ANDOVER.
What causes may have led to the final change of location we have
no means of knowing definitely, save that every Puritan desired to
increase the number of churches as much as possible; a tendency
inherited to its fullest by their descendants. On the 4th of
March, 1634-5, "It is ordered that the land aboute Cochichowicke,
shall be reserved for an inland plantacon, & that whosoever will
goe to inhabite there, shall have three yeares imunity from all
taxes, levyes, publique charges & services whatsoever, (millitary
dissipline onely excepted), etc."
Here is the first suggestion of what was afterward to become
Andover, but no action was taken by Bradstreet until 1638, when in
late September, "Mr. Bradstreet, Mr. Dudley, Junior, Captain
Dennison, Mr. Woodbridge and eight others, are allowed (upon their
petition) to begin a plantation at Merrimack."
This plantation grew slowly. The Bradstreets lingered at Ipswich,
and the formal removal, the last of many changes, did not take
place until September, 1644. Simon Bradstreet, the second son,
afterward minister at New London, Conn., whose manuscript diary is
a curious picture of the time, gives one or two details which aid
in fixing the date.
"1640. I was borne N. England, at Ipswitch, Septem. 28 being
Munday 1640.
"1651. I had my Education in the same Town at the free School, the
master of w'ch was my ever respected ffreind Mr. Ezekiell
Cheevers. My Father was removed from Ipsw. to Andover, before I
was putt to school, so yt my schooling was more chargeable."
The thrifty spirit of his grandfather Dudley is shown in the final
line, but Simon Bradstreet the elder never grudged the cost of
anything his family needed or could within reasonable bounds
desire, and stands to-day as one of the most signal early examples
of that New England woman's ideal, "a good provider."
Other threads were weaving themselves into the "sad-colored" web
of daily life, the pattern taking on new aspects as the days went
on. Four years after the landing of the Arbella and her consorts,
one of the many bands of Separatists, who followed their lead,
came over, the celebrated Thomas Parker, one of the chief among
them, and his nephew, John Woodbridge, an equally important though
less distinguished member of the party. They took up land at
Newbury, and settled to their work of building up a new home, as
if no other occupation had ever been desired.
The story of John Woodbridge is that of hundreds of young Puritans
who swelled the tide of emigration that between 1630 and 1640
literally poured into the country, "thronging every ship that
pointed its prow thitherward." Like the majority of them, he was
of good family and of strong individuality, as must needs be where
a perpetual defiance is waged against law and order as it showed
itself to the Prelatical party. He had been at Oxford and would
have graduated, but for his own and his father's unwillingness
that he should take the oath of conformity required, and in the
midst of his daily labor, he still hoped privately to become one
of that ministry, who were to New England what the House of Lords
represented to the old. Prepossessing in appearance, with a
singularly mild and gentle manner, he made friends on all sides,
and in a short time came to be in great favor with Governor
Dudley, whose daughter Mercy was then nearly the marriagable age
of the time, sixteen. The natural result followed, and Mercy
Dudley, in 1641, became Mercy Woodbridge, owning that name for
fifty years, and bearing, like most Puritan matrons, many
children, with the well marked traits that were also part of the
time.
The young couple settled quietly at Newbury, but his aspiration
was well known and often discussed by the many who desired to see
the churches increased with greater speed. Dudley was one of the
most earnest workers in this direction, but there is a suggestion
that the new son-in-law's capacity for making a good bargain had
influenced his feelings, and challenged the admiration all good
New Englanders have felt from the beginning for any "fore handed"
member of their community. This, however, was only a weakness
among many substantial virtues which gave him a firm place in the
memory of his parishioners. But the fact that after he resigned
his ministry he was recorded as "remarkably blest in private
estate," shows some slight foundation for the suggestion, and
gives solid ground for Dudley's special interest in him.
A letter is still in existence which shows this, as well as
Dudley's entire willingness to take trouble where a benefit to
anyone was involved. Its contents had evidently been the subject
of very serious consideration, before he wrote:
SON WOODBRIDGE:
On your last going from Rocksbury, I thought you would have
returned again before your departure hence, and therefore neither
bade you farewell, nor sent any remembrance to your wife. Since
which time I have often thought of you, and of the course of your
life, doubting you are not in the way wherein you may do God best
service. Every man ought (as I take it) to serve God in such a way
whereto he had best filled him by nature, education or gifts, or
graces acquired. Now in all these respects I concieve you to be
better fitted for the ministry, or teaching a school, than for
husbandry. And I have been lately stirred up the rather to think
thereof by occasion of Mr. Carter's calling to be pastor at Woburn
the last week, and Mr. Parker's calling to preach at Pascattaway,
whose abilities and piety (for aught I know) surmount not yours.
There is a want of school-masters hereabouts, and ministers are,
or in likelihood will be, wanting ere long. I desire that you
would seriously consider of what I say, and take advise of your
uncle, Mr. Nayse, or whom you think meetest about it; withal
considering that no man's opinion in a case wherein he is
interested by reason of your departure from your present
habitation is absolutely to be allowed without comparing his
reason with others. And if you find encouragement, I think you
were best redeem what time you may without hurt of your estate, in
perfecting your former studies. Above all, commend the case in
prayer to God, that you may look before you with a sincere eye
upon his service, not upon filthy lucre, which I speak not so much
for any doubt I have of you, but to clear myself from that
suspicion in respect of the interest I have in you. I need say no
more. The Lord direct and bless you, your wife and children, whom
I would fain see, and have again some thoughts of it, if I live
till next summer.
Your very loving father,
THOMAS DUDLEY.
Rocksbury, November 28, 1642.
To my very loving son, Mr. John Woodbridge, at his house in Newbury.
As an illustration of Dudley's strong family affection the letter
is worth attention, and its advice was carried out at once. The
celebrated Thomas Parker, his uncle, became his instructor, and
for a time the young man taught the school in Boston, until fixed
upon as minister for the church in Andover, which in some senses
owes its existence to his good offices. The thrifty habits which
had made it evident in the beginning to the London Company that
Separatists were the only colonists who could be trusted to manage
finances properly, had not lessened with years, and had seldom had
more thorough gratification than in the purchase of Andover, owned
then by Cutshamache "Sagamore of ye Massachusetts."
If he repented afterward of his bargain, as most of them did,
there is no record, but for the time being he was satisfied with
"ye sume of L6 & a coate," which the Rev. John Woodbridge duly
paid over, the town being incorporated under the name of Andover
in 1646, as may still be seen in the Massachusetts Colony Records,
which read: "At a general Court at Boston 6th of 3d month, 1646,
Cutshamache, Sagamore of Massachusetts, came into the court and
acknowledged that, for the sum of L6 and a coat which he had
already received, he had sold to Mr. John Woodbridge, in behalf of
the inhabitants of Cochichewick, now called Andover, all the
right, interest and privilege in the land six miles southward from
the town, two miles eastward to Rowley bounds, be the same more or
less; northward to Merrimack river, provided that the Indian
called Roger, and his company, may have liberty to take alewives
in Cochichewick river for their own eating; but if they either
spoil or steal any corn or other fruit to any considerable value
of the inhabitants, the liberty of taking fish shall forever
cease, and the said Roger is still to enjoy four acres of ground
where now he plants."
Punctuation and other minor matters are defied here, as in many
other records of the time, but it is plain that Cutshamache
considered that he had made a good bargain, and that the Rev. John
Woodbridge, on his side was equally satisfied.
The first settlements were made about Cochichewick Brook, a "fair
springe of sweet water." The delight in the cold, clear New
England water comes up at every stage of exploration in the early
records. In the first hours of landing, as Bradford afterward
wrote, they "found springs of fresh water of which we were
heartily glad, and sat us down and drunk our first New England
water, with as much delight as ever we drunk drink in all our
lives."
"The waters are most pure, proceeding from the entrails of rocky
mountains," wrote John Smith in his enthusiastic description, and
Francis Higginson was no less moved. "The country is full of
dainty springs," he wrote, "and a sup of New England's air is
better than a whole draught of old England's ale." The "New
English Canaan" recorded: "And for the water it excelleth Canaan
by much; for the land is so apt for fountains, a man cannot dig
amiss. Therefore if the Abrahams and Lots of our time come
thither, there needs be no contention for wells. In the delicacy
of waters, and the conveniency of them, Canaan came not near this
country." Boston owed its first settlement to its "sweet and
pleasant springs," and Wood made it a large inducement to
emigration, in his "New England's Prospect." "The country is as
well watered as any land under the sun; every family or every two
families, having a spring of sweet water betwixt them. It is
thought there can be no better water in the world." New Englanders
still hold to this belief, and the soldier recalls yet the vision
of the old well, or the bubbling spring in the meadow that
tantalized and mocked his longing in the long marches, or in the
hospital wards of war time.
The settlement gathered naturally about the brook, and building
began vigorously, the houses being less hastily constructed than
in the first pressure of the early days, and the meeting-house
taking precedence of all.
Even, however, with the reverence inwrought in the very name of
minister we must doubt if Anne Bradstreet found the Rev. John
Woodbridge equal to the demand born in her, by intercourse with
such men as Nathaniel Ward or Nathaniel Rogers, or that he could
ever have become full equivalent for what she had lost. With her
intense family affection, she had, however, adopted him at once,
and we have very positive proof of his deep interest in her,
which showed itself at a later date. This change from simple
"husbandman" to minister had pleased her pride, and like all
ministers he had shared the hardships of his congregation and
known often sharp privation. It is said that he was the second one
ordained in New England, and like most others his salary for years
was paid half in wheat and half in coin, and his life divided
itself between the study and the farm, which formed the chief
support of all the colonists. His old record mentions how he
endeared himself to all by his quiet composure and patience and
his forgiving temper. He seems to have yearned for England, and
this desire was probably increased by his connection with the
Dudley family. Anne Bradstreet's sympathies, in spite of all her
theories and her determined acceptance of the Puritan creed, were
still monarchical, and Mercy would naturally share them. Dudley
himself never looked back, but the "gentlewoman of fortune" whom
he married, was less content, and her own hidden longing showed
itself in her children. Friends urged the young preacher to
return, which he did in 1647, leaving wife and children behind
him, his pastorate having lasted but a year. There is a letter of
Dudley's, written in 1648, addressed to him as "preacher of the
word of God at Andover in Wiltshire," and advising him of what
means should be followed to send his wife and children, but our
chief interest in him lies in the fact, that he carried with him
the manuscript of Anne Bradstreet's poems, which after great
delay, were published at London in 1650. He left her a quiet,
practically unknown woman, and returned in 1662, to find her as
widely praised as she is now forgotton; the "Tenth Muse, Lately
sprung up in America."
What part of them were written in Andover there is no means of
knowing, but probably only a few of the later ones, not included
in the first edition. The loneliness and craving of her Ipswich
life, had forced her to composition as a relief, and the major
part of her poems were written before she was thirty years old,
and while she was still hampered by the methods of the few she
knew as masters. With the settling at Andover and the satisfying
companionship of her husband, the need of expression gradually
died out, and only occasional verses for special occasions, seem
to have been written. The quiet, busy life, her own ill-health,
and her absorption in her children, all silenced her, and thus,
the work that her ripened thought and experience might have made
of some value to the world, remained undone. The religious life
became more and more the only one of any value to her, and she may
have avoided indulgence in favorite pursuits, as a measure against
the Adversary whose temptations she recorded. Our interest at
present is in these first Andover years, and the course of life
into which the little community settled, the routine holding its
own interpretation of the silence that ensued. The first sharp
bereavement had come, a year or so before the move was absolutely
determined upon, Mrs. Dudley dying late in December of 1643, at
Roxbury, to which they had moved in 1639, and her epitaph as
written by her daughter Anne, shows what her simple virtues had
meant for husband and children.
AN EPITAPH
ON MY DEAR AND EVER-HONORED MOTHER,
MRS. DOROTHY DUDLEY,
WHO DECEASED DECEMB 27 1643, AND OF HER AGE 61.
Here lyes
A worthy Matron of unspotted life,
A loving Mother and obedient wife,
A friendly Neighbor pitiful to poor,
Whom oft she fed and clothed with her store,
To Servants wisely aweful but yet kind,
And as they did so they reward did find;
A true Instructer of her Family,
The which she ordered with dexterity.
The publick meetings ever did frequent,
And in her Closet constant hours she spent;
Religious in all her words and wayes
Preparing still for death till end of dayes;
Of all her Children, Children lived to see,
Then dying, left a blessed memory."
There is a singular aptitude for marriage in these old Puritans.
They "married early, and if opportunity presented, married often."
Even Governor Winthrop, whose third marriage lasted for thirty
years, and whose love was as deep and fervent at the end as in the
beginning, made small tarrying, but as his biographer delicately
puts it, "he could not live alone, and needed the support and
comfort which another marriage could alone afford him." He did
mourn the faithful Margaret a full year, but Governor Dudley had
fewer scruples and tarried only until the following April,
marrying then Catherine, widow of Samuel Hackburne, the first son
of this marriage, Joseph Dudley, becoming even more distinguished
than his father, being successively before his death, Governor of
Massachusetts, Lieutenant Governor of the Isle of Wight, and first
Chief Justice of New York, while thirteen children handed on the
name. The first son, Samuel, who married a daughter of Governor
Winthrop, and thus healed all the breaches that misunderstanding
had made, was the father of eighteen children, and all through the
old records are pictures of these exuberant Puritan families.
Benjamin Franklin was one of seventeen. Sir William Phipps, the
son of a poor gunsmith at Pemaquid, and one of the first and most
notable instances of our rather tiresome "self-made men," was one
of twenty-six, twenty-one being sons, while Roger Clapp of
Dorchester, handed down names that are in themselves the story of
Puritanism, his nine, being Experience, Waitstill, Preserved,
Hopestill, Wait, Thanks, Desire, Unite and Supply. The last name
typifies the New England need, and Tyler, whose witty yet
sympathetic estimate of the early Puritans is yet to be surpassed,
writes: "It hardly needs to be mentioned after this, that the
conditions of life there were not at all those for which Malthus
subsequently invented his theory of inhospitality to infants.
Population was sparce; 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.' The typical household of New England was one of patriarchal
populousness. Of all the sayings of the Hebrew Psalmist--except,
perhaps, the damnatory ones--it is likely that they rejoiced most
in those which expressed the Davidic appreciation of multitudinous
children: 'As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man, so are
children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full
of them; they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the
enemies in the gate.' The New Englanders had for many years quite
a number of enemies in the gate, whom they wished to be able to
speak with, in the unabashed manner intimated by the devout
warrior of Israel."
Hardly a town in New England holds stronger reminders of the past,
or has a more intensely New England atmosphere than Andover,
wherein the same decorous and long-winded discussions of fate,
fore-knowledge and all things past and to come, still goes on, as
steadily as if the Puritan debaters had merely transmigrated, not
passed over, to a land which even the most resigned and submissive
soul would never have wished to think of as a "Silent Land." All
that Cambridge has failed to preserve of the ancient spirit lives
here in fullest force, and it stands to-day as one of the few
representatives remaining of the original Puritan faith and
purpose. Its foundation saw instant and vigorous protest, at a
small encroachment, which shows strongly the spirit of the time. A
temporary church at Rowley was suggested, while the future one was
building, and Hubbard writes: "They had given notice thereof to
the magistrates and ministers of the neighboring churches, as the
manner is with them in New England. The meeting of the assembly
was to be at that time at Rowley; the forementioned plantations
being but newly erected, were not capable to entertain them that
were likely to be gathered together on that occasion. But when
they were assembled, most of those who were to join together in
church fellowship, at that time, refused to make confession of
their faith and repentance, because, as was said, they declared it
openly before in other churches upon their admission into them.
Whereupon the messengers of the churches not being satisfied, the
assembly broke up, before they had accomplished what they
intended."
English reticence and English obstinacy were both at work, the one
having no mind to make a private and purely personal experience
too common; the other, resenting the least encroachment on the
Christian liberty they had sought and proposed to hold. By
October, the messengers had decided to compromise, some form of
temporary church was decided upon, and the permanent one went up
swiftly as hands could work. It had a bell, though nobody knows
from whence obtained, and it owned two galleries, one above
another, the whole standing till 1711, when a new and larger one
became necessary, the town records describing, what must have been
a building of some pretension, "50 feet long, 45 feet wide, and 24
feet between joints"; and undoubtedly a source of great pride to
builders and congregation. No trace of it at present remains, save
the old graveyard at the side, "an irregular lot, sparsely covered
with ancient moss-grown stones, in all positions, straggling,
broken and neglected, and overrun with tall grass and weeds." But
in May, as the writer stood 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, for the home she came
to is directly opposite, and when detained there by the many
illnesses she suffered in later days, she could, with opened
windows, hear the psalm lined out, and even, perhaps, follow the
argument of the preacher. But before this ample and generous home
rose among the elms, there was the usual period of discomfort and
even hardship. Simon Bradstreet was the only member of the little
settlement who possessed any considerable property, but it is
evident that he shared the same discomforts in the beginning. In
1658 there is record of a house which he had owned, being sold to
another proprieter, Richard Sutton, and this was probably the log-
house built before their coming, and lived in until the larger one
had slowly been made ready.
The town had been laid out on the principle followed in all the
early settlements, and described in one of the early volumes of
the Massachusetts Historical Society Collections. Four, or at the
utmost, eight acres, constituted a homestead, but wood-lots and
common grazing lands, brought the amount at the disposal of each
settler to a sufficient degree for all practical needs. It is
often a matter of surprise in studying New England methods to find
estates which may have been owned by the same family from the
beginning, divided in the most unaccountable fashion, a meadow
from three to five miles from the house, and wood-lots and pasture
at equally eccentric distances. But this arose from the
necessities of the situation. Homes must be as nearly side by side
as possible, that Indians and wild beasts might thus be less
dangerous and that business be more easily transacted. Thus the
arrangement of a town was made always to follow this general plan:
"Suppose ye towne square 6 miles every waye. The houses orderly
placed about ye midst especially ye meeting house, the which we
will suppose to be ye center of ye wholl circumference. The
greatest difficulty is for the employment of ye parts most remote,
which (if better direction doe not arise) may be this: the whole
being 6 miles, the extent from ye meeting-house in ye center, will
be unto every side 3 miles; the one half whereof being 2500 paces
round about & next unto ye said center, in what condition soever
it lyeth, may well be distributed & employed unto ye house within
ye compass of ye same orderly placed to enjoye comfortable
conveniance. Then for that ground lying without, ye neerest
circumference may be thought fittest to be imployed in farmes into
which may be placed skillful bred husbandmen, many or fewe as they
may be attayned unto to become farmers, unto such portions as each
of them may well and in convenient time improve according to the
portion of stocke each of them may be intrusted with."
House-lots would thus be first assigned, and then in proportion to
each of them, the farm lands, called variously, ox-ground, meadow-
land, ploughing ground, or mowing land, double the amount being
given to the owner of an eight-acre house-lot, and such lands
being held an essential part of the property. A portion of each
township was reserved as "common or undivided land," not in the
sense in which "common" is used in the New England village of to-
day, but simply for general pasturage. With Andover, as with many
other of the first settlements, these lands were granted or sold
from time to time up to the year 1800, when a final sale was made,
and the money appropriated for the use of free schools.
As the settlement became more secure, many built houses on the
farm lands, and removed from the town, but this was at first
peremptorily forbidden, and for many years after could not be done
without express permission. Mr. Bradstreet, as magistrate,
naturally remained in the town, and the new house, the admiration
of all and the envy of a few discontented spirits, was watched as
it grew, by its mistress, who must have rejoiced that at last some
prospect of permanence lay before her. The log house in which she
waited, probably had not more than four rooms, at most, and forced
them to a crowding which her ample English life had made doubly
distasteful. She had a terror of fire and with reason, for while
still at Cambridge her father's family had had in 1632 the
narrowest of escapes, recorded by Winthrop in his Journal: "About
this time Mr. Dudley, his house, at Newtown, was preserved from
burning down, and all his family from being destroyed by
gunpowder, by a marvellous deliverance--the hearth of the hall
chimney burning all night upon a principal beam, and store of
powder being near, and not discovered till they arose in the
morning, and then it began to flame out."
The thatch of the early house, which were of logs rilled in with
clay, was always liable to take fire, the chimneys being of logs
and often not clayed at the top. Dudley had warned against this
carelessness in the first year of their coming, writing: "In our
new town, intended this summer to be builded, we have ordered,
that no man there shall build his chimney with wood, nor cover his
house with thatch, which was readily assented unto; for that
divers houses since our arrival (the fire always beginning in the
wooden chimneys), and some English wigwams, which have taken fire
in the roofs covered with thatch or boughs." With every precaution,
there was still constant dread of fire, and Anne must have
rejoiced in the enormous chimney of the new house, heavily
buttressed, running up through the centre and showing in the
garret like a fortification. This may have been an enlargement on
the plan of the first, for the house now standing, took the place
of the one burned to the ground in July, 1666, but duplicated as
exactly as possible, at a very short time thereafter. Doubts have
been expressed as to whether she ever lived in it, but they have
small ground for existence. It is certain that Dudley Bradstreet
occupied it, and it has been known from the beginning as the
"Governor's house." Its size fitted it for the large hospitality to
which she had been brought up and which was one of the necessities
of their position, and its location is a conspicuous and important
one.
Whatever temptation there may have been to set houses in the midst
of grounds, and make their surroundings hold some reminder of the
fair English homes they had left, was never yielded to. To be near
the street, and within hailing distance of one another, was a
necessity born of their circumstances. Dread of Indians, and need
of mutual help, massed them closely together, and the town
ordinances forbade scattering. So the great house, as it must have
been for long, stood but a few feet from the old Haverhill and
Boston road, surrounded by mighty elms, one of which measured,
twenty-five years ago, "sixteen and a half feet in circumference,
at one foot above the ground, well deserving of mention in the
'Autocrat's' list of famous trees." The house faces the south, and
has a peculiar effect, from being two full stories high in front,
and sloping to one, and that a very low one, at the back. The
distance between caves and ground is here so slight, that one may
fancy a venturous boy in some winter when the snow had drifted
high, sliding from ridge pole to ground, and even tempting a small
and ambitious sister to the same feat. Massive old timbers form
the frame of the house, and the enormous chimney heavily
buttressed on the four sides is exactly in the center, the
fireplaces being rooms in themselves. The rooms at present are
high studded, the floor having been sunk some time ago, but the
doors are small and low, indicating the former proportions and
making a tall man's progress a series of bows. Some of the walls
are wainscotted and some papered, modern taste, the taste of
twenty-five years ago, having probably chosen to remove
wainscotting, as despised then as it is now desired. 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 to-day. Beyond the brook rises the hill, on the slope
of which the meeting-house once stood, and where wild strawberries
grew as they grow to-day.
A dense and unbroken circle of woods must have surrounded the
settlement, and cut off many glimpses of river and hill that to-
day make the drives about Andover full of surprise and charm.
Slight changes came in the first hundred years. The great mills at
Lawrence were undreamed of and the Merrimack flowed silently to
the sea, untroubled by any of mans' uses.
Today the hillsides are green and smooth. Scattered farms are
seen, and houses outside the town proper are few, and the quiet
country gives small hint of the active, eager life so near it. In
1810, Dr. Timothy Dwight, whose travels in America were read with
the same interest that we bestow now upon the "Merv Oasis," or the
"Land of the White Elephant," wrote of North Andover, which then
held many of its original features:
"North Andover is a very beautiful piece of ground. Its surface is
elegantly undulating, and its soil in an eminent degree, fertile.
The meadows are numerous, large and of the first quality. The
groves, charmingly interspersed, are tall and thrifty. The
landscape, everywhere varied, neat and cheerful, is also
everywhere rich.
"The Parish is a mere collection of plantations, without anything
like a village. The houses are generally good, some are large and
elegant The barns are large and well-built and indicate a fertile
and well-cultivated soil.
"Upon the whole, Andover is one of the best farming towns in
Eastern Massachusetts."
Andover roads were of incredible crookedness, though the Rev.
Timothy makes no mention of this fact: "They were at first
designed to accommodate individuals, and laid out from house to
house," and thus the traveller found himself quite as often landed
in a farm-yard, as at the point aimed for. All about are traces of
disused and forgotten path-ways--
"Old roads winding, as old roads will,
Some to a river and some to a mill,"
and even now, though the inhabitant is sure of his ground, the
stranger will swear that there is not a street, called, or
deserving to be called, straight, in all its borders. But this was
of even less consequence then than now. The New England woman has
never walked when she could ride, and so long as the church stood
within easy distance, demanded nothing more. One walk of Anne
Bradstreets' is recorded in a poem, and it is perhaps because it
was her first, that it made so profound an impression, calling
out, as we shall presently see, some of the most natural and
melodious verse which her serious and didactic Muse ever allowed
her, and being still a faithful picture of the landscape it
describes. But up to the beginning of the Andover life, Nature had
had small chance of being either seen or heard, for an increasing
family, the engrossing cares of a new settlement, and the Puritan
belief that "women folk were best indoors," shut her off from
influences that would have made her work mean something to the
present day. She had her recreations as well as her cares, and we
need now to discover just what sort of life she and the Puritan
sisterhood in general led in the first years, whose "new manners
and customs," so disturbed her conservative spirit.