that shut out all amusement. Music, dan cing, declamation, masque, and revel were still in order, when Milton wrote: “Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Sport that wrinkled Care derides, In later years Anne wrote them down as "ye follyes of youth"; but there are indications that she enjoyed them to the full, during that youth, and the more that a new inmate had been added to the family, which had moved from Sempringham to Boston, in Lincolnshire, to which the marvelous pulpit orator, John Cotton, had drawn many of their faith. Their stay was short, for the Earl of Lincoln hastily recalled his indispensable steward, who had, in the meantime, been training an assistant in young Simon Bradstreet, born in 1603, of good family and education, but left an orphan at fifteen. Later, Bradstreet went up to Cambridge, taking his degree in 1620; but the years under the same roof had given him an intimate knowledge of all the Dudleys, and his heart turned to the dark-eyed, slender maiden who had followed him worshipfully as a child. He too, like Thomas Dudley, was "a personable man," as may be seen of all who look upon the well-preserved portrait in the Boston State House. Even in middle life, the time at which it was painted, the face holds an ardor that, at twenty-five, must have made him irresistible. It is the head of Cavalier rather than Puritan; the full though delicately curved lips, and every line in the noble face showing an eager, passionate, pleasure-loving temperament. But the broad, benignant forehead, the clear, dark eyes, the firm, well-cut nose, hold strength as well as sweetness, and prepare one for the reputation which the old colonial records give him. The high breeding, the atmosphere of the whole figure, come from a marvelously well-balanced nature, as well as from birth and training. There is a sense of the keenest life and vigor, both mental and physical, and the Puritan garb does not hide the man of whom his wife might well have writ ten with Lucy Hutchinson: "To sum up, therefore, all that can be said of his outward frame and disposition, we must truly conclude that it was a very handsome and wellfurnished lodging prepared for the reception of that prince, who, in the administration of all excellent virtues, reigned there a while, till he was called back to the palace of the universal emperor." Poor Anne, in the meantime, just after her engagement, recorded when the affliction had passed: "About sixteen, the Lord layde his hand sore upon me, and smote me with the small pox." Her life was despaired of, aud when recovery began, the disease had "made her the most deformed person that could be seen for a great while after." The lover lost no heart. "Yet was he nothing troubled at it, but married her as soon as she was able to quit the chamber, when the priest and all that saw her were affrighted to look upon her; but God recompensed his justice and constancy by restoring her, though she was longer than ordinary before she recovered to be as well as before." Two years of quiet happiness followed. The love of learning had not been lost in the transition from one county to another, and the pair studied together; learning, however, taking more and more a theological bias. Even before the marriage, Dudley had decided to join the New England colony, but Simon Bradstreet hesitated and lingered, till forced to a decision by the increasing shadow of persecution. Anne clung to England then, as she did to the last hour of her life. Even when every circumstance compelled, and Simon Bradstreet, "with divers honorable gentlemen," engaged passage on the "Arbella," it was with forced resignation that she made her preparations. "Farewell, dear England!" burst from the little group on that 8th day of April, 1630, when at last a favorable wind bore them out to sea, and Anne Bradstreet's voice had part in that cry of pain and longing, as the shores grew dim, and "home" faded from their sight. But one comfort or healing remained for them in the faith that had been theirs from the beginning, one record remain ing for them and the host who preceded and followed their flight. "So they left that goodly and pleasant city which had been their resting-place; . . . but they knew they were pilgrims, and looked not much on those things, but lift up their eyes to the heavens, their dearest country, and quieted their spirits." My head, my heart, mine eyes, my life, my more, How stayest thou there whilst I at Ipswich lye? We could wish some woman's record of So many steps, head from the heart to sever, I, like the earth this season, mourn in black; ton." There are indications that her "heart rose" not once, but many times, before the spirit But she They moved to Ipswich within a year or two, where children came, and increasing prosperity brought them more and more. comfort; but even here Anne mourned over the long absences of both Simon Bradstreet and Dudley, made necessary by their duties in the General Court at Boston. The quiet but fervent love of the still young pair had deepened with every year, and one of the But when thou Northward to me shalt return, There are others, less natural and marred by seventeenth century conceits, but all holding the same longing; and at last, one writ ten at this time which seems to be all longing. In this there is no suspicion of strain ing or affectation, and the quiet fervor of the "To my Dear and Loving Husband.” I prize your love more than whole Mines of Gold, My love is such that rivers cannot quench, The long separations were nearly at an end. One more departure was at hand, and though Anne's adhesiveness had made her take fast hold of Ipswich as if change were impossible, change came. The policy of the colony demanded the constant formation of new parishes. Andover, known then as Cochichowicke, had been settled upon, and in September, 1644, came the final removal and the speedy building of the great house, destroyed later by fire, but duplicated at once, and known from the beginning as the "Governor's house." It stands today but a few feet from the old Haverhill and Boston road, surrounded by mighty elms, one of which, twenty-five years ago, measured sixteen and a half feet in circumference at one foot above the ground. At the east is a deep hollow, through which flows a little brook, skirted by alders, "green in summer, white in winter," where the Bradstreet children waded and fished for shiners with a crooked pin, and made dams, and conducted themselves, in all points like the children of today. Beyond the brook rises the hill, on the slope of which the meeting-house once stood, and where wild strawberries grew as they grow today. No trace of it at present remains, save the old graveyard at the side, dotted with moss-grown stones, and overrun with grass and weeds. But in May, as the writer stood there within the crumbling wall, the ground was thick with violets and "innocents," the grass sprung green and soft and thick, and the blue sky bent over it as full of hope and promise as it seemed to the eyes that, two hundred years before, had looked through tears upon its beauty. From her window Mistress Bradstreet could count every slab, and when detained at home by the many illnesses she suffered in her later days, could, with open windows, hear the psalm lined out, and even, perhaps, follow the argument of the preacher. In 1650 came the first edition of her poems, complete before she was thirty years old. She rhymed at intervals thereafter, but in the satisfying companionship of her husband the need of expression was lost, and "Tenth Muse," as she was hailed, these later years saw no further work. The children were an absorbing interest; hospitality was ample and constant, Simon Bradstreet being one of the earliest and best exponents of the New England woman's ideal-" a good pro VOL. VII.-II. vider." Chances and changes of every sort came to the growing colony. Every honor was heaped upon the man who gave his whole soul to whatever he undertook, but whose heart never swerved from the woman who clung to him even when longing most for heaven. Wasting sickness had no power to dull the love that looked its last when old age had come, and the dark eyes, bright to the last, closed in a morning of late September, 1672. Elegies, epitaphs, funeral discourses, were poured out in her honor. A new edition of her poems was called for. Children and grandchildren thrilled with pride as they read what place she had held, and counted her one of the immortals. The poems are unread. The "Tenth Muse " long since stepped from the niche. But one record is unfailing; and whether maid, wife, or mother, for us gentle Anne Bradstreet lives only as lover, faithful to the end, and holding to the end the heart of the husband no less loyal and loving. It is to the "Mayflower" that most of us turn instinctively as the synonym of sacrifice and endurance, and thought rests here, as if the Puritan record. held no other as worthy exponent of these qualities. But the little "Arbella" has no less a proportion of noted names, and knew love-matches whose faithfulness is part of the story of the little craft. The Lady Arbella, whose name it bore at last, though originally christened the "Eagle," the daughter of the Earl of Lincoln, and the playmate of Anne Bradstreet, had married Isaac Johnson, a gentleman of family and fortune, who cast in his lot with the little band who set sail from Cowes that April afternoon in 1630. There had been grave doubts as to the expediency of her coming, for she, too, was of delicate constitution, and brought up luxuriously, but with the wife of another explorer, she had said: "Whithersoever your fatal destiny shall drive you, either by the waves of the great ocean, or by the manifold and horrible dangers of the land, I will surely bear you company. There can no peril chance to me so terrible, nor any kind of death so cruel, that shall not be much easier for me to abide, than to live so far separate from you." Her voyage itself had held perpetual hardship, and she weakened day by day, and the state of the forlorn little colony at Salem, where they landed, brought no cheer. Her husband watched over her day and night, but as the old chronicle relates: "Although the people were generally very loving and pitiful, yet the sickness did so prevail, that the whole were not able to tend the sick as they should be tended, upon which many perished and died, and were buried about the Town Hill." Thus it happened that Anne Bradstreet's first experience of New England life was over the grave in which they laid the girl-wife, one of the closest links to childhood and that Eng. land both had loved alike. Her epitaph waited for a later day, but is one of the most pathetic in that always pathetic story : "She came from a paradise of plenty and pleasure, in the family of a noble earldom, into a wilderness of wants, and took New England in her way to heaven." Within a month the young husband, too, gave up the struggle for life, and the Govern or wrote in his journal: "September 30. About two in the morning, Mr. Isaac Johnson died; his wife, the Lady Arbella of the house of Lincoln, being dead about one month before. He was a holy man and wise, and died in sweet peace, leaving some part of his substance to the colony. 'He tried To live without her; liked it not, and died.' This is the shady side, but for him who wrote the record and others like it, too frequent in those early days, there is a different story. And as John Winthrop, if thought upon at all, is set down as one of the sternest of those stern governors who helped to make the dreary life still drearier, it is quite worth while to look with our own eyes on a side that finds no place in formal history. The fact that there was more than one marriage need not lessen the sense of the real quality of the man, who, if he may be said to have a had a genius for marriage, had, even more strongly, a genius for loving. These sober Puritans, whose homes were their chief joy, have already had mischievous characterization from one of our keenest writers. "At the first glance we see that they were a prolific race, marrying early, and if opportunity presented, marrying often; never declining to have their houses 'edified and beautified with many children.' . . . Population was sparse, work was plentiful, food was plentiful; and the arrival in the household of a new child was not the arrival of a new appetite among a brood of children already half fed; it was rather the arrival of a new helper, where help was scarcer than food; it was, in fact, a fresh installment from heaven of what they called, on biblical authority, the very heritage of the Lord.'" John Winthrop, gently born, gently bred, a son deeply beloved and loving in return, is probably the youngest husband on record in all the Puritan story; having married Mary Culverwell directly after leaving Cambridge, and when he was precisely seventeen years, three months, and four days old, as witness the record still to be seen in the clerkly hand of old Adam Winthrop, his fathAt twenty eight he was a widower, with six children, small hint of her life remaining save a note addressed to her "sweet husband," and ending, "your loving wife till death." er. The little brood of children were reason for haste in forming a second tie, snapped within a year, the young mother and child being buried on the same day. There is a long account of her sickness and death still extant, written by John Winthrop not many days after the bereavement, the final words of which are sufficient tribute to her character. "She was a woman, wise, modest, lovinge, and patient of iniuries, but hir innocent and harmeles life was of most observation. . . . Hir loving and tender regard of my children was suche as might well become a natural mother; ffor hir carriage toward myselfe it was so amiable and observant as I am not able to express; it had this onely inconvenience-that it made me delight too muche in hir to enjoy her longe." Two years passed before his thought Winthrop's best loved portions of the Bible turned from her, but at thirty, in the flower of manhood, his ardent nature was an inevi- the Song of Solomon. This mixture of table barrier to constancy to a memory. Once more he chose, this time Margaret Tyndal, daughter of Sir John Tyndal, knight in the County of Essex, who-in spite of serious opposition from older brothers and sisters, who felt that to become the wife of a man with four young children and no considerable share of either fortune or fame, was not the fate for a young and beautiful girl-carried her point, and in April, 1816, gave herself to the husband with whom she spent thirty years of constant happiness. With the marriage, Winthrop's varying fortunes took on a settled character, due in part, at least, to the passionate affection of the young wife, who made his interests hers. Winthrop was by no means a poor man, having been able to settle upon her the sum of eighty pounds a year, equivalent to not less than four hundred pounds at the present day. The difficulty which preceded the marriage gave her an added value in the eyes of both father and son, and old Adam Winthrop wrote in his largest hand, and with a new-made pen, a courtly welcome to the desired daughter-in-law, whom he loved to the end. affection and piety was part of the man himself; and ardent lover as he showed himself, his thought took form always in the old words. He first deals with the conflict faced by Margaret Tyndal for his sake, and proves to her categorically the advantages of marrying a man whose face is set towards heaven, and who, if he fails somewhat in giving her her full worldly desert, can certainly help her on in the path both have chosen. In the second, written when all family difficulties are over, and the marriage within a week or two of its consummation, argument has ended, and he gives himself up to pure rejoicing. Probably Scripture was never bent to more passionate wooing, the letter being unique of its kind, but too long to find place here, save in a suggestion or two of its quality: "My onely beloved Spouse, my most sweet friend, and faithfull companion of my pilgrimage, the happye and hopefull supplie (next Christ Jesus) of my greatest losses, I wishe thee a most plentifull increase of all true comfort in the love of Christ, with a large and prosperous addition of whatsoever happynesse the sweet estate of holy wedlocke, "And for that," he writes, "I would in the kindest societye of a lovinge husfayne make it a little part of your faythe to band, may afford thee. Beinge filled with beleeve that you shall be happye in match the ioye of thy love, and wantinge opporing with my sonne, I doe heere faithfully tunitye of more familiar communion with promise for him (in the presence of Almighty thee, which my heart fervently desires, I am God), that he will alwaies be a most kinde constrained to ease the burthen of my and lovinge husbande unto you, and a prov- by this poore helpe of my scribblinge penne, ident stuarde for you and yours, during his being sufficiently assured that, although my lyfe, and also after his deathe. Thus, with presence is that which thou desirest, yet, in my harty comendacions to yourselfe, and to the want thereof, these lines shall not be unthe good Lady, your deere mother, confirm- fruitful of comfort unto thee." inge my true love and promise unto you, by a token of a smale value, but of a pure substance, which I sende you by this trusty bearer, I doe leave you to ye protection of the most mightye Trinitye, this last of March, 1618. Your assured frende, "ADAM WINTHROH." Out of the same past, from long-hidden files of letters, come others full of deep affec tion, couched in the words of one of John minde At the bottom of the page are carefully noted the Scripture references in the rhapsody that follows; an after-thought, it may be, for the words rush from the pen with small thought of need for justification. "And nowe, my sweet Love, lett me a whyle solace myselfe in the remembrance of our love, of which this springe time of our acquaintance can putt forthe as yet no more but the leaves and blossomes, whilest the |