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MARGARET SMITH'S JOURNAL TALES AND SKETCHES

BY

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

The intelligent reader of the following record cannot fail to noticeoccasional inaccuracies in respect to persons, places, and dates; and,as a matter of course, will make due allowance for the prevailingprejudices and errors of the period to which it relates. That there arepassages indicative of a comparatively recent origin, and calculated tocast a shade of doubt over the entire narrative, the Editor would be thelast to deny, notwithstanding its general accordance with historicalverities and probabilities. Its merit consists mainly in the fact thatit presents a tolerably lifelike picture of the Past, and introduces usfamiliarly to the hearths and homes of New England in the seventeenthcentury.

A full and accurate account of Secretary Rawson and his family is aboutto be published by his descendants, to which the reader is referred whowishes to know more of the personages who figure prominently in thisJournal.

1866.

MARGARET SMITH'S JOURNAL IN THE PROVINCE OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY, 1678-9

TALES AND SKETCHES

MY SUMMER WITH DR. SINGLETARY: A FRAGMENT

THE LITTLE IRON SOLDIER PASSACONAWAY THE OPIUM EATER THE PROSELYTES DAVID MATSON THE FISH I DID N'T CATCH YANKEE GYPSIES THE TRAINING THE CITY OF A DAY PATUCKET FALLS FIRST DAY IN LOWELL THE LIGHTING UP TAKING COMFORT CHARMS AND FAIRY FAITH MAGICIANS AND WITCH FOLK THE BEAUTIFUL THE WORLD'S END THE HEROINE OF LONG POINT

MARGARET SMITH'S JOURNAL

IN THE PROVINCE OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY

1678-9.

BOSTON, May 8, 1678.

I remember I did promise my kind Cousin Oliver (whom I pray God to havealways in his keeping), when I parted with him nigh unto three monthsago, at mine Uncle Grindall's, that, on coming to this new country,I would, for his sake and perusal, keep a little journal of whatsoeverdid happen both unto myself and unto those with whom I might sojourn;as also, some account of the country and its marvels, and mine owncogitations thereon. So I this day make a beginning of the same;albeit, as my cousin well knoweth, not from any vanity of authorship,or because of any undue confiding in my poor ability to edify one justlyheld in repute among the learned, but because my heart tells me thatwhat I write, be it ever so faulty, will be read by the partial eye ofmy kinsman, and not with the critical observance of the scholar, andthat his love will not find it difficult to excuse what offends hisclerkly judgment. And, to embolden me withal, I will never forget thatI am writing for mine old playmate at hide-and-seek in the farm-house atHilton,—the same who used to hunt after flowers for me in the spring,and who did fill my apron with hazel-nuts in the autumn, and who wasthen, I fear, little wiser than his still foolish cousin, who, if shehath not since learned so many new things as himself, hath perhapsremembered more of the old. Therefore, without other preface, I willbegin my record.

Of my voyage out I need not write, as I have spoken of it in my lettersalready, and it greatly irks me to think of it. Oh, a very long, dismaltime of sickness and great discomforts, and many sad thoughts of allI had left behind, and fears of

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