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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
EAKLY PROSE. 
 
 BY ALICE MORSE EARLE. 
 
 The literary productions of women born 
 or resident in the Province or State of New 
 York during the eighteenth century are few 
 in number, difficult now to find for consul- 
 tation or comparison, much more difficult to 
 purchase, and when obtained disappoint- 
 ing to a degree, being pretentious composi- 
 tions that, as a rule, are jejune, dull, and 
 sapless in the extreme. In all these qualities 
 they in no way diffiir from the scanty initial 
 efiforts at authorship of the brothers, hus- 
 bands, and indeed of many of the sons of 
 the fair writers. The literary element in 
 New York in early days was absolutely 
 lacking; there was scarcely a literary so- 
 ciety. When New England could boast 
 scores of prolific men of letters, though very 
 sombre and dull and pedantic men of let- 
 ters many of them were. New York made 
 
but a poor showing. The Dutch clergymen 
 were scholarly men, so testified the English 
 chaplain, but shone not in composition — in 
 fact scarcely attempted it. The rector of 
 Trinity Church, in New York, was intelligent, 
 but given over to spending his wit in fruit- 
 less disputation. With the emigration to 
 and settlement in New York of folk of 
 Scotch blood and brains and energy came 
 the germs of New York literature. 
 
 In the first two volumes of the '' Library 
 of American Literature," edited by Mr. Sted- 
 man and Miss Hutchinson, of the one hun- 
 dred and twenty -five colonial authors 
 named, but six, in any sense, could be called 
 of New York. Of these, two were but 
 short sojourners there — Charles Wolley, 
 an English chaplain under Andros, lived 
 but four years in New York, and wrote a 
 journal of his life there ; and John Miller, 
 another chaplain, who lived three years in 
 New York, and wrote a description of the 
 city. Daniel Denton, a settler of Jamaica, 
 Long Island, wrote a brief account of the 
 colony. Cadwallader Golden, properly the 
 first New York author, did not come to the 
 State to live until he was thirty years old. 
 
William Livingstone, the first native-born 
 New York author, and William Smith, also 
 a native of the State, and its historian, end 
 the short list. These three were all of Scotch 
 or Scotch-Irish blood. I think Charlotte Len- 
 nox, who was born and lived in New York 
 till she was fifteen years old, and Anne 
 Grant, who spent her youth from three to 
 thirteen years of age there, might with equal 
 propriety be added ; and both have, I am 
 sure, far more literary pretensions than any 
 of the above-named masculine authors. 
 As Charlotte Lennox was born in 1720, 
 three years before William Livingstone, it 
 thus chances that the first native-born New 
 York author was a woman. 
 
 It was not until the liberty of the Press 
 was assailed in New York City that a glow- 
 ing sparkof patriotism, a demand for freedom 
 of speech, and unrestricted presentation to 
 the public of such speech, kindled the latent 
 intelligence, and evinced the possible liter- 
 ary capacity of the men of New York ; then 
 they burst forth in print, in crude but 
 forcible sallies of wit and satire and argu- 
 ment. When editor Zenger and his asso- 
 ciates stoutly contended for the right to say 
 
what they pleased of the Governor and the 
 Government in the little New York Week- 
 ly Journal, they builded better than they 
 knew ; without any great literary skill of 
 their own, they laid the foundation for a 
 New York State literature. In the years 
 succeeding a woman took a hand in this 
 newspaper work — the widow Zenger carried 
 on the Journal after the death of her hus- 
 band, and did it pretty well too. 
 
 By Revolutionary times the patriotic spir- 
 it of revolt and the controversies resultant 
 had developed a few other New York au- 
 thors — James Rivington and Joseph Staus- 
 bury, both born in England ; Thomas Jones, 
 John Jay, Robert Livingstone, Philip Fre- 
 neau, Benjamin Young Prime, Gouverneur 
 Morris, and Alexander Hamilton — not along 
 list. Hector de Crevecoeur might also be 
 added. 
 
 One fatal obstacle to the pursuit or per- 
 formance of any literary work in those 
 early days was the hybridization of lan- 
 guage. New Yorkers spoke neither perfect 
 Dutch nor good English. When the Gov- 
 ernor, Rip Van Dam, could speak English 
 but poorly, his speecli being *' corrupted by 
 
the Dutcli dialect;" and when in many 
 townships it was difficult to gather an Eng- 
 lish-speaking juiy, the conditions were not 
 favorable for the production of any litera- 
 ture in the English tongue — nor, for that 
 matter, in the Dutch either. 
 
 Though we have no tales, no volumes of 
 poems by Dutch women, yet there is some 
 proof that 
 
 ^' . . . the poetic itch 
 That seized the court and city, poor and 
 rich," 
 
 was not wholly shut out from Dutch homes. 
 I have seen manuscrijit poems in Dutch of 
 some length and considerable merit, written 
 by New York women ; one of twenty - two 
 verses, by Cornelia Kroeseu, dated 1754 ; an- 
 other, a religious poem written to her par- 
 ents, by Elizabeth Kemsen, of Flatlands, 
 Long Island, in 1750, when she was lying 
 sick away from home. 
 
 But as a rule the women of the early 
 Dutch families did not shine as prodigies 
 of book-learning. 
 
 ''Those ancient dames of high renown. 
 The Knickerbockers and the Rapailjos, 
 
With high heeled shoes and ample tenfold 
 gown, 
 Green worsted hose with clocks of crim- 
 son rays," 
 
 were more given to homely honsewifely du- 
 ties, to spinning and weaving and knitting, 
 to cooking and brewing, to keeping their 
 tidy, thrifty houses in spotless cleanliness, 
 than to the mysteries of reading and writ- 
 ing. " In those good days of simplicity 
 and sunshine a passion for cleanliness was 
 the leading principle in domestic economy, 
 and the universal test of an able housewife," 
 says tergiversating Diedrich Knickerbocker 
 of these Dutch vrouws. And his words are 
 confirmed by the traveller Kalm, who wrote 
 in 1749 of the women of Albany, attributing 
 to them also Montaigne's " supreme quality 
 in a woman — economy:" "The women are 
 perfectly well acquainted with Oeconomy ; 
 they rise early, go to sleep very late and are 
 almost over nice and cleanly in regard to 
 the floor, which is frequently scoured several 
 times a week." 
 
 Had these good housewives been bold 
 enough or erratic enough to tliink much of 
 
literary composition, we can imagine the 
 sober, phlegmatic mynheers writing with 
 more disgust than did broad-minded, gentle 
 Governor Winthrop of a Puritanical blue- 
 stocking, when he said : 
 
 Mr. Hopkins, the governor of Hartford 
 upon Connecticut, came to Boston and 
 brought his wife with him (a godly young 
 womau, and of special parts) who was fallen 
 into a sad infirmity, the loss of her under- 
 standing and reason, which had been grow- 
 ing upon her divers years, by occasion of 
 her giving herself wholly to reading and 
 writing, and had written many books. Her 
 husband being very loving and tender of 
 her, was loath to grieve her ; but he saw his 
 error when it was too late. For if she had 
 attended her household affairs and such 
 things as belong to women, and had not 
 gone out of her way and calling to meddle 
 in such things as are proper for men, whose 
 minds are stronger, etc., she had kept her 
 wits, and might have improved them use- 
 fully and honorably in the place God had 
 set her. 
 
 I doubt much if any New York dame of co- 
 lonial days, of Dutch, English, or Scotch 
 
blood, ever lost her wits by o'er- burning the 
 midnight oil either in study or composition. 
 The exact status of intelligence and educa- 
 tion of New York women in general has 
 been very clearly stated by a contemporary 
 authority. William Smith, the historian of 
 New York, wrote thus in 1756 of his fellow- 
 townswomen : 
 
 The Ladies in Winter are frequently en- 
 tertained either at Concerts of Musick or 
 Assemblies and make a very good Appear- 
 ance. They are comely and dress well and 
 scarce any of them have distorted Shapes. 
 Tinctured with a Dutch education they 
 manage their Families with becoming Par- 
 simony, good Providence and singular Neat- 
 ness. There is nothing they so generally 
 neglect as Reading, and indeed all the Arts 
 for the improvement of the Mind, in which 
 I confess we have set them the example. 
 They are modest temperate and charitable, 
 naturally sprightly sensible and good hu- 
 mored, and by the Helps of a more elevated 
 Education would possess all the Accomplish- 
 ments Desirable in the Sex. Our Schools 
 are in the Lowest Order; the Instructors 
 want Instruction and through a long shame- 
 ful Neglect of the Arts and Sciences our 
 
Common Speech is very corrupt and the 
 Evidences of a bad Taste both as to Thought 
 and Language are visible in all our proceed- 
 ings Publick and private. 
 
 Though this testimony shows that there 
 existed a most deplorably low state of edu- 
 cational and literary possibilities and re- 
 sources in New York, I cannot think the 
 picture of the New York wife anything but 
 thoroughly alluring ; nor can I see that any 
 woman who was comelj^, well-dressed, eco- 
 nomical, neat, modest, temperate, charitable, 
 sprightly, sensible, and good-humored need- 
 ed any further charms. Contemporary New 
 York husbands thought so likewise. The 
 first native New York poet, William Living- 
 stone, thus gave, in 1747, in his "Philosophic 
 Solitude," his notion of what a wife should be: 
 
 Charms ill supply the want of innocence 
 Nor beauty forms intrinsic excellence, 
 Sublime her reason and her native wit 
 Unstained with pedantry and low conceit, 
 Her fancy lively and her judgment free 
 From female prejudice and bigotry. 
 The fop's impertinence she should despise 
 Though sorely wounded by her radiant eyes; 
 
But pay due reverence to the exalted mind 
 By learning polished and by wit refined 
 Who all her virtues without guile com- 
 mends 
 And all her faults as freely reprehends. 
 
 Governor Livingstone was indeed a man 
 *' by learning polished and by wit refined," 
 but men of his ilk were few in number in 
 New York in his day. 
 
 Mrs. Anne Grant, writing in the " Memoirs 
 of an American Lady " of the childhood days 
 of Mrs. Colonel Schnyler, gives additional 
 proof of the methods of education and man- 
 ner of occupation of the women of the mid- 
 dle of the century : 
 
 It was at that time very difficult to pro- 
 cure the means of instruction in those inland 
 districts; female education of consequence 
 was conducted on a very limited scale ; — girls 
 learnt needle work (in which they were in- 
 deed both skilful and ingenious) from their 
 mothers and aunts ; they were taught too 
 at that period to read in Dutch the Bible 
 and a few Calviiiist tracts of the devotional 
 kind. But in the infancy of the settlement 
 few girls read English ; when they did they 
 were thought accomplished ; they generally 
 
spoke it however imperfectly, aud a few 
 were taught writing. . . . Not ouly the care 
 of children but of plants, such as needed pe- 
 culiar care or skill to rear them, was the 
 female province. Every one in town or 
 country had a garden ; but all the more hardy 
 plants grew in the fields in rows amidst the 
 hills, as they were called, of Indian corn. 
 These lofty plants sheltered tbem from the 
 sun, while the same hoeing served for both ; 
 there cabbages potatoes and other esculent 
 roots, with variety of gourds grew to a 
 great size. Into the garden no foot of raau 
 intruded after it was dug in spring. I 
 think I see yet what I have so often beheld 
 in town aud country, a respectable mistress 
 of a family going out to her garden, in an 
 April morning, with her great calash, her 
 little painted basket of seeds, and her rake 
 over her shoulders to her garden of labours. 
 A woman in very easy circumstances and 
 abundantly gentle in form and manners 
 would sow and plant and rake incessantly. 
 These fair gardeners too were great florists. 
 
 Mrs. Grant writes thus of her own edu- 
 cation : 
 
 The year 1762 came and found me at 
 Albany; if not wiser, more knowing. Again 
 
I was shut up in a fort solitary and solemn ; 
 I had no companion, and I was never al- 
 lowed to go out, except with my mother, and 
 that was very seldom indeed. All the fine 
 forenoons I sat, and sewed ; and when others 
 went to play in the evening, I was very 
 often sent up to a large waste room to get a 
 long task by heart of something very grave 
 and repulsive. In this waste room how- 
 ever lay an old tattered dictionary, Baileys 
 I think, which proved a treasure to me; the 
 very few hooks we had being all religious 
 or military. I had returned to my Milton 
 which I conned so industriously that I got 
 it by heart as far as I went ; yet took care 
 to go no further than I understood. To 
 make out this point when any one encour- 
 aged me by speaking kindly to me, I was 
 sure to ask the meaning of some word or 
 phrase ; and when I found people were not 
 at all willing or able to gratify me, I at length 
 had recourse to my waste room and tattered 
 dictionary, which I found a perpetual fount- 
 ain of knowledge. Consequently the waste 
 room, formerly a gloomy prison, which I 
 thought of with horror, became now the 
 scene of all my enjoyment ; and the moment 
 I was dismissed from my task, I flew to it 
 with anticipated delight ; for there were 
 
my treasures, MiltoD, aud the ragged dic- 
 tionary, which was uow become the light 
 of my eyes. I studied the dictionary with 
 indefatigable diligence; which 1 uow began 
 to consider as very entertaining. I was 
 extremely sorry for the fallen angels, deeply 
 interested in their speeches, and so well ac- 
 quainted with their names, that I could 
 have called the roll of them with all the 
 ease imaginable. Time ran on, I was eight 
 years old, aud quite uuedncated except read- 
 ing and plain-work. 
 
 There was in New York at that time a 
 fashionable, wealthy, and gay circle, such as 
 could scarcely be found outside the town. 
 Of Albany Mrs. Bleecker wrote: "Albany 
 became unsupportable to me. I would rath- 
 er have lived in Rolando's- Cavern than in 
 that unsociable, illiterate, stupid town. I 
 prefer solitnde to such company." She uever 
 was foud of what she called " tea-table talk 
 and politicks." 
 
 But a new order of things was rising. 
 Lambert wrote, soon after the Revolutionary 
 War: 
 
 It has become the fashion in New York 
 to attend lectures on moral philosophy. 
 
chemistry, mineralogy, botany, mechanics ; 
 and the ladies in particular have made con- 
 siderable progress in these studies ; several 
 young ladies have disj^layed their abilities 
 in writing, and some of their novels and 
 fugitive pieces of poetry and prose evince 
 much taste and judgment and two or three 
 have distinguished themselves. 
 
 He also adds, apparently with surprise, 
 that some married ladies even w^ere seen at 
 these lectures. 
 
 Among these "young ladies who displayed 
 their abilities " was, I suppose, " The Young 
 Lady of the State of New York" who pub- 
 lished, in 1798, " The Fortunate Discovery or 
 the History of Henry Villars." This was the 
 first novel written by a woman resident in 
 New York, as the " Story of Maria Kittle," by 
 Ann Eliza Bleecker, is but a short sketch. 
 
 As I could find no trace of this book in 
 New York libraries, it seemed to be a verita- 
 ble ghost, a wraith of a book ; but on the 
 shelves of the American Antiquarian Society, 
 where are found not only the noblest old 
 monuments of literature, but many of the 
 bones and ashes of dead books, I unearthed 
 the little dingy, time-stained volume. The 
 
story is told in New York, but is thoroiigbly 
 English in character, and largely so in action. 
 An English geutleiuau, Mr. Villars, living 
 with his family in the upper part of Ncav 
 York State in Revolutionary times, succors 
 and nurses to health a British officer, Avho 
 promptly falls in love with Miss Villars. The 
 officer's friend proves to be Mr. Villars's loug 
 lost son, and marries Miss Villars's youug 
 woman friend, to whom and by whom are 
 written interminable and insipid letters, 
 which tell the progress of the sto^3^ In the 
 end all turn out to be lords aud ladies of as 
 high degree as any American could wish. 
 
 The book, with its ''La nie's"and"alacks" 
 and " alases " aud " forsooths " on ever^^ V'^o^f 
 is but a dismal and barren forerunner of many 
 other baual novels written in succeeding 
 years by many other " Ladies of the State of 
 New York." 
 
 This special '' Lady " was not, I fancy, the 
 " Lady of New York" who wrote the " Let- 
 ters from the Old World," published in 1840, 
 nor was she apparently the " Lady of New 
 York" who wrote in 1822 "A Medley of Joy 
 and Grief, beiug a Selection of Original 
 Pieces of Prose and Verse," which, though 
 2 
 
indorsed by six good aud presumably truth- 
 ful clergymen, I can truly say eujoys the 
 negative distinction of being the very worst 
 literary production I ever read, except Lord 
 Timothy Dexter's "Pickle for the Knowing 
 Ones." 
 
 Occasionally a New York magazine or 
 newspaper at this date enclosed within its 
 shabby shell an exceedingly small and dingy 
 and unhealthy pearl of a story by some 
 woman whose identity was carefully and 
 modestly concealed under a pseudonyme, a 
 seclusion which we will not now attempt to 
 penetrate, lest we discover some hitherto re- 
 spected name. The fair " Lucinda " or " Arte- 
 misia" indeed builded better than she knew 
 when she concealed her authorship of these 
 inanities from succeeding generations, and 
 herself, in consequence, from disparaging 
 ridicule. 
 
 Throughout the decade succeeding the 
 Revolutionary War few New York authors 
 appeared ; but in 1850 a writer could speak 
 of the first half of the nineteenth century 
 — the first twenty years indeed — as " the 
 Augustan Age of American Literature." 
 Whether that name were correctly applied 
 
or not, tliere certaiuly was a vast increase 
 of literature in New York State, and men 
 of letters abounded, forming what General 
 James Grant Wilson calls the Knickerbocker 
 school. Such names as Washington Irving, 
 James K. Paulding, G. C. Verplanck, Thomas 
 S. Fay, William Cullen Bryant, Fitz-Greene 
 Halleck, William Leggett, Robert C. Sands, 
 Charles Fenno Hoffman, Samuel Woodworth, 
 S. G. Drake, George P. Morris, J. Fenimore 
 Cooper, and N. P. Willis, show the quality of 
 the literary work. In reading the magazines 
 of the times, we find, to quote Pope's lines, 
 
 '^All those who cannot write, and those who 
 can, 
 All rhyme and scrawl and scribble to a 
 man — " 
 
 and to a woman, too. For women, being 
 ever, as Sir Thomas Brown phrased it, " com- 
 plexionally propense to innovation," were 
 spurred on by the sight of literary composi- 
 tion on every side, and began to write, some 
 on educational subjects, as"* Mrs. Willard, 
 Mrs. Lincoln, Mrs. Bethune, and others, fair- 
 ly founded a religious and sentimental school 
 
20 
 
 that numbered its members by scores. In 
 1831 the ninth volume of the Xew York Mir- 
 ror opened with a long poetical production, 
 somewhat in the form of a play and chorus, 
 in which the Muses Nine, the printer's devil, 
 the publishers of the Mirror, and prominent 
 contributors, all were represented. Every 
 author whose productions had been publish- 
 ed in the Mirror, men about town, and all 
 the artists of the day, were named, and had 
 to bear some mild satirical sally. The wom- 
 en contributors received scant notice from 
 the bard, being lumped together thus, in 
 most cases merely their pseudonymes being 
 given : 
 
 Thus in poesy divine 
 Many a gem for us does shine, 
 Here is Huntley's sweetness stealing, 
 Here is Embury's dei^th and feeling, 
 Thyrza, Isabel and Cora, 
 Hinda, Jane, Estelle and Nora. 
 Woodbridge, lolante, Delia, 
 Mary, Emma and Amelia, 
 Bogert gentle, Muzzy tender, 
 l^^s and *** * of every gender 
 Signs and Greek initials plenty 
 A. B. C. the four and twenty. 
 
Mauy surmises were made as to tlie author 
 of this poem, which made quite a stir in 
 town among New York cits and poets. It 
 is now generally attributed to an English- 
 man, an artist named Mason. 
 
 It is impossible fully to know to-day the 
 amount of work done by this throng of pro- 
 lific authors. I have by me an unpublished 
 list of Mrs. Embury's writings, receutly com- 
 piled by her daughter from her letters, which 
 shows, besides her printed books and collec- 
 tions, the names of two hundred poems, sto- 
 ries, and sketches, printed in the press and 
 periodicals of the day, and includes one stir- 
 ring address on the education of women. All 
 these, as do the works of her fellow- writers 
 of the same school, show a gentle and pious 
 womanliness, not the utterances of the great- 
 est thoughts, nor discovering great opulence 
 of thought, nor great genius — no " flush of 
 rose on peaks divine," but simply that the 
 writers attempted, as Miss Sedgwick said of 
 herself, "to supply mediocre readers with 
 small moral hints on various subjects that 
 come up iu daily life " — that they " essayed 
 to do good iu the world." The greatest fail- 
 ing of the members of this " Moral School " 
 
was eviuced perhaps iu tlie over-seutimeutal 
 and dispersive tendency of their work ; but 
 as they are not properly among the earliest 
 New York prose writers, they are " imper- 
 tinent to our intentions," and we will linger 
 no longer, either to praise or to condemn, in 
 what Browning would call this woman- 
 country of literature. 
 
 The first New York author was then 
 Charlotte Lennox, though, as I write the 
 words, I can imagine the clumsy shade of 
 " the ponderous mass of Johnson's frame " 
 roaring out a turgid and scathing denuncia- 
 tion of our presumptuous assumption as an 
 American, as a New Yorker, of his admired 
 companion, in whom he found the " endear- 
 ing elegance of female friendship." I shall 
 not dwell on the picturesque side of her long 
 life (for she lived to be eighty-four years old), 
 nor tell of the adulation received almost 
 universally from English men of letters by 
 the "inimitable and shamefully distress'd 
 author of the Female Quixote." She passed 
 through many vicissitudes of fortune, many 
 varied and trying experiences, and some very 
 amusing ones, the chief one recorded in full 
 for us being the " all-night sitting," at the 
 
Devil Tavern iu Lonclou, of Dr. Johnson and 
 Mrs. Lennox, with " one female acquaint- 
 ance" and ahout twenty men — the fair 
 author crowned with laurel — drinking lem- 
 onade and tea, and eating of a " magnificent 
 hot apple-pye stuck with bay-leaves," until 
 eight o'clock in the morning. 
 
 She left behind her, as token of her 
 genius, sixteen books. All now are rare. 
 Though she was said to be modest, she was 
 not too modest to attempt to show that 
 Shakespeare had spoiled the stories upon 
 which his plays were founded, nor too mod- 
 est to dare to write plays, which, when 
 brought into the world, were too weak to 
 draw a single breath, were hissed down be- 
 fore the first performance was ended. Her 
 "Female Quixote" was most popular in its 
 day, and I can well understand why. Aus- 
 tin Dobson says the characters therein are 
 "shrill-voiced, wire-jointed, High Life pup- 
 pets," and, indeed, they are artificial to a 
 degree. But the book was written for a day 
 of artificiality, in teacup time of hoop and 
 hood, when literature had " donned a mod- 
 ish dress to charm the Town." Yet even 
 to-day I do not find these puppets, " whom 
 
folly pleases and whose follies please," that 
 talk of " tlie usual Topicks of Conversation 
 among Young Ladies, their Winnings and 
 Losings at Brag and Quadrille, the prices of 
 robins and lustrings, the newest Fashions in 
 roquelaures and cardinals, the best Hair cut- 
 ter and Wigmaker," dull to listeu to through 
 half a dozen chapters. To quote the author: 
 they "gigle in secret behind their fans at 
 the play ; let their squirrels peep out of their 
 pockets, ogle, and mince in rouge and feath- 
 ers, are Lovely Dangerous In chanting Irre- 
 sistible at Pump Room, Parade, the Rooms 
 at Ranelagh or Ridotto." Let us go with 
 the fair Arabella, the Female Quixote, whose 
 head is filled with wild notions from ro- 
 mance - reading, on her first visit to the 
 pump-room at Bath, to her first rout — though 
 her trip to Vauxhall is far more amusing, 
 but being highly to the taste of that day is 
 rather too high in color for tlie taste of our 
 day: 
 
 BOOK VII. — CHAPTER 4. 
 
 In ivhich one of our Heroin's Whims is justified by 
 some others full as whimsical. 
 
 Miss Glanville, who had eagerly enquired 
 what Company was then in the Place, and 
 
25 
 
 heard there were a great many Persons of 
 Fashion jnst arrived, prest Arabella to go to 
 the Pnmp-Rooni the next morning, assuring 
 her she would find a very agreeable Amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Arabella accordingly conseuted to ac- 
 company her ; and being told the Ladies 
 went in an Undress in a Morning, she ac- 
 commodated herself to the Custom, and went 
 in a negligent Dress, but instead of a Ca- 
 puchin, she wore something like a Veil of 
 black Gauze, which covered almost all her 
 Face and part of her Waist, and gave her a 
 very singular appearance. 
 
 Miss Glauville was too envious of her 
 Cousins Superiority in point of Beauty to in- 
 form her of any Oddity in her Dress which 
 she thought might expose her to the Ridi- 
 cule of those that saw her; and Mr. Glan- 
 ville was too little a Critic in Ladies Apparel 
 to be sensible that Arabella was not in the 
 Fashion ; and since everything she wore be- 
 came her extremely he could not choose but 
 think she drest admirably well. He handed 
 her therefore, with a great deal of satisfac- 
 tion into the Pump-Room, which happened 
 to be greatly crouded that Morning. 
 
 The attention of Most Part of the Com- 
 pany was immediately engaged by the Ap- 
 
2G 
 
 peaiauce Lad^- Bella iiiatle. Strangers are 
 here most strictly criticized, and every new 
 Object affords a delicious Feast of Raillery 
 and Scandal. 
 
 The Ladies, alarmed at the Singularity 
 of her Dress, cronded together in Parties ; 
 and the words, Who can she he ? Strange 
 Creature ; Ridiculous, and other Exclama- 
 tions of the same Kind were whispered very 
 intelligibly. 
 
 The Men were struck with her Figure, 
 veiled as she was ; Her fine Stature, the 
 beautiful Turn of her Person, the Grace and 
 Elegance of her Motion, attracted all their 
 Notice: The Phseuomena of the Veil how- 
 ever gave them great disturbance. So lovely 
 a Person seemed to promise the Owner had 
 a Face not unworthy of it ; but that was 
 totall}^ hid from their View. For Arabella 
 at her entrance into the Room had j)ulled 
 the Gauze quite over her Face, following 
 therein the Custom of the Ladies in Clelia 
 and the Grand Cyrus, who, in mixed com- 
 panies always hid their Faces with great 
 Care. 
 
 The Wits and Pretty - Fellows railed at 
 the Envious Covering and compared her to 
 the Sun obscured by a Cloud ; while the 
 Beaux deni'd the horrid Innovation and ex- 
 
pressed a fear lest it slionlcl grow into a 
 Fashion. 
 
 Some of the wiser Sort took her for a 
 Foreigner; others of still more Sagacity 
 supposed her a Scots Lady covered with her 
 Plaid, and a third Sort infinitely wiser than 
 either concluded that she was a Spanish 
 Nun that had Escaped from a Convent and 
 had not yet quitted her Veil. . . . 
 
 In the meantime Miss Glauville was got 
 amidst a Croud of her Acquaintance, who 
 had hardly paid the Civilities of a first Meet- 
 ing, before they eagerly inquired, who that 
 Lady she brought with her was. 
 
 Miss Glauville informed them that she 
 was her cousin and Daughter to the de- 
 ceased Marquis of , adding with a Sneer, 
 
 That she had been brought up in the Coun- 
 try ; knew nothing of the World, and had 
 some very peculiar Notions, as you may see, 
 said she, by that odd kind of Covering she 
 wears. 
 
 Her Name and Quality were presently 
 whispered all over the Room ; The Men, 
 hearing she was a great Heiress, found great- 
 er Beauties to admire in her Person ; The 
 Ladies aw'd by the Sanction of Quality, 
 dropt their Ridicule on her Dress, and began 
 to quote examples of wbims full as excusable. i 
 
One remembered that Lady J. T. always 
 wore her Ruffles reversed ; tbat the Coun- 
 tess of went to Court in a Farthingale ; 
 
 that the Duchess of sat astride upon a 
 
 Horse ; and a certain Lady of great Fortune, 
 and nearly allied to Quality, because sbe 
 "was not dignified witb a Title, invented a 
 new one for berself ; and directed her Serv- 
 ants to say in speaking to her. Your Hou- 
 oress, whicb afterwards became a Custom 
 among all her Acquaintance, wbo mortally 
 offended her, if they Omitted that Instance 
 of Respect. 
 
 BOOK VII. — CHAPTER 7. 
 
 In which the Author condescends to he very minute in 
 the Description of our Heroin's dress. 
 
 Miss Glanville had no Reluctance at seeing 
 Arabella prepare for publick Appearance 
 the next Ball Night. 
 
 Having consulted her Fancy in a rich 
 Silver Stuff she had bought for that Pur- 
 pose, a Person was sent for to make it and 
 Arabella who followed no Fashion but her 
 own Taste, which was form'd on the Man- 
 ners of the Heroines, order'd the woman to 
 make her a Robe after the same model as 
 the Princess Julia's. 
 
 The Mantua -maker, who thought it 
 
might do her great Prejudice with her uew 
 Customer, to acknowledge she knew noth- 
 ing of the Princess Julia or the Fashion of 
 her Gown, replied at Random and with 
 great Pertness, 
 
 Tliat Taste was quite out ; and she 
 would advise her Ladyship to have her 
 Cloaths made in the present Mode which 
 was far more becoming. 
 
 You can never persuade me said Ara- 
 bella that any Fashion can be more be- 
 coming than that of the Princess Julia's 
 who was the most gallant Princess upon 
 earth and knew better than any other how 
 to set off her Charms. It may indeed be a 
 little obsolete now, pursued she, for the 
 Fashion could not but alter a little in the 
 Compass of near two thousand Years. 
 
 Two thousand Years! Madam, said the 
 Woman, in a great Surprise ; Lord help 
 us trades people if they did not alter a 
 thousand Times in as many Days. I thouglit 
 your Ladyship was speaking of the last 
 Months taste which is quite out now. 
 
 Well said Arabella make me a Robe in 
 that same Taste. 
 
 The Mantua - maker was now wholly at 
 a Loss in what Manner to behave ; for being 
 conscious that she knew nothiny; of the 
 
30 
 
 Princess Julia's Fashion she couM not un- 
 dertake to make it without Directions, and 
 she was afraid of Discovering her Ignorance 
 by asking for any; so that her Silence and 
 Embarrassment persuading Arabella she 
 knew nothing of the Matter, she dismist her 
 with a small Present, for the trouble she 
 had given her, and had Recourse to her 
 usual expedient, which was to make one of 
 her Women who understood a little of the 
 Mantua-making business make a Robe for 
 her after her own Directions. 
 
 Miss Glanville, who imagin'd she had 
 sent for work - women in order to have 
 Cloaths made in the modern Taste, was sur- 
 priz'd at her Entrance into her Chamber to 
 see her dressing for the Ball in a Habit sin- 
 gular to the last Degree. 
 
 She wore no Hoop, and the Blue and 
 Silver Stuff of her Robe was only kept by 
 its own richness from hanging close about 
 her. It was quite open round her Breast, 
 which was shaded with a rich Border of 
 Lace ; and clasping close to her Waist by 
 small knots of Diamonds descended in a 
 sweeping Train on the Ground. 
 
 The sleeves were short, wide and slash'd, 
 fastn' in different i)laces with Diamonds, 
 and her arms were partly hid by half a 
 
Dozen falls of Ruffles. Her hair winch fell 
 iu easy Riuglcts ou her Neck was plac'd 
 with great Care aud Exactness round her 
 lovely Face, and the Jewels aud Ribbons, 
 which were all her Head dress, dispos'd to 
 the greatest Advantage. 
 
 The Surprise Arabella's nnusual Ap- 
 pearance gave to the whole Compauy was 
 very visible to every one but herself. 
 
 The Moment she entered the Room, 
 every ouc whisper'd the Person next to 
 them, aud for some minntes nothing was 
 heard but the words the Princess Julia, 
 which was echoed at every Corner, For 
 the Woman had no sooner left Arabella than 
 she related the Conference she had with a 
 Lady newly arriv'd who had requir'd her to 
 make a Robe in the Manner of the Princess 
 Julia's and dismiss'd her because she did 
 not understand the Fashions that prevailed 
 two thousand years jigo. This Story was 
 quickly dispers'd and for its Novelty af- 
 forded a great deal of Diversion. 
 
 The life of Anne Grant was cast in differ- 
 ent scenes from that of Charlotte Lennox. 
 After a childhood spent in the Province of 
 New York with her father. Captain Mac- 
 vicar, sh(5 married a Scotch clergyman, and 
 
for mauy years taught school. She was a 
 typical school-mistress aud blue-stocking, 
 and looked like one. Walter Scott said 
 that " her tongue and pen were overpower- 
 ing," and that she was " so very cerulean — 
 but an excellent person uotwithstanding." 
 Her accounts of life in aud near Albauy 
 have always been much heeded and quoted 
 by historical writers, but I have always felt 
 that I should hardly choose as an exact and 
 reliable record the middle-aged recollections 
 of life at thirteen. I suspect a tinge of un- 
 conscious idealization, and her affection for 
 Mrs. Schuyler may have softened and gilded 
 to some degree the minor details of her 
 book, though I believe her historical state- 
 ments are considered correct. Her books 
 are not rare, since a reprint of the one re- 
 lating to America has appeared in our 
 own day, hence I will give no further 
 selections than the descriptions already 
 quoted. 
 
 Richard Grant White has paid a very 
 pretty compliment to women's letters — a 
 compliment as true of the letters of women 
 of colonial and Federal days as of those of 
 to-day. He says : 
 
Women's epistolary style is generally 
 excellent in all the ways of excellence pos- 
 sible. A letter written by a bright, charm- 
 ing woman — and she need not be a highly 
 educated or much instructed woman, but 
 merely one whose intercourse is with culti- 
 vated people — will in twelve cases out of 
 the baker's-dozen be not only irreproach- 
 ably correct in expression, but very charm- 
 
 He also says that mere unconsciousness has 
 much to do with this charm of style ; and 
 this statement finds a certain proof in the 
 letters of the women of olden days in that 
 the non-conscious correspondences, the home 
 letters written to girl-friends, to husbands, 
 to metabers of the writer's family — not to 
 young men, with whom was frequently kept 
 up, as an element of Platonic friendship, an 
 improving and exceediugly self-conscious 
 correspondence, and, above all, not the 
 stilted letters to lovers — these eager, simple 
 letters prove Mr. White's rule, and are in- 
 deed charming. 
 
 I have chosen from the works of Ann 
 Eliza Bleecker, rather than any portion of 
 her historically interesting " Story of Maria 
 
Kittle," some fragmeDts of her letters, not 
 only because they are more pleasing, but 
 because they are rarer. The stories and 
 poems were published in the New YorTc 
 Magazine after her death, to the gratifica- 
 tion of her husband. And I must add that 
 he always encouraged her in her literary 
 work — which proves him an exceptional 
 husband for his day. The book containing 
 her letters is so rare that the author of tlie 
 "Life of Brandt" could not iind in public or 
 private libraries a copy for consultation. 
 The first letter given was written to her 
 brother, and it gives a concise account of 
 her short life, showing the trials endured 
 by women in Revolutionary days. She died 
 soon after writing it : 
 
 Your poor Betsy was born a solitary or- 
 phan ; though enjoying a genteel fortune yet 
 friendless and a wanderer at length I found 
 peace in the company of a tender husband. 
 Ah, how soon interrupted ! my lovely babes 
 died away like summer blossoms before the 
 frost ; still I had a kind mother to complain 
 to ; we wept together, but soon the enemy 
 rushing upon us like a hurricane, we Avere 
 scattered like a flock of frightened birds; 
 
our dear Mother fled to Red Hook with 
 Susan ; I staid awhile at the farm, hut a 
 snddeu iiicursiou of some savages hastened 
 my retreat ; I took my heautiful Ahelhi ou 
 my arm, and Peggy hy the haud, and wan- 
 dered solitary through the dark woods ex- 
 pecting every moment to meet the hloody 
 ally of Britain ; however, we arrived safe at 
 Arabia, where I met my husband who had 
 been to Albany ; he procured a chaise, and 
 took us to the city ; the alarm increasing 
 we got a passage in a sloop with Sister Suits 
 and family; twelve miles below Albany my 
 Abidla died of a dysentery', we went ashore, 
 had one of my mahogany dining tables cut 
 up to make her coffin and buried the little 
 angel ou the bank. I was seized with the 
 distemper and when we came to Red Hook 
 found my dear mamma wasted to a shadow ; 
 she mourned over the ruins of her familj^, 
 
 and carried me to Uncle H s who received 
 
 us very reluctantly. Soon after my dear 
 mother died and I returned to Albany when 
 in a few days I saw poor sister Caty expire. 
 We retired again to Tomhanick where we 
 lived sometime blest in domestic tranquility 
 though under perpetual alarms from the 
 savages; at length, one afternoon, a small 
 party from Canada, who had unperceivedly 
 
penetrated the country, carried off Mr. 
 Bleecker with his two servants. This shock 
 I could not support. My little Peggy and I 
 went to Albany, where we wept incessantly 
 for live days when God was pleased to re- 
 store him to onr arms. Soon after I was 
 delivered of a dead child. Since then I have 
 heen declining ; and we have often fled from 
 the enemy since, been cruelly plundered and 
 often suffered for very necessaries. I could 
 wish to see you before I died, but I am used 
 to disappointments. I have given you my 
 little history that you may see I die of a 
 broken heart. 
 
 We have, as a contrast, a very sprightly 
 picture of the daily life of a modish belle in 
 1783 in this letter of Mrs. Bleeckei's to Miss 
 Susan Ten Eyck. 
 
 No, I can admit of no excuse ; I have writ- 
 ten three letters in folio to my Susan and 
 have received no answer. After various con- 
 jectures about the cause of so mortifying an 
 admission, I have come to this conclusion, 
 that you have commenced a very very fash- 
 ionable lady — (you see my penetration) — and 
 though I am not in the possession of Joseph's 
 divining cup, I can minutely describe how 
 
you passed the day when my last letter was 
 bauded you ; we will suppose it your owu 
 jourual. 
 
 Satuuday Morn, Feb. 12. 
 
 Teu o'clock. Was disturbed in a very 
 pleasant dream by aunt V — W who told 
 me breakfast was ready ; fell asleep, and 
 dreamed again about Mr. S. 
 
 Eleven. Rose from bed ; Dinah handed 
 my shoes, washed the cream x^oultice from 
 my arms, and unbuckled my curls ; drank 
 two dishes of hyson ; could not eat anything. 
 
 From twelve to two. Withdrew to my 
 closet; perused the title-page of the Pil- 
 grims Progress ; came in, aud, with an 
 
 engaging address, presented me with a small 
 billet-doux from Mr. S. and a monstrous big 
 packet from sister B. Laid the packet 
 aside; mused over the charming note until 
 three o'clock. Could not read sisters let- 
 ter because I must dress. Major Arrogance, 
 Colonel Bombast, and Tom Fustian being to 
 dine with us ; could not suit my colours — 
 fretted — got the vapours ; Dine, handing me 
 the salts, let the vial fall and broke it, it 
 was diamond cut crystal, a present from Mr. 
 S. I flew up in a passion — it was enough to 
 vex a saint — aud boxed her ears souudl3^ 
 
 Four. Dressed ; aunt asked me what sis- 
 
ter had wrote. I told ber she was well, and 
 liad wrote nothing in particnlar. Mera. : I 
 slily broke the seal to give a colour to ray- 
 assertion. 
 
 Between Fonr and Five. Dined; Tom 
 Fustian toasted the brightest eyes in com- 
 pany — I reddened like crimson — was sur- 
 prised to see M. blush and looking round 
 saw P. blush yet deeper than we. I wonder 
 who he meant. Tom is called a lad of judg- 
 ment. Mr. S. passed the window on horse- 
 back. 
 
 Six. Visited at Miss ; a very formal 
 
 company ; uneasy iu my stays ; scalded my 
 fingers and stained my changeable by spill- 
 ing a dish of tea ; the ladies were excessively 
 sorry for the accident, and Miss V. Z. ob- 
 served that just such another mischance had 
 befallen the Widow R. three years before 
 the war; made a party at cards until seven 
 in the evening; lost two pistoles. Mem.: 
 had no ready cash but gave an order on. ... 
 
 From six till tliree in the morning. Danced 
 with Mr. S., thought he looked jealous — to 
 punish him I coquetted with three or four 
 pretty -fellows, whispered Colonel Tinsel who 
 smiled and kissed my hand in return ; in 
 return I gave him a petulant blow on the 
 shoulder. Mr. S. looked like a thunder 
 
39 
 
 gnst; then affected to be calm as a stoic; 
 biit in spite of philosophy turned as pale as 
 Banquos ghost. M. seemed concerned, and 
 asked what ailed him ? I dont like M. I 
 wonder what charm makes everybody ad- 
 mire her; sure if Mr. S. was civil to her it 
 was enough ; he used not be so very affec- 
 tionate. I flew in a pet to a vacant parlour 
 and took out sisters letter to read ; I la- 
 boured through ten lines, contemplated the 
 seal, chewed off three corners, and fold- 
 ing the remains elegantly put it in my 
 pocket. I suppose it was full of friendship 
 and such like country stuff. However sis- 
 ter writes out of a good heart to me, and I 
 will answer it. On my returning Dinah 
 attended and having no paper handy, I gave 
 her sisters letter to j)ut my hair in buckle, 
 while I read these verses which Colonel 
 Tinsel, with a sigh, gave me: 
 
 Lofly cretur, wen de sun 
 Wantons oer yer wid his bems 
 You smile wid joy — my lukes alone 
 Obnoxious ar — would I was him, 
 
 I think the Colonel writes as well as Homer; 
 I believe he knows as much ; what signifies 
 Greek and Hebrew ! I hate your starched 
 scholars that talk Latin. 
 
Well Susan you see that iu the desert 
 wilds of America your secret actions are 
 brought to light, so I hope you will jiay 
 more respect to this epistle. 
 
 Margaretta Faugeres was the only daugli- 
 ter of Mrs. Bleecker, and seems to have been 
 regarded as a literary light iu her day, 
 writing poems, stories, and a tragedy called 
 " Belisarius." She married an adventurer, 
 who squandered her fortune, and she died of 
 a broken heart. Slie edited her mother's 
 works in 1793. From the preface thereof I 
 take her stilted descrix)tion of lier mother's 
 home : 
 
 Mr. Bleecker built him a house on a little 
 eminence which commanded a pleasing pros- 
 pect. On tlie east side of it was an elegant- 
 ly simple garden where fruits and flowers, 
 exotics as well as natives, flourished with 
 beauty, and a little beyond it the roaring 
 river of Tomhanick dashed with rapidity its 
 foaming waters among the broken rocks; 
 towards the west lay wide cultivated fields; 
 in the rear a young orchard bounded by a 
 thick forest; and iu front (after crossing 
 the main road) a meadow through which 
 
waudered a diinpliug stream, stretched itself 
 to join a ridge of tall nodding pines which 
 rose in awfnl grandenr on the shelving hrow 
 of a grassy mountain. Through the open- 
 ings of this wood you might descry little 
 cottages scattered up and down through the 
 country, whose environs the hands of In- 
 dustry had transformed into rich fields and 
 blooming gardens, and literally caused the 
 wilderness to blossom as the rose. This 
 was such a retreat as she had always desired ; 
 the dark forest, the rushing river and the 
 green valley had more charms for her than 
 the gay metropolis which she had left, and 
 in which she was well calculated to shine; 
 and she was so much attached to these 
 rural pleasures that no birds (those of prey 
 excepted) were ever suftered to be shot near 
 her habitation if she could prevent it ; in- 
 deed they built their nests unmolested in 
 the- very porch of the house. 
 
 And the cultivation of flowers had like- 
 wise a large share of her attention ; so much 
 that where Flora had been remiss in decking 
 the sod she took upon herself that office by 
 gathering seeds from her own garden and 
 strewing them promiscuously in the woods 
 and fields and along the clovery border of 
 her favorite brook. 
 
Margaret Bleecker was born in 1724, and 
 married Robert Livingstone when eigbteen 
 years of age. I tbiuk nothing conld have 
 been further from her sensible mind than 
 the tlionght that her letters would ever be 
 printed as literary productions ; and, indeed, 
 as such they would scarcely be published ; 
 but as showing the train of thought and man- 
 ner of expression of a high-bred, intelligent, 
 dignified woman of the day, they have a 
 decided value. She was left a widow with 
 ten children and a large estate — so large 
 that her eldest son could divide between 
 brothers and sisters over two thousand 
 acres of land ; and she managed both chil- 
 dren and estate with great judgment, giving 
 them much personal care and attention, as 
 her letters show. 
 
 The selections are from letters to Judge 
 Vanderkemp, a gentleman of vast learning : 
 
 T. A. Vanderkemp, Esq. 
 
 At his Seat near Kingston. 
 
 Sir, — It is not you who ought to Lament 
 that you are not able to express your senti- 
 ments correctly, as your letter is intirely 
 free from every thing which you stile Bar- 
 barism. I think you must have been a pro- 
 
ficieiit in the English Langnage before yonr 
 arrival in America. But what cant a scien- 
 tific character accomplish. It is I who 
 ought to blush at the egregious Blunder I 
 made when I led yon into the Mistake 
 which would naturally occnr upon reading 
 Jacob instead of John Kutson as the hus- 
 band of Cath" Beekman. Such marriages as 
 you had thought took place upon that repre- 
 sentation are never thought to be eligible to 
 people of Charector. Upon a very Baseless 
 foundation do j^ou Sir Build when you do 
 me the honor to wish for a correspondence 
 with one who has at the first outsetting con- 
 vinced you how unequal I am to convey 
 anything for which such an art can be of 
 utility to agentleman who's Charector stands 
 so high for Literary Accomplishments, and 
 I will add from Experience that your can- 
 dour has led you in a most amiable manner 
 to draw a Vail over tlie defects of my age 
 and Imbecility. I shall at the sanie time 
 thiuk myself honored and happy to receive 
 any communications you will be pleased to 
 favor me with as I am certain the advan- 
 tages will be all on my side, and yourgoodness 
 will I am confident make every reasonable 
 allowance for me. You wish to know Sir 
 if the Beekmansof N. York are of the Same 
 
family; they are . ... by the accounts 
 lately received from Mr. James Beekmau I 
 have the family genealogy and find he has 
 niistaken his Great Grandfather as being 
 the Eldest Son. Henry, my Grandfather, 
 had that place, their arms and name is the 
 same as my fathers ; perhaps the mistake 
 may be that the arms on their coaches are 
 quartered, I do not certainly know that to 
 he the case ; the Esopiis head of the family 
 I have heard was married to a woman who 
 was by no means an Oeconomist and he was 
 perfectly good natured and sufitered his pat- 
 rimony to be wasted and poverty to come in 
 strides upon him so much so, that some of 
 his Blood maintained him till he died. 
 What usefuU Lessons do such examples 
 yield, I admire and applaud your prudence 
 Sir in the management of your affairs for 
 tis a most certain truth that without Oecon- 
 omy the revenue of a prince may be dissa- 
 pated, I inclose what Mr. Beekman has 
 sent ; you will observe some mistakes in my 
 family branch which is rectify ed in what I 
 have had the honor to send for your perusal. 
 Is the subject of Genealogy often the Source 
 of pride and Ostentation alass why should 
 it be so, when we are led to retlect on the 
 instability of all human affairs wo must 
 
adopt the words of Mr. Pope in his fine lines 
 on Mr. A. Stouehonse : 
 
 ho^y lov'd, how valu'd once avails thee not 
 to whom related or by whom begot ; 
 a heap of Dust alone remains of thee 
 'tis all thou art and all the proud shall be. 
 
 It is true none who possess family despise 
 it, neither ought we to do it, but to look 
 upon as a particular favor to have derived 
 onr being from men and women fearing 
 God and respected in their day for virtue 
 and Goodness. Many promises are in the 
 Sacred Book for the Children of believers — 
 but then they must pray, that they may be 
 followers of those who throngh faith and 
 patience Inherit the promisses. This Sir 
 will prove an antidote to the poison of ye 
 pride of aneesstry and keep those humble 
 that they bring no blot upon their house by 
 their conduct. 
 
 Mr. Cockbnrn has promised me to let you 
 have 2 Bush Barly but says he does not 
 know how to get it to Kingston's ; he has 
 also some young Negro Boys which he will 
 sell, but not so old as your Letter mentions 
 you wish to have — I have one about 27 
 years, a complete Coachman, a very fine 
 
46 
 
 Waiter, has attended 20 people with great 
 ease and Quickness at table; is sober but 
 has taken an insuperable dislike to the 
 Country, has run awiiy and is now a Gen- 
 tleman at lai'ge in N. Y. and does just as 
 he pleases; him I could not recommend, 
 and I have none I can spare as I have given 
 them away as soon as they grow nsefull to 
 my children. I have not had it in my 
 power to ingage a person who could bo 
 properly recommended for you, alt ho' I 
 have sent Quite to Beekmantown but was 
 Informed that the season was past as every- 
 body was ingaged for the snmmer. I shall 
 give Brink the ferryman a pint of Siberian 
 Barly part of a very small quantity I 
 raised here last summer, and a few grains 
 of very white wheat which I received last 
 Jan'y from Maryland. I planted some in 
 pots in the house about the 20th of Jan'y 
 and have now transplanted it into a bed 
 in my Garden. 
 
 Nkw York, 1792 Feb. 1 
 . , . I am greatly affected at your Mis- 
 fortune in meeting with a character of such 
 open Duplicity as under the Mask and sa- 
 cred name of Friendshii) to do you so great 
 an injury as yon mention, who the person 
 is I know not nor wish to know. Mrs, 
 
Vandeu Huvel is a lively agreeable Lady 
 who is one in all the polite parties in town. 
 This place is all gaietj^ and festivity, Fort- 
 unes tnmbling in the Laps of very many 
 people in so rapid a manner as never before 
 Las been the case (excepting in the Conquest 
 of Mexico wheu Montezimui's Treasures fell 
 in the hands of a few Spaniards) and in the 
 flow of great riches Dissipation takes place 
 proportionably — is it not a Query whether 
 riches acquired by frugality and industry 
 which are nurserys for Public Virtues as 
 well as domestic Happyuess — or wealth ac- 
 quired rapidly by speculators and Brokers 
 to the amount of £100,000 &c. which in all 
 probability will expand in Balls, Entertain- 
 ments, Sumtious Buildings and superb fur- 
 niture in which Gameiiig is carried ou iu 
 large sums lost and won. 
 
 A Gent, from Philadelphia is sitting by 
 me who relates that Mrs Knox took home 
 400 Dolls she won. Surely there are serious 
 Evils in a retrospective of all the Great Em- 
 pires for ages past, cannot we Date their 
 Rise and progress from Public Virtue and 
 patriotism to riper days, when wealth and 
 power flowed in. Luxury aud Dissipation 
 with Gigantic Strides overturned all that 
 their Virtuous fathers had done, and nothing 
 
but anarchy and ruin followed. These are 
 examples which Americans ought never to 
 lose sight of and to tremble for our Infant 
 Empire ; but I forget to whom I am making 
 Observations which cannot have escaped ye 
 notice of ye well informed mind, but as these 
 reflections dwell upon my mind they will 
 drop from my poor pen, especially' as I my- 
 self upon my families account am obliged 
 in some measure to conform to custom. . . , 
 With respect to the Shingles I have had 
 my Timber so shamefully wasted to the 
 great Detrement of my Saw Mills that I 
 have for some time past laid it down for a 
 rule not to suffer one Tennent to make any 
 shinggles as they have so grossly abused 
 my lenity. As I know there are better 
 shinggles and for the same price sold at 
 Katskill than ray woods produce it cannot 
 be any material difference to my Esteemed 
 Correspondent. My best respects attend on 
 Mrs. Vanderkemp to whom with yourself 
 my best wishes are tendered. I must re- 
 lease you from so long an Epistole which I 
 fear has tried your patience by assuring 
 Eespected S^' 
 that I am with Respct 
 Your most Obd and Hum'^'e Serv* 
 Marg^ Livingstone. 
 
The Avidow of General Montgomery, of 
 Revolutionary fame, left behind her an his- 
 torical memoir which has not been printed 
 in entirety, but which is frequently referred 
 to. She was the daughter of Margaret 
 Livingstone. I choose for quotation the 
 account of Montgomery's early connection 
 with the Army : 
 
 Unknown as his (Montgomery's) modesty 
 led him to suppose himself to be, he was 
 chosen early in 1775 one of the Council of 
 Fifty to New York from Duchess County. 
 Although he received this call with surprise 
 and left his retirement with no small regret, 
 he hesitated not a moment. The times were 
 dangerous but he shrank not from the 
 duties of a citizen. While thus engaged 
 Congress determined to raise troops in de- 
 fence of our rights. Phillip Schuyler was 
 appointed the Major-general, and the ap- 
 pointment of Brigadier-general was tendered 
 to Montgomery. Before accepting it he 
 came into his wife's room and asked her to 
 make up for him the ribbon cockade which 
 was to be placed in his hat. He saw her 
 emotion and marked the starting tear. AYith 
 persuasive gentleness he said to her, " Our 
 country is in danger, Unsolicited in two 
 4 
 
instances I liave been distinguished by two 
 honorable ai)pointnients. As a politician I 
 could not serve them, as a soldier I think I 
 can. Shall I then accept the one and shrink 
 from the other in dread of danger ? My 
 honor is engaged." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery took the ribbon and he 
 continued, "1 am satisfied. Trust me. You 
 yliall never blush for your Montgomery." 
 
 On liis departure he remained only a 
 moment to bid Judge Livingstone farewell, 
 who said " Take care of your life." " Of 
 my honor you would sajj^ sir," was Mont- 
 gomery's answer. In passing his own 
 villa he said, " I must not suffer myself to 
 look tliat w'ay." 
 
 He had hardly received this appointment 
 when it w^as announced that General Wash- 
 ington was to pass through New York on 
 his way to Boston. On the morning of his 
 expected arrival the whole town was in a 
 state of connnotion. All the militia was 
 paraded, bells ringing, drums beating, and 
 in that moment the British Governor Tr^^on 
 arrived. As he landed he looked with de- 
 light at the general excitement that pre- 
 vailed and said, " Is all this for me ?" When 
 two of his counsellors took him mournfully 
 b^^ the hand aud led him to a house in 
 
Broadway where lie nearly fainted when ho 
 saw the great Washington pass attended by 
 a crowd of patriots. At a window, next to 
 the City Hotel, I was happilj' so placed that 
 I could see him. Here General Schuyler 
 and General Montgomery received their 
 commissions and instructions. General 
 Montgomery told General Washington he 
 wished he would allow him to go with him, 
 to which WashiDgton answered, *SSir, you 
 have more important business to attend to 
 — we trust everything to you." 
 
 Washington's stay at New York was but 
 a moment. He drove a sulky with a pair 
 of white horses ; his dress was blue with 
 purple ribbon sash — a lovely plume of 
 feathers in his hat. All this was a most 
 mortifying sight to Governor Tryon. 
 
 The next day when Montgomery opened 
 his commission he found all the commissions 
 of his brigade left in blank. Such was the 
 trust reposed in him. 
 
 Plots were soon discovered, fomented by 
 Governor Tryon and his counsellors. The 
 committee determined to check them by 
 confining the Governor, but General Mont- 
 gomery took a milder course, and advised 
 the Governor to embark again for England 
 rather than be insulted in this country. 
 
52 
 
 This advice the Governor took that very 
 night and offered his best thanks to the 
 General. 
 
 A few days later the accounts of the 
 battle of Bunker Hill arrived. The papers 
 ]iad a deep black margin. Blood had been 
 shed and the Americans had been beaten. 
 Our house was filled with a crowd of long 
 faces. General Montgomery met them with 
 a smile of satisfaction. " Gentlemen," said 
 he, "I am content. What I feared has not 
 hiippened. The Americans will fight and I 
 am well pleased with the experiment." 
 The Tories however made a great uproar. 
 Many ladies came to us for protection and 
 they had a thousand fears without occasion 
 for any. No gentlemen offered to take com- 
 missions in the army. The mechanics alone 
 offered, and General Montgomery accepted 
 them without demur. When the brigade 
 was filled, several gentlemen came forward, 
 telling them they should have been first and 
 were too late. 
 
 The General left for Ticonderoga with 
 four thousand men, but many left him and 
 many sickened ; many ran at the shake of a 
 leaf. One of these was named Quacken- 
 bosh, who was so very bold until some at- 
 tack was determined on; then he so fre- 
 
quently entreated for leave of absence, tbat 
 General Montgomery said to some one pass- 
 ing by, "I tliink this qnake-in-the-bnsb bad 
 best be gone al together." 
 
 Congress at three different times refused 
 to accept General Montgomery's resignation. 
 They continually promised him ten thou- 
 sand men and always failed in their sup- 
 port. His patience was exhausted. The 
 commander-in-chief General Schuyler, was 
 ill, causing weeks of delay in the campaign. 
 When be arrived they embarked immedi- 
 ately. On landing at Fort Chamblay a gnu 
 was fired, and the commander ordered the 
 troops to retreat, when another attack of 
 illness obliged General Schnyler.to return 
 home. The fort soon after surrendered. 
 
 How Montreal surrendered is well known. 
 Tliat General Montgomery supposed it 
 might have been better defended is con- 
 cluded from one expression of his. He 
 said, " I sutfered the officers to pass my fort 
 without notice. Because I had placed a few 
 cannon on the bank — I blush for his Majes- 
 ties officers, they actually preferred being 
 made prisoners. Carleton has escaped. The 
 more's the pity." 
 
 General Montgomery intended quarter- 
 ing for the winter at Montreal. His men 
 
54 
 
 were in rags, and liis provisions exhausted. 
 He had written repeatedly for more troops 
 and none were sent. Twice he sent in liis 
 resignation, and twice it was refused. The 
 wild March of Arnold up the Kennebec al- 
 tered all the plans, and obliged Montgomery 
 to sacrifice himself. 
 
 Sarah Jay, the wife of Hon. John Jay, 
 wrote frequently to her father, Governor 
 Livingstone, from Madrid. I quote one of 
 her letters, written in 17B2, to show the re- 
 spectful attitiide of children to parents in 
 that day. Think of a married daughter, 
 whose letters took over two months to reach 
 home, wri-ting such a formal letter, full of 
 ceremonious patriotism and gratitude, but 
 containing no word of personal intelligence : 
 
 The great distance that separates me 
 from dear Papa makes me solicitous to in- 
 form him of such things as would amuse 
 him or at least give him an account of his 
 fiimily, and with those intentions I have 
 frequently taken np my pen ; but there is 
 an ingenuousness in my disposition which 
 often disposes me to more frankness than 
 prudence justifies and for want of caution 
 have been obliged by prudential reasons to 
 
55 
 
 suppress some letters after they were writ- 
 ten. I have at this instant in my desk an 
 interesting one that was wa-itteu last June 
 containing eigliteen pages; nor should I 
 now have mentioned those letters had I not 
 feared that the long silent interval between 
 the last and present might have occasioned 
 the revival of that old idea that being ont 
 of sight you had lost my remembrance — the 
 most unorthodox idea that can present itself 
 in minds that affection, gratitude and es- 
 teem unite. Accept my thanks for your 
 obliging favor of the 21st Angst ; it was 
 handed to me ou the 31st of Novembr and 
 would have contributed greatly to my satis- 
 faction as the former instances of your at- 
 tention had done had not my feelings been 
 alarmed by the paragraphs relative to my 
 dear unfortunate brother. It's true my 
 feelings were a little relieved by your letter 
 to Brockholst mentioning the probability of 
 his capture, but even that ray of hope has 
 been greatly obscured by the nnsnccessfnl 
 inquiries of our friends in Europe. The 
 many distressing incidents that have arisen 
 in our part of the world in consequence of 
 the cruel war that has been prosecuted 
 against us are sufficient to contrast the 
 former goodness of Providence to our Conn- 
 
try and to raise onr gratitude for the pros- 
 pect "wbicb the happy couclnsion of this 
 Campaign lias opened to peace and inde- 
 pendence. Our once haughty foe now finds 
 himself deprived of a great part of his em- 
 pire dignity ; and the confidence of many of 
 his subjects. 
 
 The 6tb of Feb'y Count De Montmoriu 
 the French Ambassador will give a very 
 splendid entertainment at bis house in cele- 
 bration of the birth of the Dauphin, and yon 
 may judge Avhetber or not it is likely to be 
 elegant when I tell you that it is said that 
 the ten thousand dollars allowed by his 
 Court for the occasion will be insufficient to 
 defray the expense that will be incurred. 
 Your attention to my dear little boy in- 
 creases my gratitude and makes me wish 
 you may one day be repaid by his own ami- 
 able conduct, being sensible that a generous 
 mind is most agreeably rewarded Avhen it 
 perceives that its benefits have been useful. 
 
 Please to remember me to my dear 
 Mama and brother William, and believe n)e 
 to be, my dear Papa with great sincerity, 
 Your very dutiful daughter, 
 Sarah Jay. 
 
 Two of the daughters of Andrew Elliot, 
 
of New York, married Lord Cathcart and 
 Lord Carnegie. Many of the family letters 
 have been preserved. Lady Cathcart wrote 
 thus from London to lier aunt, Mrs. Gore, in 
 1781: 
 
 My dear Aunt, — I wrote you by last op- 
 portunity, but as I have time I think I can- 
 not employ it better than in writing to you, 
 tho' there is not the least prospect of send- 
 ing it. I hope Mrs. Jauncey is well, tell 
 her I saw John Jauncey a week ago, he had 
 six curies of a side and more dressed than 
 anybody I ever saw, I am sure she would 
 not know him again. 
 
 I was at the drawing and ball the Queens 
 l)irthday, and I flatter myself I was one of 
 the best dressed there. I had a pearl-col- 
 oured satteu trimmed with crape, rolls of 
 gold and the finest sable ever was seen, 
 beautiful point and a great many diamonds. 
 1 have given you a description of my dress as 
 I think it will amuse you. Mrs. Smyth was 
 there, she is almost as fat as her mother 
 I never saw anything like it. 
 
 There is a young lady here that is Mar- 
 ried, Lady Dashwood who is very much ad- 
 mired. She is so amazingly like my sister 
 that I could not help being very intimate 
 
with ber tlio' I cainiot help thinking my 
 sister ninch handsomer if she did not talk 
 snch broad Scotch. 
 
 Tell Mamma I have not forgot the bottle 
 of salts she desired me to send her but am 
 Avaiting for an opportunity to send them by. 
 I think the people that come home forget 
 they are to go back again, at least they do 
 not like to be put in mind of it, so that one 
 never hears of an opportunity until it is 
 gowe. . . . 
 
 I was not at the Kings birthday; it was 
 such a crowd and so hot that I was advised 
 not to go and I was very glad of an excuse. 
 The weather here has been intolerably hot 
 for near a week together so that at six 
 o'clock in the morning in the shade the 
 thermometer was above 84° and even Lord 
 C. was obliged to acknowledge that it was 
 full as hot as he ever felt it at that season 
 in America. It is now quite cold again so 
 that one could almost bear a fire. 
 
 As to fashions here I do not see a great 
 deal of ditference except they wear their 
 heads about two inches high and not very 
 broad, with two small Curls of a side and 
 their necks a good deal covered. They wear 
 sacques a good deal and generally with a 
 kind of robin, but that is all fancy; always 
 
59 
 
 a little hoop, aiul I think for morniug a 
 white Poleueze or a dress thej'^ call a Levete, 
 which is a kind of gown and Peticote with 
 long sleeves made with scarcely any piqnc 
 in the back and wear with a sash tyed on 
 the left side, they make these in winter of 
 white dimity and in Summer of Muslin with 
 Chints borders. 
 
 Mrs. Elliot, the mother of Lady Catlicart, 
 wrote to Mrs. Gore in 1798, giving this pict- 
 ure of the daily life and family of her other 
 daughter. Lady Carnegie : 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am very happy to 
 hear by your letter you were enjoying as 
 good a state of health as people in our time 
 of life are in general permitted to do. 
 
 I am at present passing a couple of 
 months with my daughter Lady Carnegie 
 who was all last Winter in London with her 
 Husband Sir David Carnegie and her three 
 eldest Daughters, who were finishing their 
 education. They are accomi)lished fine- 
 tempered girls but not handsome, good per- 
 sons, remarkably tall of their age, and very 
 tine dancers. Tlie others, there are ten in 
 all, promise to be very tall also and some of 
 them are handsome. It makes a fine lively 
 
House, always dancing Singing or playing 
 on the Piano Forte in some corner of the 
 Honse, they have five of them to practice 
 on, as they have a Governess entirely for 
 music, one for French, one for English, 
 which they all learn Grammatically besides 
 masters for writing, dancing, &c. It cer- 
 tainly^ often pats me in mind of a Boarding 
 School as there is one Wing of the house en- 
 tirely for their use. 
 
 Their father is a most amiable man, and 
 I am most happy when I reflect amidst all 
 the distresses I have met with in the World 
 that both my Daughters are married to men 
 of the most affectionate and constant dispo- 
 sitions, and whose chief study seems to be 
 to make them happy. 
 
 When Lady Carnegie was commiserated 
 with on the birth of her tenth daughter, she 
 answered very cheerfully that there was 
 plenty of time yet for sons; and when she 
 (lied (at the age of ninety-six:) she left two 
 surviving sons to prove that her words were 
 true. 
 
 Mrs. Eleanor Jauncey, a half-sister ot 
 Lady Cathcart and Lady Carnegie, wrote 
 the foUowinij: letter to Mrs. Gore from Mr. 
 
Elliot's conntry-liome, Miiito. This bouse, 
 Miuto, so disadvantageously out of towu, 
 stood where A. T. Stewart's (uow Denuiug's) 
 " up-towu " dry-goods store uow is built : 
 
 MiNTO, N. Y., Jan. 27, 1TS3. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Gore, — Two or three days 
 ago I wrote to Netty Swift aud begau a let- 
 ter to you but before I had half finished 
 beard the Com-r in chf (Sir Guy Carletou) aud 
 a good deal of Company were in the Bow 
 Kooni, aud as you know I have ray full 
 share of Curiosity I was tempted to leave 
 off writing to go aud try if I could hear auy 
 uews or pick up any anecdotes that might 
 entertain you, but it was not in my power 
 to write again that day and in the evening 
 my father had a return of the fever aud I 
 forgot everything but him. 
 
 I thank you for the hint about the Spice 
 but am much distress'd for an opportunity. 
 If I could find Mrs. Bell, She possibly might 
 take it, but I do not know where to look for 
 her aiut you know in all these sort of things 
 Avhat a disadvantage being in the country 
 is. None of the family have been much in 
 town this winter. As my Father was better 
 he endeavoured but could not persuade Mrs. 
 E. to go to the Ball on the Queens Birth- 
 
niglit, flora all accounts it was a very 
 agreeable one. There were eighty Ladies, 
 Gentlemen without number and everything 
 conducted in the best manner, the Rooms 
 well lighted, the Ladies elegantly dressed, 
 in short there could be no fault found. 
 Major Beckwith, one of Sir Guys Aids, it 
 was at Head Qrs had the management of it 
 and has gained credit. The man that acts 
 from his own feelings had a dance at his 
 house on Friday, Miss D. is in town with 
 him. . . . 
 
 Mrs. E. and the girls well, Sally Bre- 
 voort is making them riding Habits, a mat- 
 ter of joy and that affords them an oppor- 
 tunity of making many trips to gate. 
 
 They dined last Tuesday with their Father 
 and Mother at the Commander-in-Chief's 
 and in the evening went to a ball at the 
 Admirals. 
 
 The times indeed had changed, New York 
 had become urban when Mrs. Elliot and her 
 daughters could ride in habits. For only a 
 score of years previous to the date of this 
 letter, the wife of General Gates Avas openly 
 accused of riding man-fashion, and much re- 
 l^roved therefore by bucolic New Yorkers, 
 because she had ridden throuiih the streets 
 
of that simple towu cliul in a ridiug-babifc. 
 It is also interesting to note that a system of 
 " help " obtained in those days — the dangh- 
 ter of a rich neighbor, Farmer Brevoort, 
 made these habits for the Elliots. 
 
 This letter was written in Augnst, 1778, 
 by Lady Catherine Alexander, afterwards 
 known as Lady Kitty Dner, to her father, 
 Lord Stirling : 
 
 I have nuide several attempts laid npon 
 me by my dear Papa in a letter to General 
 Maxwell bnt have always been interrnpted 
 or entirely prevented by trivial accidents 
 which tbongh important euongli to prevent 
 my writing, are scarce worth mentioning to 
 you. Colonel Livingstone going to camp 
 at last furnishes me with an opportunity of 
 acquainting you with everything ray mem- 
 ory retains of our jaunt to New York. 
 
 In the first place we had the satisfac- 
 tion of being civilly treated by the British 
 officers. One indignity indeed we received 
 from General Grant who ordered a sergeant 
 to conduct the Flag to town instead of an 
 officer, but we were so happy at getting 
 permission to go on that we readily excused 
 this want of politeness. 
 
 Our acquaintances in town were very 
 
polite to ns; but wliother it proceeded from 
 regard to themselves or us is hard to deter- 
 ruiue. The truth is, they are a great deal 
 alarmed at their situatiou and wish to make 
 as much interest as possible on our side. 
 The sentiments I really believe of a great 
 number have undergone a thorough change, 
 since they have been with the British army ; 
 as they have many opportunities of seeing 
 flagrant acts of injustice and cruelty which 
 they could not have believed their friends 
 capable of, if they had not been eyewitness- 
 es of their conduct. This convinces them 
 that if they conquer we must live in abject 
 slavery. 
 
 Mamma has I suppose mentioned to 
 you the distressed situation in which wo 
 found poor Mary. The alarms of the fire 
 and the explosion, added to her recent mis- 
 fortune, kept her for several days in a very 
 weak state ; but we had the satisfaction to 
 leave her perfectly recovered. The child 
 she now has is one of the most charming 
 little creatures I ever saw and by all ac- 
 counts is more likely to live than either of 
 the others. Mr. Watts I am happy to find 
 is among the number of those who are 
 heartily sick of British tyrrany, and as to 
 Mary, her political principles are perfectly 
 
rebellious. Sevcrtil gentlemen of yonr for- 
 mer acqnaiutance in the British army made 
 particular inquiry after you. Upou the 
 whole I tliink we may call our jaunt a very 
 agreeable one though it was chequered with 
 some unlucky circumstances. I left Mam- 
 ma very well two days ago to ^ny a visit to 
 Governor Livingstone's family. 
 
 Sarah Franklin Robinson was the wife of 
 one of the Robinsons of Narragausett stock; 
 both were related and connected by mar- 
 riage with very good folk in New York, 
 Pennsylvania, and New Enghand. The sub- 
 joined letter, written by her to her cousin 
 Kitty Wistar, is interesting from an histor- 
 ical point of view, giving an account of the 
 preparations made by New York City to wel- 
 come Washington as President ; and it also 
 seems to gain a little charm in the use of the 
 Quaker thee and thou. It is also amusing 
 to note that Avhile the letter is written in 
 the commonplace form while giving domes- 
 tic news, that the patriotic writer lapses 
 unconsciously into tiie use of capital letters 
 when speaking of anything relating to the 
 august Washington : 
 
66 
 
 N. Y. 30th of the 4th Mo. 1T89. 
 
 I feel exceedingly mortified aud hurt 
 my dear cousin that so many of my letters 
 to thee have miscarried. I have certainly 
 written as many as half a dozen since thee 
 left N. Y. although thou acknowledgest the 
 receipt of but one which almost discourages 
 me from making another attempt so uncer- 
 tain is it whether it will ever reach Brandy- 
 wine but I cannot entirely give it up as I 
 am assured they give you some pleasure. 
 
 Uncle Johns affair goes on rapidly and 
 will soon come to a crisis, and he is as at- 
 tentive a swain as thou wouldst wish to 
 see, and as much delighted at the approach- 
 ing event. Betsey aud Polly are expected 
 today, I hope they will be prudent, but no 
 doubt it will be a great trial, they are all 
 extremely averse to the match and uncle 
 has his hands full with them as thou may 
 suppose. 
 
 If I could but sit an hoiu' with thee my 
 dear, how much I should have to tell thee, 
 but it will not do to put all on paper, but 
 so far I will say, the Widow would have 
 nothing to say to uncle John until he would 
 be reconciled to cousin Tommy, in conse- 
 quence he visits there and takes a great 
 deal of notice of his three little grand daugh- 
 
67 
 
 ters, a very pleasing event to all of us, and 
 does great honour to our Aunt, and endears 
 her very much to me, she I think every 
 way suitable to our Uncle and I have no 
 doubt will make him an excellent wife. 
 Billy is now out on his journey to Vermont, 
 he has been gone eight weeks, I have fre- 
 quently heard from him in his absence but 
 do not know when to expect him. Onr 
 dear little Eliza is now in the small -pox 
 and like to have it favourably, a favour 
 which demands our gratitude, the rest of 
 the little tribe are well. My little niece 
 Esther grows finely, and her mother is as 
 well as can be exi)ccted. 
 
 Great rejoicing in New York on the ar- 
 rival of General Washington, an elegant 
 Barge decorated with an awning of Satin, 
 12 oarsmen dressed in white frocks and blue 
 ribbons went down to E Town last fourth 
 day to bring him up. A stage was erected 
 at the Coffee House wharf, covered with a 
 carpet for him to step on, when a company 
 of Light horse, one of Artillery, and most of 
 the Inhabitants were waiting to receive 
 him ; they paraded throngh Queen street 
 in great form while the music of the drums 
 and the ringing of the bells were enough to 
 stun one with the noise. Previous to his 
 
coming Uucle Walters house in Clierry 
 Street was taken for liini, and every room 
 furnished in the most elegant manner. 
 Aunt Osgood and Lady Kitty Duer had the 
 whole management of it. I went the morn- 
 ing before the Generals arrival to take a 
 look at it, the best of furniture in every 
 room, and the greatest quantity of Plato 
 and China I ever saw, tlie whole of the first 
 and second story is papered, and the floors 
 covered with the richest kind of Turkey and 
 Wilton carpets. The House did honour to 
 my aunts and Lady Kitty, they spared no 
 pains nor expense on it. Thou must know 
 that Uncle Osgood and Diier were appointed 
 to procure a bouse and furnish it, accord- 
 ingly they pitched on their wives as being 
 likely to do it better. I have not done yet 
 my dear. Is thee not almost tired. The 
 evening after his Excellency's arrival there 
 was a general Illumination took place ex- 
 cept among friends and those styled Anti- 
 Federalist. The latters windows suffered 
 soon thou may imagine. As soon as the 
 General has sworn in, a grand exhibition of 
 fireworks is to be displayed which is ex- 
 pected to be tomorrow, there is scarcely 
 anything talked about now but General 
 Washington and the Palace, and of little 
 
else have I told tbee yet tbo' I have spun 
 my miserable scrawl already to a great 
 length, but thou requested to know all that 
 was going forward. 
 
 I have just learned that William Titus of 
 Woodbury is going to be married to a sister 
 of Uncle Bowne, mother to Thomas Bowue 
 who I believe thee knows ; Eliza Titus, her 
 husband and Father and Mother spent the 
 ev^ening with us last Sixth day. Eliza 
 is mucli altered since I saw her, is much 
 thinner and plainer. Our Families are all 
 well. Hetty is still with us. Rowland and 
 the girls love to you. Accept mine, my 
 dear cousin and write soon, to thy affec- 
 tionate cousin, 
 
 Sarah Robixson. 
 
 Eliza Susan Morton was born and spent 
 her childhood and girlhood in New York, 
 but lived, after her marriage to Mr. Quincy, 
 in Massachusetts. Her memoir has not a 
 dull word in it ; and is of great value as a 
 picture of the times. I have chosen a short 
 portion of her account of her life as a child, 
 showing plainly that the intelligence and 
 brilliancy of mind displayed in after-life was 
 scarcely the result of her education : 
 
Mr. Martin was an old man who carried 
 the mail between Philadelphia and Morris- 
 town and was called " the Post." He used 
 to wear a blue coat with yellow buttons, a 
 scarlet waistcoat, leathern small - clothes, 
 blue yarn stockings, and a red wig and 
 cocked hat, which gave him a sort of mili- 
 tary appearance. He usually travelled in a 
 sulky, but sometimes in a chaise or on horse- 
 back, according to the season of the year or 
 the size and weight of the mail-bag, Mr. 
 Martin also contrived to employ himself in 
 knitting coarse yarn stockings while driv- 
 ing, or rather jogging along the road, or 
 when seated on his saddle-bags on horse- 
 back. He certainly did not ride post, ac- 
 cording to the present meaning of that 
 term. 
 
 I shall never forget the delight I felt 
 when I found myself seated beside Mr. Mar- 
 tin in his chaise and going away from Phila- 
 delphia ; nor the surprise of our family at 
 Baskinridge when they saw me driving 
 down the hill with him. They all ran to 
 the door, when Belfast exclaimed, '' Well, if 
 here isnt our Susan coming, riding home 
 with the Post !" 
 
 When my mother returned I was sent 
 with my brother Washington, to attend 
 
the school of Master Leslie, who though a 
 very good man, was very severe in his dis- 
 cipline. His modes of punishment would 
 astonish the children of the present day. 
 One of them was to "hold the blocks.'' 
 They were of two sizes. The large one 
 was a heavy block of wood, with a ring in 
 the centre, by which it was to be held a 
 definite number of minutes by his watch, 
 according to the magnitude of the offence. 
 The small block was for the younger chil- 
 dren. Another punishment was by a num- 
 ber of leathern straps, about an inch wide 
 and a finger long, fastened to a handle of 
 wood, with which he used to strap the 
 hands of the larger boys. To the girls he 
 was more lenient. 
 
 Master Leslie was particularly anxious to 
 instruct us in the Scriptures ; and according 
 to the custom of the day, we stood up in 
 classes, each child with a Bible in hand, and 
 read a verse in turn. We came constantly 
 to unintelligible passages, and fatigue and 
 disgust were the consequence. Lists of 
 texts of Scripture beginning with the same 
 letter, written upon paper, and pasted upon 
 boards, were also hung around the school- 
 room. These alphabets, as they were 
 called, were given to the scholars to take 
 
tliera liome and commit to memory on Sim- 
 day, with catechism and hymns. Bj^ early 
 l)a infill associations, the subject of religion 
 was thus rendered tedious and repulsive to 
 many persons in after life. 
 
 To give us some idea of Geography and 
 astronomy Master Leslie used to employ his 
 snuff box and sundry little balls of yarn, to 
 represent the solar system and thus com- 
 pletely puzzled and confused my brain. I 
 knew he would not tell a falsehood, but 
 to make me believe tbat the sun stood still 
 and we whirled around it, required a clearer 
 explanation. . . . 
 
 lu 1784, I was sent with my sister to a 
 school kept by Miss Dodsworth, an Eng- 
 lishwoman. We staid through the week 
 and came home to pass Sunday. There was 
 no discipline. Two daughters of a British 
 officer who had gone away with the troops 
 were the tyrants of the school. At leugtli 
 their father sent for them. Miss Dodsworth 
 w^ent also, and with her successor — Miss 
 Ledyard of New London, daughter of the 
 celebrated traveller — we were happy and 
 improved. At the close of the year we had 
 what was called " a breaking-up." 
 
 A stage Avas erected at the end of the 
 room, covered with a carpet, ornamented 
 
73 
 
 with evergreens, and lighted by candles in 
 gilt branches. Two window curtains were 
 drawn aside from tbe centre before it, and 
 the audience "were seated on the benches 
 of the schoolroom. The "Search after 
 Happiness," by Mrs. More, "The Milliner" 
 and " The Dove," by Madame Genlis — were 
 performed. The characters were cast by Miss 
 Ledj^ard. In the " Search after Happiness " 
 I acted Euphelia, one of the court ladies, 
 and also sang a song intended in the play 
 for one of the daughters of Urania ; but as I 
 had the best voice, it was given to me. My 
 dress was a pink and green striped silk; 
 feathers and flowers decorated my head ; 
 and with bracelets on my arms and paste 
 buckles on my shoes, I thought I made a 
 splendid appearance. The only time I ever 
 rode in a sedan chair was on this occasion, 
 when after being dressed at home, I was con- 
 veyed in one to Miss Ledyard's residence. 
 Hackney coaches w^ere then unknown in 
 New York. In the second piece I acted the 
 Milliner ; and by some strange notion of 
 Miss Ledyard's or my own, was dressed in a 
 gown, cap, handkerchief and apron of my 
 mother's with a pair of spectacles to look 
 like au elderly woman — a x^i'oof how little 
 we understood the character of a French 
 
milliner. When the curtain was drawn, 
 many of the audience declared " it must be 
 Mrs. Morton herself on the stage." How 
 my mother with her strict notions and prej- 
 udices against the theatre ever consented 
 to such proceedings is still a surprise to me. 
 In " The Dove " I appeared as a young girl 
 in a garden. Among our auditors were 
 Governor Clinton and his lady, whose 
 daughters were among us. There were 
 also several clergymen. 
 
 Among Mrs. Quincy's school- companions 
 was Margaret Mason, who married a wealthy 
 Kentucky Senator named Browne, and who 
 lived thereafter in Frankfort in that State. 
 Late in life she renewed her acquaintance 
 and correspondence with Mrs. Qiiincy. This 
 letter to the friend of her youth is interest- 
 ing as showing the view taken by a lady of 
 the old school of the methods of education 
 as shown in 1835 : 
 
 Though my personal appearance has, of 
 course, much changed since we parted, 
 yet time has kindly spared " whate'er of 
 mental grace was ever mine." And as a 
 proof that whatever poets say to the con- 
 trary. Fancy does sometimes live to be old, 
 
I spend some most delightful momeuts in 
 reperusing the letters wliicli passed between 
 " the knot " at Miss Ledyard's school when 
 yon were Amelia Belmont and I Harriet 
 Villiers, and when thus employed how many 
 youthful visions rise before me ! 
 
 I do not think the present mode of 
 education enjoys all the advantages over 
 that of which w^e were the subjects, Avhich 
 might be expected from the time and money 
 expended on its attainment. It appears to 
 me like the faint outline of a picture 
 sketched by the hand of a master, but which, 
 wanting due proportions of light and shade, 
 leaves a large part of the canvas to offend 
 the eye. 
 
 Revisiting New York after an absence of 
 twelv^e years I had heard so much of im- 
 provements in education that I expected to 
 find a generation of De Staels and S6vign6s; 
 but, with the exception of a decided improve- 
 ment in orthography and penmanship, noth- 
 ing was altered for the better. The style of 
 conversation was as uninteresting as I had 
 ever known it, and the knowledge of gener- 
 al literature very superficial. I therefore 
 think that our acquirements, though less 
 varied, were more substantial, and perhaps 
 more intellectual than those of the present 
 
76 
 
 day, I mean generally. There are glorious 
 exceptions. 
 
 I most cordially agree in your admiration 
 of Miss Edge worth. Her '* To-morrow " has 
 been of more use to me than all the other 
 fictitious writings I ever read ; and all her 
 stories convey striking lessons, which may 
 be introduced into the everyday business of 
 life with the happiest results. 
 
 I have read the "Lifeof Dr.Burney" with 
 great interest and feel inclined to bury the 
 egotist in the annalist. Madame D' Arblays 
 own history was so interwoven with that of 
 her father and the other literary personages 
 of the day, that she could not in justice to 
 herself omit the circumstances she narrates. 
 
 How often have I wished that Beattie's 
 "Minstrel" and "Evelina" could be erased 
 from my memory that I might again revel 
 in the delightful emotions a first perusal oc- 
 casioned. 
 
 As to the effect produced by the pres- 
 ent increase and circulation of new books^ 
 to judge from my own experience, I should 
 think it deleterious ; the mind becomes dis- 
 tracted by variety and indisposed to system- 
 atic study. Po you think that either you 
 or I, were we fourteen years of age, would 
 uow become as conversant as we then were 
 
77 
 
 with the English classics and poets which 
 are now reposing in sullen dignity on our 
 book shelves, while every table is littered 
 with annuals and monthly and weekly 
 journals ? I often feel bewildered, like a 
 child with a uuuiber of new toys, who knows 
 not which to play with, but looks first to 
 one, then at another, without examining 
 any. 
 
 In Mrs. Isabella Graham we find one of 
 the noblest workers in philanthropy and 
 charity that the world has known. Without 
 wealth, she established in New York Sun- 
 day-schools and mission schools, homes for 
 widows and homes for orphans, hosjiitals 
 and refuges, and was prominent in every 
 good work. She kept a fashionable and 
 thoroughly good school for young girls in 
 New York, and taught in it for many years. 
 She w^as the esteemed friend of every one of 
 dignity, wealth, or education in the commu- 
 nity; and after her death, her life and let- 
 ters were, next to the Bible, the most pop- 
 ular religious book of the day. Over fifty 
 thousand copies were sold in America, and a 
 large number in England and Scotland — a 
 success for the day similar to that of Wiggles- 
 
78 
 
 worth's " Day of Doom " and of " Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin." Yet this good book, so be- 
 loved, so beread, is of a form and style of 
 compilation in literature as absolutely obso- 
 lete, as extinct as is the dodo. 
 
 I have chosen as a specimen of Mrs. 
 Graham's epistolary style one of the few 
 letters in the book which have any general 
 interest for us to-day. The exceedingly 
 high-minded and pious compositions which 
 form the larger portion of the published col- 
 lections do not, as a rule, show enough 
 variety or originality of thought or expres- 
 sion to excite any special admiration of her 
 literary abilities or mental powers, though 
 they fully bear witness to the nobility of 
 spirit and pure religious belief which were 
 accredited to her by all her contemporaries. 
 We cannot help feeling that had Mrs. Gra- 
 ham suspected the contingency of posthu- 
 mous publication of her letters, she would 
 somewhat have diversified her rather monot- 
 onous expression of that belief. The tire- 
 some elimination of full uaraes throughout 
 the letters, and the substitution of initials — • 
 a fashion of the day — even when recounting 
 most noble and praiseworthy public deeds — 
 
Las entirely destroyed whatever historical 
 value the letters might have had. Frequent- 
 ly the names are not given of the persons to 
 vrhom the letters were written — as if there 
 could have lived any one unwilling for the 
 entire world to know of a friendship with 
 so noble a woman ! 
 
 The following letter gives an account 
 of the raging of the yellow-fever in New 
 York, fully corroborating Charles Brockden 
 Brown's lurid pages, and curiously suggest- 
 ing, in the pathetic episode of the three wom- 
 eu mourners, many of the details in Pepys's 
 account of the Great Plague in London ; but 
 happily showing also an organized system 
 of generous philanthropic relief undreamt of 
 in the days of the Merry Monarch, and fully 
 worthy of our own day, a century later. 
 
 Nov. 11, 1799. 
 
 My dear Brother, — Before this reaches 
 you the public papeis will have informed you 
 of the desolation of New York by the yellow- 
 fever. We are among the escaped ; and there 
 are no breaches in the family. My healtli 
 and that of the family, made the country 
 necessary to us at any rate, and we left town 
 previous to its becoming general ; but Mr. B. 
 
80 
 
 kept ill the city, only sleeping in the country, 
 till 45 were carried off in a night. The inhab- 
 itants abandoned the city in crowds, spread- 
 ing over the adjacent countries; in Long 
 Island, Jersey, New York, for sixty miles 
 around. In the most busy trading streets, a 
 person might have Avalked half a mile with- 
 out meeting an individual, or seeing an 
 open house or shop. Eleven physicians and 
 surgeons fell sacrifices to it, five of t'nem 
 men of eminence; several were confined by 
 mere fatigue, and had to retire to rest, re- 
 lieving others wheu recruited. Dr. B. one 
 of our ohlest and eminent physicians who 
 had retired from business ten years ago and 
 lived on his estate in the country, hearing 
 of the distress of his brethren and the im- 
 possibility of their answering all the calls of 
 the sick and dying, left his retreat, returned 
 to town and slaved to the last. His affec- 
 tionate wife would not be left behind, but 
 determined to share or witness his fate. It 
 has x)leased God to preserve them both. Not- 
 withstanding the general flight, the mor- 
 tality amongst those that remained was so 
 great, that, for three weeks, from 48 to 54 
 died every 24 hours, this was no vague report, 
 but that of the physicians and published in 
 the daily newspapers. The Churches were 
 
shut up except tliose wlilcb stood out of 
 danger. Great numbers of them carried the 
 infection with them to the country as far as 
 60 and 80 miles and died there ; ahnost every 
 one that took it in the country died, having 
 no proper medical attendance ; I do not re- 
 member of one that recovered ; many did in 
 the city and the hospitals. Some died with- 
 out getting sight of a Doctor; some alone, 
 deserted by every creature. The coffins were 
 ready made, the graves ready dng, and the 
 minute the last breath was fetched, they 
 wore buried with the utmost dispatch. Many 
 widows had to put their owu husbands in 
 the coffin, with the assistance of the maker ; 
 and often, very often there was not a creat- 
 ure at the burial, but the man that drove 
 the herse, who assisted the sexton to put the 
 body under ground. I myself met a herse 
 followed by three well-dressed females, not 
 a man but the driver. Long before this 
 your heart has asked, what became of the 
 poor ? wonders were done for them, yet 
 many suffered for want of nursing. A nnra- 
 ber of humane men formed themselves into 
 a Society, sought them out, and ministered 
 relief from the public funds. Two cook- 
 shops in different quarters of the city pre- 
 pared soup, meat, vegetables and bread. A 
 
82 
 
 committee sat in the almsbouse every day, 
 from nine to one o'cloct, to receive sucli re- 
 ports or applications as might be made to 
 them, either by or in behalf of the sick and 
 poor; and they were visited, and nurses and 
 medical attendance paid by the public, as 
 well as every species of necessaries ; but 
 alas ! nurses were not to be had ; doctors 
 could only be at one place at a time. When 
 speaking of the poor I omitted mentioning 
 the large donations which were sent from 
 both town and country to the committee — 
 flour, meal, fowls, sheep, vegetables, money, 
 and clothes. One of the members of the 
 society told me that there was a plentiful 
 supply, and temporary hospitals and other 
 buildings were erected for the reception of 
 the sick and recovering, everything that 
 could be done was done to soften the ca- 
 lamity. 
 
 The only daughter of Francis Lewis, a 
 member of the Continental Congress and a 
 stanch patriot, eloped with and married 
 an English officer, Captain Robertson. It 
 has been supposed that Mr. Lewis never for- 
 gave this daughter Ann, but a letter written 
 by her when a widow in Edinburgh, in 
 1795, to her brother General Morgan Lewis, 
 
proves otherwise. TIio letter has never 
 before been publislied. I give a portion 
 of it : 
 
 Your letter my dear brother, by Mr. Allen 
 came safe to my hand and should have been 
 acknowledged ere this ; but that I expected 
 he would also have been the bearer of my 
 answer, as he gave me to understand he 
 should sail from hence for New York in a 
 few weeks after his arrival here. Those 
 weeks are past and I have neither seen nor 
 heard from him, from which I conclude 'tis 
 possible his business might have made it 
 more convenient for him to have sailed from 
 London for America than from here. I re- 
 gret it much, as I had hoped by such a con- 
 veyance my letters could not have failed of 
 being taken care of and of arriving safe to 
 your hands. 
 
 The opportunities that now present them- 
 selves of a ship from Leith and another 
 from Greenock do not appear to me so favor- 
 able or certain, however I shall embrace 
 them, as I would not wish to defer any 
 longer thanking you for your last kind at- 
 tentions to me and mine — it came most op- 
 portune and will enable me — without mak- 
 ing any use of my yearly stipend for that 
 
purpose — to -pay my house rent, which fortu- 
 nately for me is not at the rate houses in 
 New York now are — need I repeat my sense 
 of your kindness ? No — I leave your own 
 heart to judge what mine must feel from any 
 mark of attention and affection from you. I 
 received a letter from my father at the same 
 time though not from Mr. Allen. In it he 
 gives hut a dismal description of himself and 
 his situation and expresses the wish that 
 I and my children would come and live with 
 him. It hurts me to he under the necessity of 
 refusing any offer of kindness from him, but 
 it is a step I could not possibly take w^itb- 
 out running a risque of injuring my chil- 
 dren, for I coukl not draw the pension set- 
 tled upon them if I quitted Great Britain, at 
 least it would he attended with great diffi- 
 culties. Besides if my father is so reduced 
 in circumstances as to find it difficult to sub- 
 sist himself in decent comfort, what could 
 a whole family do ? Our joint income would 
 not go far in a place where all the articles of 
 life are now at so dear a rate; living in 
 Edinburgh must be cheap in comparison 
 with what it is in New York; and even in 
 Edinburgh I assure you with the utmost 
 economy (I mean such economy as excludes 
 all approaches to meanness) your kindness 
 
85 
 
 aud aid, Captain Robertson's increasing at- 
 tention in many little matters that are a 
 help to my family, I shall find it rather a 
 difficult matter to make my income of a 
 hundred and eighty support me and four 
 children growing up, who every year must 
 become more and more expensive let me 
 manage as well as possible — however I 
 neither repine nor despond. My children 
 are in themselves a treasure to me. My con- 
 science tells me I am always amply fulfilling 
 the duties of my station, and I have a firm 
 hope and confidence that they will not be 
 forsaken nor beg their bread." 
 
 This hope was fully realized : one daugh- 
 ter married the Archbishop of Cauterburj^, 
 another the Bishop of Calcutta, aud the third 
 Sir James Moncriefie. 
 
 We cannot wonder at the perfection of 
 feminine letter - writing of those days, if 
 manj^ parents took such unvarying and in- 
 cessant pains to form such a habit, as did 
 Aaron Burr with his daughter Theodosia. 
 When she was but a young girl of ten or 
 twelve we find him writing to her minute 
 instructions as to her penmanship : its size, 
 its shape, the formation of sentences, the 
 
spelling, tlie exact use of syiionymes. He 
 quotes her sentences, asking her to return 
 tbem in a more elegant form ; to translate 
 tliem into Latin ; to study the meaning, use, 
 and etymology of every word in his letter ; 
 to keep for him a daily journal written in a 
 narrative style. Even when on trial for 
 treason, in 1808, he still instructed her; re- 
 proving her for negligent lack of acknowl- 
 edgment of letters received. He commended 
 her style, saying, " There is an energy, a 
 selection, an aptitude in your expressions, 
 which, to use the vulgar male slang, is not 
 feminine." He says he will, when in Eu- 
 rope, put her in correspondence with literary 
 persons, " the vainest of all creatures," and 
 cautions her against ever taking the turn of 
 one who feels flattered by such correspond- 
 ence. He warns her that letters are always 
 in danger of getting into print; and, alto- 
 gether, I can fancy no rnle of correct epis- 
 tolary conduct left unsaid by Aaron Burr to 
 his daughter. 
 
 Tbat he had a high opinion of her powers 
 we cannot doubt, and he urged her to write, 
 saying once : 
 
 " Your idea of dressing up pieces of an- 
 
87 
 
 cient mythology in the form of amusing 
 tales for childreu is very good. You your- 
 self must write them. Send your perform- 
 ances to me, and within three weeks after 
 they are received you shall have them again 
 in print. This will uot only be a very 
 amusing occupation, but a very useful one 
 to yourself." 
 
 Let me give portions of letters from his 
 wife, showing how Theodosia was taught : 
 
 Theo. never can or will nuike the prog- 
 ress we would wish her while she has so 
 many avocations. I kept her home a week 
 in hopes Shepherd would consent to attend 
 her at home, but he absolutely declined it, 
 as his partners thought it derogatory to 
 their dignity. I was therefore obliged to 
 submit, and permit her to go as usual. She 
 begins to cipher. Mr. Chevalier attends 
 regularly, and I take care she never omits 
 learning her French lesson. I believe she 
 makes most progress in this, Mr. St. Aivre 
 never comes; he can get no fiddler, and I 
 am told his furniture, &c., have been seized 
 by the sheriff. I don't think the dancing 
 lessons do much good while the weather is 
 so warm ; they fatigue too soon. I have a 
 
dozen and four tickets on Land, wbicli I 
 tbiuk will donble in value at mj^ return. As 
 to music, upon the footing it now is she can 
 uever make progress, thongh she sacrifices 
 two thirds of her time to it. 'Tis a serious 
 check to her other acquirements. She must 
 either have a forte - piano at home, or re- 
 nounce learning it. For these reasons I am 
 impatient to go in the country. Her educa- 
 tion is not on an advantageous footing at 
 present. Besides, the playfellows she has 
 at home makes it the most favonrable mo- 
 ment for her to be at liberty a few weeks, 
 to range and gain in health a good founda- 
 tion for more application at our retnrn, Avheu 
 I hope to have her alone ; nay, I will have 
 her alone. I cannot live so great a slave, 
 and she shall not suffer. My time shall not 
 be an unwilling sacrifice to others; it shall 
 be hers. She shall have it, but I will not 
 use severity; and without it, at present, I 
 can obtain nothing; 'tis a bad habit, which 
 she uever deserves when I have her to my- 
 self. The moment we are alone she tries to 
 amuse me wdth her improvement, which the 
 little jade knows will always command my 
 attention ; but these moments are short and 
 seldom. I have so many trifling interrnp- 
 tious, that my head feels as if I had been a 
 
twelvemonth at sea. I scarcely know what 
 I speak, and much less what I write. . . . 
 
 Theo. is much better ; she writes and 
 ciphers from five in the morning to eight, 
 and also the same hours in the evening. 
 This prevents our riding at those hours, ex- 
 cept Saturday and Sunday, otherwise I 
 should cheerfully follow your directions, as 
 I rise at five or six every day. Theo. makes 
 amazing progress at figures. Though Louisa 
 has worked at them all winter, and appeared 
 quite an adept at first, yet Theo. is now be- 
 fore her, and assists her to make her sums. 
 You will really be surprised at the improve- 
 ment. I think her time so well spent that 
 I shall not wish to return to town sooner 
 than I am obliged. She does not ride on 
 horseback, though Frederick has a very 
 pretty riding horse he keeps for her; but 
 were she to attempt it now, there would be 
 so much jealousy, and so many would wish 
 to take their turn, that it would really be 
 impracticable. But we have the best sub- 
 stitute imaginable. As you gave me leave 
 to dispose of the old wheels as I pleased, I 
 gave them as my ^lart towards a wagon ; 
 we have a good plain Dutch wagon, that I 
 prefer to a carriage when at Pelham, as the 
 exercise is much better. We ride in num- 
 
90 
 
 bers and are well jolted, aud without dread. 
 'Tia the most powerful exercise I know. No 
 spring seats ; but, like so many pigs, we bun- 
 dle together on straw. Four miles are equal 
 to twenty. It is really an acquisition. I 
 hope yon will see our little girl rosy cheeked 
 and plump as a partridge. 
 
 The letters of the daughter, Theodosia, 
 scarcely show the brilliancy that might be 
 expected from so careful an education. The 
 following letter is to her husband : 
 
 We arrived yesterday morning, exactly 
 the eighth day since I left you. Our passage 
 was pleasant, inasmuch as we had no storms, 
 and the most obliging, attentive captain. 1 
 never met with more unremitted politeness. 
 He was constantly endeavoring to tempt my 
 appetite by all the delicacies in his own 
 stores. To the child he proved an excellent 
 nurse when I was fatigued and the rest sick. 
 We are now in my father's town house. 
 
 I have just returned from a ride in the 
 country and a visit to Richmond Hill. Never 
 did I behold this island so beautiful. The 
 variety of vivid greens; the finely cultivat- 
 ed fields and gaudy gardens ; the neat, cool 
 air of the cit's boxes, peeping through 
 
straight rows of tall poplars, aucl the ele- 
 gauce of some gentlemen's seats, command- 
 ing a view of the majestic Hudson, and the 
 higii, dark shores of New Jersey, altogether 
 form a scene so lively, so touching, and to 
 me so new, that I was in constant rapture. 
 How much did not I then wish for you to join 
 with me in admiring it. With how much 
 regret did I recollect some rides we took to- 
 gether last summer. Ah, my husband, why 
 are we separated ? I had rather have been 
 ill on Sullivan's Island with you, than well, 
 separated from you. Even my amusements 
 serve to increase my unhappiness ; for if any 
 thing aftbrds me pleasure, the thought that, 
 were you here, you also would feel pleasure, 
 and thus redouble mine, at once puts au end 
 to enjoyment. You do not know how con- 
 stantly my whole mind is employed in think- 
 ing of yon. Do you, my husband, think as 
 frequently of your Theo., and wish for her? 
 Do you really feel a vacuum in your pleas- 
 ures ? As for your wife she has bid adieu 
 to pleasure till next October. When, when 
 will that month come ? It appears to me a 
 century off. I can scared}^ yet realize to 
 myself that we are to be so long separated. 
 Do not imagine, however, that I mean to 
 beg you to join me this summer. No, my 
 
Lnsbaud, I know your reasons, and approve 
 them. Your wife feels a consolation in talk- 
 ing of her sorrows to yon ; but she would 
 think herself unworthy of you could she not 
 find fortitude enough to bear them! God 
 knows how delighted I shall be when once 
 again in your arms ; but how much would 
 my happiness be diminished by recollecting 
 that your advancement and interest suffered. 
 When we meet, let there be nothing to alloy 
 a happiness so pure, so unbounded. Our 
 little boy grows charmingly; he is much ad- 
 mired here. The colour of his eyes is not 
 yet determined. You shall know when it is. 
 I send you M'Kenzie ; there is no London 
 edition in town more elegantly bound. Be- 
 fore my departure you complained grievous- 
 ly of the bad cigars sold in Charleston. In 
 the hope that this city affords better, I send 
 you a box containing a thousand ; the 
 seller took some trouble to choose the best 
 for me, and I have added some Vanilla and 
 Tonka beans to them. May the offering 
 please my great Apollo ! If you should do 
 so rash a thing as to visit the city during 
 the summer, pray smoke all the time you 
 remain there ; it creates an atmosphere 
 round you, and prevents impure air from 
 reaching you. 
 
I wish, also, that you would never be in 
 town before or after the middle of the da5\ 
 I have somewhere heard that persons were 
 less apt to catch infections disorders at that 
 time than any other, and I believe it. Have 
 you never remarked how highly scented 
 the air is before snnrise in a flower-garden, 
 so much so as to render the smell of any 
 flower totally imperceptible if you put it to 
 your nose? That is, I suppose, because, 
 when the sun acts with all his force, the air 
 becomes so rarefied, that the quantity of 
 perfume you inhale at a breath can have no 
 effect ; while, on the contrary, during the 
 night, the vapours become so condensed 
 that you perceive them in every blast. May 
 not the same be the case with noxious 
 vapours ? It is said that the fever in 
 Charleston does not arise from that, but 
 the filth of the streets are quite enough to 
 make one think otherwise. Perhaps I am 
 wrong both iu my reason and opinion. If 
 so, you are able to correct; only do as you 
 think best, and be prudent. It is all I ask. 
 I imagine the subject worth a reflection, 
 and you cannot err. Montesquieu says he 
 writes to make people think, and why may 
 not Theodosia ? 
 
Eliza Soutbgate Bowiie was a New-Eug- 
 land woman by birtb, but tbrougb her 
 marriage she entered the best and most 
 fashionable New York circle. Her letters 
 have been carefully preserved, and are the 
 freshest, most sprightly memoirs of her day 
 that we possess. They show much indi- 
 viduality of style, and reveal a charming 
 personality — vivacious, witty, and loving; 
 a personality so real that it makes us regret 
 her short life, for she died when twenty-five 
 years of age of that fell curse of those of 
 New-England blood— consumption. 
 
 Hear her fairly living account of a gay 
 junketing in her girlhood days: 
 
 P0RTr.ANi), March 1, 1802. 
 Such a frolic! Such a chain of advent- 
 ures I never before met with, nay, the page 
 of romance never presented its equal. — 'Tis 
 now Monday ; — but a little more method, 
 tbat I may be understood. I haA^e just 
 ended my Assembly's adventure, — never got 
 home till this morning. Thursday it snowed 
 violently ; indeed for two days before it 
 had been stox'ming so much that the snow 
 drifts were very large ; however, as it was 
 the last Assembly I could not resist the 
 
temptation of going, as I knew all the world 
 would be there. About 7 I went down 
 stairs and found young Charles Coffin, the 
 minister, in the parlor. After the usual en- 
 quiries were over he, staring awhile at my 
 feathers and flowers, asked if I was going 
 out ;— I told him I was going to the Assem- 
 bly. "Think, Miss Southgate," said he, 
 after a long pause, " think, would you go 
 out to meeting in such a storm as this?" 
 Then assuming a tone of reproof he entreat- 
 ed me to examine well my feelings on such 
 an occasion. I heard in silence, unwilling 
 to begin an argument that I was unable to 
 support. The stopping of the carriage 
 roused me. I immediately slipped on my 
 socks and coat and met Horatio and Mr. 
 Motley in the entry. The snow was deep, 
 but Mr. Motley took me up in his arms and 
 sat me iu the carriage without difficulty. 
 I found a full Assembly, many married 
 ladies and every one disposed to end the 
 winter iu good spirits. At 1 we left 
 dancing and went to the card-room to wait 
 for a coach. It stormed dreadfully; the 
 backs were all employed, as soon as they re- 
 turned, and we could not get one till 3 
 o'clock — for about 2 they left the house 
 determined not to return again for the night. 
 
It was the most violent storm I ever 
 knew ; tliere were now 20 in waiting, the 
 ladies runrrauring and complaining. One 
 hack retnrned ; all flocked to the stairs to 
 engage a seat. So many crowded down that 
 'twas impossible to get past ; Inckily I was 
 one of the first. I step't in, found a young 
 lady, almost a stranger in town, who keeps 
 at Mrs. Jordan's, sitting in the back-seat. 
 She immediately caught hold of me and 
 heg'd, if I possibly could accommodate her, 
 to take her home with me, as she had at- 
 tempted to go to Mrs. Jordan's, but the 
 drifts were so high the horses could not get 
 through ; that they were compelled to re- 
 turn to the hall, where she had not a single 
 acquaintance with whom she could go home. 
 I was distres't, for I could not ask her home 
 with me, for sister had so much company 
 that I was obliged to go home with Sally 
 Weeks and give my chamber to Parson 
 Coffin. I told her this, and likewise that 
 she could be provided for if my endeavors 
 could be of any service. None but ladies 
 were permitted to get into the carriage ; it 
 presently was stowed in so full, that the 
 horses could not move. The door was burst 
 open, for such a clamor as the closing of it 
 occasioned, I never before heard ;— the uui- 
 
versa! ciy was — " A geutlemau in the coach, 
 let him come out." We all protested there 
 was uone, as it was too dark to distiuguish, 
 but the little mau soou raised his voice and 
 bid the coachman proceed ; a dozen voices 
 gave contrary orders ; 'twas a proper riot ; 
 I was reall^'^ alarmed. My gentleman, with 
 a vast deal of fashionable independence, 
 swore no power on earth should make him 
 quit his seat, but a gentleman at the door 
 jump't into the carriage, caught hold of 
 him, and would have dragged him out if we 
 had not all entreated them to desist. He 
 squeezed again into his seat, inwardly ex- 
 ulting to think he should get safe home 
 from such rough creatures as the men, 
 should pass for a lady, be secure uuder their 
 protection, — for none would insult him be- 
 fore them, mean creature ! ! The carriage 
 at length started full of ladies and not one 
 gentleman to i^rotect us, except our lady- 
 man, who had crept to us for shelter. When 
 we found ourselves in the street, the first 
 thing was to find out who was in the car- 
 riage and where we were all going ; who 
 first must be left, — luckily, two gentlemen 
 had followed by the side of the carriage, 
 and when it stop't took out the ladies as 
 they got to their houses. Our sweet little, 
 
 7 
 
trembling, delicate, unprotected fellow sat 
 immovable whilst the two geutlemeu that 
 were obliged to walk thro' all the snow and 
 storm, carried all the ladies from the car- 
 riage. What could be the motive of the 
 little wretch for creeping in with us I know 
 not ; I should have thought 'twas his great 
 wish to serve the ladies, if he had moved 
 from the seat, but 'twas the most singular 
 thing I ever heard of. We at length ar- 
 rived at the place of our destination. Miss 
 Weeks asked Miss Coffin (for that was the 
 unlucky girl's name) to go home with her, 
 which she readily did ; — the gentlemen then 
 proceeded to take us out, my beau unused 
 to carrying such a weight of sin and folly, 
 sank under its pressure, and I was obliged 
 to carry my mighty self through the snow 
 which almost buried me. Such a time, — I 
 never shall forget it. My great-grandmother 
 never told any of her youthful adventures 
 to equal it. The storm continued till Mon- 
 day, and I was obliged to stay, but Monday 
 I insisted, if there was any possibility of 
 getting to sister's, to set out. The horse 
 and sleigh were soon at the door, and again 
 I sallied forth to brave the tempestuous 
 weather (for it still snowed) and surmount 
 the many obstacles I had to meet with 
 
We rode on a few rods, then coming direct- 
 ly upon a large drift, we stuck fast. We 
 could neither get forward nor turn round. 
 After waiting till I was most frozen we got 
 out and with the help of a truckman the 
 sleigh was lifted up and turned towards a 
 cross street that led to Federal Street. We 
 again went on ; at the corner we found it 
 impossible to turn up in turn, but must go 
 down and begin where we first started, and 
 take a new course ; but suddenly turning 
 the corner we came full upon a pair of 
 trucks heavily laden ; the drift on one side 
 was so large that it left a very narrow pas- 
 sage between that and the corner house : 
 indeed w^e were obliged to go so near that 
 the post grazed my bonnet. What was to 
 be done? Our horses' heads touched before 
 we saw them. I jump't out, the sleigh was 
 unfastened and lifted round, and we again 
 measured back our old steps. At length we 
 arrived at Sister Boyd's door, and the drift 
 before it was the greatest we had met with ; 
 the horse was so exhausted that he sunk 
 down and we really thought him dead ; — 
 'twas some distance from the gate and no 
 path ; — the gentleman took me up in his 
 arms and carried me till my weight pressed 
 him so far into the snow that he had no 
 
100 
 
 j30wer to move liis I'eet. — I rolled out of liis 
 arms and wallowed till I reached the gate ; 
 then rising to shake off the snow, I turned 
 and beheld my beau fixed and immovable ; 
 he could not get his feet out to take another 
 step. — At length, making a great exertion 
 to s^Dring his whole length forward, he 
 made out to reach the poor horse, who lay- 
 in a worse condition than his master. By 
 this time all the family had gathered to the 
 window, indeed they saw the whole frolic ; 
 but 'twas not yet ended, for, unluckily, in 
 pulling off Miss Weeks' bonnet to send to 
 the sleigh to be carried back, I pulled off" 
 my wig and left my head bare. I was per- 
 fectly convulsed with laughter. Think 
 what a ludicrous figure I must have been, 
 still standing at the gate, my bonnet half 
 way to the sleigh and my wig in hand ; 
 However I hurried it on, for they were all 
 laughing at the window, and made the best 
 of my way into the house ; the horse was un- 
 hitched and again set out and left me to pon- 
 der on the incidents of the morning, I have 
 since heard of several events that took place 
 thatAssembly night much more amusing than 
 mine — nay, Don Quixote's most ludicrous ad- 
 ventures compared with some of them will 
 appear like the common events of the day. 
 
With tlie exceptiou of Charlotte Lennox, 
 who, though born into the provincial court- 
 circle of New York, spent all her life after 
 girlhood in England, and who seems to have 
 completely cut away all connection with the 
 neighbors of her youth, this little group, not 
 of authors, but rather — to borrow Carlyle's 
 word, if not his meaning — of "waiting- 
 women," were closely allied in their life- 
 times. They were all of the same station 
 in life, all were gentlewomen — " persons of 
 some importance in their day," many of them 
 were kinsw^omen, and their life cycles were 
 constantly intersecting each other. For in- 
 stance, one who lived her married life away 
 from New York — Mrs. Quiucy — was made 
 the recipient, at the death of Judge Van- 
 derkemp, of all the letters written to him by 
 Mrs. Margaret Livingstone ; and it was Mrs. 
 Qnincy who caused to be printed in America 
 the works of Mrs. Grant, and who forwarded 
 to Scotland as handsel a very tidy sum in 
 American dollars. 
 
 James Howell wrote in his day, "Letters 
 are the Idea and the truest Miror of the 
 Mind; they shew the Inside of a Man." I 
 do not know whether thev show the inside 
 
102 
 
 of a mau, but I feel sure that these letters 
 show the iuuermost heart of the women who 
 wrote them. They beat with their hearts' 
 blood, and having- beeu written by living 
 creatures to other breathing human creat- 
 ures, put us closely in touch with them all, 
 aud thrill us down through the century with 
 an elusive subtle seuse of acquaintance with 
 the writers, which we never feel for them 
 througb their stories and verse. Many of 
 these letters were written by women who 
 never wrote aught but letters ; but their sim- 
 ple way of " saying artless, ageless things " 
 shows us the homely manner of thought aud 
 life of their day, and for that reason give to 
 their writings an historical value, if only as 
 a point for comparison. 
 
 I have grown to know these sensible, 
 kindly, dead-and-gone New York women of 
 Revolutionary and Federal days very closely 
 through their letters, and I find tliem very 
 lovable and very much in touch with our 
 own day in all tender and womanly feeling, 
 and far beyond us in noble patriotism and 
 heroism. Of their letters aud stories, as lit- 
 erary compositions, I can only say, to para- 
 phrase quaint old Thomas Fuller's euphu- 
 
103 
 
 istic words : " What they uudeitook is to be 
 admired as creditable ; what they performed 
 is to be commended as profitable ; wherein 
 they failed to be excused as pardouable." 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 EARLY POETRY OF THE STATE OF 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 BY EMILY ELLSWORTH FORD. 
 
 To Mrs. Charlotte Ramsay Lennox be- 
 longs tbe honor of being the earliest comer 
 among the many women who have added 
 lustre to the literature of New York. In her 
 day she took rank with the leading women 
 writers of England: Mrs. Montague, Mrs. 
 Carter, and Miss Hannah More. Beginning 
 in 1747, for fifty-seven years she wrote po- 
 etry, novels, and plays, edited a periodical, 
 and made translations, all her work being 
 so meritorious that Dr. Johnson, in his Dic- 
 tionary, used her name to illustrate his defi- 
 nition of the word " talent." 
 
 Charlotte Ramsay, daughter of Colonel 
 James Ramsay, commander of what Mrs. 
 Grant, of Laggan, calls " The shadowy pali- 
 saded Fort" of Albany, and later Lieuten- 
 
ant-Goveruor of New York, was born iu tlie 
 City of New York in 1720. At fifteen years 
 of age she was sent to England to complete 
 her education. The aunt to w^hom she was 
 consigned she found insane, and upon the 
 death of her father she was thrown upon her 
 own resources. She essayed to be an actress, 
 but failed ; and turned author for her bread. 
 She quickly achieved a social distinction, 
 winning the friendship of the leading men 
 of letters of her time. In 1748 she married 
 and had one son, who many years later ob- 
 tained employment in America. She died 
 in penury in 1804, at the age of eighty-four, 
 having been for some time supported by 
 the Literary Fund and the kindness of Sir 
 George Rose and William Beloc. 
 
 Her first volume was a collection of po- 
 ems, published under her maiden name, and 
 "printed for and sold by S. Paterson, at 
 Shakspear's Head, opposite Dunham Yard, 
 in the Strand. Price, one shilling and six- 
 pence," no copy of which can be found on this 
 side of the Atlantic; but in the Geritle- 
 man^s Magazine for November, 1750, there 
 are two poems addressed to her and two of 
 her own composition. Her longer poem on 
 
"Tlie Art of Coquetry" is Tvritten in the 
 metre of Pope, and with liis good sense and 
 keen observation of life, but without liis 
 brilliant antithesis. And, really, her other 
 verses do not suffer in contrast with poems 
 to ''The Small Pox," ^'To a Pimple on a 
 Lady's Face," and invocations to the tenu- 
 ous wandering ghosts of Daphnis and Chloe, 
 who ranged through literatnre in pastoral 
 idyls, or even with the withered odes to 
 " Horror" and "111 Nature," or a "Descrip- 
 tion of a place in the Infernal regions al- 
 lotted to Old Maids," that fill the pages of 
 the Gentleman'' s Magazine of that date. 
 
 In 1752 she wrote a novel, " The Female 
 Quixote," dedicated to the Earl of Middle- 
 sex, in which the heroine, Arabella, is the 
 feminine counterpart of Cervantes's hero. 
 Fielding praised it, and the work was \e\j 
 favorably received. In 1750 she published 
 " The Life of Harriet Stuart," a romance. 
 This was followed in 1753 by two volumes en- 
 titled " Shakespeare Illustrated," to ^Yhicll, 
 at a later day, was added a third. This work 
 consists of the plays and histories on which 
 Shakespeare founded his dramas, collected 
 and translated from the original authors. 
 
107 
 
 III 175G Mrs. Lennox traiislatecl from the 
 French "The Memoirs of the Countess of 
 Berci," which was soon succeeded by her 
 " Sully's Memoirs," printed in three volumes. 
 This biography has been frequently reprint- 
 ed, the last edition being issued in 1864, and 
 still in print. In 1758 she published " Hen- 
 rietta," described as a novel of considerable 
 ability, and in 1760, with the aid of the Earl 
 of Cork and Orrery and Dr. Johnson, she 
 made a translation, published in three vol- 
 umes, of Father Brumoy's " Greek Theatre." 
 During 1760-61 she edited a magazine called 
 The Ladies^ Museum, followed two years after 
 by a novel entitled " Sophia," which is infe- 
 rior to her earlier stories; and in 1790 by 
 <'Euphemia," another novel. 
 
 Her plays were: First — ''Philander," 
 printed in 1757, a dramatic pastoral not in- 
 tended for the stage. The hint of this pas- 
 toral came from Father Guariui's " Pastor 
 Fido." In it she introduces a deity in actu- 
 al form and presence, which should be done 
 only in masques and allegorical pieces. 
 Second — "The Sisters," printed in 1769, 
 founded on the author's own story of "Hen- 
 rietta." Of this a reviewer in the Gentle- 
 
108 
 
 mati's Magazine for March, 1769, says : 
 "The dialogue is natural, lively, and el- 
 egant; the incidents are uncommon, yet 
 within the pale of dramatic j)robability, and 
 the sentiments are just and refined. It 
 wants an intermixture of light scenes such 
 as a familiar acquaintance with the stage 
 might have furnished, without the abilities 
 of Mrs. Lennox ; and which, if her abilities 
 had been still greater, could not perhaps 
 have been furnished without a familiar ac- 
 quaintance with the stage." It was played 
 for one night at the Covent Garden Theatre, 
 while Dr. Goldsmith's epilogue prefixed to it 
 " was perhaps the best that has appeared in 
 the course of the last fifty years." Three of 
 the characters in Burgoyne's " Heiress " 
 were borrowed from it. A German transla- 
 tion by J. C. Beck appeared in 1776. Her 
 third play, entitled " Old City Manners," 
 was printed in 1773, and acted at the Drury 
 Lane Theatre in 1775. This is an adapta- 
 tion of Jonson, Marston and Chapman's 
 play, "Eastward Ho!" Later she issued 
 proposals written by Dr. Johnson to publish 
 her writings in three volumes, but this plan 
 seems never to have been realized, although 
 
109 
 
 "Her Majesty had condescended to be the 
 Patroness." Her last translation was x)rinted 
 in 1774: " The Duchess de la Valliere's Medi- 
 tations and Penitential Prayers," with an ac- 
 count of her life. Her last work was " The 
 Life of Henry Lennox," with the "Legendary- 
 Eemaius," published in 1804. This list of 
 publications, remarkable for continuity and 
 variety, and very popular in her day, remains 
 in testimony of her industry and breadth. 
 
 Her friendships were most delightful. 
 According to Boswell, Dr. Johnson, the lit- 
 erary Great Mogul of the day, was her great 
 admirer, while Richardson, Smollett, Gold- 
 smith, and Fielding were friends both so- 
 cially and professionally. Johnson found 
 time to translate for Mrs. Lennox's version 
 of Brumoy "A Dissertation on the Greek 
 Comedy " and the " General Conclusion of 
 the Book." He also wrote the Dedication 
 to the Earl of Middlesex of Mrs. Lennox's 
 " Female Quixote," and to the Earl of Cork 
 and Orrery of her "Shakespeare Dlustrat- 
 ed." Dr. Johnson is reported to have said, 
 " I dined yesterday with Mrs. Carter, Miss 
 Hannah More, and Miss Fanny Burney. 
 Three such women are not to be found. I 
 
110 
 
 know not where I could find a fourth, ex- 
 cept Mrs. Lenuox, who is sui^erior to them 
 all." It was iu her cause that he defined the 
 "rascal" as diiiering from the "liar," on hear- 
 ing that an acquaintance intended to go to 
 the playhouse to hiss the first performance 
 of her new play. "These compliments," 
 one writer says, " turned her head, with the 
 result that nobody liked her." Miss Buruey 
 says "Mrs. Thrale did not like her." She 
 may have felt her a rival in Johnson's inti- 
 macy. There is a most curious account of a 
 feast given her by Dr. Johnson when " The 
 Life of Harriet Stuart " was i)ublished iu 
 1751-52 : " Spent the night in festivity at 
 the Devil's Tavern with twenty people, 
 Mrs. Lennox, a lady well known in the lit- 
 erary world and her husband" (the only 
 mention we have yet found of him), " There 
 was a magnificent apple pye stuck with bay 
 leaves because Mrs. L. was an authoress and 
 had written verses and he prepared for her 
 a crown of laurel with which, but not until 
 he had evoked the muses by some ceremo- 
 nies of his own invention, he encircled her 
 brows. About five o'clock Johnson's face 
 shone with meridian splendor though his 
 
drink had been ouly lemonade. At day 
 dawn tbey bad coffee, and it was not until 
 eigbt o'clock that the creaking of the street 
 door gave the signal for our departure." 
 Macaulay speaks of the " pleasant satire of 
 Charlotte Lennox/' f^nd Ticknor, in his 
 '^History of Spanish Literature," mentions 
 her book as a '* direct imitation of Don 
 Quixote, and on that account a failure." 
 
 All this shows that, iu her day, Mrs. Len- 
 nox wiis considered a sujperior woman in her 
 guild. Mr. Austin Dobson gives an outline 
 sketch of her iu one of his " Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury Vignettes," but does not, pei'haps, do 
 justice to her persouality. For besides the 
 lettered monarchs of those active literary 
 years, she seemed to have pleased the Earl 
 of Cork and Orrery, Dr. Granger, the Earl 
 of Middlesex, and many other admirers. 
 Her portrait was painted by Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, and engraved by Bartolozzi. The 
 two poems from the Gentleman, s Magazine, 
 even making allowance for high-flown lan- 
 guage and gallantry, prove this admiration. 
 
 The one other colonial poet of repute was 
 Mrs. Ann Eliza Bleecker, daughter of Brandt 
 Schuyler, l)orn in the City of New York in 
 
1752, and always a resideut of theProviuce. 
 She began writiug as a young girl, her juve- 
 nile quips and i^layful verses giving her a 
 home reputation; but it was not until after 
 her marriage in 1769 that any of her work 
 was preserved. Her husband encouraged 
 her writing, and took pride iu its preserva- 
 tion. When Burgoyne was invading the 
 country in 1777 the family fled, at a few 
 hours' notice, from their happy home iu 
 Tomhanick, near Albany, '' when the enemy 
 Avere within two miles of the village, i)illag- 
 ing and murdering all before them." Mrs. 
 Bleecker, taking her babe on her arm, set off 
 on foot with her little girl four years old 
 and a young mulatto maid, leaving her home 
 to fire and jiluuder. Her house was entered 
 and ravaged by the British, and a playful 
 expostulatiou addressed to GeneralBurgoyne, 
 whicli she had left in her bureau drawer, was 
 carried off with the rest of her early Avrit- 
 ings. After walking some miles she found 
 an asylum iu the garret of the house of a 
 rich acquaintance, where she remained all 
 night. The next day Mr. Bleecker came 
 from Albany, and started with her by water 
 for that citv. Twelve miles below Albany 
 
113 
 
 lier little Abel-la was taken so ill that they 
 went ou shore, where the child died. Soon 
 after her invalid mother passed away, and 
 then her last remaining sister. In 1781 her 
 husband was taken prisoner by a party of 
 Tories from Canada, and she endured tort- 
 ures of anxiety while he was absent. 
 These terrors and sorrows, acting on a del- 
 icate frame, gave a pensive character to all 
 her later verse, and her early death, at the 
 age of thirty-four, prevented the maturing 
 of her power. 
 
 Her little volume, entitled " Posthumous 
 Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker in Prose and 
 Verse," to which is added "A Collection of 
 Essays, Prose and Poetical, by Margaretta 
 Faugeres," her daughter, published in 1793, 
 has always been a prize book for collectors, 
 and has now reached the dignity of rich 
 bindings and illustrations. 
 
 The longest poem in this volume is the 
 Bible story of Joseph, put into bald and 
 prosaic verse. Her descriptions of her home, 
 Tomhauick, and the scenery along the Hud- 
 son are true, and she anticipates Lowell and 
 Whittier in allusions to native birds — the 
 whippoorwill, the catbird, and the quail— 
 
114 
 
 instead of tlie EDglish lark aud iiiglitiiigale. 
 Her elegiac verse has natural feeling, ex- 
 pressed ill tbe mode of the day, and here 
 and there is a well-balanced stanza, as : 
 
 ''Death is the conqueror of clay 
 And can but clay detain ; 
 The soul superior springs away 
 And scorns his servile chain. 
 
 " The just arise, and shrink no more 
 At graves and shrouds and worms; 
 Conscious they shall, when time is o'er, 
 Inhabit angel forms." 
 
 Mrs. Bleecker^ writing in 1770 and some- 
 what later, is properly a colonial writer, 
 but Mrs. Margaretta Faugeres, her daugh- 
 ter, really did her work some twenty years 
 later ; and although their writings were 
 printed in the same volume, she must be 
 called the iirst woman poet of the State of 
 New York. Certainly her play, "Belisa- 
 rius," with Miss Hatton's "Songs of Tam- 
 many," which preceded hers in printing by 
 a year, are the first two dramatic eiforts of 
 New York women. 
 
 Mrs. Faugeres attempts a stronger flight 
 
than her mother, but her diction is strained 
 and pompons. The best bit of her occa- 
 sional verse is the two first verses of an ode 
 to the moon, often given in collections. 
 Passages of her tragedy " Belisarius," a play 
 with plot, movement, fervor, and some con- 
 structive power, make this early essay at 
 tragedy of an American woman very credit- 
 able. The first two paragraphs of the short 
 preface are so characteristic of the style of 
 writing of that era that we quote them : 
 "Ever indulgent to the weakest emanations 
 of genius, a benevolent public has enabled 
 the Author of 'Belisarius' to bring for- 
 ward her first dramatic performance, and 
 though it may not be perfect as those pieces 
 which are produced by authors who have 
 jiaid long and strict attention to the Thea- 
 tre, yet she flatters herself, that as an his- 
 torical Tragedy, it will meet with a kind 
 reception. 
 
 " She has endeavoured to avoid all that 
 unmeaning rant which forms so conspicuous 
 a part in most productions of this kind 
 together with the awful asseverations and 
 malediciions. — What their effect upon the 
 stage may be, she knows not, but to a 
 
116 
 
 mere reader tbey are ever tiresome, and 
 frequently disgusting ; for which reason, as 
 'Belisarius' was from its commencement 
 intended for the closet, she had attempted 
 in their stead, to substitute concise narra- 
 tive and plain sense." 
 
 In 1794 Ann Eliza Hatton printed "The 
 Songs of Tammany ; or, The Indian Chief;" 
 a serious opera, written entirely for music. 
 Whether any music was composed or used 
 remains unknown. From the text we infer 
 the action to he laid in a tropical climate. 
 Mamana, the heroine, and Tammany, the 
 hero, chant their loves, with Ferdinand, 
 Indian Priest, chorus of Spaniards, male and 
 female Indians, all pretty much in the same 
 metre. A verse will show the quality of 
 the whole, as the characters all talk alike : 
 
 " At eve, to lure the finny prey 
 As through their coral groves they stray, 
 Or on their oozy beds supine, 
 They in the radiant sunbeams shine. 
 
 " Beneath the moon's pale light to rove, 
 The aloed wood, or palmy grove, 
 These, these are sweet, but not to me 
 So sweet as is my Tammany." 
 
117 
 
 All the poems priuted in the volume of 
 Mrs. Bleecker and Mrs. Fangeres, with some 
 not there included, were first publisbed in 
 the New York Magazine, which lived seven 
 or eight years, two or three poems being 
 given in one number. Other women were 
 writing at this period — Miss Locke, and un- 
 identified Julias, Calistas, Ethelindas, La- 
 vinias, Philenias, Violas, who admired the 
 "warbling woes" of the Delia Cruscan 
 school. This New York Magazine used to 
 print first original verse and then selections. 
 Gray's "Elegy," "Kuin Seize Thee, Ruth- 
 less King," Miss Helen Maria Williams's son- 
 nets, translations from Tasso and Horace, 
 bits from Drydeu, follow " Lines to a Bat," 
 "Address to a Miniature Profile," "Sonnet 
 to an Evergreen," " To Nisus, by Matilda," 
 "Ode to Liberty," "Calista," "Domestic 
 Happiness," and "To the Memory of Miss 
 Eliza Haevey, who died at Brunswick in 
 May, 1790. By a yonng lady." There seems 
 to be little thought and much epithet in 
 these profuse women writers. Occasion- 
 ally they disclose a bit of natural descrip- 
 tion, as : 
 
118 
 
 " The wind that lifts the trembliug latch 
 In the dumb stillness of the night, 
 The creaking door, the ticking watch, 
 And even the crackling fire affright." 
 
 Two stanzas, called " The Solitary," may 
 be taken as specimens of these many verses : 
 
 " Thro' the gloom of distress I wander alone. 
 Alone must I roam through life's asper- 
 ous maze, 
 Does Earth no such product as i^ermanence 
 own. 
 Ah, is there no friendship that never 
 decays ? 
 Ah No ! Helpless Clara, Exx)erience re- 
 plies. 
 Ne'er seek for a flood without bottom 
 or shore. 
 The friendships that bless thee decay as 
 they rise. 
 The place that once knew them, now 
 knows them no more." 
 
 One writer, who takes the signature of 
 Petrouella, the daughter of St. Peter, for a 
 pen-name, has written three humorous 
 pieces. One of them — " The Story Itself" — 
 has dialect in it; the other two are "The 
 
Case in Chancery " and " Answer to the 
 Mouse's Petition ;" and we must say they 
 are not quite so laboriously playful as those 
 of the contemporary male satirists. 
 
 '' The Medley of Prose aud Verse " (N.Y., 
 1810), by Catherine Weller, seems to have 
 drifted down the stream of Time only to be 
 stranded in several libraries. Here are son- 
 nets, falsely so called, in nine stanzas of six 
 short lines in each stanza, and ''Colin and 
 Emma, a Pastoral Elegy." The first poems 
 are paraphrases of Bible stories — of " The 
 Loaves aud Fishes," " The Widow's Son Re- 
 stored," " Esau," " Bartimeus and the Heal- 
 ing Touch," "The Withered Hand," "The 
 Fig Tree," " The Deluge," and " The Rescue," 
 which we should call " The Good Samar- 
 itan." Of these "Bartimeus" is the best. 
 Following these are a Sacred Eclogue of 
 " Jacob and Rachel," and a secular one of 
 " Philander aud Euphemia." "The Happy 
 Nymph's Apology " has these verses, which 
 are as good as anything in the volume : 
 
 " When vernal suns begreen the dale, 
 And tepid dews the flowers adorn. 
 Then with the lark she hastes to hear 
 The orient moru. 
 
120 
 
 " Or wbeu pale autumn's sickly hues 
 
 Deform the mead and strip the groves, 
 The pensive moral she pursues 
 While oft she roves." 
 
 " The Violet" in prose shows more ijoetic 
 feeling and expression than the verse. We 
 give it in full: "Lovely little flower! ar- 
 rayed in purple and gold, cinque-leaved and 
 edged by the richest touch of Nature's pen- 
 cil, how richly elegant ! how sweetly simple 
 is thy attire, yet with declining head thou 
 seekest the embowering rose-tree, or the 
 mantling honeysuckle, to save thee from the 
 gaze of the admiring eye. Go, little paragon, 
 go to the bedizened coquette or the painted 
 belle, and show her that in vain she exhausts 
 precious hours at the toilette; though she 
 sparkle in diamonds or glitter in brocade, 
 she can never attain thy exquisite charms, 
 thy inimitable beauty and elegance." 
 
 The period between 1810 and 1828 seems 
 bare of woman's verse. Whether the Delia 
 Cruscan strain died of weakness, or whether 
 the unsettled state of the politics of the 
 country allowed neither poetic leisure nor 
 poetic moods, the fact remains that, except 
 
for a scatteriug volume or two, the coutri- 
 butioiis to the New York Magazine and the 
 New Yorl- Museum coutaiu all the poetic ex- 
 pression for this period. These contribu- 
 tions disappeared also, and in the two vol- 
 umes of " The Ladies' Cabinet" for 1821-22, 
 among many hundred original and selected 
 poems, but five appear to have been written 
 by w^omen, though many of the unsigned 
 verses may belong to them. None have any 
 distinction of quality, while " The Court of 
 Apollo" — as ''The Poet's Corner" was called 
 in the early New York magazines — shows 
 only vapid thoughts and feeble expression 
 as the offering of male jjoets. An excep- 
 tion may be noted in the fine poem of "The 
 Soul's Defiance," by Mrs. Laviuia Stone 
 Stoddard, written in 1818-20. The few 
 volumes that have drifted down to us are : 
 "Poems by Mrs. Ann Muzzy," printed in 1821, 
 with another book of poems by Mrs. Eliza 
 Murden in 1827, of which neither volume 
 can be found, and a "Medley of Keligious 
 and Moral Verse, by a Lady of New York, 
 1822," ascribed to Mrs. Haight, of Brooklyn, 
 with a Recommendation to the Public, signed 
 by five clergymen and one physician ! In 
 
122 
 
 it there is a paraphrase of " Robin Adair," 
 called " Monrniug- the Lost Joys of Salva- 
 tion." Three out of eleven stanzas of this 
 poem are given : 
 
 "What's life or wealth to me? 
 
 God is not near. 
 What "wish I now to see, 
 
 What wish to hear? 
 Where's all the joy and peace 
 Made this earth a paradise? 
 O they are all fled with thee, 
 
 Jesus, my dear. 
 
 " I hate the sins that drive 
 
 My God afar, 
 And mourn my lukewarm love, 
 
 Jehovah Jah ! 
 Leap o'er my sins and come. 
 Skip o'er them, j)ray thee run, 
 And come to my relief, 
 
 Come, Jesus dear. 
 
 '' Great Shepherd of the sheep, 
 
 If I'm thy care, 
 Preserve my lubric feet 
 
 From rambling more. 
 Far, far from thee I've gone. 
 Bring me to tlie fold again, 
 
123 
 And let me uever stray, 
 
 Poems and prose are saturated with re- 
 ligious feeling, and fairly drip with emotion. 
 Two verses from another poem might be 
 taken from a Romish Breviary : 
 
 "Jesus, thou art the brightest gem, 
 The loveliest, fragrant flower. 
 The brightest stalk, the fairest stem, 
 That smiles in Eden's bower. 
 
 " The sweetest lily of the fields. 
 The fairest blooming rose, 
 The choicest plant that heaven yields, 
 Most graceful bud that blows." 
 
 and these two "Medleys," with the poor stuff 
 on the pages of the magazines, comiirise all 
 that remains of women's poetry (except a 
 few better things by Mrs. L. S. Stoddard) 
 for a period of thirty-two years, from 1795 to 
 1828, when there was a renaissance of soug. 
 Hannah Lindley Murray wrote in these 
 years, but did not publish. She was an ac- 
 comjDlished linguist and translator, and, with 
 the assistance of her sister, composed a poem 
 
124 
 
 iu eight books ou " The Eestoration of the 
 Jews." After her death a few of her mis- 
 cellanies were published iu a "Memoir" by 
 Rev. Gardiuer Spring, D.D., N.Y. : 1849. 
 
 Next in order is the sweet and refined 
 work of Lucretia Maria Davidson, the young 
 forerunner of the new school of poets and 
 prophets, who wrote her longest poem, "Amir 
 Khan," in 1823, when she was fifteen years 
 old. Iu these barren years, Maria James, a 
 Welsh nurse-maid and dress-maker iu the 
 family of a sister of Chancellor Livingston, 
 -was delighting her employers and their 
 friends with simple, uuafiected verse, but her 
 volume of poems, with an introduction by 
 Dr. Porter, President of Union College, was 
 not published until 1839. One of the later 
 writers, Mrs. Embury, alludes to this barren 
 time in a playful verse : 
 
 "No women folks were rushing then 
 
 Up the Parnassian mount, 
 And seldom was a teacup dipped 
 
 In the Castalian fount ; 
 Apollo kept no pursuivant 
 
 To cry out 'Place aux Dames!' 
 In life's round game they held good hands. 
 
 And didn't strive for palms." 
 
125 
 
 But Bryant and Halleck and Braiuerd 
 were breaking up the hard, dry sterility of 
 the first twenty -five years of the century 
 with fresh lyrical song, not modelled on 
 their English predecessors, nor reminiscent 
 of Milton, Cowper, Pollok, or Byron, and 
 soon after a group of gifted women struck 
 the lyre with equal spontaneity, if not equal 
 power. 
 
 Mrs. Emma C. Embury was the earliest 
 of these, for in 1828 she printed her first 
 volume, '^ Guido, and Other Poems," and at 
 once became a favorite witli the public for 
 her naturalness, good sense, and tender sen- 
 timent. Her prose also was popular, and 
 she wrote and published many volumes of 
 marked value for her day and generation. 
 One of the last was "The Waldorf Family," 
 an illustrated fairy tale of Brittany, pub- 
 lished in 1848. 
 
 In '^ The Rivals of Este, and Other Poems," 
 published in 1829, by Maria E. Brooks, in 
 conjunction with her husband, James Gr. 
 Brooks, there is varied and easy versifica- 
 tion, but the thread of thought is slight, 
 and drawn to tenuity. There are some good 
 bits in her longest poem, where Scott's nar- 
 
126 
 
 rative metre is used — in the address to Ugo, 
 the end of the attack on the Castle of Este, 
 and the stanza commencing, '' Years as they 
 pass." 
 
 By the side of Mrs. Embury wrought Mrs. 
 E. F. Ellet, Mrs. E. Oakes Smith, Miss Eliza- 
 beth Bogart, Mrs. Lydia Jane Piersou, Mrs. 
 E. C. Kinney, mother of the accomplished 
 poet, Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman, and 
 others who did creditable work. 
 
 Mrs. Pallet published her volume, " Poems 
 Original and Translated," with a tragedy, 
 " Teresa Contarini," in 1835. In 1843 Mrs. 
 E. Oakes Smith published a volume, " The 
 Sinless Child, and Other Poems," with two 
 tragedies and eight other books, of which 
 the last, " Kate Howard's Journal," was 
 printed in 1871. 
 
 In her tragedy of " Old New York," pub- 
 lished in 1853, Mrs. E. Oakes Smith has the 
 distinction of choosing a subject in American 
 history, and placing the scenes in her own 
 city. Jacob Leisler was an historical char- 
 acter, superseded by Sloughter as Governor 
 of New York in 1689, when William and 
 Mary ascended the English throne. Leisler 
 was executed by an order of Sloughter, writ- 
 
127 
 
 ten when intoxicated, and liis bones long 
 after were taken up and reiuterred under 
 the Old Dutch Church in this city. The 
 poet dared to go to American annals, and 
 has described a political revolution with 
 a domestic uuder-plot, carefully and strong- 
 ly worked out, which hurries on the political 
 catastroj)he. This tragedy rises in its prog- 
 ress, and the whole of Scene 3, in Act III., be- 
 tween Margaret and Milburn and Elizabeth 
 and Hannah, is noble and pathetic. The 
 whole of Act IV. is concentrated feeling 
 and swiftly hurrying action, and the whole 
 of Act V. is laden with the intense natural 
 feeling of souls caught in a net of circum- 
 stance, and ux^braided at once by conscience, 
 by love, and by meaner souls outside, whose 
 position gives them power and opportunity. 
 
 Of both ''Belisarins" and ^' Old New 
 York" it may be said that, though faulty, 
 they are not false. 
 
 Mrs. Pierson wrote two volumes of verse, 
 " Forest Leaves " and ^' The Forest Min- 
 strel," published in 1845. Mrs. Kinnej' pub- 
 lished verse in the Knickerbocker before 1841, 
 and later a long narrative poem, ''Felicita." 
 
 With this brilliant group also appear Mrs. 
 
128 
 
 Emily Chubbuck Juclson (Fauuy Forrester) 
 with her volume of miscellauies called " Al- 
 derbrook/' which, though severely reviewed 
 in England, delighted her country folk with 
 its American tone : Mrs. Emeline S. Smith 
 with her volume, " The Fairy's Search," 1847 \ 
 Mrs. Caroline M. Sawyer, Mrs. Elizabeth J. 
 Eames, Mrs. M. E. Moore Hewitt (who pub- 
 lished in 1845 a volume entitled "Songs of our 
 Land, and Other Poems"), Miss Susan Pindar, 
 Miss E. Justine Bayard (afterwards Mrs. 
 Fulton Cutting), Mrs. Mary Noel Meigs Mc- 
 Donald, of the same family as Mrs. Bleecker, 
 who published a large volume by M. N. M. 
 in 1841, and Miss Lucy Hooper, whose poems 
 were printed in 1845. Mrs. Lippincott 
 (Grace Greenwood), published her volume 
 of " Poems " in 1850 ; Mattie Griffith (after- 
 wards Mrs. Albert G. Browne, a resident of 
 New York for many years) issued a volume 
 in 1843. These women still stand as the 
 representatives of a new school of writers in 
 our State, while some of them who printed 
 in 1836 still wrote and published in 1870. 
 
 One of the latest of this group of remark- 
 able women is Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood, 
 who has the liffht touch made fashionable 
 
by Thomas Moore. Slie was the feminine 
 counterpart of N. P. Willis, jilayful and 
 tender little verses flowing in streams from 
 her pen. Her first hook, ^' A Wreath of Wild 
 Flowers from New England," was published 
 in 1839 in London, whither she had accom- 
 panied her artist husband. Her poems on 
 " Labor " and " Slander," and the one " Call 
 me Pet Names, Dearest," still hold a place 
 in public favor. She published a second 
 volume in 1845, and a complete collection of 
 her poems in 1850, the year of her death. 
 
 In Margaret Fuller Davidson, who died 
 in 1838, at the age of fifteen, we see a Puri- 
 tan Marie Bashkirtsoff. She had the same 
 thirst for fame to consume her physical life, 
 in spite of different heredity, temperament, 
 and training. At the age of ten she wrote 
 and acted a drama of passion called " The 
 Tragedy of Alethia," produced on a stage in 
 New York, with scenes, dresses, and action 
 planned by herself, so that, as she exceeded 
 her sister Lucretia in precocity and poetic 
 sensibility, her brief life was two years 
 shortened by her prodigality of expression. 
 
 Mrs. Anne Lynch Botta had a more seri- 
 ous vein than most of this group. Liberty, 
 
Patriotism, Dnty held their ideals before her 
 8oul, while she sang in finished, schohirly, 
 well- wrought verse of " Wasted Fountains" 
 and '' Bones in the Desert," of " Italy" and 
 " France." Her sonnets are exceptionally 
 beautiful, both in thought and in expres- 
 sion. She had a lovely, harmonious spirit, 
 and was surrounded all her life by friends 
 and admirers. While her first volume, which 
 was illustrated by the best artists of her day, 
 was published in 1849, yet her beneficent 
 life continued until 1891. From 1841, when 
 she published her ^' Rhode Island Book," 
 to the month in which she died, when the 
 Century Magazine printed one of her son- 
 nets, she did frequent and very admirable 
 work. 
 
 Another writer of this group, Mrs. Estelle 
 Robinson Lewis, appeared with " Records of 
 the Heart " in 1844. In quick succession 
 were printed " The Child of the Sea," '' Myths 
 of the Minstrel," and her tragedy '' Holenah." 
 " Sappho of Lesbos " (considered her best 
 work) and " The King's Stratagem" were pub- 
 lished twenty years after, and "Sappho" went 
 through ten London editions, was translated 
 into modern Greek, and praised in the Eng- 
 
131 
 
 lisli jouruals. It has certainly vivacity, in- 
 vcutioD, correct mise eu sc^ne, aud excellent 
 coustriictive power; the characterization of 
 Auacreou aud the other lovers of Sappho 
 is clear aud historical, yet it is not in the 
 least classic. In her other tales, " Florence," 
 '' Isabelle," " Zenel," she takes Byron as a 
 model of form, aud his '' Corsair," " Giaour," 
 and " Parisina " as models of plots. It really 
 seems surprising that with so many poetical 
 gifts she has left in her many volumes so 
 little that is now interesting. 
 
 Mrs. Auna Cora Mowatt, writing in 1836 
 her lirst play, " Pelayo," a romance in verse, 
 produced poems, stories, plays, sketches, 
 travels, until 18B7, when she finished with 
 *' The Clergyman's Wife." " Fashion," her 
 best play, was acted at the Park Theatre 
 with fair success, and she was herself for 
 some years a favorite actress. 
 
 We must also include in this period Mrs. 
 Elizabeth Drew Barstow Stoddard, for she 
 wrote poems for the Kmckerlocher, and has 
 continued writing, a dramatic ])oem having 
 appeared in LippincoWs within thi"ee years, 
 while this year (1893) Harper's Magazine 
 contains also a sonuet. The quality and 
 
132 
 
 themes of her writing differ from most of 
 the school. Like Mrs. Howe, she has her 
 own flavor, aud has doue exceptionally 
 strong work. 
 
 Then came the Civil War, when Mrs. Julia 
 Ward Howe, a native of New York, wrote 
 the '' Battle Hymn of the Republic," the 
 song that of all others embodied the feeling 
 of the North. Her other work has been mul- 
 tifarious, but the chronicle of women singers 
 ends with her. Indeed, it is a question 
 whether the early poetry of the State of 
 Now York can properly include her illustri- 
 ous name or the brilliant one of Mrs. Stod- 
 dard, since they still write. 
 
 After 1860 a great change passed over the 
 spirit of poetry. Then appeared the ewige 
 iveibliche literature, which emancipated it- 
 self from the artificial models of the past. 
 The great admiration of the best critics of 
 the time for Lucretia Maria Davidson is ex- 
 plained by the difference between her fresh- 
 ness of pensive sentiment aud the affecta- 
 tion of the school who preceded her. This 
 contrast accounts for the two large biogra- 
 phies by Miss Sedgwick and by Washington 
 Irving, besides Prof Morse's sketch of the 
 
133 
 
 two youDg sisters, Lucretia and Margaret, 
 whose works now seem so very commou- 
 place. The poets who came after the 
 Davidsons were sincere lovers of truth and 
 nature, and their poems, phiys and in'ose, 
 whether historical, ethical, or religious, do 
 not attitudinize. Even when most lachry- 
 mose, they are written with simplicity and 
 fidelity to nature, and with lyric ease and 
 smoothness. 
 
 They admired and loved each other, and 
 addressed poems to one another, as men do 
 now. Mrs. Embury writes to Miss Clinch ; 
 Miss Bogart writes to " Estelle," and '' Es- 
 telle " answers. When Lucy Hooper, of 
 Brooklyn, died at the age of twenty-four, 
 Whittier sends his monody, and Tuckerman 
 his sonnet of lament. Frances Sargent Os- 
 good delights in impromptus to friends. 
 Indeed, her verses beginning " Your heart is 
 a music-box, dearest," might have been 
 written to herself, as any one who turned 
 the key would have drawn forth delicate 
 music. This is a testimony to the respon- 
 siveness and friendliness of this group, qual- 
 ities so marked in their writings. 
 
 Their engraved portraits were in the 
 
magazines and annnals, as the likenesses of 
 living antliors now adorn the cnrreut peri- 
 odicals. In an old number of Godeifs 
 Lady's Book is a frontispiece of Miss Sedg- 
 wick, Mrs. Sigourney, Mrs. Embury, Mrs. E. 
 Oakes Smith and Mrs. Osgood, with sketches 
 of their lives. 
 
 In examining the many and thick vol- 
 umes of verse published from 1830 to 1860, 
 the themes are found to vary little ; the 
 domestic affections, love of nature, occasion- 
 al pieces dedicated to friends, often filling a 
 volume of many pages. Verses on birth, death, 
 travel, and the various experiences of life as 
 they touch the feelings, show the feminine 
 sympatliy ever active and ever demonstra- 
 tive. These fluent, sincere, and often grace- 
 ful poems were treasures to the circle they 
 celebrated. They possess the great beauty 
 of simplicity, while they rarely show pro- 
 found feeling or attain exquisite expression. 
 There is a literature for the moment as well 
 as for all time, as necessary as daily liread, 
 most fit for the level moods of humauit}', 
 and always welcome. 
 
 The poets of this literature, like the essay- 
 ists and other writers of the early century, 
 
Lave wellnigli ceased to be interesting to 
 us. But it becomes us to be humble-minded, 
 in view of the fact that our work in turn 
 will be dreary, except as a historical or so- 
 cial study, to our successors. The more the 
 literature of the hour satisfies him who 
 "runs as he reads," the closer it is shaped 
 to the present mood, the less it represents 
 the great universal sympathies of humanity. 
 Yet to please and edify one's own generation 
 is, perhaps, meed enough for poetry or prose 
 and our literary foremothers had this great 
 happiness. 
 
THE ART OF COQUETRY. 
 
 Ye lovely maids ! whose yet unpractis'd 
 hearts 
 
 Ne'er felt the force of Love's resistless arts ; 
 
 Who justly set a value on your charms, 
 
 Pow'r, all your wish ; but beauty, all your 
 arms ; 
 
 Who, o'er mankind, wou'd fain exert your 
 sway, 
 
 And teach the lordly tyrant to obey; 
 
 Attend my rules, to you alone addrest. 
 
 Deep let them sink in every female breast. 
 
 The queen of love herself my bosom fires. 
 
 Assists my numbers, and my thoughts 
 inspires ; 
 
 Me she instructed in each secret art. 
 
 That first subdues and then enslaves the 
 heart ; 
 
 The sigh that heaves by stealth, the start- 
 ing tear, 
 
 The melting languish, the obliging fear ; 
 
 Half-utter'd wishes, broken kind replies, 
 
 And all the silent eloquence of eyes ; 
 
 To teach the fair by various wiles to move 
 
 The soften'd soul, and bend the heart to love. 
 
137 
 
 Proud of her cbarms, and conscious of her 
 
 face, 
 The haughty beauty calls forth ev'ry grace, 
 With fierce defiance throws the killing dart; 
 By force she wins, hy force she keeps the 
 
 heart. 
 The witty fair a nobler game pursues. 
 Aims at the head, but the rapt soul sub- 
 dues. 
 The languid nymph enslaves with softer 
 
 art. 
 With sweet neglect she steals into the 
 
 heart ; 
 Slowly she moves her swimmiug eyes around. 
 Conceals her shaft, but meditates the wound ; 
 Her gentle langnishments the gazers move. 
 Her voice is musick, and her looks are love. 
 To few tho' nature may these gifts impart^ 
 What she withholds, the wise can win from 
 
 art. 
 Then let your airs be suited to your face. 
 Nor to a languish tack a sprightly grace. 
 The short round foce, brisk eyes and auburn 
 
 hair, 
 Must smiling joy in every motion wear. 
 The quick unsettled glance must deal 
 
 around, 
 Hide all desigu, and seem by chance to 
 
 wound. 
 
138 
 
 Dark rolling eyes a languish may assume, 
 These, the soft looks and melting airs be- 
 come ; 
 Tlie pensive bead upon tlie Land reclin'd, 
 As if some sweet disorder fill'd the mind ; 
 Let tlie heav'd breast a struggling sigh 
 
 restrain, 
 And seem to stop the falling tear with pain. 
 The youth, who all the soft distress believes, 
 Soon wants the kind compassion which he 
 
 gives. 
 But beauty, wit, and youth may sometimes 
 
 fail, 
 Nor always o'er the stubborn soul prevail ; 
 Then let the fair one have recourse to art. 
 Who cannot storm, may undermine the heart. 
 First form your artful looks with studious 
 
 care. 
 From mild to grave, from tender to severe ; 
 Oft on the careless youth your glances dart, 
 A tender meaning let each glance impart. 
 Whene'er he meets your looks with modest 
 
 piide, 
 And soft confusion, turn your eyes aside, 
 Let a soft sigh steal out, as if by cliance, 
 Then cautious turn, and steal anotlier glance; 
 Caught by these arts, with pride and hope 
 
 elate 
 The dcstin'd victim rushes on his fate; 
 
13'J 
 
 PlcasM bis imagined victory pursues, 
 Aud the kind maid with soft attention 
 
 views, 
 Contemplates now her shape, her air, her 
 
 face. 
 And tliinks each feature wears an added 
 
 grace ; 
 'Till gratitude which first his bosom proves, 
 B}' slow degrees sublim'd, at length bo 
 
 loves. 
 'Tis harder still to fix than gain a heart; 
 AVhat's won by beauty, must be kept by 
 
 art. 
 Too kind a treatment the blest lover cloys, 
 And oft despair the growing flame destroys : 
 Sometimes Avith smiles receive him, some- 
 times tears, 
 And Avisely balance both his hopes aud 
 
 fears. 
 Perhaps he mourns his ill-requited pains, 
 Condennis your sway, and strives to break 
 
 his chains ; 
 Behaves as if he now your scorn defy'd. 
 And thinks at least lie shall alarm your 
 
 pride: 
 But with indifference view the seeming 
 
 change, 
 Aud let your eyes to seek new conquests 
 
 ranjie ; 
 
While bis torn breast with jealous fury 
 
 burus, 
 He hopes, despairs, adores and hates by- 
 turns ; 
 With anguish now repents the weak deceit, 
 And powerful passion bears him to your feet. 
 Strive not the jealous lover to perplex, 
 111 suits suspicion with that haughty sex ; 
 Rashly they judge, and alwa^'s think the 
 
 worst, 
 And love is often banished by distrust. 
 To these an open free behavior wear. 
 Avoid disguise, and seem at last sincere; 
 Whene'er you meet affect a glad surprise, 
 And give a melting softness to your eyes'- 
 By some unguarded word your love reveal. 
 And anxiously the rising blush conceal. 
 By arts like these the jealous you deceive, 
 Then most deluded when they most believe. 
 But while in all you seek to raise desire, 
 Beware the fatal passion yon inspire : 
 Each soft intruding wish in time reprove. 
 And guard against the sweet invader Love. 
 Not for the tender were these rules design'd, 
 Who in their faces show their yielding 
 
 mind: 
 Whose eyes a native languishment can wear, 
 Whose smiles are artless, and whose blush 
 sincere ; 
 
But for the iiympli wbo liberty can prize, 
 And vindicate the triumph of her eyes : 
 Who o'er mankind a haughty rule maintains, 
 Whose wit can manage what her beauty 
 
 gains : 
 Such by these arts their empire may improve, 
 And unsubdu'd control the world by love. 
 Mrs. Charlotte Lennox. 
 
AN ODE 
 
 On the Birthday of Her Royal Highness the Princess 
 of Wales. Presented to Her Royal Highness by 
 the Right Houonrable, the Earl of Middlesex. 
 
 Again the swift revolving year 
 
 Returns the bright, th' anspicious morn, 
 That shed its kindest intlnenco here, 
 
 When Britain's future queeu was born. 
 
 Still may the Sun on this blest day 
 With brighter beams indulgent rise, 
 
 Still emulate the gladdening lay, 
 And milder glories of her eyes. 
 
 Those charms thy spotless youth adorn 
 Each rip'ning hour shall more display; 
 
 So the soft blushes of the morn 
 Give promise of a brighter day. 
 
 The pomp of pow'r, the grateful awe, 
 And homage which on sovereigns wait, 
 
 Your eyes without that aid could draw, 
 Aud not demand it, but create. 
 
143 
 
 Yet not that all-coinmaiiding form, 
 
 Tiuit fiico wlicro love's soft graces play, 
 
 Tlio' bright in every female cliarm, 
 Shall claim, alone, the muse's lay. 
 
 She meditates a nobler praise, 
 
 And wings a far more glorious flight, 
 
 Drinks in thy virtue's fuller blaze, 
 
 And basks in those fair beams of light. 
 
 First, in the ever-smiling train, 
 Religiou sheds diffusive grace. 
 
 In thy fair breast confirms her reign, 
 And gives the sacred sweets of peace. 
 
 There every generous passion glows 
 That can the human soul refine. 
 
 There soft maternal fondness flows, 
 And love so pure, 'tis half divine. 
 
 Well has it been decreed by fate, 
 A form so fair, so bright a mind. 
 
 Should grace the world's chief regal seat, 
 And bless the noblest of mankind, 
 
 Mrs. Charlotte Lennox. 
 
HYMN TO APOLLO. 
 
 From " Philander." 
 
 Hail ! PbcBbns, son of Jove ! 
 Great patron of the moving lyre, 
 Whose sounds soft peace and smiling joy 
 inspire, 
 And give new pleasures to the blest 
 above. 
 To thee our noblest lays belong ! 
 Thine is the poet, thine the song. 
 Eternal source of light, of music, and of 
 love! 
 
 Hail! mighty Poean,hail: 
 Ascender of thy father's throne, 
 Thy force the rebel giants own 
 Who vainly hoped against him to prevail. 
 Thy name redeemed Thessalia sings, 
 And all her noblest offerings brings 
 To thee, by whose dread arm the mighty 
 Python fell. 
 
 Who can thy frown sustain ? 
 Or bear, impure, thy piercing ray ? 
 Thou, on the guilty bosom, pour'st the day, 
 
And all the wretch's crimes are seen ; 
 Lo! perjured beauty justly dies; 
 Accept this awful sacrifice, 
 Ami bless, oh bless, Arcadia with thy 
 smiles. 
 
 Mrs. Charlotte Lennox. 
 
 10 
 
THAUMANTIA AND FAME. 
 
 " Go, Thaumantia," said Jove, " aud descend 
 from the sky. 
 For Fame's golden clarion I hear; 
 Go, learn what great mortal's desert is so 
 high 
 As to ask notes so lond, sweet, and 
 clear." 
 The goddess in haste meets the starry- 
 wing'd dame, 
 And demands why her notes she does 
 raise. 
 "For the greatest of patriots and heroes," 
 said Fame, 
 "Tell Jove, it is Washington's praise!" 
 Mrs. Ann Eliza Bleecker. 
 
TO MRS. D 
 
 Dear Betsey, uow Pleasure the woodland 
 has left, 
 No more iu the water she laves, 
 Siuce winter the trees of their bloom has 
 bereft, 
 And stiffeu'd to crystal the waves. 
 
 Now clad all in fur our guest she appears, 
 By the fireside a merry young grig ; 
 
 She pours out the wine, our pensiveness 
 cheers, 
 And at night leads us out to a jig. 
 
 Then venture among the tall pines if you 
 dare, 
 Encounter the keen arctic wind ; 
 Dare this for to meet with affection sin- 
 cere, 
 And Pleasure untainted you'll find. 
 
 I know you have Pleasure, my sister, ny 
 whiles, 
 But then she appears iu great state ; 
 
148 
 
 She is hard of access, and lofty her smiles, 
 While Envy and Pride on her wait. 
 
 Thro' drawiug- rooms, Betsey, you'll chase 
 
 her in vain, 
 
 The Colonel may seek her in blood ; 
 
 The Poets agree (and they cannot all feign) 
 
 That she's born and resides in the wood. 
 
 Mrs. Ann Eliza Bleecker. 
 
BELISARIUS. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Scene: An outer cliamber belonging to 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter tlie Emperor Justinian. 
 Emperor : 'Tis not in man to cherish chaste 
 
 content 
 In his tumultuous soul; discordant pas- 
 sions, 
 Now rising like the billows in a storm, 
 Carry him far beyond wliere reason reigns, 
 And now exhausted by the boisterous fray 
 Drop far below her sphere — 
 He who is poor longs for the chink of 
 
 gold, 
 The unsocial pomp of stiff magnificence, 
 The jargon of a thousand senseless terms — 
 And thinks that greatness is exempt from 
 
 woe; 
 Nor knows that dainties pall upon the taste. 
 And pleasures made too common lose their 
 relish. 
 
Pleasures ! cau grandeur boast of pleasures 
 
 then ! 
 All no— 'tis but another word for care : 
 Nor can the sparkling of a diadem 
 Eclipse its mournful meaning. — 
 The precious gale, that through the lattice 
 
 blows 
 On the tir'd body of some sleeping slave, 
 (When wear}' day hath sunk beneath the 
 
 main) 
 Cools the high ferment of bis feverous bloody 
 And gives him slumbers sweeter ; but to me 
 Its gentle whisperings seem like sounds of 
 
 death — 
 From dreams of mutiny, and schemes, and 
 
 murder, 
 I start, and think some bold conspirator 
 Breathes near my bed, and springing up 
 
 dismay VI, 
 I stalk around my chamber a sad prey 
 To torturous reflection — my broken rest 
 Sheds a damp on my heart — I'll stretch me 
 
 here ; 
 Perhaps calm sleep, the dear oblivious 
 
 power, 
 May yield by day the bliss that uight 
 denies. 
 
 [Throws himself upon a sopha, and 
 drops a curtain before him. 
 
151 
 
 Julia (formerly betrothed to Belisariusj: 
 
 I love not — 
 No, I despair; and nothing cliarms my 
 
 soul 
 But deeds of deatli, and tliouglits of deep 
 
 revenge; 
 Thongli the birds chaunt in every rustling 
 
 copse, 
 And fountains ■warbling roll, and scented 
 
 gales 
 Blow cool along the shadowy mountain's 
 
 side, 
 They yield me no delight — from blissful 
 
 views 
 Rancorous I turn away — and, like the 
 
 spider. 
 From most salubrious and precious sweets, 
 I only gather poison. 
 
 Theodora (wife of the Emperor Justin- 
 lANJ : I'll go myself this moment and 
 give orders 
 
 For his removal to some cheerful place. 
 
 Where kind attendance, and my best phy- 
 sician, 
 
 May woo his scattered senses back again ; 
 
 For thus insane he loses sense of woe. 
 
 This mania is a balm, a sovereign cure 
 
 For all the ills that fester in the heart; 
 
152 
 
 It sets the warring j)^ssions all asleep, 
 
 Blotting out good and ill ; — 'tia peace — 'tis 
 bliss, 
 
 And that my vengeance meant not to 
 bestow : 
 
 I meant him anguish and eternal pangs; 
 
 But tbe mad feel not — therefore, when that 
 life, 
 
 Fraught with rich vigor, through his ar- 
 teries rolls. 
 
 And reason rises cloudless in his brain, 
 
 Embracing courteous hope, then will I go 
 
 And break the vain enchantment : galling 
 chains 
 
 Shall load his shivering limbs, and shock- 
 ing curses 
 
 Pursue him to his lurid den again. 
 
 This will be sweet revenge— there let him 
 try 
 
 If the bright wit that jeer'd a woman's 
 foibles 
 
 Will light the dungeon where her fury 
 dwells. [Exits hastily. 
 
 Mrs. Makgaretta V. Faugeres. 
 
TO THE MOON. 
 
 While wauderiiig tlirongli the dark blue 
 vault of heaveu, 
 Thy trackless steps pursue their silent 
 way, 
 And from among the starry hosts of 
 even, 
 Thou shed'st o'er slumbering earth a 
 milder day; 
 And when thou pour'st abroad thy shadowy 
 light 
 Across the ridgy circles of the stream, 
 With raptured eyes, oh, changeful nymph 
 of night, 
 I gaze upon thy beam. 
 
 Great was the hand that formed thy round, 
 oh Moon ! 
 That marked the precincts of thy steady 
 wheel. 
 That bade thee smile on Night's oblivious 
 noon. 
 And rule old Ocean's solemn swell. 
 
Great was the power that filled with ra- 
 diant light 
 Those worlds unnumbered, which from 
 pole to pole 
 Haug out their golden lamps to deck tliy 
 flight 
 Or gild the planets which around thee roll. 
 
 Long hast thou reigned and from thine 
 amber throne 
 The various changes of this world l)ast 
 
 known ; 
 Hast seen its myriads into being rise, 
 Shine their short hour and then their life 
 resign. 
 New generations seize the fickle prize 
 And like their sires," but strengthen to 
 decline ; 
 Yet be not vain [though since thy natal 
 day 
 Some thousand years their circling course 
 have made.] 
 For lo, the era hastens on apace. 
 When all thy glories shall forever fade. 
 
 Earth shall the revolution feel, 
 The change of seasons shall be o'er. 
 
 Time shall forget to guide his wheel 
 And thou, oh Moon, shalt set to rise no 
 more. 
 
 Mrs. Margaretta V. Faugeres. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 I WOULD not ask, — for that were vaiu, — 
 
 To mingle with the reaper train, — 
 
 Who gayly sing, as hast'niug by 
 
 To pile their golden sheaves on higli ; 
 
 But with the gronp who meet the view, 
 
 In kerchief red and apron blue, 
 
 I crave the scatter'd ears they yield, 
 
 To bless the gleaner of the field. 
 
 Maria James. 
 
THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 
 
 The riug-dove's note, in eastern climes, 
 Mcay wing with speed the sultry hours, 
 
 And England's boasted nightingale 
 
 May cliarm with song her native bow- 
 ers; — 
 
 Yet there is one, and only one, 
 Whose note is dearer far to me ; 
 
 Though his is not the gorgeous plume, 
 Nor his the voice of harmony. 
 
 He shuns the crowded haunts of men. 
 And hies to forest far away,— 
 
 Or seeks some deep, secluded vale. 
 To pour his solitary lay,— 
 
 Or, haply at some cottage door. 
 At fall of night, when all is still, 
 
 The rustic inmates pause to hear 
 The gentle cry of "Whip-poor-will." 
 
 How often, in my childish glee, 
 
 At evening hour my steps have stray'd. 
 
157 
 
 To seek him iu bis loue retreat, 
 
 Beueatli the close emboweriug shade. 
 
 With beating heart and wary tread, 
 
 I stretch'd my hand to seize the prey, — 
 
 When, quick as thought, the minstrel rose, 
 Blithe warbling as he sped away. 
 
 He flies the abodes of luxury, 
 
 Nor heeds the frown, nor courts the smile, 
 But nightly seeks the rural scene. 
 
 And sings to rest the sous of toil. 
 
 RuiNEBEOK, Nov. 15th, 1833. 
 
THE BROOM. 
 
 Give me a broom, one neatly made 
 
 lu Niscayuua's distant sbade ; 
 
 Or bearing full its staff upon 
 
 Tbe well-known impress, *' Lebanon." 
 
 A bandle slender, smootli and ligbt. 
 
 Of bass-wood, or of cedar wliite ; 
 
 Where softest palm from point to heel 
 
 May ne'er a grain of roughness feel, — 
 
 So firm a fix, the stalks confine ; 
 
 So tightly drawn the hempen line; 
 
 The fan-like spread, divided wove, 
 
 As fingers in a lady's glove — 
 
 To crown the whole, (and save beside,) 
 
 The loop, the buckskin loop is tied. 
 
 With this in hand, small need to care 
 
 If C y or J n fill the chair — 
 
 What in the banks is said or done — 
 The game of Texas lost or won — 
 How city belles collect their rings, 
 And hie to Saratoga Springs; — 
 To Erie's or Ontario's shore. 
 To hear Niaarara's thunders roar — 
 
159 
 
 While uiulisturb'd my course I keep, 
 Cheer'd by the sound of sweep, sweep, 
 sweep. 
 
 See learned Doctors rack their brains, 
 To rid mankind of aches and pains. 
 When half, and more than half, arise 
 From want of prudence, — exercise. 
 The body like a garment wears, 
 And aches and pains may follow years; 
 But when I see the young, the gay. 
 Untimely droop and pine away. 
 As if the life of life were o'er. 
 Each day less active than before, — 
 Their courage fled, their interest cold, — 
 With firmer grasp, my broom I hold. 
 
 Nor is this all : in very deed 
 
 The broom may prove a friend in need ; 
 
 On this I lean — on thiS' depend ; 
 
 With such a surety, such a friend, 
 
 There's not a merchant in the place 
 
 Who would refuse me silk or lace ; 
 
 Or linen fine, or broadcloth dear, 
 
 Or e'en a shawl of fam'd Cashmere, 
 
 Though prudence whispering, still would 
 
 say, 
 "Remember, there's a rainy day." 
 
160 
 
 "Hand me the broora" (a matron said,) 
 As down the hose and ball were laid ; 
 "I think yonr father soon will come; 
 I long to see him safe at home. 
 Pile on the wood, and set the chair, — 
 The supper and tbe board x>i"epare ; 
 The gloom of night is gathering fast, — 
 The storm is howling o'er the waste." 
 
 The hearth is swept, arrang'd the room, 
 And duly hung the Shaker broom. 
 While cheerful smiles and greetings wait 
 The master entering at his gate. 
 Let patriots, poets, twine their brows 
 With laurel, or with holly boughs ; 
 But let the broom-corn wreath be mine, 
 Adorn'd with many a sprig of pine ; 
 With wild-flowers from the forest deep, 
 And garlands from the craggy steep, 
 Which ne'er have known the gardener's 
 
 care, « 
 
 But rise, and bloom spontaneous there. 
 
 Maria James. 
 
THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. 
 
 I SAID to Sorrow's awful storm, 
 
 That beat against my breast, 
 "Rage on — thou mayst destroy this form, 
 
 And lay it low to rest ; 
 But still the spirit that now brooks 
 
 Thy tempest, raging high, 
 Undaunted on its fury looks, 
 
 With steadfast eye." 
 
 I said to Penury's meagre train, 
 
 " Come on — your threats I brave ; 
 My last poor life-drop you may drain. 
 
 And crush me to the grave ; 
 Yet still the spirit that endures 
 
 Shall mock your force the while, 
 And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours 
 
 With bitter smile." 
 
 I said to cold Neglect and Scorn, 
 
 " Pass on — I heed you not ; 
 Ye may pursue me till my form 
 
 And being are forgot ; 
 11 
 
162 
 
 Yet still the spirit, which you see 
 
 Uu claim ted by your wiles, 
 Draws from its owu nobility 
 
 Its high-boru smiles." 
 
 I said to Friendship's meuaced blow, 
 
 " Strike deep — my heart shall bear ; 
 Thou cans't but add one bitter woe 
 
 To those already there ; 
 Yet still the spirit that sustains 
 
 This last severe distress. 
 Shall smile upon its keenest pains, 
 
 And scorn redress." 
 
 I said to Death's uj)lifted dart, 
 
 " Aim sure — oh, why delay ? 
 Thou wilt not find a fearful heart — 
 
 A weak, reluctant prey; 
 For still the spirit, firm and free, 
 
 Unruffled by this last dismay, 
 Wrapt in its own eternity, 
 
 Shall pass away." 
 
 Mrs. Lavinia Stone Stoddard. 
 
SI JE TE PERDS, JE SUIS PERDU.* 
 
 The tempest bowls, the waves swell liigh, 
 Upward I cast uiy anxious eye, 
 And fix my gaze, amidst the storm, 
 Upon tby bright and heavenly form. 
 Angel of mercy ! beam to sav^e ; 
 See, tossing on the furious wave, 
 My little bark is sorely prest ; 
 O guide me to some port of rest ; 
 Shine on, and all luy fears subdue, 
 Si je te per (Is, je suis perdu. 
 
 To catch thy ray, my aching sight 
 Shall pierce the gloomy mists of night ; 
 But if, amidst the driving storm. 
 Dark clouds shonld hide thy glittering form, 
 In vain each swelling wave I breast, 
 Which rushes on with foaming crest ; 
 'Mid the wild breakers' furious roar. 
 O'er whelmed I sink, to rise no more. 
 
 * Written on seeing the device on a seal, of a man 
 guidiug a small boat, with his eye fixed on a star, and 
 this motto : Sije tcperds, je suis perdu. 
 
164 
 
 Shine out to meet my troubled view, 
 Si je te perds, Je suis perdu. 
 
 Tlieu if I catch the faintest gleam, 
 Ouward I'll rush beneath the bean), 
 And fast the winged waves shall bear 
 My form upou the midnight air, 
 Nor know my breast one anxious fear — 
 For I am safe if thou art near. 
 Lead onward, then, while I pursue, 
 Si je te perds, je suis perdu. 
 
 So may the Star of Bethlehem's beam 
 With holy lustre mildly gleam. 
 To guide my soul with sacred light 
 Amidst the gloom of error's uight ; 
 Its cheering raj* shall courage give — 
 Midst seas of doubt my hope shall live; 
 Though dark and guilty fears may storm. 
 Bright peers above its radiant form ; 
 Though seen by all yet sought by few, 
 Si je te perds, je suis perdu. 
 
 Within my heart the needle lies 
 That upward poiuts me to the skies! 
 The tides may swell, the breakers roar. 
 And threaten soon to whelm me o'er — 
 Their wildest fury I flefy ; 
 While on that Star I keep my eye, 
 
My tiembliiig bark shall hold her way, 
 Still gaided by its sacred ray, 
 To whose bright beam is homage due. 
 Si je te perds, je suis perdu. 
 
 Soon to illume those threatening skies, 
 'J'he Sun of Eighteonsness shall rise, 
 And ou my soul his glories pour ; 
 Securely then my bark I'll moor 
 Within that port where all are blest — 
 The haven of eternal rest. 
 Shine onward, then, and guide nie through, 
 Si je te perds, je suis perdu. 
 
 Mrs. Julia Rush Cutler Ward, 
 
 Mother of Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 Coldly slie sat, while graceful bands lier 
 
 stately form arrayed 
 lu silken robes, and wreathed her hair in 
 
 many a jeweled braid ; 
 But all a woman's vanity was in the vivid 
 
 glow 
 That flattery's magic tones awoke upon her 
 
 cheek and brow. 
 
 Beside her hung the x>ictured form of Scot- 
 laud's matchless queen — 
 
 O ! language would need rainbow hues to 
 paint that glorious mien, 
 
 That face which bare the high impress of 
 majesty, and yet 
 
 Where Love, as if to win all hearts, his 
 fairest seal had set. 
 
 And bitter was the scorn tliat filled Eliza- 
 beth's proud eye. 
 
 As turning from her mirrored self, she saw 
 her rival nigh ; 
 
167 
 
 But transient was the cloud, aud soou she 
 
 beut with smiles to greet 
 The graceful little page who now was 
 
 kneeling at her feet. 
 
 '' Letters from Scotland " — eagerly she 
 grasped the proffered scroll, 
 
 Which sharper than a scorpion's sting 
 could pierce her haughty soul ; 
 
 And timidly her maidens shrunk ; for quick- 
 ly could they trace 
 
 Fierce passion in the darkening hue that 
 gather'd o'er her face. 
 
 The white foam stood upon her lip, and 
 
 wildly beat her heart, 
 Till its convulsive throbbings rent her 
 
 'broidered zone apart : 
 " Away !" she cried — awe-struck they stood 
 
 to hear that anguished tone, — 
 "Away!" — like frighted fawns they fled, 
 
 and she was left alone. 
 
 O ! fiercer than the angry burst of ocean's 
 
 tameless wave 
 Is woman's soul, when thus unchecked its 
 
 maddening passions rave ; 
 
But soon the storm was spent, and then 
 like rain-drops fell her tears, 
 
 While thns the heart-struck qneen bewailed 
 her lone and blighted years : — 
 
 '' All, all but this I could have borne — 
 
 methought that queenly pride 
 Had checked within my woman's breast 
 
 affection's swelling tide ; 
 But vainly has my spirit sought 'mid glory 
 
 to forget 
 The youthful dreams whose faded light 
 
 gleams o'er my fancy yet. 
 
 " And she has realized those dreams — aye, 
 
 she whose gentle brow, 
 In all its graceful loveliness, is turned upon 
 
 me now ; 
 Mary of Scotland ! gladly w^onld my lofty 
 
 heart resign 
 The pomps and vanities of power, to win 
 
 such joy as tliine. 
 
 " O ! dearer far than halls of state the hum- 
 ble cottage hearth. 
 
 Where childhood's happy tones awake in 
 all their reckless mirth ; 
 
And liai)pier far the meanest cLuil, than 
 
 slie, within wliose breast 
 Affection's soft and pleading voice by pride 
 
 must be represt. 
 
 "A mother's joy! a mother's pride!— O! 
 
 wliat is regal power 
 To the sweet feelings that are born in such 
 
 a blissful hour ? 
 Now well art thou avenged, fair queen, of 
 
 all my jealous hate, 
 For thou hast clasped a princely son, and 
 
 I — am desolate !" 
 
 Mrs. Emma C. Embury, 
 
CHARADE. 
 
 (mocking-bird.) 
 
 The boldest heart that ever yet 
 
 Was cased in mortal clay, 
 Rather than hear my first would face 
 
 Au armed host's array. 
 For by brute sufferance aloue 
 
 The body's paius are borue, 
 But e'en the mind's unbending strength 
 
 Quails 'neath the sting of scorn. 
 
 My second comes with all things fair, 
 
 Spring sunshine, dews and flowers, 
 And though it shuns the leafless bough, 
 
 Loves well the sunmier bowers. 
 Full many love its matin song, 
 
 But more its vesper hymn, 
 When twilight's gentle breezes wake 
 
 And sunset's light grows dim. 
 
 My whole is born iu Southern clime. 
 Where summer rules the year; 
 
171 
 
 Oft in the wiklerness its strains 
 
 Delight the traveller's ear. 
 But like a patriot stern and true, 
 
 It brooks no foreign shore, 
 And ere it reach a stranger land 
 
 Its life and song are o'er. 
 
 Mrs. Emma C. Embury. 
 
TO PEACE. 
 
 (From a volume privately printed.) 
 
 Come holy dove of Peace ! 
 
 Aud fold thy shelteriiig- wings about my 
 
 heart, 
 Hushed to repose, hid its complainings 
 
 cease, 
 
 Its sorrows all depart. 
 
 Bear the green branch of life, 
 Above the troubled waters of my soul, 
 Quiet the angry waves of pas^sion's strife. 
 Its storms control. 
 
 Thou hast a mighty power, 
 O! heavenlj^ dove, our tlionghts to bless, 
 Be mine, the treasure of thy priceless dower, 
 Tlie peace of righteousness. 
 
 Mrs. Susan Pindar Embury. 
 
BURIAL OF WILLIAM THE CON- 
 QUEROR. 
 
 With slow, and solemn tiesul, — 
 Through aisles, where warrior figures grim 
 
 Stand forth in shadowy gloom ; 
 While loudly peals the funeral hymn, 
 
 And censers waft perfume. 
 
 Bring they the kingly dead 
 
 They bear him to his rest, 
 About whose lofty deeds is cast 
 The panoply of Fame ; 
 Who gave his war-cry to the blast, 
 And left a Conqueror's mighty name 
 His nation's proud bequest. 
 
 Around his royal bier 
 The chieftains stand, in reverence bowed, 
 
 Amid a bush x^rofound ; — 
 When, from the vast assembled crowd, 
 A solemn voice with warning sound. 
 Rung on each startled ear. — 
 
''Forbear!" it cried, — "forbear! 
 This ground, miue heritage I claim, 
 Here bloomed our household vine, 
 Until this dead despoiler came 
 And crushed its roots to raise this shrine, 
 In mockery of prayer ! — 
 
 "By all your hopes of earth, — 
 As ye before the throne of Heaven, 
 
 In judgment shall appear. 
 As ye would pray your sins forgiven, — 
 
 Lay not the tyrant's ashes here. 
 
 Upon my father's hearth !" 
 
 Mute stood those warriors bold ; — 
 Each swarthy cheek grew red with shame. 
 That ne'er with fear had paled. — 
 And for his dust, before whosa name. 
 The stoutest hearts in terror quailed, 
 They hought a grave with gold. 
 
 O victory ! — veil thy brow, — 
 What are thy pageants of an hour, 
 Thy wreath — when stained with crime ? 
 
 O, Fame, — Ambition, — haughty Power, 
 Ye bubbles on the stream of time, 
 
 Where are your glories now ? 
 
 Mrs. Susan Findau Embury. 
 
SONG. 
 
 Come, fill a pledge to sorrow, 
 
 The song of mirth is o'er, 
 And if there's sunshine in our hearts, 
 
 'Twill light our theme the more. 
 And pledge we dull life's changes. 
 
 As round the swift hours pass — 
 Too kind were fate, if none but gems 
 
 Should sparkle in Time's glass. 
 
 The dregs and foam together 
 
 Unite to crown the cuji — 
 And well we know the weal and woe 
 
 That fill life's chalice up ! 
 Life's sickly revellers perish. 
 
 The goblet scarcely drained; 
 Then lightly quatF, nor lose the sweets 
 
 Which may not be retained. 
 
 What reck we that unequal tides 
 
 In varying currents swell ! 
 The tide that bears our pleasures down, 
 
 Buries our griefs as well. 
 
176 
 
 AdcI if the swift-wiugcd tempest 
 Have crossed our cliangefiil day, 
 
 The wind that tossed onr bark has swept 
 Full many a cloud away ! 
 
 Then grieve not that nought mortal 
 
 Endures through passing years — 
 Did life one changeless tenor keep, 
 
 'Twere cause indeed for tears. 
 And fill we, ere our parting, 
 
 A mantling pledge to sorrow ; 
 The pang that wrings the heart to-day 
 
 Time's touch will heal to-morrow. 
 
 Mrs. E. F. Ellet 
 
 ECHO. 
 
 Echo was once a love-sick maid, 
 They say: — The tale is no deceiver! 
 
 Howe'er a woman's form might fade, 
 Her voice would be the last to leave her ! 
 Mrs. E. F. Ellet. 
 
THE LADIES' ANSWER TO THE BUN- 
 KER HILL APPEAL. 
 
 " The trumpet call 
 Of freedom hath goue forth."— Whittier. 
 
 We are comiug, we are comiiij^, 
 
 We have heard the thrilling call ; 
 We are comiug from the hill-side, 
 
 We are coming from the hall. 
 The city pours its thousands, 
 
 And the hamlet sends its pride, 
 As fought our patriot sires of old. 
 
 In battles, side by side ; 
 Again the call hath waked us, 
 
 As it waked our fathers then, 
 When the voice that thrilled the mountains 
 
 Thrilled the valley and the glen. 
 
 We are coming, we are coming. 
 
 The daughters of the brave. 
 The memory of the patriot dead 
 
 From cold neglect to save ,' 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 Holy and dear to all onr hearts 
 
 Those hero-sires of old, 
 Who left "the herd upon the lea," 
 
 "The ploughshare iu the mould;'' 
 We are comiug to the rescue, 
 
 We answer for the free ; 
 The green graves of the slaughtered dead 
 
 A hallowed shrine must be. 
 
 We are comiug, we are coming. 
 
 Again their deeds to tell, 
 Till the solid marble beareth 
 
 Their names where first they fell. 
 Joying to pour their hearts' blood forth 
 
 On soil so rich and free, 
 And watering with that noble stream 
 
 The tree of Liberty! 
 Now from each household of our land 
 
 Beneath its ample shade, 
 We are coming, we are coming, 
 
 Be the thrilling answer made. 
 
 We are coming, we are coming, 
 
 To breathe its hallowed air ; 
 We are coming, we are coming. 
 
 From homes beautiful and fair; 
 We are coming, we are comiug, 
 
 High thoughts our bosoms till, 
 One watchword wakens every heart — 
 
 The name of Bunker Hill! 
 
170 
 
 There Freedom's fire was lighted 
 And its flame was broad and high, 
 
 Till a wakened and a rescued land 
 Sent up its battle-cry ! 
 
 '* Old Massachusetts," dost thou need 
 
 To gem thy "lordly crown," 
 Auglit richer than that battlefield 
 
 Which tells of thy renown ? 
 Home of the pilgrim sires who crossed 
 
 The waste and trackless sea. 
 Was it not meet that on thy soil 
 
 The first brave strife should be? 
 Dear to thy children in thy home, 
 
 Dear to thine exiles far; 
 To Freedom's sons in every age 
 
 It shines a beacou star 
 
 We are coming, we are coming, 
 
 To raise an altar slirine! 
 Sacred to Freedom's honored name, 
 
 On hallowed soil of thine ! 
 We are coming, we are coming. 
 
 That thy martyrs brave and free, 
 In the record of the future 
 
 Shall e'er be linked with thee. 
 That upon the glory never 
 
 One dimming shade may fall , 
 We are coming from the hill-side. 
 
 We are coming from the hall! 
 
 Lucy Hooper. 
 
"I AM YET A KING!" 
 
 [Francis I., being defeated at the battle of Pavia, 
 was kept a pnsouer by Cliailes V On being released 
 from captivity, as he mounted his horse he exclaimed 
 "I am yet a king !"] 
 
 On ! lightly on his barb he spruDg, that 
 monarch brave and free, 
 
 While from his lips the cheering words 
 broke forth exultinglj', — 
 
 ^'I am yet a king, I turn once more un- 
 checked my bridle rein. 
 
 Now for the fields of sunny France, of 
 France, mine own again ! 
 
 ''I am yet a king — I am yet a king, oh, 
 France ! that it should be 
 
 That ever on thy monarch's brow should 
 pale thy •fleur-de-lis,' 
 
 That brave or knight of thine should e'er 
 be forced to yield his lance, 
 
 Yet, yet am I once more thy king, oh, sun- 
 ny land of France ! 
 
"I am yet a kiug — I am yet a kiug, the 
 
 lieavy dream liatli past, 
 And ligbt word to au evil foe, I AYeeii, 
 
 shall lightly last, 
 For swords shall gleam, and blood shall 
 
 liow, like rivers to the main, 
 So shall thy king, oh, gallant France! wash 
 
 ont the evil stain. 
 
 "I am yet a king — I am yet a king, he mine 
 the kingly pride 
 
 To range once more in war array, my no- 
 bles at my side ,' 
 
 To see their lances brightly shine, and tread 
 my foemen down, 
 
 Till in the dust the glories lie of his Im- 
 perial crown. 
 
 "I am yet a king — I am yet a king! Oh 
 
 France, bright France, for me ! 
 Thine are the golden lilies, thine the flower 
 
 of chivalry. 
 Thine are the clear and snnny skies, and 
 
 thine the glancing waters. 
 And brave, oh ! brave are all thy knights, 
 
 and fair thy smiling daughters. 
 
 "I am yet a king— a king of thine, oh, 
 
 France! I feel it now ; 
 What is the past, that it should cast a 
 
 shadow on my brow ? 
 
Aon ill, again my hopes are bigh, again my 
 
 course is free, 
 Oil ! pleasant land and sunny land, who 
 
 would not die for thee ? 
 
 " I am yet a king — I am yet a king ! once 
 
 more my sword is bright, 
 The captive soon shall prove himself true 
 
 king and noble knight, 
 For richly shall the blood stream flow, and 
 
 brightly lances shine. 
 Oh, France, ere thou shalt ever blush for 
 
 recreant son of thine !" 
 
 Lucy Hooper. 
 
PEBBLES. 
 
 Give me the pebLle, little one, that I 
 To yon bright pool may hurtle it away: 
 Look how 't has changed the azure wave 
 to gray, 
 And blotted out the image of the sky ! 
 So, when our spirits calm and placid lie — 
 When all the passions of the bosom sleep. 
 And from its starless and unruffled deep 
 Beams up a heaven as bright as that on 
 high. 
 Some pebble — envy, jealousy, misdoubt — 
 Dashed in our bosom's slumbering waves 
 to jar, 
 Will cloud the mirrored surface of the 
 
 soul, 
 And blot its heaveu of joy and beauty out. 
 Sin ! fling no pebble in my soul, to mar 
 Its solemn depths, and o'er it clouds to 
 roll! 
 
 Caroline M. Sawyer. 
 
THE TWO VOICES. 
 
 A VOICE went forth tlirougliout the land, 
 And an answering voice replied 
 
 From the rock-piled mountain fastnesses 
 To the surging ocean tide. 
 
 And far the blazing headlands gleamed 
 With their land-awakening fires; 
 
 And the hill-tops kindled, peak and height, 
 With a hundred answering pyres. 
 
 The quick youth snatched his father's 
 sword, 
 
 And the yeoman rose in might; 
 And the aged grandsire nerved him there 
 
 For the stormy field of fight. 
 
 And the hillmen left their grass -grown 
 steeps, 
 
 And their flocks and herds unkept ; 
 And the ploughshare of the husbandman 
 
 In the half-turned furrow slept. 
 They wore no steel-wrought panoply, 
 
 Nor shield nor marion gleamed ; 
 Nor the flaunt of bannered blazonry 
 
 In the morning sunlight streamed. 
 
185 
 
 They bore no marsballed, firm array. 
 
 Like a torrent on tbey ponred,- 
 Witb tlie firelock, and tbe mower's scytbe, 
 
 And tbe okl forefather's sword. 
 
 And again tbe voice went sonnding on, 
 And tbe bonfires streamed on bigb ; 
 
 And tbe bill - tops rang to tbe headlands 
 back, 
 With the shout of victory ! 
 
 So tbe land redeemed her heritage, 
 By the free baud mailed in right. 
 
 From tbe war-shod, hireling foeman's tread. 
 And the ruthless grasp of might. 
 
 Mary Klizabeth Moore Hewitt. 
 
JUNE. 
 
 Laughingly thou comest, 
 
 Rosy Juue, 
 With thy light and tripping feet, 
 And thy garlands fresh and sweet, 
 
 And thy waters all in tune , 
 With thy gifts of buds and hells 
 For the uplands and the dells, 
 With the wild-bird and the bee, 
 On the blossom or the tree. 
 And my heart leaps forth to meet 
 
 thee, 
 With a joyous thrill to greet thee, 
 
 Rosy June ; 
 And I love the flashing ray 
 Of the rivulets at play, 
 As they sparkle into day. 
 
 Rosy June. 
 
 Most lovely do I call thee. 
 
 Laughing June! 
 For thy skies are bright and blue. 
 As a sapphire's brilliant hue, 
 
187 
 
 And the heats of summer noou, 
 Made cooler by thy breath — 
 O'er the clover-sceuted heath, 
 
 Which the scythe must sweep so soon ; 
 And thou fan'st the fevered clieek 
 With thy softest gales of balm, 
 Till the pulse so low and weak 
 
 Beateth stronger and more calm. 
 Kind physician, thou dost lend. 
 Like a tried and faithful friend, 
 To the suffering and the weary every bless- 
 ing thou canst bring ; 
 By the sick man's couch of pain. 
 Like an angel once again 
 Thou hast shed a gift of healing from the 
 perfume-laden wing; 
 And the student's listless ear, 
 As a dreamy sound and dear. 
 Hath caught a pleasant murmur of the in- 
 sect's busy hum. 
 Where arching branches meet 
 O'er the turf beneath his feet, 
 And a thousand summer fancies with the 
 melody have come ; 
 And he turneth from the page 
 Of the prophet or the sage, 
 And forgetteth all the wisdom of his books; 
 For his heart is roving free 
 With the butterfly and bee. 
 
And cliimetli witli the music of the brooks, 
 Singiug still their merry tuue 
 In the flashiug light of noon, 
 One chord of thy sweet lyre, 
 Laughing June ! 
 
 I have heart-aches many a one, 
 
 Rosy June! 
 And I sometimes long to fly 
 
 To a world of love and light, 
 Where the flowerets never die, 
 
 Nor the day gives place to night ; 
 Where the weariness and pain 
 
 Of this mortal life are o'er^ 
 And WQ fondly clasp again 
 
 All the loved ones gone before; 
 And I think to lay my head 
 On some green and sheltered bed, 
 
 Where, at dawning or at noon, 
 Come the birds with liquid note 
 In each tender warbling throat, 
 
 Or the breeze with mournful tune 
 To sigh above my grave — 
 Would be all that I should crave. 
 Rosy June ! 
 
 But when thou art o'er the earth, 
 With thy blue and tranquil skies, 
 
189 
 
 And tby gusbing melodies, 
 Aud tby many tones of mirtb — 
 Wben tby flowers perfume tbe air, 
 And tby garbmds wreatb tbe bongb, 
 And tby birtbplace even now 
 Seems an Eden brigbt and fair — 
 How my spirit sbrinks away 
 From tbe darkness of tbe tomb. 
 And I sbndder at its gloom 
 Wbile so beautifnl tbe day. 
 Yet I know tbe skies are bright 
 In tbat land of love and ligbt, 
 Brighter, fairer than thine own, lovely 
 Juno ! 
 No shadow dims the ray, 
 No night obscures tl)e day, 
 But ever, ever reignetb high eternal 
 noon. 
 
 A glimpse thou art of heaven, 
 
 • Lovely June ! 
 Type of a purer clime 
 Beyond the flight of time. 
 Where tbe amaranth flowers are rife 
 By the placid stream of life. 
 
 Forever gently flowing; 
 Where tbe beauty of the rose 
 In tbat land of soft repose 
 Nor bliiibt nor fading knows. 
 
lu immortal fragrance blowing. 
 And my prayer is still to see, 
 In thy blessed ministry 
 A transient gleam of regions that are all 
 divinely fair; 
 A foretaste of the bliss 
 In a holier world than this, 
 And a place beside the loved ones who are 
 safely gathered there. 
 
 Mary Noel Meigs McDonald. 
 
FROM "FELICITA." 
 
 I SAID that Nature to her child 
 A generous mother was ; for she, 
 With queeuly height and majesty, 
 
 In her hath blent all graces mild : 
 Her eyes are like a brimming lake 
 Which hue and light from heaven doth 
 
 take ; 
 Her smile is Morning's ray serene 
 Ere sunlight makes too glad the scene ; 
 The mould of intellect her brow ; 
 Her lips were curved for Cupid's bow, 
 Tho' now, compress'd with thought, seem 
 
 thin, 
 And white, save by the pearls within ; 
 An ebon mantle is her hair — 
 So long, that for a widow 'twere 
 
 A mourning veil, on earth to trail; 
 
 So lustrous, that the stars might shine 
 Mirrored upon its surface fine. 
 And she, en wrapt by it, compare 
 
 With night's starred goddess in her veil ; 
 While classic features, coldly fair, 
 
And marble paleness, make her seem 
 One of the few of whom we dream — 
 A beauty half diviue! 
 
 Mrs. E. C. KiNNEY= 
 
THE APRIL RAIN. 
 
 The April raiu— the April rain— 
 
 I bear the pleasant sound ; 
 Now soft and still, like little dew, 
 
 Now drenching all the ground. 
 Pray tell me why an April shower 
 
 Is pleasauter to see 
 Than falling drops of other rain? 
 
 I'm sure it is to me. 
 
 I wonder if 'tis really so — 
 
 Or only hope the while, 
 That tells of swelling buds and flowers^ 
 
 And Summer's coming smile. 
 Whate'er it is, the April shower 
 
 Makes me a child again ; 
 I feel a rush of youthful blood 
 
 Come with the April rain. 
 
 And sure, were I a little bulb 
 Within the darksome ground, 
 
 I should love to hear the April rain 
 So gently falling round; 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 Or any tiny flower were I, 
 
 By nature swaddled up, 
 How pleasantly the April sliower 
 
 Would bathe the hidden cup. 
 
 Tlie small brown seed that rattled down 
 
 On the cold autumnal earth, 
 Is buisting from its cerements forth, 
 
 Rejoicing in its birth. 
 The slender spears of pale green grass • 
 
 Are smiling in the light, 
 The clover opes its folded leaves 
 
 As if it felt delight. 
 
 The robin sings on the leafless tree. 
 
 And upward turns his eye. 
 As loving much to see the drops 
 
 Come Altering from the sky ; 
 No doubt he longs the bright green 
 leaves 
 
 About his home to see. 
 And feel the swaying summer winds 
 
 Play in the full-robed tree. 
 
 The cottage door is open wide, 
 And cheerful sounds are heard, 
 
 The young girl sings at the merry 
 Avlicel 
 A song like the wilding bird: 
 
The creeping child by the old worn sill 
 Peers out with wiuking eye, 
 
 Aud Lis ringlets rnbs with chubby baud. 
 As the drops come pattering by. 
 
 With bounding heart beneath the sky, 
 
 The truant boy is out, 
 And hoop and ball are darting by 
 
 With many a merry shout. 
 Ay, sport away, ye joyous throng — 
 
 For yours is the April day ; 
 I love to see your si)irits dance 
 
 In your pure and healthful play. 
 
 Mrs. E. Oakes Smith. 
 
 I 
 I 
 
STRENGTH FROM THE HILLS. 
 
 Come up unto the bills — the strength is 
 there. 
 
 Oh thou hast tarried long, 
 Too long, amid the bowers and blossoms fair, 
 
 With notes of summer song. 
 Why dost thou tarry there? What though 
 the bird 
 
 Pipes matin in the vales — 
 The plough-boy whistles to the loitering 
 herd 
 
 As the red daylight fails. 
 
 Yet come unto the hills, the old strong 
 hills, 
 
 And leave the stagnant plain ; 
 Come to the gushing of the new-born rills, 
 
 As sing they to the main ; 
 And thou with denizens of power shalt 
 dwell, 
 
 Beyond demeaning care; 
 Composed upon his rock, mid storm and 
 fell, 
 
 The easfle shall be there. 
 
197 
 
 Come up nnto the hills ; the shattered tree 
 
 Still cliugs nnto the rock, 
 And flingeth out his branches wild and 
 free, 
 
 To dare again the shock. 
 Come where no fear is known ; the sea- 
 bird's nest 
 
 On the old hemlock swings, 
 And thou shalt taste the gladness of un- 
 rest, 
 
 And mount upon thy wings. 
 
 Come up unto the hills. The men of old, 
 
 They of undaunted wills, 
 Grew jubilant of heart, and strong and 
 bold. 
 
 On the enduring hills — - 
 Where came the soundings of the sea afar, 
 
 Borne upward to the ear, 
 And nearer grew the moon and midnight 
 star. 
 
 And God himself more near. 
 
 Mrs. E. Cakes Smith. 
 
MY LIFE. 
 
 My life is a fairy's gaj^ dream, 
 
 And thou art the genii, whose waud 
 
 Tints all things around with the beam. 
 The bloom of Titania's bright laud. 
 
 A wish to my lips never sprung, 
 A hope in mine eyes never shone, 
 
 But, ere it was breathed by my tongue, 
 To grant it thy footsteps have flown. 
 
 Thy joys, they have always been mine, 
 Thy sorrows, too often thine own ; 
 
 The suu that on me still would shine. 
 O'er thee threw its shadows alone. 
 
 Life's garland, then, let us divide. 
 Its roses I'd fain see thee wear. 
 
 For once, but I know thou wilt chide — - 
 Ah! leave me its thorns, love, to bear! 
 Anna Cora Mowatt Ritchie. 
 
ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE 
 DEEP. 
 
 Rocked in the cradle of the deep, 
 I hiy me down in peace to sleep; 
 Secure I rest upon the wave, 
 For thou, O Lord! hast power to save. 
 I know thou wilt not slight my call, 
 For thou dost mark the sparrow's fall; 
 And calm and peaceful shall I sleep, 
 Rocked in the cradle of the deep. 
 
 When in the dead of night I lie 
 And gaze upon the trackless sk^^, 
 The star-bespangled heavenly scroll, 
 The boundless waters as they roll, — 
 I feel thy wondrous power to save 
 From perils of the stormy wave : 
 Rocked in the cradle of the deep, 
 I calmly rest and soundly sleep. 
 
 And such the trust that still were mine, 
 Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine. 
 Or though the tempest's fiery breath 
 Roused me from sleep to wreck and death. 
 
200 
 
 In ocean cave still safe with Thee 
 The germ of iuiraortality ! 
 And calm and peaceful shall I sleep, 
 Rocked in the cradle of the deep, 
 
 Mrs. Emma Hart Willard. 
 
THE CHOSEN TREE. 
 
 " I'll choose this tree for niiue ! 
 Wheu I'm afar, if thou wouklst kuow my 
 fate, 
 
 Look ou it : if it flourish or decline. 
 Such destiu}^, believe, will me await. 
 
 "At the return of spring. 
 See if its leaves come forth all fresh and 
 bright ; 
 
 List, if the robin in its branches sing 
 A carol gay ; then kuow my heart is light. 
 
 "Come in the summer days 
 And visit it, aud sit beneath its shade ; 
 
 Seek its cool shelter from the noontide 
 rays, 
 Nor let it thy neglectfulness upbraid. 
 
 "And wheu with autunm's blast 
 Its goldeu-tiuted leaves abroad are hurled, 
 
 Look if its truuk be hardy to the last. 
 For such will be my courage through the 
 world. 
 
202 
 
 " Watcli it, dear friend, for me ! 
 'Tis bending now to catch the water's 
 tone ; 
 The wave, perhaps, may whisper to the 
 tree 
 Of him who blends its thriving with his 
 own." 
 
 And then its naine we graved 
 Upon the bark, and turned onr steps away, 
 And o'er the river still the branches 
 waved, 
 And still the stream flowed on from day to 
 day. 
 
 And she, as years went by. 
 Oft ^vandered in her walks to that lone 
 spot ; 
 But to her questionings came no reply, — 
 The waves were mute, the breezes an- 
 swered not. 
 
 Dreamer, where art thou now ? 
 The axe has hewn thy tree, but not de- 
 stroyed ; 
 Rough -hewn, perchance, thy fortunes! 
 Where art thou? 
 In what far land dost wander, — how em- 
 ployed ? 
 
The sympathetic chain 
 Of fiiendship ever circles thee around, 
 
 And by its strong, majestic power, agaia 
 Thy image to thy chosen tree is bound. 
 
 For still tliy friend of old 
 Is watching o'er thy visioned destiny ; 
 I5onud by her plighted word of faith to 
 hold 
 In this, thy speculative prophecy. 
 
 Miss Elizabeth Bogart. 
 
RETIREMENT. 
 
 I LOVE to steal awhile away 
 From every cumbering care, 
 
 And spend the hours of setting day 
 In humble, grateful prayer. 
 
 I love in solitude to shed 
 
 The penitential tear, 
 And all His promises to plead 
 
 Where none but God can hear. 
 
 I love to think on mercies past, 
 
 And future good implore. 
 And all my cares and sorrows cast 
 
 On Him whom I adore. 
 
 I love by faith to take a view 
 Of brighter scenes in Heaven ; 
 
 The prospect doth my strength renew, 
 While here by tempests driven. 
 
 Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er. 
 
 May its departing ray 
 Be calm as this impressive hour 
 
 And lead to endless day. 
 
 Phoebe Hinsdale Brown. 
 
TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 
 
 Leave me not yet! Leave nie not cokl 
 and lonely, 
 Thou dear Ideal of my pining heart! 
 Thou art the friend — the beautiful — the 
 only, 
 Whom I would keep, though all the 
 world depart ! 
 Thou that dost veil the frailest flower 
 with glory, 
 Spirit of light and loveliness and 
 truth ! 
 Thou that didst tell me a sweet, fairy 
 story. 
 Of the dim future, in my wistful 
 youth ! 
 Thou who canst weave a halo round the 
 spirit, 
 Throngh which naught mean or evil dare 
 in trade, 
 Ri'sume not yet the gift, which I inherit 
 From Heaven and thee, that dearest, 
 holiest ffood! 
 
Leave uie not now ! Leave me not cold 
 and lonely, 
 Thon starry prophet of my pining heart ! 
 Thou art the friend — the tendorest — the 
 only, 
 With whom, of all, 'twould be despair 
 to part. 
 
 Thou that caui'st to me in my dreaming 
 childhood. 
 Shaping the changeful clouds to pageants 
 rare, 
 Peopling the smiling vale and shaded wild- 
 wood 
 With airy beings, faint yet strangely 
 fair J 
 Telling me all the sea-born breeze was 
 saying. 
 While it went whispering through the 
 willing leaves, 
 Bidding me listen to the light rain play- 
 ing 
 Its pleasant tune about the household 
 eaves ,* 
 Tuning the low, sweet ripple of the river. 
 Till its melodious murmur seeni'd a song, 
 A tender and sad chant, repeated ever, 
 A sweet, impassion'd plaint of love and 
 wroim! 
 
20T 
 
 Leave me not yet! Leave uie not cold and 
 lonely, 
 Thou star of promise o'er my clouded 
 path ! 
 Leave not the life, that borrows from thee 
 only 
 All of delight and beauty that it hath! 
 
 Thou that, when others knew not how to 
 love me, 
 Nor cared to fathom half my yearning 
 soul, 
 Didst wreathe thy flowers of light around, 
 above me, 
 To woo and win me from my grief's 
 control: — 
 liy all my dreams, the passionate and holy, 
 When thou hast sung love's lullaby to 
 me, 
 By all the childlike worship, fond and lowly. 
 Which I have lavish'd upon thine and 
 thee : — 
 By all the lays my simi)le lute was learning 
 To echo from thy voice, stay witb me 
 still ! 
 Once flown — alas! for thee there's no re- 
 turning ! 
 The charm will die o'er valley, wood, 
 and hill. 
 
Tell me not Time, whose wing my brow 
 lias shaded, 
 Has wither'd sii ring's sweet bloom with- 
 in my heart ; 
 Ah, DO ! the rose of love is yet unfaded, 
 Though hope and joy, its sister flowers, 
 depart. 
 
 Well do I know that I have wrong'd thine 
 altar. 
 With the light offerings of an idler's 
 mind, 
 Aud thus, with shame, mj' j)leading prayer 
 I falter. 
 Leave me not, spirit! deaf, and dnmb, 
 aud blind ! 
 Deaf to the mystic harmony of nature, 
 Blind to the beauty of her stars aud 
 flowers, 
 Leave me not, heavenly yet human teacher, 
 Louely aud lost in this cold world of 
 oars! 
 Heaven knows I need thy music and thy 
 beauty 
 Still to beguile me on my weary way, 
 To lighten to my soul the cares of 
 duty, 
 Aud bless with radiant dreams the dark- 
 en'd day : 
 
To charm my wild heart in the worldly 
 revel, 
 Lest I, too, join the aimless, false, and 
 vain ; 
 Let me not lower to the sonlless level 
 
 Of those whom now I pity and disdain ! 
 Leave me not yet : — leave me not cold and 
 pilling, 
 Thon bird of paradise, whose plnmes of 
 light. 
 Where'er they rested, left a glory shining ; 
 Fly not to heaven, or let me share thy 
 flight ! 
 
 Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood. 
 
TO MY PEN. 
 
 Dost kuow, my little vagrant pen, 
 
 That wanderest liglitly down the paper, 
 
 Without a thought how critic men 
 May carp at every careless caper, — 
 
 Dost know, twice twenty thousand ejxs, 
 If publishers rej)ort them truly, 
 
 Each mouth may mark the sportive lies 
 That track, oh shame ! thy steps unruly ? 
 
 Now list to me, my fairy pen, 
 And con the lesson gravely over; 
 
 Be never wild or false again, 
 
 But " mind your Ps and Qs," you rover ! 
 
 While tripping gaily to and fro, 
 
 Let not a thought escape you lightly, 
 
 But challenge all before they go. 
 
 And see them fairly robed and rightly. 
 
 You know the words but dress the frame, 
 And thought's the soul of verse, my fairy ! 
 
211 
 
 So drape not spirits dull and tame 
 In gorgeous robes or garments airj'. 
 
 I would not have my pen pursue 
 
 The " beaten track " — a slave for ever ; 
 
 No! roam as thou wert wont to do, 
 In author-land by rock and river. 
 
 Be like the sunbeam's burning wing, 
 Be like the wand in Cinderella; 
 
 And if you touch a common thing, 
 
 Ah, change to gold the pumpkin yellow ! 
 
 May grace come fluttering round your 
 steps. 
 
 Whene'er, my bird, you light on paper, 
 And music murmur at your lips, 
 
 And truth restrain each truant caper. 
 
 Let hope paint pictures in your way, 
 And Love his seraph-lesson teach you ; 
 
 And rather calm with reason stray 
 
 Thau dance with folly, I beseech you! 
 
 In faith's pure fountain lave your wing. 
 And quaff from feeling's glowing chal- 
 ice; 
 
 But touch not falsehood's fatal spring. 
 And shun the poisoned weed of malice. 
 
212 
 
 Firm be the web you lightly spin, 
 
 From leaf to leaf, tlioiigb frail in seem- 
 
 While Fancy's fairy tlew-geras win 
 The sunbeam Truth to keep them gleam- 
 ing. 
 
 And shrink not thou when tyrant wrong 
 O'er humble suffering dares deride thee : 
 
 With lighting step and clarion song, 
 Go ! take the field, all Heaven beside thee. 
 
 Be tuned to teuderest music when 
 
 Of sin and shame thou'rt sadly singing ; 
 
 But diamond be thy point, my x>en, 
 
 When folly's bells are round thee ring- 
 ing! 
 
 And so, where'er you stay your flight, 
 To plnme your wing or dance your meas- 
 ure. 
 May gems and flowers your pathway light 
 For those who track your tread, my 
 measure ! 
 
 But what is this ? you've tripp'd about. 
 While I the mentor grave was playing; 
 
 And here you've written boldly out 
 The very words that I was saying! 
 
213 
 
 And here, as usual, ou you've flown 
 
 From right to left — flown fast and faster, 
 
 Till even while you wrote it down, 
 You've miss'd the task you ought to mas- 
 ter. 
 
PYGMALION. 
 
 Life coming iuto the statue of Galatea. 
 
 Moveless she stood, until her wandering 
 glance 
 
 TJpon the rapt face of the sculptor fell ; 
 
 Bewildered and abashed, it sank beneath 
 
 The burning gaze of his adoring eyes. 
 
 And then there ran through all her trem- 
 bling frame 
 
 A strange, sweet thrill of blissful conscious- 
 ness, 
 
 Life's wildest jo}', in one delicious tide, 
 
 Poured through the channels of her new- 
 born heart, 
 
 And love's tirst sigh rose quivering from 
 her breast. 
 
 She turned, and, smiling, bent her towards 
 
 the youth, 
 And blushed love's dawn upon him as he 
 
 knelt. 
 He rose, sprang forward with a passionate 
 
 cry, 
 
215 
 
 And joyously outstretclied his waiting arms ; 
 And lo ! the form he sculptured from the 
 
 stone, 
 Instinct with life, and radiant with soul, 
 A breathing shape of beauty, soft and warm, 
 Of mortal womanhood, all smiles and tears. 
 In love's sweet trance upon his bosom lay. 
 Gkace Gkeenwood. 
 
TO MISS A. C. L .* 
 
 TiiY life is like a foimtain, clear, npspriug- 
 iug 
 
 Beside the weary way I'm treading now ; 
 I love to linger near, and feel it flinging 
 
 Its freshening waters on my fevered brow. 
 
 Thy gentle heart is like the couch of rest- 
 ing, 
 That welcomes home the wanderer of the 
 deep, 
 To my tired spirit, wearied with long 
 breasting 
 The midnight waves that round about 
 me sweep. 
 
 Thy soul is like a silver lake at even, 
 
 Emblem of power, and purity and rest, — 
 Within its depths the eternal stars ot 
 heaven , 
 While earth's fair lilies float upon its 
 breast. 
 
 Grace Greenwood. 
 
 * Miss Aune C. Lynch. 
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