winter was coming on. Gave me a Glass or two of Canary.
Nov. 4, 1720. Friday, Went again about 7. a-clock; found there Mr. John Walley and his wife: sat discoursing pleasantly. I shew’d them Isaac Moses’s [an Indian] Writing. Madam W. serv’d Comfeits to us. After awhile a Table was spread, and Supper was set. I urg’d Mr. Walley to Grave a Blessing; but he put it upon me. About 9. they went away. I ask’d Madam what fashioned Neck-lace I should present her with, She said, None at all. I ask’d her Whereabout we left off last time; mention’d what I had offer’d to give her; Ask’d her what she would give me; She said she could not Change her Condition: She had said so from the beginning; could not be so far from her Children, the Lecture. Quoted the Apostle Paul affirming that a single Life was better than a Married. I answer’d That was for the present Distress. Said she had not pleasure in things of that nature as formerly: I said, you are the fitter to make me a Wife. If she hald in that mind, I must go home and bewail my Rashness in making more haste than good Speed. However, considering the Supper, I desired her to be within next Monday night, if we liv’d so long. Assented. She charg’d me with saying, that she must put away Juno, if she came to me: I utterly deny’d it, it never came in my heart; yet she insisted upon it; saying it came in upon discourse about the Indian woman that obtained her Freedom this Court. About 10. I said I would not disturb the good orders of her House, and came away. She not seeming pleas’d with my Coming away. Spake to her about David Jeffries, had not seen him.
Nov. 7, 1720. My Son pray’d in the Old Chamber. Our time had been taken up by Son and Daughter Cooper’s Visit; so that I only read the 130th and 143 Psalm. Twas on the Account of my Courtship. I went to Mad. Winthrop; found her rocking her little Katee in the Cradle. I excus’d my Coming so late (near Eight). She set me an arm’d Chair and Gusheon; and so the Cradle was between her arm’d Chair and mine. Gave her the remnant of my Almonds; She did not eat of them as before; but laid them away; I said I came to enquire whether she had alter’d her mind since Friday, or remained of the same mind still. She said, Thereabouts. I told her I loved her, and was so fond as to think that she loved me: She said had a great respect for me. I told her, I had made her an offer, without asking any advice; she had so many to advise with, that twas a hindrance. The Fire was come to one short Brand besides the Block, which Brand was set up in end; at last it fell to pieces, and no Recruit was made: She gave me a Glass of Wine. I think I repeated again that I would go home and bewail my Rashness in making more haste than good Speed. I would endeavour to contain myself, and not go on to sollicit her to do that which she could not Consent to. Took leave of her. As came down the steps she bid me have a Care. Treated me Courteously. Told her she had enter’d the 4th year of her Widowhood. I had given her the News-Letter before; I did not bid her draw off her Glove as sometime I had done. Her Dress was not so clean as somtime it had been. Jehovah jireh!
Nov. 9, 1720. Dine at Bror Stoddard’s: were so kind as to enquire of me if they should invite M’m Winthrop; I answer’d No. Thank’d my Sister Stoddard for her Courtesie; . . . She sent her servant home with me with a Lantern. Madam Winthrop’s Shutters were open as I pass’d by.
[The courtship of Madam Winthrop having failed still more disastrously than that of Mrs. Denison, Sewall gave over the attack in November, 1720; in January, 1722, he turned his attentions toward Mrs. Mary Gibbs, whom he married for his third wife on March 29.]
March 5, 1721. Lord’s Day, Serene, and good but very cold, yet had a comfortable opportunity to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. Mr. Prince, p.m. preach’d a Funeral Sermon from Psal. 90. 10. Gave Capt. Hill a good character. Just as I sat down in my Seat, one of my Fore-teeth in my under Jaw came out, and I put it in my pocket. This old servant and daughter of Musick leaving me, does thereby give me warning that I must shortly resign my Head: the Lord help me to do it cheerfully!
June 15, 1725. I accompanied my Son to Mad. Winthrop’s. She was a-bed about 10. mane. I told her I found my Son coming to her and took the Opportunity to come with him. She thank’d me kindly, enquired how Madam Sewall did. Ask’d my Son to go to Prayer. Present Mr. John Eyre, Mrs. Noyes, Mrs. Walley and David Jeffries. At coming I said, I kiss your hand Madame (her hand felt very dry). She desired me to pray that God would lift up upon her the Light of his Countenance.
Apr. 14, 1726. Mr. Coney died more than three years ago; and now his widow Mrs. Mary Coney died somwhat suddenly on Tuesday morning April, 12. and was inter’d in one of the new Tombs of the South-burying place; Bearers, Sam. Sewall, John Clark esqr; Sam. Brown esqr, Thomas Fitch esqr; Sam. Checkley esqr. Capt. John Ballantine. Was buried from her daughter Bromfield’s. His Honour the Lieut Govr follow’d his Aunt as a Mourner and his Lady. Thus death, by its regardless stroke, mows down all before it, making no distinction between our most prudent and Charming Friends, and others; May we learn more entirely to delight and trust in God who is Altogether Lovely and Lives for Ever. Three Sams being Bearers together on the right side, occasion’d my binding all the Bearers up together in this band,
Three Sams, two Johns, and one good Tom
Bore Prudent Mary to her Tomb.
July 26, 1726. Rode in Mr. Sheriff’s Calash to Cambridge. Mr. Appleton prays. Entring upon the Charge to the Grand-Jury, I said, Since men’s departure from God, there was such an aversion in them to return, that every kind of Authority was necessary to reclaim them. Notwithstanding the singular advantage Cambridge had enjoy’d in their excellent Pastors, and Presidents of the College—yet it must be said, Venimus ipsam Cantabrigiam ad stabiliendos, et corrigendos mores .1—
Dec. 17, 1727. I was surprised to hear Mr. Thacher of Milton, my old Friend, pray’d for as dangerously Sick. Next day. Decr 18. 1727. I am inform’d by Mr. Gerrish, that my dear friend died last night; which I doubt bodes ill to Milton and the Province, his dying at this Time, though in the 77th year of his Age. Deus avertat Omen!
Dec. 22, 1727. the day after the Fast, was inter’d. Bearers, Revd Mr. Nehemiah Walter, Mr. Joseph Baxter; Mr. John Swift, Mr. Sam1 Hunt; Mr. Joseph Sewall, Mr. Thomas Prince. I was inclin’d before, and having a pair of Gloves sent me, I determined to go to the Funeral, if the Weather prov’d favourable, which it did, and I hired Blake’s Coach with four Horses; my Son, Mr. Cooper and Mr. Prince went with me. Refresh’d there with Meat and Drink; got thither about half an hour past one. It was sad to see [death] triumphed over my dear Friend! I rode in my Coach to the Burying place; not being able to get nearer by reason of the many Horses. From thence went directly up the Hill where the Smith’s Shop, and so home very comfortably and easily, the ground being mollified. But when I came to my own Gate, going in, I fell down, a board slipping under my Left foot, my right Legg raised off the skin, and put me to a great deal of pain, especially when ‘twas washed with Rum. It was good for me that I was thus Afflicted that my spirit might be brought into a frame more suitable to the Solemnity, which is apt to be too light; and by the loss of some of my Skin, and blood I might be awakened to prepare for my own Dissolution. Mr. Walter prayed before the Corps was carried out. I had a pair of Gloves sent me before I went, and a Ring given me there. ... I have now been at the Interment of 4 of my Class-mates. . . . Now I can go to no more Funerals of my Class-mates; nor none be at mine; for the survivers, the Rev’d Mr. Samuel Mather at Windsor, and the Revd Mr. Taylor at Westfield, [are] one Hundred Miles off, and are entirely enfeebled. I humbly pray that Christ may be graciously present with us all Three both in Life, and in Death, and then we shall safely and Comfortably walk through the shady valley that leads to Glory.
[John Williams was born at Roxbury, his father being a deacon in John Eliot’s church, a shoemaker by trade; he was helped through college by his grandfather, and graduated in 1683. He taught school at Dorchester for two years, and settled as minister at Deerfield in 1686. The massacre occurred on February 29, 1704. Williams was redeemed in October, 1706, and returned to Boston; all his children were redeemed except a daughter, Eunice, who married an Indian and lost all memory of any other way of life. The town was resetded in 1707, and Williams went back to his post, saying, “I must return and look after my sheep in the wilderness.” This text is from The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion (Boston, 1707), pp. 2–9, 22–25.]
ON THE Twenty-ninth of February [1704] Not long before break of day, the Enemy came in like a Flood upon us; our Watch being unfaithful: an evil, whose awful effects, in a surprizal of our Fort, should bespeak all Watchmen to avoid, as they would not bring the charge of blood upon themselves. They came to my House in the beginning of the Onset, and by their violent endeavours to break open Doors, and Windows, with Axes, and Hatchets, Awaken’d me out of Sleep; on which I leapt out of bed, and running toward the door, perceived the Enemy making their entrance into the House: I called to awaken two Souldiers, in the Chamber; and returned towards my bedside, for my Arms: the Enemy immediately brake into the Room, I judge to the number of Twenty, with Painted Faces, and hideous Acclamations. I reach’d up my hands to the Bed-tester, for my Pistol, uttering a short Petition to God, For Everlasting Mercies for me & mine, on the account of the Merits of our Glorify’d Redeemer; Expecting a present passage through the Valley of the shadow of Death: Saying in my self, as Isaiah 38. 10, 11. I said, in the cutting off my days, I shall go to the gates of the grave: I am deprived of the residue of my years, I said, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord, in the land of the Living: I shall behold man no more with the inhabitants of the World, Taking down my Pistol, I Cockt it, and put it to the breast of the first Indian who came up; but my Pistol missing fire, I was seized by Three Indians, who disarmed me, and bound me Naked, as I was in my Shirt, and so I stood for near the space of an hour: binding me, they told me they would carry me to Quebeck. My Pistol missing fire, was an occasion of my Life’s being preserved: Since which I have also found it profitable to be cross’d in my own Will. The judgment of God did not long slumber against one of the Three which took me, who was a Captain, for by Sun-rising he received a Mortal Shot, from my next Neighbours house; who oppossed so great a number of French & Indians as Three hundred, and yet were no more than Seven men in an Ungarison’d house.
I cannot relate the distressing care I had for my dear Wife, who had lien-In but a few Weeks before, and for my poor Children, Family, and Christian Neighbours. The Enemy fell to riffling the house, and entred in great numbers into every room of the house. I beg’d of God, to Remember Mercy in the midst of Judgment: that He would so far restain their Wrath, as to prevent their Murdering of us: that we might have Grace to Glorify His Name, whether in Life or Death; and as I was able committed our State to God. The Enemies who entred the House were all of them Indians and Macqua’s, insulted over me a while, holding up Hatchets over my head, threatning to burn all I had, but yet God beyond expectation made us in a great measure to be Pityed: for tho’ some were so cruel and barbarous as to take & carry to the door, Two of my Children and Murder them, as also a Negro Woman; yet they gave me liberty to put on my Clothes, keeping me bound with a Cord on one arm, till I put on my Cloths to the other; and then changing my Cord, they let me dress my self and then Pinioned me again. Gave liberty to my dear Wife to dress her self, & our Children. About Sun an hour high, we were all carryed out of the house, for a March, and saw many of the Houses of my Neighbours in Flames, perceiving the whole Fort, one house excepted, to be taken. Who can tell, what Sorrows pierced our Souls, when we saw our selves carryed away from Gods Sanctuary, to go into a strange Land, exposed to so many Trials? the journey being at least Three hundred Miles we were to Travel; the Snow up to the Knees, and we never inur’d to such hardships and fatigues, the place we were to be carryed to, a Popish Country. Upon my parting from the Town they fired my House & Barn. We were carryed over the river, to the foot of the Mountain, about a Mile from my House, where we found, a great number of our Christian Neighbours, Men, Women & Children, to the number of an hundred, Nineteen of which were afterward Murdered by the Way, and two starved to Death, near Cowass, in a time of great scarcity or Famine, the Salvages underwent there. When we came to the foot of our Mountain, they took away our Shoes, and gave us, in the room of them Indian-Shoes, to prepare us for our Travel. Whilst we were there the English beat out a Company, that remained in the Town, and pursued them to the River, Killing and Wounding many of them; but the body of the Army, being Alarm’d, they repulsed those few English that pursued them.
I am not able to give you an account of the number of the Enemy Slain, but I observed after this night, no great insulting Mirth, as I expected; and saw many Wounded Persons, and for several days together they buryed of their party, & one of chief Note among the Mocqua’s. The Governour of Canada, told me, his Army had that Success with the loss but of Eleven men, Three French-men, One of which was the Lieutenant of the Army, Five Macqua’s, and Three Indians: but after my Arrival at Quebeck, I spake with an English man, who was taken the last War, and Married there, and of their Religion; who told me, they lost above Forty, and that many were Wounded: I replyed the Governour of Canada said, they lost but Eleven men: He answered, ‘tis true, That there were but Eleven killed out-right at the taking of the Fort, but that many others were Wounded, among whom was the Ensign of the French; but said he, they had a fight in the Meadow, and that in both Engagements, they lost more than Forty. Some of the Souldiers, both French and Indians then present told me so (said he) adding, That the French always endeavour, to conceal the number of their Slain.
After this, we went up the Mountain, and saw the smoak of the Fires in the Town, and beheld the awful desolations of our Town: And before we marched any farther, they kill’d a Sucking Child of the English. There were slain by the Enemy of the Inhabitants of our Town to the number of Thirty-eight, besides Nine of the Neighbouring Towns. We Travel’d not far the first day; God made the Heathen, so to Pity our Children, that though they had several Wounded Persons, of their own to carry, upon their Shoulders, for Thirty Miles, before they came to the River, yet they carryed our Children, uncapable of Travelling upon their Shoulders and in their Arms. When we came to our Lodging place, the first Night, they dugg away the snow, and made some Wigwams, cut down some of the small branches of Spruce-trees to lye down on, and gave the Prisoners some-what to eat; but we had but little Appetite. I was Pinioned, and bound down that Night, and so I was every Night whilst I was with the Army. Some of the Enemy who brought drink with them, from the Town, fell to drinking, and in their Drunken fit, they kill’d my Negro man, the only dead Person, I either saw at the Town, or in the Way. In the Night an English Man made his escape: in the Morning I was call’d for, and ordered by the General to tell the English, That if any more made their escape, they would burn the rest of the Prisoners. He that took me was unwilling to let me speak with any of the Prisoners, as we March’d; but on the Morning of the Second day, he being appointed to guard the rear, I was put into the hands of my other Master, Who permitted me to speak to my Wife, when I overtook her, and to Walk with her to help her in her Journey. On the Way we discoursed of the happiness of them who had a right to an House not made with Hands, Eternal in the Heavens; and God for a Father, and Friend; as also, That it was our reasonable Duty, quietly to submit, to the Will of God, and to say, The Will of the Lord be done. My Wife told me her strength of body began to fail, So that I must expect to part with her; Saying, She hoped God would preserve my Life, and the Life of some, if not of all of our Children, with us; and commended to me, under God, the care of them. She never spake any discontented Word as to what had befal’n us, but with suitable expressions justified God, in what had befal’n us. We soon made a halt, in which time my chief Surviving Master came up, upon which I was put upon Marching with the foremost, and so made to take my last fare-well of my dear Wife, the desire of my Eyes, and companion in many Mercies and Afflictions. Upon our Separation from each other, we askt for each other Grace sufficient, for what God should call us to. After our being parted from one another, she spent the few remaining Minutes of her stay, in Reading the Holy Scriptures; which she was wont Personally every day to delight her Soul in Reading, Praying, Meditating of, and over, by her self, in her Closet, over and above what she heard out of them in our Family Worship. I was made to Wade over a small River, and so were all the English, the Water above Knee-deep, the Stream very Swift; and after that, to Travel up a small Mountain, my Strength was almost spent, before I came to the top of it: No sooner had I overcome the difficulty of that ascent but I was permitted to sit down, & be unburthened of my Pack; I sat pitying those who were behind and intreated my Master, to let me go down, and help up my Wife, but he refused, and would not let me stir from him. I ask’d each of the Prisoners (as they passed by me) after her, and heard that in passing through the abovesaid River, she fell down and was plunged over Head and Ears in the Water after which she travelled not far, for at the Foot of this Mountain, the cruel and blood thirsty Salvage who took her, slew her with his Hatchet, at one stroak; the tidings of which were very awful: and yet such was the hard-heartedness of the Adversary, that my Tears were reckoned to me as a reproach. My loss, and the loss of my Children was great, our hearts were so filled with Sorrow, that nothing but the comfortable hopes of her being taken away in Mercy, to her self, from the evils we were to see, feel and suffer under; (and joyn’d to the Assembly of the Spirits of just men made perfect, to rest in Peace, and joy unspeakable, and full of glory; and the good Measure of God thus to exercise us,) could have kept us from sinking under, at that time. That Scripture, Job i. 21.—Naked came I out of my Mothers womb, and Naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the Name of the Lord: Was brought to my Mind, and from it, That an Afflicting God was to be Glorifyed; with some other places of Scripture, to perswade to a Patient bearing my Afflictions. . . .
[At Quebec:] The next Morning the Bell Rang for Mass: My Master bid me go to Church: I refused: he threatned me, and went away in a rage. At Noon the Jesuit sent for me, to dine with them; for I eat at their Table all the time I was at the Fort. And after Dinner, they told me, the Indians would not allow of any of their Captives staying in their Wigwams, whilst they were at Church; and were resolved by force and violence to bring us all to Church, if we would not go without. I told them it was highly unreasonable so to impose upon those who were of a contrary Religion; and to force us to be present at such Service, as we Abhor’d, was nothing becoming Christianity. They replyed, They were Salvages, and would not hearken to reason, but would have their Wills: Said also, If they were in New-England themselves, they would go into the Churches to see their Wayes of Worship. I answered, the case was far different, for there was nothing (them selves being judges) as to matter or manner of Worship, but what was according to the Word of God, in our Churches; and therefore it could not be an offence to any mans Conscience. But among those there were Idolatrous Superstitions in Worship: they said, Come and see, and offer us Conviction, of what is superstitious in Worship. To which I answered, That I was not to do Evil that Good might come on it; and that forcing in matters of Religion was hateful. They answered, The Indians were resolved to have it so, & they could not pacify them without my coming; and they would engage they should offer no force or violence to cause any compliance with their Ceremonies.
The next Mass, my Master bid me go to Church: I objected; he arose and forcibly pulled me out by head and Shoulders out of the Wigwam to the Church, that was nigh the door. So I went in and sat down behind the door, and there saw a great confusion, instead of any Gospel Order. For one of the Jesuits was at the Altar, saying Mass in a Tongue Unknown to the Salvages, and the other, between the Altar & the door, saying and singing Prayers among the Indians at the same time; and many others were at the same time saying over their Pater Nosters, and Ave Mary, by tale from their Chapelit, or Beads on a string. At our going out we smiled at their Devotion so managed; which was offensive to them: for they said, We made a Derision of their Worship. When I was here, a certain Salvagess dyed; one of the Jesuits told me, She was a very holy Woman, who had not committed One Sin in Twelve Tears. After a day or two the Jesuits ask’d me, What I thought of their Way, how I saw it? I told them, I thought Christ said of it, as Mark 7. 7, 8, 9. Howbeit, in vain do they Worship me, teaching for doctrines the Commandments of men. For laying aside the Commandment of God, ye hold the tradition of men, as the washing of pots, and cups: and many other such like things ye do. And he said unto them, Full well ye reject the commandment of God, that ye may keep your own tradition. They told me, They were not the Commandments of men, but Apostolical Traditions, of equal authority with the Holy Scriptures. And that after my Death, I would bewail my not Praying to the Virgin Mary; and that I should find the want of her Intercession for me, with her Son; judging me to Hell for asserting, the Scriptures to be a perfect rule of Faith: and said, I abounded in my own sense, entertaining explications contrary to the sense of the Pope, regularly sitting with a general Council, explaining Scripture, and making Articles of Faith. I told them, It was my Comfort that Christ was to be my Judge, and not they at the Great Day: And as for their censuring and judging of me, I was not moved with it. One day a certain Salvage, taken Prisoner in Philips War, who had lived at Mr. Buckleys at Wethersfield, called Ruth, who could speak English very well; who had been often at my House but was now proselyted to the Romish Faith, came into the Wigwam, and with her an English Maid who was taken the last War, who was dress’d up in Indian Apparel, could not speak one word of English, who said she could neither tell her own name, or the name of the place from whence she was taken. These two talked in the Indian Dialect with my Master a long time; after which my Master bad me Cross my self; I told him I would not he commanded me several times, and I as often refused. Ruth said, Mr. Williams you know the Scripture, and therefore act against your own light, for you know the Scripture saith, Servants obey your Masters; he is your Master, and you his Servant. I told her she was ignorant, and knew not the meaning of the Scripture, telling her, I was not to disobey the Great God to obey any Master, and that I was ready to suffer for God if called thereto: On which she talked to my Master, I suppose she interpreted what I said. My Master took hold of my hand to force me to Cross my self, but I stnigled with him, and would not suffer him to guide my hand; upon this he pulled off a Crucifix from his own neck, and bad me Kiss it; but I refused once and again; he told me he would dash out my brains with his Hatchet if I refused, I told him I should sooner chuse death then to Sin against God; then he ran and catcht up his Hatchet, and acted as tho’ he would have dashed out my Brains; seeing I was not moved, he threw down his Hatchet, saying, he would first bite off all my nails if I still refused; I gave him my hand and told him, I was ready to suffer, he set his teeth in my thumb nails and gave a gripe with his teeth, and then said, no good Minister, no love God, as bad as the Devil; and so left off. I have reason to bless God who strengthened me to withstand; by this he was so discouraged as never more to meddle with me about my Religion.
[Ebenezer Turell was born in Boston, graduated from Harvard College in 1721, married the daughter of Benjamin Colman, and served as minister at Medford, 1724–1778. He published The Life and Character of the Reverend Benjamin Colman, D.D. in Boston, 1749; this text is from pp. 5–7, 26–28, 166–167, 182–184, 210–211. The biography of his wife, Memoirs of the Life and Death of the Pious and Ingenious Mrs. Jane Turell, was published at Boston, 1735, and in London, 1741; this text is from the edition of 1735, pp. 60–61, 78–79, 116–119.]
IT WAS after the Twentieth Day of July in the year 1695 that Mr. Colman imbarked for London (by the Will of God) on board the Ship Swan Capt. Thomas Gilbert Commander—For the whole three first Days he was on Shipboard he endured the Extremity of Sea Sickness, and at times through the Voyage. On the fourth Day the Vessel sprang a Leek, and the Water was heard to pour in on the Star-board Tack, which alarmed the Sailors, and made some of them remark his Eveness and Calmness when they expected he should have been much affrighted. When the Winds blew a Storm afterward, he governed his Fears by looking on the Captain, Mate, and Sailors to discover what he saw in their Faces. When they came into the warm Seas, a Dolphin which they had marked with a Scar on his shining Back, kept Company with the Ship for Ten or Twelve Days together, feeding on her Bottom.
At the End of seven Weeks a Seeker made after them, and soon came up with them. She was a Privateer of 20 Guns and an 100 Men, a light and fleet Ship; The Swan was heavy laden, twelve Guns and 24 Men, Sailors and Passengers together. The Swan’s Company bore their Broad-sides and Vollies of small Arms six or seven Times that Afternoon, defending themselves and annoying the Enemy; but were taken the next Morning, having their Boltsprit shot away, and the Mast, and Rigging so torn and cut, that the Masts fell all together an Hour after; by which means the Ship became a perfect Wreck, and the Company were much looked at by the French when they came into Port. The French had a great Number of Men killed, for they were so full that if a shot entered it must do Execution.
God graciously preserved Mr. Colman in the Fight, exposed all the while on the Quarter-Deck, where four out of seven were wounded, and one mortally. He was much praised for his Courage when the Fight was over; but though he charged and discharged like the rest, yet he declared he was sensible of no Courage but of a great deal of Fear; and when they had reecived two or three Broadsides he wondered when his Courage would come, as he had heard others talk. In short, he fought like a Philosopher and a Christian. He looked Death in the Face, and prayed all the while he charged and fired, while the Boatswain and others made a Frolick and Sport of it.
There was a young Rake, a Passenger on board, that lisped at Atheism, and spit at Religion every Day of the Voyage, who was now in the Terrors of Death,—when he saw Mr. Colman take a Musket, he was ashamed to leave the Deck; but the first Volley of small Arms laid him flat on his Belly without being touched: when the great Guns roared he would have crept through the Boards to hide himself; he lay as one Dead, and let the Men tread on him or kick him as they pleased. At last he peeped up when the firing ceased for a Minute, and asked where they were? Mr. Colman told him they lay by to charge again; and in a Moment he flew down into the Doctor’s Room, and was seen no more till the Ship was taken. Yet this Spark when safe in France was ridiculing Religion again, and scorning the Ministers of it as much as ever. . . .
He took Coach on Christmas Day, and found in it a Gentlewoman of very good Fashion and Sense, with her little Daughter, and was much delighted in the Journey with the agreeable Conversation of the Lady and Prattle of Miss.
At Cambridge Mr. Colman found a small Congregation of inferior People, the Shadow of the University, like that of all Cathedrals, stunting the Growth of the Dissenters.
They liked illiterate Preachers, and when Davis and others of that Sort came to Town, he was left by one half of his Hearers. They were also sadly tinged with Antinomian Principles, and his Texts were too legal for them.*—So he was ashamed of his Post, and wrote earnestly to London to be released from it.—He saw all the Colleges there after a Sort, but had none of those honorary Advantages for doing it as he had at Oxford.
At twelve Weeks End he returned to London, and some of the City Ministers resolved to take a Turn down themselves. The Reverend and zealous Mr. Pomfret went first for a Month, and others followed him.
But at length they got a handsom Subscription at London to the ingenious and learned Mr. Pearse, an excellent Preacher, to fix him at Cambridge for two or three Years. He went; and being already well entred into the Mathematicks, soon made himself known to the learned Mr. Whiston,2 and became his most esteemed Friend. A fatal Friendship! for then he also drank in Mr. Whiston’s Arrian Principles, which has since been the Spring of so much Strife and Confusion and every evil Work among the Dissenters.
Within a few Weeks after Mr. Colman was invited to the great Town of Ipswich in Suffolk.—In his Way thither God graciously preserved him from a very dangerous Snare, which three ill Women laid for him. He found them in the Stage-Coach, supped with them in the Evening, and was retired to his Chamber: But as he was going to Bed one of them knocked at his Door, and told him that they had mulled a Glass of Wine, chiefly because of the Cold that was upon him, and he must needs take Part of it with them. In their Chamber were two Beds, and he heard one of them gigling behind the Curtains of the furthermost Bed. He began now to suspect them, when one of them told him, that truly they were afraid to lie in the Chamber alone; that the furthest Bed would hold them three; and they begged of him to lodge in the nearest Bed. He told them he was greatly surprised at their Motion, and ashamed of it, that their Fear was groundless; no Danger would happen to them in the Inn; if there were any he should make a poor Defence; and that in short, they utterly forgot what they owed to their Reputation and Virtue, or to his. So they begged his Pardon, and he suddenly stept into his own Chamber.
At Ipswich he spent eleven Weeks very pleasantly, and with much Satisfaction; but they needed a Preacher only every other Lord’s Day. The excellent Mr. Fairfax divided his Time with them and some neighbouring Congregations, as the Bishop of them all. Being now got to a plentiful Fish-market, and near to the Oyster-Banks, he began to think himself again in New-England. . . .
Reading, and close Application of Mind to Study was early, and ever his Delight—He read much, and digested well the various Authors he perused; and often collected from them what was curious and useful, as appears by many Sheets left, and numerous Quotations in his Sermons.*
In his younger Times he was a Night-Student, by which his Health was greatly impaired, and he experienced the Truth of that Saying in Erasmus, Nocturnae Lucubrationes longe periculosissimœ habentur.2 In his latter Years he plied his Studies chiefly in the Forenoon, and ordinarily spent the whole of it in them. And he has been heard to say on the Verge of Seventy, “That he found himself best in Health and Spirit, at his Table with a Book or Pen in his Hand.—All must be hushed and still when he was there employed either in Reading, writing Letters or composing Sermons—He wrote many Hundred Epistles in a Year— (Nulla Dies sine Epistolis 3) to all Ranks of Persons; on all Occasions and Businesses, and with greatest Ease imaginable, to the vast Pleasure and Profit of his Friends, the Benefit of his Country and the Churches in it; and the Good of Mankind.—His Letters to his Correspondents abroad being seen and admired, created him new Friends and were a happy Means of raising up new Benefactors to these Provinces . . . —I need not therefore here observe to my Readers, how good a Master he was of the Epistolary Stile—The Letters already inserted and others to be published in our Narrative shall speak for themselves, †
When he was about making a Sermon, after he had first looked up to Heaven for Assistance, he chose a Text, and consulted the best Expositors upon it (particularly the Rev. Mr. Matthew Henry, for whose Writings he seems to have had the greatest Value next to the sacred Scriptures) and then drew the Scheme of it on loose Papers, and noted down not only general Heads and Subdivisions, but also some of the most leading Thoughts and brightest Quotations from Authors (around him) with many Passages of Scripture for Proof and Illustration.—Thus prepared he proceeded to write his Sermon on a Sheet of Paper neatly folded and stitched, which he sometimes finished with a Celerity and Exactness incredible. I have known him begin and compleat a Discourse that would last an Hour at one Sitting in a Forenoon.* Few Interlines or Emendations were afterward inserted or needed. † . . .
The Doctor as became a vigilant Overseer made frequent Visits to the several Families of his Charge, not only common and civil to cultivate Friendship and Good Will, but proper Pastoral Ones to enquire into and know their State and Circumstances in Order to treat them agreably, wisely and faithfully, and that he might the better adapt his publick Exercises, and give to every one their Portion in due Season.
He made Conscience of visiting the Poor as well as the Rich (especially in their Afflictions) instructing, advising, admonishing and comforting as he saw Occasion: And this he did Night and Day as long as his Strength lasted, and oftentimes to the no small Hazard of his Health and Life.
And when he gave Visits to any of his Congregation or received Visits from them (or other his Friends) he generally and generously bestowed Books of Piety on them, either his own Sermons, or the Publications of others.—When he was called to minister to the Souls of the Poor at their own Dwellings, he ordinarily enquired of their bodily Wants, which were soon supplyed either by himself, or charitable Friends to whom he instantly applyed on their Behalf.
His Prayers over sick and dying Ones, were not only very affectionate and fervent, but also most instructive and edifying—By a Train of excellent Thoughts he led them into the Knowledge of Sin and Duty, of God and Christ, and from Earth to Heaven. ‡
When he could not conveniently visit his People or other his Friends in distant Places, he sent his Thoughts to them in Writing, suted to the various Providences he heard they were under—A few § of the Copies which are found, and which exhibit the bright Image of his Mind, the Reader shall be entertained withal after I have just added a Word or two (for a Close to this Chapter) on his gentlemanly Carriage and Behaviour, and other Homiletical Virtues which adorned him, and were so conspicuous to all he conversed with.—He was a good Master of Address, and carried all the Politeness of a Court about him.—And as he treated Mankind of various Degrees and Ranks with a Civility, Courtesy, Affability, Complaisance and Candor scarce to be equalled. So all but the Base and Mean showed him an high Degree of Respect and Reverence, Love and Affection.—Particularly Men of Figure and Parts of our own Nation and Foreigners, whom he failed not to visit upon their coming among us, greatly valued and admired him.
It has been said (perhaps not without some seeming Grounds for it) that he sometimes went too far in complemental Strains both in Word and Writing—but if he did, I am perswaded such Flights took their Rise rather from an Exuberance or Excrescence (if the Phrase be allowable) of the before-mentioned homiletical Virtues, and a too high Complacency in the appearing Excellencies of others, than from faulty Insincerity and designed Flattery in the Time of it.—As he took a sincere Pleasure in the Gifts of others, and had a natural Proneness to think favourably of all Men, and construed every Thing in the most candid Sense, it is not much to be wondered at if he sometimes exceeded in his Expressions.—And it is to be lamented that some have swollen with Pride, and made an ill Use of the Doctor’s high Esteem and good Opinion of them.
HER Father the Reverend Dr. Benjamin Colman (thro’ the gracious Favour of God) is still living among us, one universally acknowleg’d to be even from his younger Times (at Home and Abroad) a bright Ornament and Honour to his Country, and an Instrument in God’s Hand of bringing much Good to it.
Her Mother Mrs. Jane Colman was a truly gracious Woman, Daughter of Mr. Thomas Clark Gentleman.
Mrs. Turell was their third Child, graciously given them after they had mourn’d the Loss of the two former; and for seven Years their only one. Her Constitution from her early Infancy was wonderful weak and tender, yet the Organs of her Body so form’d as not to obstruct the free Operations of the active and capacious Spirit within. The Buddings of Reason and Religion appear’d on her sooner than usual.—Before her second Year was compleated she could speak distinctly, knew her Letters, and could relate many Stories out of the Scriptures to the Satisfaction and Pleasure of the most Judicious. I have heard that Governour Dudley, with other Wise and Polite Gentlemen, have plac’d her on a Table and setting round it own’d themselves diverted with her Stories.— Before she was four Years old (so strong and tenacious was her Memory) she could say the greater Part of the Assembly’s Catechism, many of the Psalms, some hundred Lines of the best Poetry, read distinctly, and make pertinent Remarks on many things she read.—
She grew in Knowlege (the most useful) day by day, and had the Fear of God before her Eyes.
She pray’d to God sometimes by excellent Forms (recommended to her by her Father and suited to her Age & Circumstances) and at other times ex corde, the Spirit of God helping her Infirmities. When her Father upon a Time enquir’d of her what Words she used in Prayer to God, she answer’d him,— “That when she was upon her Knees God gave her Expressions.
Even at the Age of four, five, & six she ask’d many astonishing Questions about divine Mysteries, and carefully laid up and hid the Answers she received to them, in her Heart. . . .
Before She had seen Eighteen she had read, and (in some measure) digested all the English Poetry, and polite Pieces in Prose, printed and Manuscripts in her Father’s well furnish’d Library, and much she borrow’d of her Friends and Acquaintance. She had indeed such a Thirst after Knowledge that the Leisure of the Day did not suffice, but she spent whole Nights in reading.
I find she was sometimes fir’d with a laudable Ambition of raising the honour of her Sex, who are therefore under Obligations to her; and all will be ready to own she had a fine Genius, and is to be placed among those who have excel’d.
When I was first inclin’d (by the Motions of God’s Providence and Spirit) to seek her Acquaintance (which was about the Time she entred her nineteenth Year) I was surpriz’d and charm’d to find her so accomplish’d. I found her in a good measure Mistress of the politest Writers and their Works; could point out the Beauties in them, and had made many of their best Tho’ts her own: And as she went into more free Conversation, she discours’d how admirably on many Subjects!
I grew by Degrees into such an Opinion of her good Taste, that when she put me upon translating a Psalm or two, I was ready to excuse my Self, and if I had not fear’d to displease her should have deny’d her Request.
After her Marriage which was on August 11th. 1726, her Custom was once in a Month or two, to make some new Essay in Verse or Prose, and to read from Day to Day as much as a faithful Discharge of the Duties of her new Condition gave Leisure for: and I think I may with Truth say, that she made the writing of Poetry a Recreation and not a Business.
What greatly contributed to increase her Knowlege in Divinity, History, Physick, Controversy, as well as Poetry, was her attentive hearing most that I read upon those Heads thro’ the long Evenings of the Winters as we sat together. . . .
Having related these Things, you will not wonder if I now declare my self a Witness of her daily close Walk with God during her married State, and of her Retirements for Reading, Self-Examination and Devotion.
It was her Practice to read the Bible out in Course, once in a Year, the Book of Psalms much oftner, besides many Chapters and a Multitude of Verses which she kept turn’d down in a Bible, which she had been the Owner and Reader of more than twenty Years. If I should only present my Readers with a Catalogue of these Texts, I doubt not but that they would admire the Collection, be gratified with the Entertainment; and easily conjecture many of her holy Frames and Tempers from them.—I must own, considering her tender Make and often Infirmities she exceeded in Devotion. And I have tho’t my self oblig’d sometimes (in Compassion to her) to call her off, and put her in mind of God’s delighting in Mercy more than in Sacrifice.
How often has she lain whole Nights by me mourning for Sin, calling upon God, and praising him, or discoursing of Christ and Heaven? And when under Doubts intreating me to help her (as far as I could) to a full Assurance of God’s Love. Sometimes she would say, “Well, I am content if you will shew me that I have the Truth of Grace.” And I often satisfy’d her with one of Mr. Baxter’s Marks of Love to Christ, namely, Lamenting & panting after him; for this kind of Love she was sure she exercis’d in the most cloudy Hours of her Life.
I may not forget to mention the strong and constant Guard she placed at the Door of her Lips. Who ever heard her call an ill Name? or detract from any Body? When she apprehended she receiv’d Injuries, Silence and Tears were her highest Resentments. But I have often heard her reprove others for rash and angry Speeches.
In every Relation she sustain’d she was truly Exemplary, sensible how much of the Life and Power of Religion consists in the conscientious Practice and Performance of Relative Duties.
No Child had a greater Love to and Reverence for her Parents, she even exceeded in Fear and Reverence of her Father, notwithstanding all his Condescentions to her, and vast Freedoms with her.
As a Wife she was dutiful, prudent and diligent, not only content but joyful in her Circumstances. She submitted as is Jit in the Lord, looked well to the Ways of her Houshold, and her own Works praise her in the Gates.
Her very Apparel discover’d Modesty and Chastity: She lov’d to appear neat and clean, but never gay and fine.
To her Servants she was good and kind, and took care of them, especially of the Soul of a Slave who dy’d (in the House) about a Month before her.
She respected all her Friends and Relatives, and spake of them with Honour, and never forgot either their Counsels or their Kindnesses.
She often spake of her Obligations to her Aunt Stamford, which were great living and dying.
She honoured all Men, and lov’d every Body. Love and Goodness was natural to her, as her Father expresses it in a Letter Years ago.
Her tender Love to her only Sister, has been already seen; and was on all Occasions manifested, and grew exceedingly to her Death. A few Days before it, I heard her speak to her particularly of preparing for another World. “Improve (said she) the Time of Health, ‘tis the only Time for doing the great Work in.”
And in Return for her Love and amiable Carriage, She had the Love and Esteem of all that knew her. Those that knew her best lov’d her best, and praise her most.
Her Humility was so great, that she could well bear (without being elated) such Praises as are often found in her Fathers Letters to us. viz. “I greatly esteem as well as highly love you: The best of Children deserves all that a Child can of a Father: My Soul rejoyces in you: My Joy, my Crown. I give Thanks to God for you daily. I am honour’d in being the Father of such a Daughter:”
Her Husband also, and he praiseth her as a Meet Help both in Spirituals and Temporals.
Her Relations and Acquaintance ever manifested the highest Value for her.
The People, among whom she liv’d the last eight Years of her Life, both Old and Young had a Love and Veneration for her; as a Person of the strictest Virtue and undefil’d Religion. Her Innocence, Modesty, Ingenuity, & Devotion charm’d all into an Admiration of her. And I question whether there has been more Grief and Sorrow shown at the Death of any private Person, by People of all Ranks, to whom her Virtues were known; Mourning, for the Loss sustain’d by our selves, not for her, nor as others who have no Hope. For it is beyond Doubt that she died in the Lord, and is Blessed.
1 Winthrop’s Journal, ed. J. K. Hosmcr (New York, 1908), I, 275–276.
2 Mercy Magnified on a Penitent Prodigal, A 3 recto.
3 Samuel Lee, 
The Joy of Faith, pp. 119–120.
4 Kenneth B. Murdock, Increase Mather (Cambridge, 1925), pp. 96–97.
* Like as at this Day in some Places of New-England. [Turell’s note.]
* He had a good Library, not large, but wisely collected of the best Authors ancient and modem. He retained considerable of his School-Learning to the last— I find him to have read over Horace in his Old Age, by his Collections of some of the most beautiful Lines and Sentiments from it. [Turell’s note.]
† And yet as I observed in my Introduction, all or the most of them are printed off from the first rough Draught. [Turell’s note]
* One of his Twenty Sacramental Sermons in Print. [Turell’s note.]
† And yet he saw Cause to destroy many of his Sermons. On one and another of them he has wrote—The first three or five Sermons on this Text, are burnt. [Turell’s note.]
‡ Some of the Members (I might say Ministers) of the Church of England have declared themselves more raised and edified by them than by all the devout and pious Forms of their own Church. [Turell’s note.]
§ Alas, that so few are found; for he seldom kept Copies of his familiar Letters. A large and valuable Collection of them might be obtained if sought for, equally entertaining with those that follow. [Turell’s note.]