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 with all from the beginning, one record being 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."




CHAPTER III.

THE VOYAGE.


It is perhaps the fault of the seventeenth century and its firm
belief that a woman's office was simply to wait such action as man
might choose to take, that no woman's record remains of the long
voyage or the first impressions of the new country.

For the most of them writing was by no means a familiar task, but
this could not be said of the women on board the Arbella, who had
known the highest cultivation that the time afforded. But poor
Anne Bradstreet's young "heart rose," to such a height that
utterance may have been quite stifled, and as her own family were
all with her, there was less need of any chronicle.