_Is Dedicated_
_To_
_The Kinsfolk Of_
_ANNA GREEN WINSLOW_
_FOREWORD._
_In the year 1770, a bright little girl ten years of age, Anna Green
Winslow, was sent from her far away home in Nova Scotia to Boston,
the birthplace of her parents, to be "finished" at Boston schools by
Boston teachers. She wrote, with evident eagerness and loving care,
for the edification of her parents and her own practice in
penmanship, this interesting and quaint diary, which forms a most
sprightly record, not only of the life of a young girl at that time,
but of the prim and narrow round of daily occurrences in provincial
Boston. It thus assumes a positive value as an historical picture of
the domestic life of that day; a value of which the little girl who
wrote it, or her kinsfolk who affectionately preserved it to our own
day, never could have dreamed. To many New England families it is
specially interesting as a complete rendering, a perfect
presentment, of the childish life of their great grandmothers, her
companions._
_It is an even chance which ruling thought in the clever little
writer, a love of religion or a love of dress, shows most plainly
its influence on this diary. On the whole, I think that youthful
vanity, albeit of a very natural and innocent sort, is more
pervasive of the pages. And it is fortunate that this is the case;
for, from the frankly frivolous though far from self-conscious
entries we gain a very exact notion, a very valuable picture, of the
dress of a young girl at that day. We know all the details of her
toilet, from the "pompedore" shoes and the shifts (which she had
never worn till she lived in Boston), to the absurd and top-heavy
head-decoration of "black feathers, my past comb & all my past
garnet marquasett and jet pins, together with my silver plume."
If this fantastic assemblage of ornament were set upon the "Heddus
roll," so graphically described, it is easy to understand the
denunciations of the time upon women's headgear. In no contemporary
record or account, no matter who the writer, can be found such a
vivacious and witty description of the modish hairdressing of that
day as in the pages of this diary._
_But there are many entries in the journal of this vain little
Puritan devotee to show an almost equal attention to religion;
records of sermons which she had heard, and of religious
conversations in which she had taken a self-possessed part; and her
frequent use of Biblical expressions and comparisons shows that she
also remembered fully what she read. Her ambitious theological
sermon-notes were evidently somewhat curtailed by the sensible
advice of the aunt with whom she resided, who thereby checked also
the consequent injudicious praise of her pastor, the Old South
minister. For Anna and her kinsfolk were of the congregation of the
Old South church; and this diary is in effect a record of the life
of Old South church attendants. Many were what Anna terms "sisters
of the Old South," and nine tenths of the names of her companions
and friends may be found on the baptismal and membership records of
that church._
_Anna was an industrious little wight, active in all housewifely
labors and domestic accomplishments, and attentive to her lessons.
She could make "pyes," and fine network; she could knit lace, and
spin linen thread and woolen yarn; she could make purses, and
embroider pocket-books, and weave watch strings, and piece
patchwork. She learned "dansing, or danceing I should say," from one
Master Turner; she attended a sewing school, to become a neat and
deft little sempstress, and above all, she attended a writing school
to learn that most indispensable and most appreciated of eighteenth
century accomplishments--fine writing. Her handwriting, of which a
fac-simile is here shown, was far better than that of most girls of
twelve to-day; with truth and justice could Anna say, "Aunt says I
can write pretily." Her orthography was quite equal to that of grown
persons of her time, and her English as good as that of Mercy
Warren, her older contemporary writer._
_And let me speak also of the condition of her diary. It covers
seventy-two pages of paper about eight inches long by six and a half
inches wide. The writing is uniform in size, every letter is
perfectly formed; it is as legible as print, and in the entire diary
but three blots can be seen, and these are very small. A few pages
were ruled by the writer, the others are unruled. The old paper,
though heavy and good, is yellow with age, and the water marks
C.F.R. and the crown stand out distinctly. The sheets are sewed in a
little book, on which a marbled paper cover has been placed,
probably by a later hand than Anna's. Altogether it is a remarkably
creditable production for a girl of twelve._
_It is well also to compare her constant diligence and industry
displayed to us through her records of a day's work--and at another
time, of a week's work--with that of any girl of her age in a
corresponding station of life nowadays. We learn that physical pain
or disability were no excuse for slothfulness; Anna was not always
well--had heavy colds, and was feverish; but well or ill was always
employed. Even with painful local afflictions such as a "whitloe,"
she still was industrious, "improving it to perfect myself in
learning to spin flax." She read much--the Bible constantly--and
also found amusement in reading "a variety of composures."_
_She was a friendly little soul, eager to be loved; resenting deeply
that her Aunt Storer let "either one of her chaises, her chariot or
babyhutt," pass the door every day, without sending for her; going
cheerfully tea-drinking from house to house of her friends;
delighting even in the catechising and the sober Thursday Lecture.
She had few amusements and holidays compared with the manifold
pleasures that children have nowadays, though she had one holiday
which the Revolution struck from our calendar--the King's Coronation
Day. She saw the Artillery Company drill, and she visited brides and
babies and old folks, and attended some funerals. When she was
twelve years old she "came out"--became a "miss in her teens"--and
went to a succession of prim little routs or parties, which she
called "constitutions." To these decorous assemblies girls only were
invited,--no rough Boston boys. She has left to us more than one
clear, perfect picture of these formal little routs in the great
low-raftered chamber, softly alight with candles on mantel-tree and
in sconces; with Lucinda, the black maid, "shrilly piping;" and rows
of demure little girls of Boston Brahmin blood, in high rolls and
feathers, discreetly partaking of hot and cold punch, and soberly
walking and curtsying through the minuet; fantastic in costume, but
proper and seemly in demeanor, models of correct deportment as were
their elegant mammas._
_But Anna was not solemn; she was always happy, and often
merry--full of life and wit. She jested about getting a "fresh
seasoning with Globe salt," and wrote some labored jokes and some
unconscious ones home to her mother. She was subject to "egregious
fits of laughterre," and fully proved the statement, "Aunt says I am
a whimsical child." She was not beautiful. Her miniature is now
owned by Miss Elizabeth C. Trott of Niagara Falls, the great
grand-daughter of General John Winslow, and a copy is shown in the
frontispiece. It displays a gentle, winning little face, delicate in
outline, as is also the figure, and showing some hint also of
delicacy of constitution. It may be imagination to think that it is
plainly the face of one who could never live to be old--a face
typical of youth._
_Let us glance at the stock from whence sprung this tender and
engaging little blossom. When the weary Pilgrims landed at Cape Cod
before they made their memorable landing at Plymouth, a sprightly
young girl jumped on shore, and was the first English woman to set
foot on the soil of New England. Her name was Mary Chilton. She
married John Winslow, the brother of Governor Edward Winslow. Anna
Green Winslow was Mary Chilton's direct descendant in the sixth
generation._
_Anna's grandfather, John Winslow the fourth, was born in Boston.
His son Joshua wrote thus in the Winslow Family Bible: "Jno Winslow
my Honor'd Father was born ye 31 Dec. at 6 o'c. in the morning on
the Lords Day, 1693, and was baptized by Mr. Willard the next day &
dyed att sea Octo. 13, 1731 aged 38 years." A curious attitude was
assumed by certain Puritan ministers, of reluctance and even decided
objection and refusal to baptize children who were unlucky enough to
be born on the Lord's Day; but Samuel Willard, the pastor of the
"South Church" evidently did not concur in that extraordinary
notion, for on the day following "Jno's" birth--on New Year's
Day--he was baptized. He was married on September 21, 1721, to Sarah
Pierce, and in their ten years of married life they had three
children._
_Joshua Winslow, Anna's father, was the second child. He was born
January 23, 1727, and was baptized at the Old South. He was
"published" with his cousin Anna Green on December 7, 1758, and
married to her four weeks later, January 3, 1759. An old piece of
embroidered tapestry herein shown gives a good portrayal of a Boston
wedding-party at that date; the costumes, coach, and cut of the
horses' mane and tail are very curious and interesting to note. Mrs.
Winslow's mother was Anna Pierce (sister of Sarah), and her father
was Joseph Green, the fourth generation from Percival Green, whose
descendants have been enumerated by Dr. Samuel Abbott Green, the
president of the Massachusetts Historical Society, in his book
entitled "Account of Percival and Ellen Green and some of their
descendants."_
_Mrs. Joshua Winslow was the oldest of twelve Green children, hence
the vast array of uncles and aunts and cousins in little Anna's
diary._
_Joseph Green, Anna's maternal grandfather, was born December 12,
1703, and was baptised on the same day. He died July 11, 1765. He
was a wealthy man for his time, being able to pay Governor Belcher
£3,600 for a tract of land on Hanover Street. His firm name was
Green & Walker. A fine portrait of him by Copley still exists._
_Thus Anna came of good stock in all lines of descent. The Pierces
were of the New Hampshire provincial gentry, to which the Wentworths
and Langdons also belonged._
_Before Joshua Winslow was married, when he was but eighteen
years of age, he began his soldierly career. He was a Lieutenant
in Captain Light's company in the regiment of Colonel Moore
at the taking of Louisburg in 1745. He was then appointed
Commissary-General of the British forces in Nova Scotia, and an
account-book of his daily movements there still exists. Upon his
return to New England he went to live at Marshfield, Massachusetts,
in the house afterwards occupied by Daniel Webster. But troublous
times were now approaching for the faithful servants of the King.
Strange notions of liberty filled the heads of many Massachusetts
men and women; and soon the Revolution became more than a dream.
Joshua Winslow in that crisis, with many of his Marshfield friends
and neighbors, sided with his King._
_He was in Marshfield certainly in June, 1775, for I have a letter
before me written to him there by Mrs. Deming at that date. One
clause of this letter is so amusing that I cannot resist quoting it.
We must remember that it was written in Connecticut, whence Mrs.
Deming had fled in fright and dismay at the siege of Boston; and
that she had lost her home and all her possessions. She writes in
answer to her brother's urgent invitation to return to Marshfield._
_"We have no household stuff. Neither could I live in the terror of
constant alarms and the din of war. Besides I know not how to look
you in the face, unless I could restore to you your family
Expositer, which together with my Henry on the Bible & Harveys
Meditations which are your daughter's (the gift of her grandmother)
I pack'd in a Trunk that exactly held them, some days before I made
my escape, and did my utmost to git to you, but which I am told are
still in Boston. It is not, nor ever will be in my power to make you
Satisfaction for this Error--I should not have coveted to keep 'em
so long--I am heartily sorry now that I had more than one book at a
time; in that case I might have thot to have bro't it away with me,
tho' I forgot my own Bible & almost every other necessary. But who
can tell whether you may not git your Valuable Books. I should feel
comparatively easy if you had these your Valuable property."_
_Her painful solicitude over the loss of a borrowed book is indeed
refreshing, as well as her surprising covetousness of the Family
Expositor and Harvey's Meditations. And I wish to add to the
posthumous rehabilitation of the damaged credit of this
conscientious aunt, that Anna's book--Harvey's Meditations--was
recovered and restored to the owner, and was lost at sea in 1840 by
another Winslow._
_Joshua Winslow, when exiled, went to England, and thence to Quebec,
where he retained throughout his life his office as Royal Paymaster.
He was separated many years from his wife and daughter, and
doubtless Anna died while her father was far from her; for in a
letter dated Quebec, December 26, 1783, and written to his wife,
he says,_
_"The Visiting Season is come on, a great practice here about
Christmas and the New Year; on the return of which I congratulate my
Dearest Anna and Friends with you, it being the fifth and I hope the
last I shall be obliged to see the return of in a Separation from
each other while we may continue upon the same Globe."_
_She shortly after joined him in Quebec. His letters show careful
preparations for her comfort on the voyage. They then were
childless; Anna's brothers, George Scott and John Henry, died in
early youth. It is interesting to note that Joshua Winslow was the
first of the Winslows to give his children more than one baptismal
name._
_Joshua Winslow was a man of much dignity and of handsome person,
if we can trust the Copley portrait and miniature of him which still
exist. The portrait is owned by Mr. James F. Trott of Niagara Falls,
New York, the miniature by Mrs. J. F. Lindsey of Yorkville, South
Carolina, both grandchildren of General John Winslow. His letters
display much intelligence. His spelling is unusually correct; his
penmanship elegant--as was that of all the Winslows; his forms of
expression scholarly and careful. He sometimes could joke a little,
as when he began his letters to his wife Anna thus--2. N. A.--though
it is possible that the "Obstructions to a free Correspondence, and
the Circumspection we are obliged to practice in our Converse with
each other" arising from his exiled condition, may have made him
thus use a rebus in the address of his letter._
_He died in Quebec in 1801. His wife returned to New England and
died in Medford in 1810. Her funeral was at General John Winslow's
house on Purchase Street, Fort Hill, Boston; she was buried in the
Winslow tomb in King's Chapel burial ground._
_We know little of the last years of Anna Green Winslow's life.
A journal written by her mother in 1773 during their life in
Marshfield is now owned by Miss Sarah Thomas of Marshfield, Mass.
It is filled chiefly with pious sermon notes and religious thoughts,
and sad and anxious reflections over absent loved ones, one of whom
(in the sentimental fashion of the times) she calls "my Myron"--her
husband._
_Through this journal we see "Nanny Green's" simple and monotonous
daily life; her little tea-drinkings; her spinning and reeling and
knitting; her frequent catechisings, her country walks. We find her
mother's testimony to the "appearance of reason that is in my
children and for the readiness with which they seem to learn what is
taught them." And though she repeatedly thanks God for living in a
warm house, she notes that "my bason of water froze on the hearth
with as good a fire as we could make in the chimney." This rigor of
climate and discomfort of residence, and Anna's evident delicacy
shown through the records of her fainting, account for her failing
health. The last definite glimpse which we have of our gentle little
Nanny is in the shape of a letter written to her by "Aunt Deming."
It is dated Boston, April 21, 1779, and is so characteristic of the
day and so amusing also that I quote it in full._
_Dear Neice_,
_I receivd your favor of 6th instant by nephew Jack, who with the
Col. his trav'ling companion, perform'd an easy journey from you to
us, and arriv'd before sunset. I thank you for the beads, the wire,
and the beugles, I fancy I shall never execute the plan of the head
dress to which you allude--if I should, some of your largest corn
stalks, dril'd of the pith and painted might be more proportionable.
I rejoice that your cloths came off so much better than my
fears--a troublesome journey, I expected you would have; and very
much did I fear for your bones. I was always unhappy in anticipating
trouble--it is my constitution, I believe--and when matters have
been better than my fears--I have never been so dutifully thankful
as my bountiful Benefactor had a right to expect. This, also,
I believe, is the constitution of all my fellow race._
_Mr. Deming had a Letter from your Papa yesterday; he mention'd your
Mama & you as indispos'd & Flavia as sick in bed. I'm at too great a
distance to render you the least service, and were I near, too much
out of health to--some part of the time--even speak to you. I am
seiz'd with exceeding weakness at the very seat of life, and to a
greater degree than I ever before knew. Could I ride, it might help
me, but that is an exercise my income will not permit. I walk out
whenever I can. The day will surely come, when I must quit this
frail tabernacle, and it may be soon--I certainly know, I am not of
importance eno' in this world, for any one to wish my stay--rather
am I, and so I consider myself as a cumberground. However I shall
abide my appointed time & I desire to be found waiting for my
change._
_Our family are well--had I time and spirits I could acquaint you of
an expedition two sisters made to Dorchester, a walk begun at
sunrise last thursday morning--dress'd in their dammasks, padusoy,
gauze, ribbins, flapets, flowers, new white hats, white shades, and
black leather shoes, (Pudingtons make) and finished journey, &
garments, orniments, and all quite finish'd on Saturday, before
noon, (mud over shoes) never did I behold such destruction in so
short a space--bottom of padusoy coat fring'd quite round, besides
places worn entire to floss, & besides frays, dammask, from
shoulders to bottom, not lightly soil'd, but as if every part had
rub'd tables and chairs that had long been us'd to wax mingl'd with
grease. I could have cry'd, for I really pitied 'em--nothing left
fit to be seen--They had leave to go, but it never entered any ones
tho'ts but their own to be dressd in all (even to loading) of their
best--their all, as you know. What signifies it to worry ones selves
about beings that are, and will be, just so? I can, and do pity and
advise, but I shall git no credit by such like. The eldest talks
much of learning dancing, musick (the spinet & guitar), embroidry,
dresden, the French tongue &c &c. The younger with an air of her
own, advis'd the elder when she first mention'd French, to learn
first to read English, and was answered "law, so I can well eno'
a'ready." You've heard her do what she calls reading, I believe.
Poor creature! Well! we have a time of it!_
_If any one at Marshfield speaks of me remember me to them. Nobody
knows I'm writing, each being gone their different ways, & all from
home except the little one who is above stairs. Farewell my dear,
I've wrote eno' I find for this siting._
_Yr affect_
_Sarah Deming._
_It does not need great acuteness to read between the lines of this
letter an affectionate desire to amuse a delicate girl whom the
writer loved. The tradition in the Winslow family is that Anna Green
Winslow died of consumption at Marshfield in the fall of 1779. There
is no town or church record of her death, no known grave or
headstone to mark her last resting-place. And to us she is not dead,
but lives and speaks--always a loving, endearing little child; not
so passionate and gifted and rare a creature as that star among
children--Marjorie Fleming--but a natural and homely little flower
of New England life; fated never to grow old or feeble or dull or
sad, but to live forever and laugh in the glamour of eternal happy
youth through the few pages of her time-stained diary._
_Alice Morse Earle._
_Brooklyn Heights, September, 1894._