25 March 1692, Friday
The new year arrives clear and cold. Tis the end of March, and despite the budding greens the winter weather still nips our toes like hungry dogs. We—Lizzie, Father, and Silas—quietly saw in the Year of Our Lord Sixteen Hundred and Ninety-Two. We kept our celebration to ourselves lest others should hear us, wonder what we are up to, and report us to the Court for making merry. Heaven forbid such a thing.
Tis hard, the lack of celebrations here. Puritans do not like holidays, so holidays we do not have. In England I did not feel the narrowness so much. I used to think of myself as a man who believed in live and let live. I live my life over here, you live yours over there, and as long as you do not interfere with my world I shall not interfere with yours. But that is
