Margaret Smiths Journal | Page 2

Oh, a very long, dismal
time of sickness and great discomforts, and many sad thoughts of all I
had left behind, and fears of all I was going to meet in the New
England! I can liken it only to an ugly dream. When we got at last to

Boston, the sight of the land and trees, albeit they were exceeding bleak
and bare (it being a late season, and nipping cold), was like unto a
vision of a better world. As we passed the small wooded islands, which
make the bay very pleasant, and entered close upon the town, and saw
the houses; and orchards, and meadows, and the hills beyond covered
with a great growth of wood, my brother, lifting up both of his hands,
cried out, "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy habitations, O
Israel!" and for my part I did weep for joy and thankfulness of heart,
that God had brought us safely to so fair a haven. Uncle and Aunt
Rawson met us on the wharf, and made us very comfortable at their
house, which is about half a mile from the water-side, at the foot of a
hill, with an oaken forest behind it, to shelter it from the north wind,
which is here very piercing. Uncle is Secretary of the Massachusetts,
and spends a great part of his time in town; and his wife and family are
with him in the winter season, but they spend their summers at his
plantation on the Merrimac River, in Newbury. His daughter, Rebecca,
is just about my age, very tall and lady-looking; she is like her brother
John, who was at Uncle Hilton's last year. She hath, moreover, a
pleasant wit, and hath seen much goodly company, being greatly
admired by the young men of family and distinction in the Province.
She hath been very kind to me, telling me that she looked upon me as a
sister. I have been courteously entertained, moreover, by many of the
principal people, both of the reverend clergy and the magistracy. Nor
must I forbear to mention a visit which I paid with Uncle and Aunt
Rawson at the house of an aged magistrate of high esteem and
influence in these parts. He saluted me courteously, and made inquiries
concerning our family, and whether I had been admitted into the
Church. On my telling him that I had not, he knit his brows, and looked
at me very sternly.
"Mr. Rawson," said he, "your niece, I fear me, has much more need of
spiritual adorning than of such gewgaws as these," and took hold of my
lace ruff so hard that I heard the stitches break; and then he pulled out
my sleeves, to see how wide they were, though they were only half an
ell. Madam ventured to speak a word to encourage me, for she saw I
was much abashed and flustered, yet he did not heed her, but went on
talking very loud against the folly and the wasteful wantonness of the
times. Poor Madam is a quiet, sickly-looking woman, and seems not a

little in awe of her husband, at the which I do not marvel, for he hath a
very impatient, forbidding way with him, and, I must say, seemed to
carry himself harshly at times towards her. Uncle Rawson says he has
had much to try his temper; that there have been many and sore
difficulties in Church as well as State; and he hath bitter enemies, in
some of the members of the General Court, who count him too severe
with the Quakers and other disturbers and ranters. I told him it was no
doubt true; but that I thought it a bad use of the Lord's chastenings to
abuse one's best friends for the wrongs done by enemies; and, that to be
made to atone for what went ill in Church or State, was a kind of
vicarious suffering that, if I was in Madam's place, I should not bear
with half her patience and sweetness.

Ipswitch, near Agawam, May 12.
We set out day before yesterday on our journey to Newbury. There
were eight of us,--Rebecca Rawson and her sister, Thomas Broughton,
his wife, and their man-servant, my brother Leonard and myself, and
young Robert Pike, of Newbury, who had been to Boston on business,
his father having great fisheries in the river as well as the sea. He is, I
can perceive, a great admirer of my cousin, and indeed not without
reason; for she hath in mind and person, in her graceful carriage and
pleasant discourse, and a certain not unpleasing waywardness, as of a
merry child, that which makes her company sought of all. Our route the
first day lay through the woods and along