of far-off England. She rises and goes to the window. There,
amid patches Of garden ground and cornfield, she sees the few wretched
hovels of the settlers, with the still ruder wigwams and cloth tents of
the passengers who had arrived in the same fleet with herself. Far and
near stretches the dismal forest of pine-trees, which throw their black
shadows over the whole land, and likewise over the heart of this poor
lady.

All the inhabitants of the little village are busy. One is clearing a
spot on the verge of the forest for his homestead; another is hewing
the trunk of a fallen pine-tree, in order to build himself a dwelling;
a third is hoeing in his field of Indian corn. Here comes a huntsman
out of the woods, dragging a bear which he has shot, and shouting to the
neighbors to lend him a hand. There goes a man to the sea-shore, with
a spade and a bucket, to dig a mess of clams, which were a principal
article of food with the first settlers. Scattered here and there are
two or three dusky figures, clad in mantles of fur, with ornaments of
bone hanging from their ears, and the feathers of wild birds in their
coal-black hair. They have belts of shellwork slung across their
shoulders, and are armed with bows and arrows, and flint-headed spears.
These are an Indian sagamore and his attendants, who have come to gaze
at the labors of the white men. And now rises a cry that a pack of
wolves have seized a young calf in the pasture; and every man snatches
up his gun or pike and runs in chase of the marauding beasts.

Poor Lady Arbella watches all these sights, and feels that this New
World is fit only for rough and hardy people. None should be here but
those who can struggle with wild beasts and wild men, and can toil
in the heat or cold, and can keep their hearts firm against all
difficulties and dangers. But she is not of these. Her gentle and timid
spirit sinks within her; and, turning away from the window, she sits
down in the great chair and wonders whereabouts in the wilderness her
friends will dig her grave.

Mr. Johnson had gone, with Governor Winthrop and most of the other
passengers, to Boston, where he intended to build a house for Lady
Arbella and himself. Boston was then covered with wild woods, and had
fewer inhabitants, even, than Salem. During her husband's absence, poor
Lady Arbella felt herself growing ill, and was hardly able to stir
from the great chair. Whenever John Endicott noticed her despondency he
d